Lib To Con - Blog Posts

The Trump Trail

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

--- TW: Liberal to conservative / MAGA ---

--- Reminder: this is homo-erotic fiction ---

These two best bud just started going down the Trump Trail recently.

Raised by silent majority types, they never even really thought of politics most of their lives.

Their parents wanted to give them a childhood, something liberals usually don’t – except for that fact that liberals are still children, basically, their entire lives, haha.

Then there was an incident at school, a call-out incident of sorts, a leftist attempt to severely hurt an innocent child just because of who his parents might be and the body he didn’t choose.

To deal with this radicalisation, John’s parents thought he was old enough to discuss sociopolitics, and so did Mike’s… everyone in their neighborhood was talking about what had happened.

Just wanting to help make the world better, they decided to start supporting Trump’s reelection campaign, all so that American values can be affirmed again and the world can get back to some sort of balance.

Being football guys, they’d started working out, and meshing that with the Trump gear and the thought of crushing liberals on the football field all had been boiling over into one heck of an exciting time.

They’re already looking this good and put this much muscle on, so can you imagine how they’re going to look, how they’re going to act, how they’re going to fuck… two years from now, or four years down the road?

They’re just getting started, bro.

Nothing motivates you to perfect your body, lifestyle, and personality like putting leftists in their place.

If that’s not true, why do the facts of our world seem to say otherwise?

If leftists are so smart and hard-working, why are they on the bottom? Why do they commit most of the crimes, and why are their lives such disasters?

Why are they all waiting around for daddy to give them money? Why don’t they do charity?

Why are leftists so jealous of all the good looks and good fortune of the rightists, so jealous that they’re trying to tax it, so jealous that it makes them almost suicidal, that is when they’re not getting homicidal?

Riddle me that, bro.

Here’s the answer: because we are better than them.

The Pence Protocol

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

Not that I get into math in the same way anymore, but it was in year three of the Pence administration that our high school really started to change. Perhaps it never would have happened if Trump hadn’t passed away – he had his bone spurs, right? He had no emotional connection to films like Rudy or Hoosiers, right? I betcha Indiana Pence sure did. Whatever Pence’s reasoning, he started unlocking and implementing new technologies that had previously been only under the purview of DARPA. The world had come a long way since Al Gore helped unleash the internet, and so before we even really had a say in the matter, as part of the America Strong program, after-school athletics became mandatory.

Some of it was in school, too, of course. The whole school seemed to be taking it to the next level. Aaron and I selected wrestling, thinking maybe we could just avoid the more popular sports, do stats, and stay in the lower weight classes, which worked as first… but soon they were pushing us harder. My body packed on twelve pounds of muscle before I knew what hit me, and they told me that was just “a good start”. Aaron, too, increasingly no longer even resembled himself, with a shaved head and a wild-eyed look to him that told me he wasn’t the same gentle number-cruncher we’d both been before. “Dude, I don’t even feel like my head’s right anymore,” he confessed to me one evening in the locker room, slamming his locker shut. “I know I should go do pages 112-125 of Calculus tonight, but I kind of don’t really want to.”

“I hear ya, man,” I said, my voice still surprising me with the deeper register it seemed to be falling into. “I kind of just want to take a shower and watch some porn.”

Was I really confessing that to my best friend? “Yeah dude,” Aaron laughs. “I could go for some of that too, actually.”

I washed my face, looking in the sink. Already I had a bit of a five o'clock shadow on me. They really had my hormones running, I thought, as before I’d gotten involved with the team I wasn’t even shaving at all. Now I had to at least every other day. I didn’t even fit in my favorite shirts anymore. I’d gone up a couple of shoe sizes. I was doing sets of 25 pullups by this point, whereas I wouldn’t have been able to do a single one before…I used to just dangle from the bar helplessly. What were they doing to us? This was totally the wrong thing to be doing when we should be focusing on scholastics. Fuck Pence, I thought, but part of me, a smaller voice that I never really seemed to have before, always telling me to not be so sure of myself… that side of me had to admit that this wasn’t so bad.

Identity Death

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

As directed by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted.

“Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

3TH93USA

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-09 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Encouraged and spurred on by @mrrharper

The building in front of Nathan was nothing more than a gray warehouse. It was absolutely massive, stretching to either end of the block. Nathan had no idea how far back it went, and with no windows he had no concept of floors either. Nathan considered that it may have been a poor idea to apply after all. The job had been looking for candidates with highly flexible hours and at least 10 years of experience. But Nathan, a desperately-underfunded college student in his final year, was badly in need of some quick cash. Holding his head high, he strolled towards the building's entrance.

Nathan had received a notice of a job opportunity through his email. At first, he had assumed it was some kind of spam, but after reading a bit more discovered it was indeed a legit company. Falcon Security, somewhere Nathan would have never placed himself to be applying for, had not only sent a rather dull email, but had a dull interior. Everything with this company was informative and straightforward, apparently details and color did not matter.

In the open, almost liminal space, Nathan felt as if a spotlight were on him. He had not dressed too flamboyantly, a floral-patterned dress shirt with blue slacks. But he definitely felt out of place in such a starkly-monotone place. Not only that, but he knew he did not fit in. Just under six foot, red hair with freckles, lanky enough to be considered paper-thin, Nathan had to remind himself this job was not based on looks. Falcon Security meant IT, and all he had to say was he looked younger than his actual age. In a few months, he could be gone, the company nothing more than a blip on his resume.

The orientation process was a lot easier than Nathan had expected. After navigating through a few empty halls, he eventually found himself in a large room with a plethora of other men. None of them matched each other, all presumably in desperate situations like Nathan. After a bit of waiting, the presentation began on the huge screen projected opposite of the door.

It was nothing Nathan had not seen before, a male AI voice narrating the company’s background and history. When they began listing some of the more famous companies Falcon Security had aided in the past, Nathan was surprised at how many he recognized. Many names were politically-affiliated, all right-leaning but nothing concerning Nathan. Business was business, and he would be working IT anyway, so he would not inherently be supporting anything he stood against. The one anti-LGBT organization startled him a bit, although he did not show it. As a gay man, he would simply avoid any tasks related to that client. Money had influenced his standards a lot, but not to the point of changing his morals.

Once the presentation had finished, all the men received a text to their personal devices for their next station. Nathan pulled out his phone and after looking around, began to follow the other men out of the room. They herded down the hallway, passing by the different facilities available in the building. A cafeteria, restrooms, a huge gym with a few people the size of bodybuilders already hard at work. Nathan was beginning to think this was some kind of complex. Once they ventured past the sleeping quarters with bunk beds galore, questions formed as to how hard the company would be working him.

Eventually, each of the men began diverging off into different directions, finding their corresponding rooms. Nathan tried to remain optimistic of the situation, following along the instructions from his phone. Third floor, hallway T, room H93. It took a little strength to open the door, Nathan assumed it had to have been made of some metal. He entered his room and heard the door click shut behind him. Room H93 was small, with nothing in it but a chair facing away from the exit. Once Nathan took a seat, the projector lit up.

“Welcome to Falcon Security,” the male AI voice announced. “The following education supplement is broken into three segments.”

Nathan peered around the room once more, finding it strange as to why he was separated from the other men for this portion of the orientation.

“Cerebral Manipulation activated, engaging Cleanse.”

Suddenly, Nathan was bombarded with a combination of blinding visuals and piercing audios. The projector was strobing violently, quickly flashing colors back and forth and scorching his eyes. The speakers out of Nathan's sight were blasting discordant notes, the high pitches scrambling his neurological pathways. He immediately shut his eyes and went to cover his ears, trying to tune it all out, but the damage had already been instituted. Overwhelmed by the stimuli, his brain carried out the emergency function, shutting itself off completely. Nathan’s hands dropped to his sides as his mouth hung open, staring lifelessly at the paralyzing screen before him.

“Cleanse complete, Cerebral Manipulation disengaged.”

Nathan made no movement as multiple ceiling tiles lifted up, revealing vents. He continued to stare ahead, no thought forming in his emptied mind.

“Physical Manipulation activated, engaging Vapor.”

Slowly, a hiss began to sound out from the vents opened within the ceiling. A reddish gas softly descended from the ceiling, filling up Nathan’s room in a minute. Before long the air had completely left the room, leaving Nathan’s mindless husk to breathe in the pure red fumes.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics,” the AI rattled off. Through the red haze, the projector booted up a loading screen with an array of fields.

HEIGHT - 75 Units

WEIGHT - 200 Units

ADIPOSE TISSUE - 12%

MUSCULATURE - 85%

FEET - 13 Units

PHALLUS - 9 Units

LIBIDO - 80%

HAIR (B) - 67%

HAIR (C) - 1B0C05

EYE (C) - 200C05

Although Nathan could not recognize it, these inputs were standardized by the company.

“Vapor engaged, activating Reactor.”

A relaxer began to escape, mixing thoroughly with the red fumes already present in the room. Carefully slinking down, it eventually slithered up Nathan’s nostrils and tickled his brain. Triggered, Nathan began taking larger, deeper breaths, thoroughly absorbing the red gas.

The effects of the vapor rapidly assimilated into Nathan’s system. His bones began to crack, his tendons and ligaments shifting and expanding. The edges of his tight outfit grew taut, threatening to rip before a laser quickly scanned the room, erasing every article of clothing. Now naked, Nathan’s body was free to grow in any direction it needed. And it did, stretching out across the chair as Nathan evolved. With each filtrating breath, Nathan pumped himself larger and larger, eventually reaching a height of 6’3.

Nathan's muscles continued to bloat as the vapor was continually absorbed into his systems. His once lanky body was broadening: longer legs, longer torso, longer shoulders. His calves and upper arms swelled with power, thickening and plumping with strength and testosterone. His quads widened, now along with his new eight abdominals bolstering immense durability. Nathan’s backside curved outwards, better filling in his seat while his hardware up front enlarged into a thick 9 inches. Although not in a conscious state, Nathan separated his legs to accommodate for his new, massive bundle, his toes inching forward as his feet puffed out into a sturdy Size 13.

Nathan’s head arched back to allow the remainder of red gas to be consumed. His neck distended to accommodate for the emerging Adam’s apple, his vocal chords thickening to create a deeper tone. His jaw and cheekbones jutted forward, stretching his nose and accentuating his brow. In a flash, Nathan’s roots and eyes darkened into a steep brown, tainting his hair as it pulled into a tight crew cut. The rest of his body adapted accordingly, his skin tone tanning slightly before being washed over with dark hair through the pits, down the sternum, across his crotch, and throughout his arms and legs.

The last of the red fumes disappeared down Nathan’s nasal passages, coating his more masculine jaw with a well-maintained beard. The AI voice confirmed this completion.

“Vapor installed, engaging Auxiliary Supplements: 3TH93USA.”

AGE - 29 Units

When Nathan had applied, he had not met the company’s standards of employment. This forced Falcon Security to take the necessary action of moving him to meet the minimum experience requirement. A small tube appeared from one of the open vents directly above Nathan. With his head in position and mouth lazily ajar, the pipe distributed seven blue drops directly down Nathan’s throat. He did not have to swallow, the liquid absorbing on impact.

After a moment, the aging began to show. Nathan’s muscles stiffened slightly, toughening after more years of constant conditioning. His body odor grew denser, his voice gruffer. His libido remained the same, but now served a different purpose. It had matured into a machine for fertilization, built for a purpose rather than for pleasure. As the tiniest beginnings of frown lines formed, the process moved forward.

“Auxiliary Supplements complete, Cerebral Manipulation reactivated, downloading Cognition.”

The ceiling tiles lowered, the vents closing as the screen booted up with new diagnostics.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics.”

CEREBRAL CAPACITY - 20%

INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT - 73 Units

SUBORDINATION - 95%

AGGRESSION - 90%

INTERPRETATION - 15%

INDEPENDENT ANALYSIS - 10%

Uploading SECURITY package…

Uploading SELF-MAINTENANCE package…

Installing CODE RED

“Download complete, engaging Cognition.”

Once again, the room was filled with the blaring visual and audio combination. Because Nathan’s brain had already been turned off, the repetition now triggered the opposite effect. Soon, Nathan’s mind reanimated, becoming coherent to his surroundings. His former self had been deleted, leaving an open canvas ready to become something completely new. Before Nathan could become cognizant and recolor his gray matter, the program instituted new effects.

Delicately, the strobing lights and screeching notes were honed into the background. New media quickly infiltrated the pattern. Flashes of words and phrases flashed the screen, branding Nathan’s mind. Images of loyal men, bulky men, masculine men burst through Nathan’s retinas, establishing only one precedent. Mixed in were scattered opinion pieces to erect the bare minimum of personality features. Pictures of conservative leaders, Christian motifs, and clips of straight sex, enough to align with the company’s agenda.

“The company is always right,” “The clients are always right.” A male narrator had begun instructing different phrases into the room. His words crawled into the open crevice of Nathan’s shrunken brain, filling up the emptied space. “Every guard is completely loyal to the company,” “The company never makes mistakes.” Every instruction repeated over and over, accompanied by the images of Falcon Security and their work.

Nathan had been wrong to assume the Falcon Security had been an information technology firm. The company was actually a high-tech, military-grade safeguard who prided themselves with muscles promising complete protection, surveillance, and performative obedience. When they had discovered their investors in conservative businesses, they tailored their focus a bit more, pledging their guards would not only work for them, but vote for them too. Focus groups and trial operations provided them with the perfect formula for their clients.

In an instant, the program went into overdrive. The male AI returned, drilling “Ejaculate, Ejaculate, Ejaculate,” over and over. The stimulation exploded Nathan’s brain with ecstasy, his cock rising directly up and pulsing with excitement. The images on the screen ran twice as fast, the audio tracks looping quicker. With a manly grunt, Nathan howled as his swollen weapon blasted the remnants of his former will across the room. The laser from before returned, erasing the ejaculation and covering up the newly transformed guard in the company’s in house uniform: black sweats and a black cap

Blinking, 3TH93USA stood up as the door to the room opened behind him. He marched out of his room, the other new guards like fraternal clones of him doing likewise. They all filed down to the halls back to where they had come from. Some steered off into the cafeteria, others navigated to the sleeping quarters. 3TH93USA was one of the few who arrived in the gym, beginning his workout immediately as instructed. Security was his function, and if he was not doing that, then 3TH93USA was either eating, maintaining, or sleeping.

3TH93USA began his pull up routine as a few men in suits walked by, looking in on the gym.

“One needs a soldier, completely obedient and always following orders,” one of the businessmen stated. “Each of our men are customizable, programmable to any of your needs. Their only purpose is to be a security guard.”

They watched on as 3TH93USA continued his workout, no other objective in his mind.

The Interviews

--- Originally posted on 2021-02-07 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Can you guys believe we actually made it?” Elijah exclaimed proudly. Even as the tallest of the trio at 6’7, he had to arch his back to see the top of the skyscraper in front of him. Elijah had worked hard to get his degree in business, so the prospect in front of him made him feel like he was touching the finish line. He had applied for an interning position in the financial department, and the company had been so impressed with his application that they had set up an interview immediately.

“I will admit, it is pretty incredible,” Dylan added. He was in the middle of the three, having a little over average height at 5’11 and pretty good muscular tone. What really stood out about him though was his voice, for it was a powerful bass that could shake concrete walls and was completely recognizable at any event. He too had applied for an interning position in the financial department, creating a little friendly rivalry between the two.

“I’m still surprised we all made it.” Although Joe was almost a foot shorter than the giant Elijah at 5’7, he made up for his height in sheer body mass. Back in college, he had been the star wrestler of the college, giving him a body packed with pure strength and flesh. One wouldn’t be able to guess it, but Joe was also skilled in another area: accounting. He was so talented in fact that he had actually been scouted out by the company.

“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”

“Oh yeah, like that’ll be hard,” Dylan jeered as he walked through a set of grand swinging doors. “My record is pretty well stacked. I think I have the best chance out of the three of us for this position.”

“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence.

“And like I have any competition,” Elijah scoffed as Dylan and himself took a seat on a nearby bench. “Once they see that my name was on the Dean’s List every semester, I’ll get in for sure.”

“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.

“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.

“Did too!” Dylan retorted.

“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.

“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”

“Excuse me, bro?!”

“You heard what I said, coc-”

“Gentlemen!”

A sharply dressed male was staring down at the two bickering companions. The man was furiously tapping a pen against his clipboard, obviously irritated. Standing tall in front of the two, he was wrapped up in a gray 3-piece suit with a checkered tie that fit well against his sculpted body. His face showed that although he acted superior, he had to be a similar age to the two young men cowering below him.

“My name is Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV, and I am one of the Accounting Managers here at the Carmichael Corporation,” he began pompously, effortlessly taking control of the situation. “If you want to work here at the Carmichael Corporation, the first concept you must learn is respect and decency to and in the workplace.”

“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.

“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”

“That’s me.” Joe appeared from behind Yale, surprising the other man a little bit. After checking in, Joe had quickly run to the bathroom to wash his face, finding he had accidentally missed a few hairs when he had shaved this morning. Not noticeable, just a little itchy.

“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?

“Let us make our way to a correspondent room, we have a lot to cover in little time.” Before Joe could comprehend what Yale had said, the other man was already walking towards an elevator. Joe quickly scurried along, waving to his pals before he was lifted up.

“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.

“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.

— —

“Joseph Koroll.”

“Yes?”

Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous–he actually felt quite confident–but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.

“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”

“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.

“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”

“I understand.”

“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas. This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”

“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”

“I do not know or care what went on at your last position, but if you want to succeed in this company, it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Would you be okay with this level of obedience?”

“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.

“That is more appropriate,” Yale smiled. “Now, let us first address the things that need to be changed to be hired. Your attire is the most noticeable facet, as it is unsightly to say in the kindest of terms.”

“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.

“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”

Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.

“Blazers are classic items that work for semi-formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, a blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event. Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

Yale continued, “Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis and golf; sports you will be expected to participate in and the only sports you will be allowed to play.”

Yale paused and took a deep breath. Once he had finished gathering himself, he looked over at Joe and gleamed with satisfaction. “I believe it is secure to say that you have already anticipated these particular needs of the company. Am I assuming correctly?”

“Yes sir,” Joe quickly replied. He had made sure to dress in one of his casual outfits today, something comfortable yet reputable. Along with a navy blazer that had been hung on the door, Joe had paired his classic navy polka-dotted tie with a blue button-up and wool dress pants. Sheer socks silently encased his Size 11 feet inside expensive-looking Oxfords, while two bright, yellow suspenders and a hefty watch worked as the statement pieces. He’d also made sure to shave his beard into a beautiful stubble, something that really made him seem both masculine and well-kept. Joe had originally been concerned that the look was a little too casual, but the fact that his superior had noticed it brought a smile to his lips.

“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”

Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.

“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”

“Very similar, indeed.” Joe resituated himself in the chair, sitting a little straighter to truly show off his 6’1 height. His tight clothing did an impeccable job showcasing his muscular build, which wasn’t as massive as a bodybuilder’s but definitely imposing. He kicked up one of his Size 14 feet onto his knee, knowing he could now get a little more comfortable.

“You will also need to adapt to our image of masculinity, Joe. This is something that has an adjusting definition for everyone here at the Carmichael Corporation. Do you understand what I am referring to?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“To explain further,” Yale eyes had a piercing gleam to them. “the duty of a man is to understand that when lacking in some areas of presence, he must identify other ways to consume the devoid territory. Men are meant to take up a certain amount of space, no matter their stature. This does seem appropriate, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Joe completely interpreted what Yale was referring to. It was only natural that some men had larger presences than others, so it was Joe’s duty to match that same standard. Readjusting in his seat once more, Joe felt his wide, plump bottom jiggling about, consuming the entirety of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a distinct moose knuckle. The fluid movement accidentally made him hard, but Joe knew no one would be able to see his 4 inches.

“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.

“Our manual refers to multiple accessible forms of dialogue, but you will be working with men of all ages from assets and banking within accounting. Therefore, it would be best if you learned how to speak slower and adapt your vocabulary to something better cultivated.”

“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.

Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone–much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”

“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Finally, if you aspire to work at the Carmichael Corporation, it is imperative that you adjust your title.” Yale moved along calmly, not at all caring about Joe’s confusion. “Joe is a very informal name. Lazy and lackadaisical. It sets you up casually in a professional world, agree with me?”

“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.

“In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries expect a certain standard of professionality, even in your title. And you must give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”

“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?”

“No, it is most certainly-”

“Make it German. It will give you a much more asserting presence. And I reckon a suffix would add some competency as well. From now on, we shall refer to each other by our full names to emulate what the atmosphere is like here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Joe was still at a loss over the last few comments. He was starting to feel a little panicked over the thought of losing his own identity to the corporate world, but before he could think any further on the topic, Yale stepped in.

“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”

“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.

“Splendid!” Yale replied. “Then I can confidently declare that you are precisely what the Carmichael Corporation is scouting for. John Millard Koehler III, you will be starting as early as next week.”

“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”

“The honor is all mine, you will be an illustrious addition to our department.” Yale sat back down in his chair and ushered John Millard to do the same. “Before I dismiss you, let us discuss acquisitions and the baseline salary. Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we want to make sure that you can ‘be audit you can be’.”

The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.

— —

“It’s been almost an hour,” Elijah exhaled. “Shouldn’t Joe be done with his interview by now?” The two other men were still sitting on the same bench, waiting for anyone to come and greet them like Yale had appeared before. Countless businessmen had passed in front of them, but all of them seemed so eager to work that they didn’t recognize the recently-graduated college students.

“I don’t know,” Dylan replied honestly, twisting a lock of his curly mane within his fingers out of boredom. “I mean maybe this is the corporate world and everything takes a little longer than expected.” He then stretched to loosen up his joints, showcasing the body of a former running back for everyone to see.

“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”

“Apparently a lot.” Dylan began swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a swing to entertain himself. The Size 13 canvas shoes went to and fro, hypnotizing him more than they should have. Elijah watched on too, somehow entertained by the small amount of movement.

“Ahem.”

The two young men quickly shot up off the bench, standing solid. In front of them was a brawny man between the pair’s heights. He looked to be somewhere around sixty, as displayed by his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jaw, and robust torso. His body was brilliantly exhibited in a multi-layered suit, one that displayed every shade from silver to slate.

“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”

The two men nodded their heads quickly.

“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.

— —

“Dylan Pringle.”

“Yes… sir?”

Dylan watched a small smile creep onto the man’s lips after his little addition. There had been a few minutes of back and forth eye contact from Dylan’s resumé and Dylan himself, but he wasn’t feeling too apprehensive. Although the man seemed extremely uptight, Dylan knew there was nothing in his credentials that wouldn’t seem impressive. Plus, the man had already seemed to take a liking to Dylan, as he had been escorted to an expansive office that Dylan assumed had to be the man’s own. It was simply decorated with a few modern black-and-white pictures and two tables lined with retro leather chairs. There were also a few closets and coat racks holding different suits and other formal wear, probably owned by the man himself.

“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”

The sentence came as a shock to Dylan, causing him to twitch a little in his seat. Dylan was so perplexed that he had to examine the man’s eyes carefully to see if he was telling the truth. He was surprised to discover that they had an oddly charming hue.

“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires… and more!”

“Surely you meant to say ‘Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Dylan was once again caught off-guard.

“Hmm, they told me you were more articulate.” The man made a disappointed grimace before moving on. “I was willing to offer you another position working under me rather than in the financial department as it seems you have no competence in the area. That is generous of me, is it not?”

“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.

“Good.” The man walked over to a table and grabbed a rather large book. Dylan was able to catch a quick peek as the man passed by, noticing the pages were lined with questions and guides. Dylan hoped these weren’t all going to be used in the interview for the other position.

“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.

“Very good. First, we have a completely reasonable dress code here. I know you may not have expected to wear a suit every day, but it will be required. And by a suit, I expect a minimum of 3 layers in some shape or form.” Dylan cringed in his seat barely, knowing that his black turtleneck and jeans probably didn’t make the cut.

“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.

“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”

“It is fair, sir.” Dylan agreed. He always made sure to wear multiple articles underneath his blazer, as it made him feel more polished. Even though he was forced to take off his tan blazer at the door, it had allowed him to expose the other garments on his body. These included matching tan pleated pants that graciously showed off his hefty pouch, a white button-up with matching white suspenders that strained heavily against his pecs, and a striped tie that shared the same charcoal color with his wing-tipped derbies. Readjusting his glasses, Dylan waited patiently for the man to continue.

“I believe it is also appropriate to have a strict haircut policy. Your hair is to be cut every two weeks, and I will refer you to my own barber. You will style it neatly and you will use whatever product I chose.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt.”

“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”

“Completely, sir.” Dylan felt like this task would be no problem, as he already maintained his hair strictly. Brushing a hand across his scalp, he was delighted to feel his sharp quiff still held stiffly in place with not a single hair sticking out. He also made sure to rub a hand across his jaw, feeling up the sculpted beard contemptuously.

“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”

“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.

“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”

“That is accurate, Sir,” Dylan replied reverently in a soft, creamy tenor. He understood where he was on the ladder, and how he’d have to act accordingly. Still sitting in his chair comfortably, the 5’7 man brought his legs closer together, allowing the sides of the Size 8 feet to touch. While doing so, Dylan felt his micropenis twitch eagerly inside his tight briefs, sending an excited reaction to the hole between his two jiggly, doughy buttocks.

“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”

“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”

“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.

“So with that said,” Sir leaned back in his chair happily, dropping the handbook on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “If I were to ask you to, say, change your name, would you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.

“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”

Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.

“Personally, I believe you would be more suited as a Dorrance. And for the surname, well,” Sir chuckled wickedly to himself. “Pringle was never an actual name, just a detrimental snack. You would be much better suited with Peabody. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.”

Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.

“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”

“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”

“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”

“Of course, Sir.” Dorrance followed Sir to a table covered in sheets displaying different suits and styles. He immediately immersed himself into the work, separating out the preferable blacks, navys, and grays from the disgusting other palettes. This extremely pleased Sir, so much so that he wanted to reward Dorrance with something special. So, Sir gave Dorrance’s butt a big appreciation swat as he strutted away, causing Dorrance’s ample rump to shudder within his pants as he continued his work.

— —

Elijah grimaced, noticing the time on the gigantic clock inside the main lobby had only moved by a minute. The wait had been a lot longer than he had expected, forcing him to cancel an event with friends and a hookup from Grindr. It had been about an hour since Dylan had been taken away to his interview, and almost 2 hours since Joe’s disappearance. He was concerned about what this meant for them, but he was becoming more concerned about what this could’ve possibly meant for himself. Maybe he didn’t have a chance within the Carmichael Corporation. Elijah was beginning to feel as if the employers had completely forgotten him when a young man magically appeared before him, answering his plea.

The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw–while covered in a little youthful baby fat–spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.

“Elijah Grove.”

“Yes?”

“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.

“I guess?”

“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”

“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”

“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”

“I am fond of conducting my interviews over promenades,” the young man replied. They steered their way around crowds of businessmen as they ventured into the streets, making random turns here and there. “It shows how well you can think on your feet, literally. It is an aptitude you will need to be proficient in if you want to become an Associate like myself.”

“Associate?” Elijah blinked a few times out of confusion, knowing that he had applied to work as an intern in the financial department. Although he was a few inches taller than the young man, he was having a little difficulty catching up, causing him to fall in and out of the conversation.

“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”

“Sure.”

The two strolled a little further out of the city, moving away from the busy center where the Carmichael Corporation headquarters stood. They came upon streets a little emptier then before until they finally turned into an old park. It was actually quite beautiful, covered in old knotty trees and overgrown plants. Birds were constantly chirping and squirrels chased after each other like there was no tomorrow. It was also littered in large stones, adding an oddly picturesque feel to it. Elijah was surprised that he had lived in the city for so long and had never once been to this place.

After a while more of walking, the man led them to an old picnic table before turning around and offering a large, rough hand. Confused, Elijah accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones. Elijah had kept his body fit since his high school basketball days, so he was surprised to feel such a sheer strength in the young man’s shake.

“My name is Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.,” the young man stated before placing his briefcase down and taking a seat at the table. “Our interview should not extend too lengthily, as I have some imperative work to attend to after this.”

“What would that be?” Elijah asked earnestly, his jovial tone a major contrast to Keating’s flat, molasses-like demeanor. At 6’7, it was fairly difficult for him to get his skinny legs under the table, but he managed.

“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”

“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”

“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”

“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”

“How could you be such a soulless jerk?” Elijah scolded, getting angrier faster than he had anticipated. He began caring less and less about the job and more about his own morality. Sure, Elijah got how important money was, but he didn’t think he would be able to live with the guilt of destroying an animal’s habitat, let alone an entire population’s. “Don’t you understand what you would be doing? The impact this will have?”

“I’m offended by your tone.” Even after being insulted, Keating’s voice still sounded low, slow, and empty. His eyes however seemed to flare up before he continued. “And yes, I understand exactly the impact this will have. It will create a serviceable, profitable property for the Carmichael Corporation, which in turn will compensate me with enough money to survive. That is what any respectable man like you and I would desire.”

“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them.

“Obviously.” Keating wasn’t defending himself, but instead explaining what he thought was a common fact. “I just bought a house out in Fenwick, the only neighborhood in this squalid city with expansive acreage, tree-shaded streets, and good schools. It is very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood, especially one with the seven bedrooms, four floors, and private tennis court I required. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee alone is $50,000. Looking over your records earlier, I had gathered that was something you desired as well, correct?”

“Yes, that is true.” The idea was buried inside Elijah’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it was embedded deep, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal to move out to Fenwick for corporate shark Elijah.

“I am relieved that that is settled.” Keating opened his briefcase to reveal a combination of different documents, papers, and a massive book that Elijah couldn’t believe fit in the bag. Keating proceeded to pull it out and flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle.

“To become an Associate, you will first be assigned underneath me as a Junior before moving up the ladder. You will still make a good deal of money however, so do not feel too unsettled. Do you understand?”

Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct.” Elijah was here for a position in the financial department, not to be an Associate, so he was embarrassed to point out the error that Keating had made. Not embarrassed enough however to not correct him.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects,” Keating answered, once again misreading. “I believe that will be appropriate compensation, am I accurate?”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Elijah replied cheerfully, glad that the issue was all cleared up. He had wanted to start as an Associate right away as he was worried it the Junior position wouldn’t give him the pay he had hoped for, but apparently it wasn’t that far below. Plus, if he did well, he could quickly move up like Keating had.

“Your job will require calls, lots of calls,” Keating droned, his piercing eyes drilling right into Elijah’s. “Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. A few calls will be less productive, with upset protestors yelling at you about our improvement upon the lot. You will have to decelerate your speech to command attention better. Be direct and contain emotions. You will be better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to ever appear energetic or excited.”

The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”

“Yes,” Keating confirmed. “You can try being sympathetic, but you will quickly find that being stern and direct will get them off the line quicker so you can return to work. Based off of what I have already perceived, this will not be a hindrance.”

“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.

“There are many perks of the job, including a corporate gym on the fifth floor which I highly recommend you use.” After investigating Elijah’s long, fit body, Keating brought his eyes back to Elijah’s own. “We expect every man to have a sense of presence at the Carmichael Corporation. Currently, you are far from meeting those standards.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elijah responded. It was hard for a man of his height to keep a healthy weight. A high metabolism meant he was always fairly skinny, but he didn’t expect it would be such a problem.

“The gym is a good source of weight training,” Keating continued, ignoring the question. “I personally workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards. You will be expected to maintain a similar routine. It appears however that you already understand the importance of presence, but if you are interested in a tour of the corporate gym I would not be affronted.”

“Thank you, I would be very fond of that.” Elijah smiled politely after his reply, moving his legs a little under the picnic table. At 6’3, it was a little difficult for him to keep his well-defined legs under the table, but he managed. Although he’d left golf after college (and hoped to get back into it with his admission into the country club) Elijah had made sure to keep his body in excellent shape by working out almost everyday. His proof could be seen through the skin-tight quarter-zip sweater and the black khaki’s that hugged his meaty quads and calves.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we do have a dress code, but it is reasonably undemanding.” Keating turned the manual around to show Elijah. The page that Keating had flipped to displayed a model covered head to toe in a full, very dapper yet very posh suit. Elijah’s eyes fluttered quickly before looking back to Keating for confirmation.

“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”

“I would say so. A suit works as the foundation of a man’s future in business.” Keating closed the handbook and placed it back into his briefcase. Elijah could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of Keating’s mouth during the action. “I appreciate that you have already generated this knowledge.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Elijah flourished, his voice still plodding. Elijah had made sure to pick out an outfit that had shown off all of his best features. First, a drab, beige, perfectly-cut jacket with matching pleated pants, accompanied by a striped salmon button-up that contrasted well against his pale skin. He had matched his coffee-colored tie to similar shaded Size 13 tassel loafers and a pair of bronze supports that were hidden expertly beneath his coat. Finally, he had styled his blond hair into a fashionable ivy-league cut, making sure to also get a fresh shave earlier that morning. Just the thought of himself in the outfit made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 6.5-inch mast.

“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”

“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.

“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”

“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”

“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”

Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we also have intimate objectives that stand high above the others. You must want to move upwards on the corporate ladder. You must want to fully commit yourself to your work. You must want to embody everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. You must want to be every title a man should own: sportsman, fraternity brother, and avaricious. You want money, do you not?”

“Yes,” Elijah confirmed deliberately. “I want money.” This brought a greedy sneer spread to Keating’s face. Elijah felt like a low, deep, and great truth had awoke inside him. Luckily, the Carmichael Corporation’s principles had aligned perfectly to his own.

“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”

“My name?” Elijah opposed.

“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”

“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”

“Your name is not the only dilemma however, but also your nationality,” Keating resumed. “I believe a British origin would give you a brilliant presence. More mannerful, much more respectable, and it would help establish you as a leading man. Plus, a legacy will give you generational value. What do you think?”

“I-”

“But,” Keating cut off before Elijah could even attempt to reply. “I should not be bashful in saying that you already represent all those factors. Care to agree, Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth?”

“Most certainly,” Emerson acknowledged accordingly in a pretentious accent. He was a diligent, hard-working, and prosperous Brit, and those were only the first words that came to his head. Some may have called him smug and arrogant, but he was really just confident and self-assured. He resembled the epitome of a real man, as displayed by his stunning suit that contrasted his tanned skin eloquently. His dark, chestnut hair and beard also gave off a shocking amount of masculinity. Just the thought of himself and his own superiority made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 9-inch mast. He was by no means a repulsive sodomite, but he could admit a handsome man when he saw one. And he was a handsome man.

“So what do you convey, Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.?” Emerson began, taking a stand with his Size 15 feet planted firmly beneath him. “Do you believe I could become a Junior Associate at the Carmichael Corporation.”

“By all means,” Keating replied, getting up and extending a hand forward. “You’ll be a fashionable fit.” They gave a single sturdy shake before finishing their business. While heading towards the exit, they held a light conversation about stocks, each having grabbed a business edition of the Times along the way.

Gripping the paper tightly as they drifted away from the park, Emerson felt almost restless. The idea of stripping away that atrocity of a park to add in a new, profitable site was so thrilling it was mildly arousing. After his success here, Emerson knew he would receive a promotion, which pleased him mightily. Making their way across a boulevard, Emerson watched the Carmichael Corporation’s headquarters come into view, the place where he knew he would accomplish everything he desired.

Totally Normal

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-08 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, *I *know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him.

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!”

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

‪‘Country side’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”

Red Wave

--- Originally posted on 2023-01-05 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Ethan rushed home as fast as he could, excited to finally be able to play the most popular video game on the market. At $25, Red Wave certainly wasn’t one of the most expensive games out there, but it had still been out of Ethan’s price range when it had dropped a few weeks ago. Since then, the game had blown up all over the internet and had even been promoted in the news. Well, Fox News (they had thought the title “Red Wave” was associated with the prophesied Republican rebound), but still news nonetheless. 

People were obsessed with it, and it was pretty obvious why. Although Ethan hadn’t actually played the game yet, he already knew how it worked. Red Wave was an alternative survival game, one of those campaign-style strategies where the player tries to live as long as possible under growing amounts of enemies. It was paintball, blue versus red. As the game progressed, the player was able to buy upgrades and unlock new parts of the map, but every round a new “red wave” would descend upon them. 

What made the game unique however was that if the player was hit by a red paintball, they could not earn health back. They would be stuck with that health throughout the rest of the game until it was slowly lowered down to 0. Not only that, but Red Wave could only be played once through. Somehow, the company behind the game had been able to put an uninstaller agent deeply rooted inside the game. This meant that once the player died, the game deleted itself permanently from the console’s system and became completely inaccessible. Since Red Wave had launched, nobody had been able to figure out how to reinstall the game back on its original console.

Unlocking his apartment’s front door, Ethan quickly shut it behind him and kicked off his loafers. He then loosened his tie and threw his argyle socks towards the hamper. Usually, Ethan would have been a less careless when he got home, but the 5'7 gaymer was way too excited to dive into Red Wave. Within moments, he had his console booting up and then the game purchased and downloaded. 

While he waited, Ethan strolled to the mirror underneath his pride flag to unbutton his shirt a little, noting that it was a bit tight near the bottom. It seemed like the fast-food lunches he’d recently been treating himself to were taking a toll, the small paunch alerting him that he didn’t have an athlete’s metabolism. Not only that, but the fat gathering up around his cheeks was certainly not to be blamed on by his youth. The curly, black locks paired with the chubby face did make him look boyish however.

“Maybe I should start dieting…” Ethan mumbled as he heard a ding from across the room. Instantly, he rushed over to his chair and grabbed the controller. Red Wave was displayed broadly on the monitor. Flashes of red blotched themselves on the screen, and without hesitating Ethan pressed play. He was then presented with the initial agreement and warning, stating that the player would only be able to engage in the game once and when started would not be able to stop. Besides money, that was also why Ethan had waited so long to play the game–he wanted to see how long he could make it without stopping. With the whole weekend ahead of him, he was sure he’d get himself an impressive, braggable score.

The game was pretty simple at first. Ethan was equipped with a basic paintball gun, and his blue paintballs would knock out the red opponents before they even had a chance to fight back. Ethan was a pretty invested gaymer, but video games were always second to the real world for him. As a founding member of his university’s branch of the Gender-Sexuality Alliance and the president of the Business Casual Club along with the work of his graduate studies, Ethan was almost always focused on reality. However, when he did have time to escape to a virtual world, Ethan would always be found with a controller between his gentle hands. And he had become good at shooter games because of it.

A couple of hours had passed by and Ethan had already unlocked a third of the map, upgraded his paintball gun to fire more rounds at once, and had unlocked a variety of paint bombs. Currently, he was saving up for a bowling ball explosive–a giant blue paintball that would roll down the enemy team and explode after a few seconds. Ethan did notice that each new wave was getting a little more difficult though. The enemies were always a little bit faster, a little bit more competent, and had recently begun spawning themselves in numbers that Ethan couldn’t take out all at once. He wasn’t alarmed however; he still had too many things to unlock and plenty of time left.

When he got hit by a red paintball the first time, Ethan was literally shocked. As in physically shocked. His controller sent out a tiny pulse that sparked across Ethan’s bloodstream, causing him to twitch as the red paint stained itself on his blue player. It was harsh, but Ethan owed it to Red Wave having impressive haptics. In the top left corner of his screen, he watched as his blue health bar lowered just barely. It tainted itself a little too, becoming a darker hue. The concentrated smile that Ethan had been wearing faltered slightly, but in moments he had regained himself and the round was over. He quickly reloaded his gun and moved around the map to purchase some more items.

While Ethan prepared for the next round, he didn’t notice that his body had stretched along his gaming chair. Once at an average height, his torso and legs had elongated after the initial shock that had emitted from his controller. Inch by inch, his bones lengthened and brought flesh and tissue along with it. By the time the round had finished, Ethan would now stand at a well-reaching 6’1. But due to him sitting down, Ethan didn’t register that his head was now almost completely above his gaming chair, or that he was now leaning back slightly in order to give his legs more room.

Ethan continued on, racking up additional points as he became more invested in the game. As time ticked by, Ethan gained stronger power-ups. By four hours in, he was able to run faster across the map, now granting himself access to half of the rooms available. Just a little while later, his paintball gun was upgraded to having two barrels, allowing him to shoot more than one blue-splattering bullet at a time. He gained access to more explosives and traps, and was soon covering the map in different devices to explode any red enemies before they even reached him.

A second shock emitted from his controller after he was hit by a sniper, a new character that had emerged only a few waves earlier. Grunting, Ethan instantly shot back and killed the enemy, yet the damage had already been done. His health bar depleted a little further, shifting into something akin to indigo. Ethan however continued playing, defending himself well against the waves of red that descended upon him. As he did, his legs slowly firmed up underneath his pressed khakis. They grew thinner and more muscular at the same time, gaining strength as they became sharpened from years of running rather than sitting. Ethan’s quads too gained bulk, solidifying as a soft coat of hair descended upon his thighs and calves.

Ethan released a small sigh as he defeated the last enemy, the blue-stained character melting downwards and dissolving into the ground. He quickly did what he had done countless times before: purchased a few traps, stored some more explosives, and browsed across the upgrades he should be saving up for. As soon as he was finished, the round number flashed on the screen and he was back in the game.

The next shock came a little bit quicker than Ethan had thought it would, and a little harder too. It had only been a few rounds since the last hit, but this time he had been caught by a sentry. The robotic cannon had landed its target on Ethan’s blue character before he had had time to react, blasting a red laser right through the player. It took a little bit more health off of him then the other hits had. Ethan blamed this on the game’s length however. The longer the game went on, then probably the harder each “red wave” would hit. The bar in the top left shifted accordingly while also brightening up a tad.

Ethan pushed forward through the round. In his chair, his straight back slowly bubbled along the surface as it filled in with muscle. His shoulders broadened outwards, but as the changes descended lower, his proportions shrunk inwards. Ethan’s growing moobs hardened and pulled back into sturdy pectorals. The expanded stomach he noted earlier imploded into itself, leaving behind defined abs. It suctioned all the way back to the iliac crest to allow for a defined Adonis belt to emerge at the bottom of Ethan’s chest. A dusting of hair also accumulated around his belly button and slowly tread its way downwards.

Ethan made it through another hour before being greeted by a fourth shock from a grenade. Luckily, he hadn’t been hit full-on, but his health did alter into a classic purple. He ran his character away from the scene to protect himself. Ethan then decided to carefully stroll through hallways to eliminate the remaining enemies in smaller groups rather than the wave all at once. Unbeknownst to him, his arms began bulking up underneath his sleeves. Although they were rather average before, they now became a little larger and toned. Nothing too dramatic, but still defined enough to garner a reaction from any stranger when displayed. His forearms also slimmed enough to display veins while a generous helping of fur coated both tops and fluffed out his armpits. Finally, his tender hands became beefy mitts as his fingers grew thick and his palms became calloused.

The next shock came rather quickly, angering Ethan slightly as he noticed he’d missed a simple guard that had spawned near a door. It took him a little longer than he thought it would to take care of the matter, but he did destroy both the guard and the rest of the wave. His health bar had now lightened into a more magenta-like shade. He further upgraded his gun and placed a few more traps, including one specifically in front of the door he’d just been caught at. He’d opened up almost all of the map and had already gotten the majority of the weapons enhancements. Now he just had to save up and survive.

Ethan may have finished the round containing the loathed guard, but not without its consequences. The spark of electricity had coursed its way up its neck, pushing the flesh outwards to make room for expanding vocal chords. His Adam’s apple became more pronounced, dropping his voice a few octaves and erasing any vocal notes of intelligence and character. His jaw was next, the chubbier cheeks sinking in as his bones cracked and restructured into a squarer, more masculine lantern cut. His nose made a gruesome crunch as it popped out and adorned a new previously-broken shape. The ears grew and studded themselves, the brow ridge jutted out a little further, and the forehead became more prominent to give Ethan a macho, yet devolved look. His hair was the last touch, straightening out and diminishing into a regular dark brown as it was pulled back and fluffed outwards at the end, as if it had been trained to permanently cushion a backwards cap.

With less than 10 upgrades yet to purchase and one room yet to unlock, Ethan cursed when he was hit by a barrage of mini shocks from a machine gun. Each shot didn’t take off too much health, but put together they brought the bar in the top left corner into a definite, murkier pink zone. It took Ethan a while to rebound back, but after a grueling back and forth, he eventually eliminated both the gunner and a good portion of the rest of the wave. He retreated back into emptier parts of the map to reuse the same strategy he had successfully conceived earlier: taking down small groups at a time.

Ethan carefully perused each room and hallway, his blue paintballs coating the red enemies before they had even spotted him. While pushing on, his attire and room shifted accordingly. The buttons on his shirt popped off one by one as the fabric was pulled together into something less starchy. The dyes darkened to black and a hood bloomed out of the collar, changing the button-up into a simpler hoodie. His khaki’s were hit next, softening and becoming cuffed at the bottom as they too blackened into ordinary sweats. Underneath, his briefs expanded into faded, well-used checkered boxers, and upon his head arrived the black baseball cap his hair had been anxiously waiting for. 

The changes around Ethan’s room also faced various levels of simplification. His attire became copies of what he was wearing, and the articles themselves were now tossed on the floor and dirty rather than hung in the closet and clean. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, a layer of dust and grime laid itself carefully around the apartment, and a bulk supply of pregnancy tests appeared underneath the desk. Behind Ethan, the pride flag above his mirror shifted too. The rainbow stripes faded into a deep navy as bolded, white letters displayed themselves upon the fabric to proclaim a different form of pride.

It had taken Ethan awhile, but he eventually purchased the last of the upgrades for his paintball gun. All he had left was the final room to completely unlock the map. It was extremely expensive, but he assumed it was for a good reason. He didn’t know what happened when he would open that last room (Did it complete the game, or would he have to keep going until he died?), but he assumed it had to be glorious. Ethan would have to play it extra safe however, because before he realized it another sniper had once again hit him and brought his health to a strawberry hue.

Propping his feet up on the desk holding his monitor, Ethan leaned further back into his chair as he dedicated his entire focus to Red Wave. Because of this, he didn’t see his feet slowly bloating upwards and outward even though they were right in front of him. Each tiny, miniscule bone cracked and stretched as his toes plumped out and grew like tiny stalks upwards. His soles plumped as tiny hairs raced across the tops of the growing landscapes. As a cherry on top, a soft, yet potent smell began to emerge from the new wide and heavy Size 13 feet. Yet their larger, cushiony nature was yet to be observed by Ethan who was completely concentrated on unlocking that last room.

After some careful, patient grinding, Ethan had finally earned enough money to expand into the final part of the map. He didn’t know what would come next, or how long he would continue fighting on, but he was ready. He had completely lost track of time, and by now the round numbers were just a blur when they passed by. It had become too bothersome to interpret the Roman numerals, so Ethan had just started to ignore them. Licking his lips anxiously, he finished the current round and instantly ran his character over to the final room. Ethan was feeling less excited and more determined at this point to open the room, the game having transformed into a mission. But he was still excited nonetheless. In seconds, Ethan had the room unlocked and opened the door.

Immediately, the entire monitor flashed red as a nuke went off in his character’s face. The last room had been a trap; it was impossible for any player to continue on at that point. Seconds later, the remaining portion of Ethan’s health bar disappeared, replacing itself with the same red that the enemy team wore. Ethan didn’t mind however. In fact, he didn’t even comprehend what had happened. That final hit had sent another shock like the ones he’d felt before, but this time it had paralyzed him completely. It was almost like Ethan had been paused in time.

At least, mentally paused in time. The shock still brought along its physical effects, this time to Ethan’s pouch. His modest 4 inch softie instantly hardened to its full erect glory, but in moments it was throbbing. It pulsed as if someone was blowing up a balloon, each throb pumping it a little larger until it was an enhanced 8.5 inches. Ethan’s balls experienced a similar inflation, descending with weight as they covered themselves in a wiry forest of pubes. Across the perineum, his butthole shrunk and tightened while his glutes became larger and solidified, no longer serving the purpose they once dutifully fulfilled for previous boyfriends and in nightclub restrooms.

With his character dead, Red Wave finished out what it was intended to do. Just like what had been discussed all over media, the game began to uninstall itself from Ethan’s console and delete any history of its existence. However, unlike what had been discussed all over media (except ironically by Fox News, who for once spoke the truth), Red Wave began to uninstall and delete any history of Ethan’s existence. The game’s true purpose was to enact the long predicted Republican return: transforming every player by the end of the game into a fully-devoted, heterosexual, God-and-gay-fearing conservative. Players were expected to die about midway through the game, but the final room was placed as a fail-safe to ensnare every last participant.

So, as Red Wave destroyed itself and any evidence of its presence, it also deteriorated Ethan’s existence. His personality was dragged down into his churning balls, along with his organized nature, preppy values, and crafty intelligence. His kind, bright attitude was ripped away, leaving room for a more cocky, aggressive being. His views and morals were simplified and tied back to tradition, no longer swayed by the repulsive, modern “progress” of today. Ethan’s homosexuality too was torn away, each piece of his gay identity plucked in order to reveal a shallower, more malevolent shell. Ethan felt each shift go through him like a shock. One moment, he was bisexual, the next a straight ally. But eventually he embraced his final form–a homophobic breeder.

The entire uninstalling process itself seemed like it had taken hours, but it was truly only a few minutes. As Red Wave approached its final seconds on Ethan’s console, his dick began to tremble like a great volcano. Inside his boxers, his two drooping testicles were churning the remains of Ethan, deleting his entirety as it was being prepared for its own uninstallation. Still under the magnetic pause of the game, Ethan’s dull eyes watched as Red Wave’s uninstallation completed, sending forth one final shock. The spark raced across Ethan’s system and instantly triggered his hefty cock to eject the massive load, removing any remnants of his former life and blasting them all across his already-stained boxer shorts.

“Huh wha…” Eric awoke from his sudden stupor. “Ahhh dude...!”

The vocal fry was apparent as Eric took one of his hands off the controller and investigated his sweats, which now had a wet, growing splotch emerging from his pouch. He hated wasting a load when it totally could’ve gone in some chick. In Eric’s eyes, nutting alone was basically a crime against his babymaker.

Although his crotch was sticky and would later become stained, Eric didn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t some faggy liberal after all–he was a real man who did real manly things. If he had a massive dick and was constantly pumping stomachs, then he had a right to show that off. He wasn’t gonna let some blue-lovin’, cock-suckin’, atheist freak take away his rights! 

And Eric knew he would always win in the battle of red versus blue. Faggots were always lining up to do anything for their superiors. They’d pay him tons of cash for a used sock. Clean the apartment thoroughly before some bimbo came over to be filled that night just to get the privilege of massaging his massive feet for a half an hour. Plus, Eric had now realized that if he led them on enough, they’d go to the polls and vote red, even if the candidate was campaigning to remove gay rights. Despite having just blown a load seconds earlier, his girthy dick was responding to the thought of knowing how many fags were waiting to serve him.

“Gotta find some slut to dump this all into,” Eric huffed as he adjusted his package. The thought of bouncing tits and wet pussy only riled him further, but with the console already booted up he decided to play a few rounds of some shooter game first. Before he did however, he noticed his juicy feet propped up in front of his monitor, uncared for and needing attention. With his sticky hand, he snatched his phone and texted one of his go-to fairies. Instantly, the boy replied back and said he was on his way to service him. Content, Eric tossed the phone onto his unmade bed and opened up a game while he waited for the fag. The Red Wave was coming, whether the libs wanted to admit it or not. 

Protocol 69

---

Originally posted on 2023-06-24 by dumb-and-jocked. (Thanks again for dumb-and-jocked for all your stories!)

This story was nuked quite quickly last time, I recall. So, please reblog in effort to keep multiple copies alive.

Last thing: I am sorry this post does not have any italics/bold! I had some issues properly saving it back then. If anyone cares I'll try recover the formatting.

---

“I’m sorry Officer, but did I do something wrong?”

After a 10 hour drive with tumultuous traffic, I’d expected to get some rest in the hotel room my company had paid for when they’d sent me to Texas for a business conference. I wasn’t too far out of the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but apparently far enough for some forms of homophobia to proudly exist. When I had pulled in, I immediately noticed the front desk glare at the pride sticker on my back window. When they’d picked up the phone right after, I’d assumed the two events were unrelated. But the cop standing calmly in front of his vehicle parked beside mine told me differently.

“Nothin’ we can’t fix,” the officer replied ominously in that classic drawl.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I started politely. “But I’m very exhausted, and I’ve got some important meetings to attend first thing tomorrow. If you don’t have anything to arrest me for, then I’m going to respectfully leave.”

“Yer kind ain’t welcome in these parts.” The officer’s response was calculated. “Just cause I can’t arrest ya doesn’t mean I can’t still bring ya in.”

“Is that so?” I questioned, becoming a little agitated.

“They’re called ‘correctional facilities’ for a reason,” he added.

“So you’re gonna jail me for being gay?”

“For threatening this town’s good traditional values and lifestyle?” the officer manipulated. “Then yes, yes I sure will.”

The officer then approached me with a pair of handcuffs. I wanted to fight back, and it took everything in me not too, but I was familiar with how these things could go down. He stood fairly tall and was well-built; a classic All-American family man. I was a college runner who clocked in a few inches under 6 feet, so running could have been an option if I wanted to engage. But I’d wait it out, play the little game until my future lawsuit kicked this homophobe and his whole department to hell.

But something in the back of my mind was still flicking the panic button. All of this seemed too easy for the officer, too habitual. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he’d done this many times before. As if this wasn’t the first time this had happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

— —

The last thing I could remember was sitting down in the back of that officer’s vehicle with my hands behind my back. He opened the door for me and I followed instructions, but I couldn’t place what happened after he’d started the car. In fact, I had no idea of how I had gotten into my current situation. The old interrogation room was empty, besides the entire back wall that was lit by a projector. My clothes were gone, leaving me completely naked. And my penis was placed in some kind of tube. I tried to yank it out, but the device was not going to give it up.

“Hello!” I shouted angrily. “You can’t do this!”

There was no reply, but the projector screen did light up. Letters began to appear along the bricks, spelling out what I prayed to anyone above was not actually possible: “Protocol 69: Conversion Operationalization Activated.”

“Hey!” Desperation was beginning to show in my voice. “No, please don’t! I don’t know what is happening but don’t do this! I’ll do whatever it is you want, please!”

My cries for help were meaningless however. No one appeared to hear me or respond. Instead, the words flashed before disappearing. Something new began to boot up on the screen, an introduction video of sorts.

“Welcome to Benbrook,” a cheery male voice began as an old cartoon began to play. It looked like some educational video from the Reagan Era. “This growing Texan city welcomes you to all the finer things in the American life.”

Suddenly, the tube my dick was currently stuck in began to move. As if awakening from a great slumber, a portion of the device groggily creaked before swiveling itself around my cock. All 5 inches were rapidly on display as the tube proceeded to jack me off, twisting and pulling and turning and releasing as it gave me the most sensual action of my life. I was no virgin, but I had never felt anything like this before.

“However, if you are currently watching this video, that means you’ve come to tarnish and harm the great opportunities Benbrook can provide you with.” The cartoon placed a word across the screen that flashed as if it was a warning alarm. The “H” in “Homosexual” appeared particularly loud. “We hope you understand that the upcoming process you’re about to undergo is meant to not only protect our safety and way of life, but to enhance your own as well.”

I was trying so hard to find a way to escape, but the dazzling colors of the projector and the edging experience down below were hindering my focus. Instead of fighting back, I simply moaned as my dick underwent its electronically-sensual torture and watched as a dingy spiral came into view. My eyes centered in on the old-timey display that swirled around in circles. I couldn’t tell if the fluttering of my eyelids were due to the sexual action below or what my eyes were now hypnotized by above.

While the spiral and the tube instrument performed their jobs, I began to feel something squirting out of my cock. It wasn’t semen, precum, or even piss for that matter. Although I wasn’t able to completely look down, I could see a glittery, luminescent stream now flowing through the tube. Something was being drained out of me, but I was too distracted by the spiral and too turned on by the mechanical sucking to care. It just felt so good to give in to the spiral and not worry about anything else but being pleased. The machines were doing me a favor really. I didn’t have to think; all I had to do was watch while I was given pleasure.

The glittery flow continued out of my body, causing my breathing to hurry a bit as the progression towards ecstasy continued. Grabbing the tube to steady myself, I didn’t notice my grip expand and solidify harder across the machine. My digits expanded, my feet following suit as they too bloated across the cold metal floor. After a while, my meaty fingers were able to surround the entirety of the tube. My feet–although I didn’t bother looking at them–were now able to grasp me firmly to the ground; their Size 14 nature containing the strength meant to hold the weight of a real man.

With the spiral and pump still working their magic, I couldn’t be bothered with watching how my legs and arms were changed next. As the homosexual energy was removed from my body, my ligaments were allowed to expand. Biceps and triceps that had never existed before blew up like balloons. Calves inflated in certain areas while shrinking in others, creating legs meant less for long distance running and more for shorter sprints. The quads swelled too, now able to do so being that they were no longer needed for any track. They were now created for sports played by alphas: football, basketball, and baseball. None of that cross country or tennis pansy crap.

After the shoulders had finished broadening with an incredible lengthening to my deltoids, the glitter was able to leave my torso next. My pits filled in with curly bushes of tangled hair, matted with sweat and stinking to the high Heaven. And even with the plump pecs and removal of body fat that was happening to my expanding frame, the forests would never be able to be completely hidden. By suctioning out the energy, my abs were showcased in a more elite form. Each abdominal was now hard across my stomach, all eight leading down to a perfect treasure trail that had never been able to grow before now. My height had been extended too, now putting me well over the 6 feet I’d never reached before.

The stream was flowing steadily now, extracting my homosexuality from what I assumed had to be the most concentrated areas: my head and my cock. Being that they were the only two parts of my real self left unscathed, this next part of the process would probably be gruesome. My buttocks were first to change, clenching hard as their luxurious fat was eliminated to create muscled pillows similar to my pecs. My hole closed in on itself almost immediately after, its purpose now reduced to duties only regarding objects exiting the body. My balls ripened and plumped into a generous sack, and my hard dick sputtered an extra few inches forward. The tube was still able to manage the added girth however, all 8 inches fitting into an even tighter squeeze than before.

With a grunt and dazed gaze at the projector screen, I watched lazily as words began to flutter across the screen. Although I was in no state of mind to focus–and I certainly should have been doing it towards literally anything else–I used all of my remaining willpower to try and decipher the letters that flashed upon the screen. While doing so, the tube continued to suck out the remaining substance of my homosexuality. My chin widened into a shape so square and masculine it was almost comical. My brow popped out to create a more Neanderthal-look, pursing my eyebrows and lips basically permanently. My hair was shaped into something more typical and douche-like. I couldn’t see it, but I knew I had been created into a breeding machine.

“Boobs” was the first word I was able to decipher from the projector. I grunted and began feeding my monster cock to the tube as if I was in charge. “Pussy” came next, followed by “Clit” and “Cunt”. The tube began to let up around my dick, but I didn’t care anymore. I was so hard, so horny, and for some reason it was for the words that flashed across the brick wall. With the help of “Vagina” and the simple “Woman”, I asserted my dominance and proceeded to thrust into the machine myself, my throbbing penis shooting in and out.

The tube had stopped moving, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I had only one thing on my mind. “Impregnate” the screen suddenly read, adding to the list of words already revolving around the screen. “Propagate” wasn’t too far behind, and neither was “Seed.” Suddenly, my horny fantasies didn’t just revolve around women. I realized I wanted to fill them, get my babies to coat their entire inner bodies. I wanted to…I wanted to… “Breed.” Yes, I wanted to breed. I wanted to multiply, make an entire generation of me. Identical to me. Same looks, same goals, same ideologies.

And before I knew it, even more words had been tossed into the mix. “Homophobia” arrived with a sting, a certain loathsome tingle erupting out around my body. “Alpha” was preceded by “Dominant,” and “Superior” was proceeded by “Traditionality.” All of these words sunk into my brain, accepting the new mindset as my ideals connected with my sexuality.

The programming gradually flickered faster, each new pulse sending a tiny bit more pressure to my dick. My thrusting grew more aggressive in response. I grabbed onto the tube with a renewed sense of strength and felt my gaze leave the projector’s trance for the first time. Allowing my eyes to roll back into my head, I released a dumb groan as the glittery stream dried up.

With one final thrust, a massive shot of my own cum was sent down the tube. The projector had finally stopped, displaying only “Thanks for watching!” in cutesy, bouncing letters before shutting off. The room went dark after that, but I blacked out before I even realized it.

— —

“Oh yeah,” I groaned as she sat on my lap, my massive schlong shoved up her tight pussy. “Ain’t that just right.”

Without saying a word, I got to work and felt my cock immediately getting ready to fire. When it came down to business, I could get my babymaker spewing fast. And being that I still had at least two other girls in town that needed to get rid of their flat stomachs before I went to work in an hour, I had to fertilize these chicks FAST!

“That’s right babygirl,” I was able to say between grunts. However, my cock immediately deflated when I noticed a sedan pull up across the street. The sedan itself was a crime–only trucks should be driven in Texas after all–but the “LGBTQIA+” sticker on the back nauseated me beyond belief. Visible disgust came over my face quickly, causing as my current conquest to ask me what was wrong. I grabbed my phone and explained I had to make a quick call to her dad. It wouldn’t take more than a minute I promised.

“Benbrook Police Department,” a sturdy, masculine voice answered.

“Yo brochacho, I’d like to report in a Protocol 69.”

“Hmm,” the other side mumbled disapprovingly. “Location of the illegitimate?”

“’The Real Man’s Tools’.” I followed my answer with a dumb chuckle. I always forgot how clever the hardware store’s motto was: “…besides a woman that is!”

“Car make and model?”

“You’ll know it, bro.”

“Not American-made?”

The babe still riding my cock shoved a finger in my mouth, signaling she wanted to continue.

“Are they…evuh?” The words were barely able to escape my mouth. The officer laughed in response on the other end as she began sliding up and down my dick slowly, getting us back to where we had left off.

“Thanks for the report,” the officer replied. “Please continue yer civil duties.”

“Will do, dude.”

The line hung up on itself, which was probably for the best with my hands already being wrapped back around my current score. I felt my load tense up as it began to prepare itself for semination. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see an officer’s cruiser pull up alongside the homo’s vehicle. Looks like we were both about to bring a straight, Texan, alpha male into the world.

Branded

---

Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!