Muscle Growth - Blog Posts

One of the Boys

A bead of sweat appeared on Brian Watson’s forehead as he stood outside his high school’s athletic center. His oversized black sweatshirt and skinny jeans insulated his slender figure beneath the hot afternoon sun while groups of other students in various high school sports teams walked past. Brian detested the athletic center and wished it wasn’t the closest building to the adjacent street. He checked his phone and huffed. His mom was supposed to pick him up a half-hour ago. What was taking so long?

Leaning against a wooden ledge, Brian stared off into the expansive and empty high school parking lot. None of his other friends were still at school. Like him, they also dyed their hair black and shared the same gothic fashion that he did, which amounted to them dressing only in all black clothing. Brian even had a black leather satchel in place of a backpack. It was their way of retaliating against their preppy high school. All the other students at Woodside High ignored them anyway. They were too busy talking about things Brian could care less about, like sports games and parties and grade point averages. They were all so fake.

Brian noticed a muscular young man carrying a gym bag walking across the empty parking lot towards him. It was Michael Palmer, a high school senior and one of the school’s linebackers whose tall height and broad stature was nothing less than intimidating. His khaki shorts and lavender polo shirt left little to the imagination. The two had the same science class, although they sat on opposite ends of the room, and Michael was surrounded by his own gaggle of bros that Brian resented. Michael looked up and the two accidentally made eye contact and Brian quickly went on his phone.

“Brian!” Michael said as he was now a few feet away, his low voice sent a chill down Brian’s spine. Maybe he was talking about another Brian. As the group of jocks walked past, he continued staring at his phone. That was until Michael suddenly placed his huge arm around Brian’s shoulder, effortlessly pulling him in closer. “What’s up dude?” he said.

Brian nervously returned eye contact to see the jock with a huge grin across his face. Michael had to be at least a foot taller than him and he was so close that Brian could smell his cheap cologne which smelled like a diluted ocean spray. His gelled black hair and faint stubble framed his face perfectly, giving him quite the masculine visage offset by the prettiness of his white teeth. Brian remained paralyzed with fear and confusion. Mostly confusion.

“Oh…um…hi,” Brian replied, unsure of what to say. His mind was racing. He had never even talked to Michael or the other sporty guys like him. “I’m...uh just waiting for my ride,” he said as more sweatdrops formed all around his body. He didn’t even know why he was getting so nervous around this guy. He loathed the football players with their macho personas and their vacuous and obnoxious laughter during class, but he had never actually talked to one of them before. And Michael Palmer did have such a genuine and friendly look in his eyes that was challenging Brian’s defenses.

“How do you think you did on the chemistry test today, big guy?” Michael asked.

“Oh...umm...I think I did well,” Brian replied as he studied the jock's broad smile and angular jawline.

“Don’t BS me,” Michael said, unconvinced. Even with more conviction, his calm, sultry voice was pleasant on the ears. “I know chem is not your favorite.”

That was true. Brian hated chemistry. It was his least favorite class by far. But why would Michael know that, let alone care? “I mean, I don’t think it was my worst test,” Brian said. “I...uh... I think I probably got like a C or something.”

“Hey, C’s get degrees man,” Michael replied while patting Brian on the back with tremendous force. As Brian readjusted his balance, he could see why Palmer was Michael’s last name. “You heading to practice?” he asked.

“Practice?”

“Yeah practice, dummy,” Michael replied playfully.

Brian stood in place, confusion rising even higher. “I don’t...I mean I’m not-”

“Come on inside dude,” Michael interrupted as he headed towards the front door. “I can tell you’re frying like an egg out here.”

That was also true. Brian was getting increasingly sweaty and parched. His black hair and clothing only absorbed more of the sun’s rays. He hesitantly picked up his leather satchel from the ground and followed Michael inside. He began rationalizing why Michael was being nice to him. It felt so unnerving. Brian decided he would just get a drink and then head back outside. That thought certainly wasn’t enticing. But he’d rather be outside frying than to spend it inside to avoid other football jocks.

As the two stepped inside, Brian intentionally walked slowly to distance himself from Michael, hoping that he would just enter the locker room and forget about him. To his luck, Michael continued walking ahead and Brian headed up to the drinking fountain. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was. The water was so quenching and he couldn’t help but take multiple large gulps. Brian rolled his eyes as he could hear footsteps heading towards him before stopping behind him.

“Ready for the game tomorrow?” Michael asked as he lightly slapped Brian’s butt, nearly causing him to choke on his water.

Brian’s face was now as red as a tomato as he turned to face Michael. His confusion turned to frustration when he saw Michael staring at him with that smug expression he always had. He would’ve socked Michael right then and there if he wasn’t a foot shorter than him or a hundred pounds lighter. But as he begrudgingly turned to face the jock, he realized that wasn’t the case. Before, his height had been at Michael’s shoulders, but now it was at Michael’s mouth. Brian was rendered speechless as he wondered if Michael had always been this short.

Then it happened again.

Brian nearly fell over as his body suddenly grew even taller. He stuck out his arms to keep his balance as his body shot upward. In a few seconds, he was a few inches taller than Michael, who he remembered was 6’2. An audible ripping sound indicated that his clothes had not grown with him.

“You think we got a good shot against the Generals on Friday?” Michael asked as if nothing had happened.

Brian glanced down at his extremely tight clothes in disbelief. More of his spindly arms and legs were now revealed. It looked like his clothes had shrunk in the wash. To Brian’s horror, he watched as his strained jeans started to rip more and more, revealing more of his skin. Was this really happening?

To answer his question, the belt holding up his skinny jeans exploded, sending a piece of metal careening through the air. Brian instinctively grabbed his pants to prevent them from falling. His embarrassment intensified and without thinking, he bolted into the nearest bathroom. Michael said something as he left, but Brian didn’t care. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered despairingly as he scrambled around the corner. But as he looked up, his blood went cold. “Oh, fuck.”

Right in front of him was a group of Woodside High’s football players. They were not only enormous-looking but were all in the process of getting dressed. Interestingly enough, Brian realized he was taller than all of the guys who were standing. He didn’t think about that for long though as he saw one of them glance up and look at him.

“Hey, what’s up Watson?” one of the jocks called out.

Shit, Brian thought. Not only had one of them seen him, but he also knew his last name somehow. He was about to leave when he heard Michael’s familiar voice behind him.

“What’s up bros?” Michael called out to the other guys as he entered the locker room. When Brian glanced back, he noticed Michael was so broad that he nearly filled the entire doorway, rendering escape both impossible and extremely awkward.

Brian’s forehead was coated with sweat and his heart was thumping faster than ever. He felt like a mouse in a cage of snakes, trapped in a vortex of impending doom. He could feel some of the players looking in his direction. Desperate to flee, he scanned the premises for a few agonizing seconds before he found success. There was a red exit sign hanging in the distance above the other side of the locker room. It was far away, but he just had to make it there.

In an instant, Brian bolted past the guys and further into the locker room while holding up his ripping pants with one hand. As he sped past lockers through the open clearing, he ran past windows of players getting ready and prayed none of them would notice him. The exit sign grew closer and closer and it looked like he was going to make it. That was until a huge football player adorned in his uniform stepped out from one of the lockers right in Brian’s way. The collision was inevitable. He closed his eyes as the two collided with an abrasive smack.

Brian fell to the ground and had lost the grip on his pants, causing them to loosen around his waist and fall to the floor. His black satchel flew towards an adjacent row of lockers. “Unghhhh,” he groaned as he reopened his eyes and stared at the jock who had hardly even budged. Brian’s heart was pumping faster than ever as he realized his entire lower body was now exposed. He wanted to scream. One of the largest guys in school was looking at him clad in only his underwear and a sweatshirt on the locker room floor. The jock’s hulking figure was clothed in a football uniform, the delicate combination of pads and spandex only made his figure look more imperious. Fear bubbled up inside of Brian so he promptly mustered out a “Shit, I’m sorry bro” to him as he tried to catch his breath.

​​

To Brian’s relief, the jock didn’t burst out laughing. “Whoa, watch it, Woodsen,” he said with a smug expression as he looked down at Brian on the floor. “We’re not even on the field yet,” he said sympathetically before extending his arm to pull him back up.

For a moment, Brian could only stare in bewilderment, too afraid to correct the jock for getting his last name wrong. The jock’s immense size was not only intimidating but somewhat breathtaking. As Brian grabbed his meaty hand, he pulled him upward like he was as light as a feather. When the two met eyes, Brian realized that he was exactly eye-level with this dude who had to be slightly taller than Michael. Somehow, Brian had gotten even taller without even knowing it.

“See you out there,” he said as he playfully swatted Brian on the butt before heading towards the door. As he left, Brian marveled at the width of his back, which was perfectly accentuated beneath his white jersey. The dark blue letters on the back read “WALLACE.” Then the name came to him. Trent Wallace was an amazing center who had the calmest head on his shoulders out of all of the team. He was an amazing team player whose patience was unparalleled. Brian found himself enjoying that trait a lot. It certainly was important to be a good leader.

Before Brian could wonder why he knew the jock’s name, he heard the low rumble of more guys heading towards him. He quickly snatched his satchel off the floor and ducked into the cavern of lockers where Trent had just been. Like a herd of buffalo, the group of guys passed by Brian without noticing him. The young man breathed a sigh of relief, finally happy to not have one of these meatheads in his face for a second.

A tickling feeling around his legs caught Brian’s attention. As he looked down, he wondered how on earth his black boxers had bleached themselves white. He squirmed as he could feel his underwear vibrating on its own. A strap formed underneath each of his buttcheeks while the fabric above disappeared. In the front, a swell of growth came from Brian’s thighs as they burst through the cotton, leaving behind only a pouch beneath his much stronger waistband. Feeling much more exposed, Brian’s face reddened as he looked at this new and very revealing article of clothing. As much as he detested what he was seeing, it felt oddly snug. Still, he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, please don’t let anybody see me like this,” Brian prayed to himself as he studied how revealing the jockstrap was.

Desperately, he tried to rip it off with no luck. Each time Brian tugged on the athletic supporter, navy blue lycra materialized over it. The new fabric started materializing around his waist before promptly extending down over his small butt and down to his lower thighs. The uncomfortable draft from the jockstrap was quickly eliminated. He couldn’t help but smirk with conflicted relief as he realized he was now wearing a new pair of compression shorts and his embarrassing jockstrap was hidden away. Brian pulled on the new lycra, enjoying how tight yet breathable it felt against his loins. With all the movement around his dick, Brian couldn’t help but feel it rise with arousal.

‘No…no,” he whimpered as he slowly sat down on the bench. Now breathing much heavier, he swore he could feel his thighs growing beneath his hands. And sure enough, they were. They gradually swelled to an immense size beneath his compression shorts. It looked like he could squeeze a watermelon between them. Prickles of blonde hair appeared on his thighs before spreading all the way to his ankles. That was odd, his hair was black.

He could feel a tremendously ticklish feeling on his feet as if a million tiny threads were forming around them. As he shook his legs, he watched as a beautiful shade of white spread upwards from his feet, rising past his ankles until they stopped just below his knees. Brian’s new pair of white athletic socks brought a new wave of growth with them. His feet grew to a hulking size 13 before a pair of blue and white cleats formed around them. Huge calves the size of footballs swelled into fruition beneath his new socks. Brian’s disgust was turning to wonder.

“Am I…is this…really...happening?” he gasped as he placed his hands on his meaty thighs, marveling at how gigantic they had become. His breaths sounded lower, deeper even.

A strong odor filled the air and Brian immediately recognized it as sweat, and it was emanating from him! Brian’s fear had amplified a tremendous amount of his body odor. It felt like he was forced to inhale a cloud of his own manly musk. He couldn’t believe he had even been sweating this much. Uncharacteristically, he began to laugh, although came out at a much lower frequency. His tenor register sounded not only lower but also slower-sounding.

Brian closed his eyes and clenched his upper thighs, feeling the sinews of muscle pulsate beneath his fingertips. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he glanced at how disproportionately huge his lower body now was compared to his slender torso. Muscles this size took thousands of hours of strenuous exercise to appear. His pride skyrocketed as he caressed his thighs, partially concealed beneath his compression shorts. He wasn’t feeling afraid of the jocks anymore. If anyone of those cocky football jerks gave him trouble, he’d give ‘em hell!

“Mmmm, yeah,” he grunted as he cautiously guided his hand to his cock. He touched it once and felt it harden. After a brief moment of abstinence, Brian began stroking his cock beneath his black compression shorts. “That’ll show...those…fake posers,” he said, oblivious to how he was becoming one of them. Brian’s cock was lengthening in his hand as he closed his eyes and pictured all of the football players’ stupid smug faces. He could just picture himself flexing in front of the guys and them all respecting him.

RIIIP!

Brian’s stroking was interrupted when his pecs exploded through his black sweatshirt, tearing it apart into tatters, and exposing his chest. His initial confusion dissolved into satisfaction as he marveled at the size of these gigantic new muscular tits, each one had to be larger than his head. He delicately brought his hand up from his dick, tempted to feel the humongous muscle.

“Ffffuck!” he cried as he gave one a loving squeeze, feeling how thick the muscle really was. A million little tingles dispersed through his body as he lovingly cupped his pecs with both of his hands. A light dusting of blonde hair, just like the one on his legs, appeared above them. He was starting to obsess over the way he looked. This new size was so inspiring, but also a little nerve-wracking. Brian had memories of being a shorter young man who only wore black clothing and made it his personality to act apathetic to everyone. But that seemed out of character for him now. Brian enjoyed standing out in a crowd.

As if to counter those contradictory thoughts, Brian continued to inhale his manly musk and his heartbeat started to slow. With oversized muscle tits larger than the rack of any girl he’d ever seen and a thunderous set of legs, he looked like a circus freak. The barrel-chested young man squirmed on the bench as he felt follicles of blonde hair burst from beneath his armpits. A stream of hair flowed across his jugs to his abdomen before culminating in a visible treasure trail. Not only did the new path of hair indicate his increased testosterone levels, which had to be as large as half the team’s, but it also indicated virility. Brian was a man. Or at least he was growing into a huge one. And he was loving every second.

Throwing up both of his skinny arms into a flex sent more testosterone through his body. Brian watched his biceps explode with muscles, becoming larger. And larger. And larger, until eventually, they were larger than everyone else on the team. Years of training under the iron bar entered his mind and Brian remembered how long it had taken him to become this strong. An eight pack burst through his slender abdomen while also causing it to broaden in size. Brian looked at his tight muscly core. Like his arms, they felt eerily familiar, like they were created through strenuous physical activity. His arms felt like lightning bolts filled to the brim with testosterone that spread across his body like a static charge.

A football came flying through the air accompanied by a player saying “Wood, catch!”

Instinctively, Brian turned around and extended his tree trunk of an arm out to effortlessly catch the flying pigskin. He looked back up just in time to see Jake Thomas walking away. “Nice one, dude!” Jake said as he walked through the door, leaving as quickly as he had entered.

The tight end was one of many players who always tried to catch Brian off guard. They were hardly successful. Brian was a colossal athlete and zealously vigilant. Coach always told him his determination would get him very far in life, sometimes calling him the greatest on the team, which only inflated Brian’s ego.

Before Brian could question that thought, he felt a numbness in his hand where he was holding the football. His hand, once demure, was palming the football no problem. His hands grew meatier before his eyes, accentuated by new calluses and hair above the knuckles. They had to be the size of baseball mitts and were perfect for catching and throwing footballs with ease. That was an exciting thought.

“UNNNGHH, no!” he bellowed helplessly, resisting the side of him that was yearning for football practice.

As the immense young man stood up from the bench, his muscles shook like jello, before they solidified into hardened, insurmountable walls. Where there had once been a scared boy, there was now a hulking Adonis who was obsessed with his muscles. As Brian continued to flex his arms and twiddle his pecs, a rush of blood poured into his cock, causing his arousal to return stronger than ever.

“Oh…fuck,” he trembled with carnal anticipation. His much deeper voice echoed through the locker room. Its new baritone register was rendered completely unrecognizable from what it once was. That was hot. He sounded just like…just like…one of the boys. And he didn’t mind.

Brian’s husky bulge was on prime display for anyone who happened to walk by. His cautious expression shifted into a satisfied grin as he reached down to stroke it. Then all of a sudden, it disappeared beneath a layer of white. The new fabric extended from his waist to just below his knees, giving him a brand new pair of football pants. Brian chuckled to himself, unaware of how numb he was feeling to the changes.

The new player’s cock twitched as his ass inflated behind him. Two perfectly muscular globes stretched his compression shorts to the limit before they were swallowed by his new pants. Just like his pecs, his butt was a wall of muscle, on display in everything he wore. And Brian could remember every squat, leg lift, and all of the hard work he put in to become huge. His butt was the biggest in the team for a reason. His reputation of going hard on leg days warranted impeccable results.

He laughed again, although this one came out much...slower-sounding. Brian’s disdain for dorky meathead jocks was being replaced by an understanding of them. After all, these were his bros and their sense of camaraderie was unbreakable. As a senior, he was one of the strongest on the team and they all worshiped him.

But this...this wasn’t right. Brian was a scrawny goth sophomore who wanted to disappear in a crowd. But this new body and personality were the polar opposite. His sheer size and athletic prowess were impossible to ignore. He began to pace around subconsciously, transfixed on the way his body moved.

“Whuh!” Brian exclaimed as he tripped on something on the floor. He flung his arms out and caught his fall by palming the locker, which had somebody’s navy blue shirt sleeve sticking out of its closed door. When Brian stood back upright he noticed the black fabric was sticking around his wrist. When he tried to pull it off, it stuck to his arm like glue. The blue fabric then began crawling up Brian's forearm with impressive speed. A few moments later, it had reached his elbow, concealing his muscular arm in a brand new shirtsleeve. However, it didn't stop covering him up and continued to Brian's shoulders before cascading down over his bare chest. His new skin-tight workout shirt did nothing to hide Brian's beefy pecs.

“Oh shit,” Brian whispered to himself as he ran a hand over his pants. "I...I look just like a player."

Although the utterance had been subconscious, Brian found him remembering more instances where the football players turned to him for advice, like he was a mentor towards them. With each recollection, pieces of a black jersey appeared over his workout shirt. The number "5" appeared in a rich cerulean blue color in the middle of his chest. It was slightly curved over the giant breadth of Brian's pecs. The word "CHARGERS" appeared above it in the same blue color. Anyone who would've seen the impenetrable wall of uniformed muscle that was Brian would've assumed he was a football player.

“FFFFUCK!” the growing jock cussed as he placed his massive hands above his saucer-like pectorals, wasted in his masculinity. Too preoccupied with himself, he didn't notice his black satchel moving on its own. It started to contort on its own, its rectangular shape became more cylindrical and the leather material turned into nylon and polyester. Instead of schoolwork and books, the bag was now filled with Brian's change of clothes, which were nothing like his goth attire. His wardrobe was like Michael's, full of pastels and board shorts that showed off every curve of his.

The bag twitched and leaned against Brian's foot. When he looked down, he was met with a new light gray duffel bag that had the word “CHARGERS” on the side next to a cartoon lightning bolt. He smiled broadly. Even just seeing the team name excited him. He felt an odd sense of responsibility towards that name like he was a leader of it or something.

The letter "C" embroidered itself over the top left corner of his jersey, revealing the validity of that thought. When Brian looked down, his smile only broadened. He remembered that he was the team captain and the star quarterback. The Chargers were his team and he was going to lead them to glory this season. "Shiiiiit…" he muttered with disbelief as he ran his hands over his massive body, caressing every muscle of his body.

A piece of Brian hated the thought of being around football players, but another part loved it. His fear was reforming into adoration. As a captain, he was able to work with the coaches to guide his team to victory. And judging by how well the season was going so far, he was doing a great job. He inspired his teammates every day. Brian’s confidence was contagious and his devotion to the team was unyielding. He wasn't afraid of the jocks anymore. The thought of leading them was much more exhilarating.

“Looking good, Wood!” a familiar-sounding voice said. “You ready?”

“HELL YEAH!” Brian Wood replied with impressive volume. It was at that moment his black hair was saturated with gel and dyed itself blonde. Brian itched his nose, unaware that it grew slightly larger after his finger touched it. His face also resculpted itself, the boyish shape taking hold to the chiseled visage of a real meathead. At one point, Brian would’ve hated what he looked like, but that time was past. It only felt natural that his face should be much more square if he was to lead the players. His boxy face made his gaze more domineering than ever. Even Brian's forehead expanded a little wider. Everyone knew he was the team's alpha.

Unseen to him, the word “WOOD” formed in blue letters on the back of his jersey. Going to Woodside High School had been a perfect coincidence for Brian Wood. The guy was also a horny bastard who often lewdly joked about his own wood to the team. It was expected though. Men are ruled by their cocks and Brian was no different. After being around a team of equally horny guys with a similar sense of humor, they always made crude jokes about their dicks. The bulge in the team captain's pants swelled even larger, leaving no discretion that the blonde-haired dreamboat was well-endowed.

Michael Palmer walked up closer, like a prince eyeing a knight. Brian returned the wordless glance, unaware of the sensation of his chin jutting out. The star quarterback and linebacker had stellar chemistry together, they were able to be serious on the field and chummy when off of it.

"You look great," Brian blurted out. He hadn't meant to, but looking at Michael was getting him riled up. He liked the way he filled out the uniform.

"Right back at you, dude," Michael replied as he stepped right in front of Brian's face. Brian's cock twitched when he realized that he was slightly taller and now even wider than Michael. The two were so close now that they could feel each other's breath.

Instinctively, Brian touched Michael's bulge. Michael grunted a little bit and his erection twitched in Brian's hand.

Brian's cock stirred at that sound and the vulnerable look in Michael's eyes. It felt like time was frozen. Not only was he making the largest guy in school moan, but he was also getting his affection. Brian didn't even like guys, but looking at Michael's amatory expression was changing that. Michael was a macho beefcake like him who was just so sensational to look at.

Suddenly, Michael pulled him in close with impressive strength. The linebacker's lips met the star quarterback's as he tightly gripped his shoulders. Brian returned the kiss, loving the feeling of being the only guy in school larger than Michael. A fire inside the two was challenging their heterosexualities.

"Oh, Brian," Michael breathed as their kissing intensified.

Upon hearing his name, Brian felt something amiss. That name didn't sound right. It didn’t match the masculine prowess that was overtaking his brain. The newly minted football player had a rare moment of fear when he couldn’t recall what people called him.

Adrenaline coursed through the two mens' veins as they savored each other's taste and smell. Memories of a vehement relationship flooded their minds. Dating each other over the last year while playing on the team together had strengthened their bond to a level they had never imagined possible. The nameless jock's lips thickened as they pressed against Michael's. He loved Michael so much. Their love of football allowed them to properly separate their personal and professional obligations to each other. Even the team was cool with their relationship, which was so validating. The nameless jock loved his team, proud to be one of the boys when he was on the field. And at that moment, Zach Wood remembered his name. The two broke the kiss, both with a newfound and intense infatuation for one another.

“Holy shit, Michael!” Zach replied when the two pulled away. He caressed his semi-hard cock. "We need to stop doing this before practice."

"Uh-huh," Michael breathed in agreement. His heart was beating fast as he was going through his own internal turmoil. He could've sworn he had a girlfriend, but he had no idea what her name was. The harder he thought, the more memories with Zach resurfaced. They were a pair of sex-obsessed, macho jock boyfriends who couldn't get enough of each other's minds and bodies on and off the field. Their sex was tantric and their affection towards each other was unyielding.

Michael took a sip from his Gatorade bottle. The locker room was much quieter now and all of the other guys must be on the field.

"You ready, Mikey Palms?" Zach asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

"Of course babe," Michael replied as he shifted his brain to football mode. Usually, the two beefy guys were able to keep their love life away from practice time, but that was getting harder to do. They both loved seeing each other in their uniforms.

"Alright, let's head out," Zach said, excitedly heading towards the open door until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you gotta put your gym bag in your locker, ya gym bag,” Michael quipped as he spun Zach around.

"Oh right," Zach replied as he turned around to grab it off the floor. Sometimes his excitement for the sport caused him to be forgetful. He opened up his locker and placed it inside. "Alright Mikey," he said as he slapped his boyfriend’s butt. "Let's head to practice already."

Michael couldn't agree more. Although later, the two would have to pick up where they left off.

The university was clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel when they paired you up with your jock of a roommate. The residence hall questionnaire could only have been entirely ignored when dorm assignments rolled in and the housing department created the ultimate odd couple.

You were there to study, take notes, get a degree, and learn how to live on your own without your parents there to cook and clean. Your roommate on the other hand was there to meet bros, build muscle, and attending to the incessant needs of his cock with whatever convenient vagina he could find at that moment. And all this took president over any kind of cleaning or tidying or laundry—it didn't take long for his sweaty clothes from his routine workouts to establish a sustained odor. At the same time, you also managed to develop a raging crush on your inflexibly straight roomie.

It didn't take long for his habits and your habits to cause friction and even less time for you to get to the end of your rope. Getting out wasn't going to be an option, not this year with the dorms at capacity and no other willing swappers in their system. In your desperation to get out or try to change any aspect of the situation, you find yourself reaching out to me.

My solution is a potion that promises to make the necessary changes to guarantee he becomes the perfect roommate for you, so long as you both drink it.

Slipping it in his protein shake proved to be quite simple. Once he was off to the gym for the evening with his spiked supplement, you took the other vial in your hand, regarded the liquid for a moment, and downed it.

...

You wait for a moment, expecting... well what should you be expecting...

After a few seconds of nothing, you wonder what you really just drank. Magic wasn't real, and despite what you'd heard about me from... whatever source, you realize how foolish you were thinking a little—mountain dew maybe?—would change anything with your disgusting roommate.

Man, his musky work-out smell is really strong. You always think it's the worst it's been and then the b.o. manages to intensify. Instead, you make a feeble attempt to distance yourself from the stench by crossing to your side of the room, except it proves to be inescapable.

Ugh, you look down and see a shirt on the ground on your side of the room. He's really taking over everything now. You go to pick it up... but realize it's one of your shirts... and... it smells. Do you need more deodorant? Did you forget to put the shirt in the hamper?— Is he wearing your clothes?... Did that thought turn you on a bit?

Wait a second. Are you smelling the shirt? You were smelling the shirt. You didn't even realize it but you while you were lost in thought, you had brought the garment with his rank aroma to your nose and taken a nice deep breath... maybe a couple—you couldn't remember...

And again... it smells kinda nice... except... you realize the shirt was his. It was a lycra compression shirt, and you didn't own any lycra... why did you think it was your shirt? You didn't go to the gym, work out; you don't have any muscle like he does so it make sense because if it was yours, you'd—

You catch a view of yourself. Each side of the room had a closet for every resident, and these closets had large, fully-mirrored sliding doors. If you had muscle, you probably would own lycra clothing, you probably would check yourself out in your closet mirror like he did, you probably would flex your muscles, like...

Like this... and this...

Even though you didn't work out, you saw some shadow of definition. You felt your modest weenie chub up as your biceps bulged even just slightly. And if you fleeeeeeeexed again... you might be able to smell your own musk wafting outward from your exposed arm pits. If you strike this pose... it could exaggerate the taper of your midsection from your shoulders narrowing to your waist. If you wanted to see that v-shape even better, you could take off your shirt... let it hit the floor... add to the pile of your other sweaty rank gym clothes. If you contracted like... this, you could cause your pecs to bulge and your arms to come into clearer definition, almost like they were not just bulging with muscle, but actually swelling, growing larger. This is what muscular people must feel like—your were turning yourself on more and more making your dick grow harder and harder seeming to thicken in your underwear until it bulges obviously in your black joggers.

And if you did have a bigger dick and bigger balls you'd have more testosterone, a sharper jaw, body hair. Hair that would highlight your abs and dust your pecs and give you thicker muskier bushes under your arms. But if you did have a bigger dick, you would probably be soooo horny. You would probably be so dumb. if you were swole, you'd just need to lift and flex... and if you were horny, you'd just need a steady stream of cock and ass to tend to your own big thick dick...

you flex again... and again... and again...

if you were a nerd, you'd probably hate living with a dumb bro like you, but you got paired with the perfect roommate who just wants to flex and fuck. just like you.

The door opens and your roommate enters. You turn towards him, mid-flex. The stench of your combined musk hits him like a drug and you see his bulge swell visibly in this fuckbro gym shorts. Somehow the college had paired you with another gay bro who was always down to offer a hand or a hole any time of day or night—and you were just as willing to return the favor.

Branding night

Hey 

so this took me a long time to finish, its the longest I’ve written. This story is inspired by Dumb and jocked’s story “Branded”, which I absolutely loved

Enjoy reading

Rozza   

———————————————–

“Ugh, how long until we get into this stupid event?” moaned Edward.

“Don’t worry Eddie, it won’t be that long,” replied George trying to calm down his irritated friend. The two were part of a bigger group of five nerds who were waiting in multiple lines to enter some stupid event. The group came about after they were put together in temporary student housing at the college. 

Eddie had spent a lot on this college and, so far it had only disappointed him. Day one and he was given a random group to live with for a week, luckily for him, they were all nerds and, they got on. However, afterwards, they all found out that this college was not as they had perceived it. Blackwater University was supposed to be one of the top Science unis in the country, with spacious labs for chemistry, a library so great it could rival that of the ancient ones, and professional scientists to help guide them to achieve the best results. As it turned out, this was mostly a lie. There were labs and a library, but not as big as they were expecting. Hopefully, the teachers would be better. But what made them feel more uncomfortable was the amount of high-end sport and gym equipment. The place seemed to be some kind of sports college rather than a science one. There were jocks everywhere, and they influenced everything here. 

The jocks had such an influence on the campus culture they were allowed to organise mandatory special days, which overrode all classes and outings, like the one they were waiting for now. 

It was a freshman event organised by the multiple frats on campus. The Patriots, Phoenix fighters, and The American Wolves were the most popular, but there were at least ten others around.

Keep reading

Batter Up!

Back to it! Here's another nerd to jock TF, a bookish nerd learns to enjoy baseball the hard way! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

America’s game eh? Jeremy was never all that into any kind of sport, but baseball was a particularly dull one. At least your footballs and basketballs have man-on-man contact right? He briefly scans the field to find anything, anyone perhaps, of interest. The briefest of inspections shows these athletes are some real man’s man types that Jeremy turns his nose up at. His attention turns back to the book sitting in his lap and he loses himself in a world not consumed by a nine-inning snooze-fest.

He hears the loud smash of a bat beaming a ball. As one should expect at the game, not like the batters should miss that often right? Given they’ve nothing else going on up there they should just hit every pitch right? He smugly thinks to himself, taking no time to inspect the field at all. Foolish as even a glance up would bring his attention to the rapidly approaching predicament. His friend who dragged him to the game shouts “Jere!” and the bored bookworm looks up with just enough time to see a baseball torpedoing towards him. His grimaces, starting one last one last snide remark to his friend “Aren’t they supposed to-” before being nailed in the head and losing consciousness.

He awakens elsewhere, though clearly still in the stadium. His head is absolutely pounding with a headache greater than he thought possible. His mind starts to hobble together yet another criticism of the game before a stabbing migraine beats him to the punch. His whole body clenches in response to the pain. Strain and soreness seep through his limbs and core as he tries to sit up. Jeremy then notices his right hand squeezing something with such strength it is almost alien to him. Dragging his arm up with more effort than it should take he finds his hand grasping the baseball that laid him flat, a small bloodstain dotted across the stitching.

His attention doesn’t rest too long on the blood-stained ball clenched in his hand however. This concussion must be messing with his perception or something as his hand looks wrong. Jeremy closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to will his vision back to normality, dropping the baseball in his lap as he inspects his hands next to each other. This makes it beyond apparent that something truly bizarre must be happening to his psyche. His right hand looks like a, well, baseball mitt compared to the thin fingers of his left. Its wingspan large enough to easily palm a basketball, his eye twitches as his mind tries to reconcile his apparently massive hand. Rationality fighting against the current reality as his eyes trail down to see something similar happening to his arm.

Each twist and turn of his hand sends a cascade of twitches down his arm, this he’s used to. His thin arms always broadcast the slightest movements of his hitherto delicate hands, what is beyond odd is that with each movement of his new mitt his forearm is beginning to grow. He feels his chest begin to tighten with anxiety as he watches tight muscle begin to course down his thin bony forearm. Seemingly trying to catch up with the monstrous hand on its far end. Somehow scarier than his arm beginning to bloat with strength is the idea that is beginning to creep on the edges of his mind that this is all normal. Spent all that time at the gym for it right?

Jeremy slams his eyes shut and struggles to take deep breaths, leaving him unaware as the growth quickly spreads further up his arm into his bicep. For the best that he doesn’t notice it, for all his cynical whining at the sport he does quite admire the player’s massive arms. Should he see his beginning to develop such cannons he may have given in to whatever this episode is outright. Instead he shifts his shoulder as a unique tightness arises with the ongoing growth of his bicep, veins pulsing larger down his right arm as his shoulder puts on mass to be able support the increasingly meaty arm. Muscle twitching across his arm as his bicep peaks ever higher.

His eyes still closed, Jeremy goes to rub his face, reminding himself that this must be some kind of delusion or hallucination from his concussion. Instead he finds more changes occurring away from his vision. His face feels rougher. Both his petite left hand and massive right feel a face far more worn and scratchy than the pale inside kid one he knows he has. His brows knit together in fear as he feels what can only be stubble dragging at his palms. The tips of his fingers feel said brows grow thicker and darker as they aim to ever cast a shadow over his eyes. He finally opens them and contemplates if he should find a mirror or not which is when a new horror alights. As his left hand touched his face, sidling up to that alien mit, it too has begun to change.

Calluses peek out on his fingers that his mind without hesitation assigns to holding a bat. He clenches his jaw, feeling pressure as it grows wider underneath the itchy stubble. He watches as his small hand balloons to match its monstrous pair, his headache returning as he cries out in his mind that this isn’t right. Something deep in the pit of his stomach disagrees, glad that he’s finally got the hands of a man. He gulps and finds it is suddenly difficult to swallow. Bringing a meaty palm to his neck he finds impossible warmth as an Adam's apple quickly pushes out, bobbing larger as Jeremy realizes that if there is a battle to be fought, that he is already losing.

The life he has lived has not primed Jeremy with any way to respond to this impossible new reality besides freezing up. His mind is caught between impulses to flee and to fly, his body can only react by beginning to hyperventilate. Heavy panicked breaths swiftly fill his chest as new impulses begin to grace his consciousness. Each uncontrollable inhale fills his torso with air, lungs growing as they are more than happy to expand beyond constraint. On top of his bony chest pecs begin to creep into existence, expanding quickly to match the still growing shoulders behind them. Memories of practices he can’t quite dispute begin to rise as his chest grows heavy with muscular weight. The shirt he threw on is quickly strained as muscle he could never dreamed to exercise begins to surge larger. An image of a man that is not him, that cannot be him sears itself into his mind.

Lost is a sea of memories of batting practices and uneventful hours upon hours of waiting in the outfield Jeremy begins to find familiarity if not affection towards the sport. He shakes his head through his stupor as strategies and concepts of the hitherto mind-numbing game begin to arise. Scraping together just enough of himself to slow his breathing and regain himself he looks down to see a body that has been painstakingly sculpted for the sport, America’s game. 

His shirt is totally ripped across every seam as a deliberate tear appears down the front, buttons dotting down it as a team logo, his team logo, begins to stain across the uniform. His heavier chest presses him into the table as he feels stitching appear in the back O’Hara, 11. Names that are almost more meaningful to him than Jeremy at this point. His coaches always call him by his last name anyway right? The mantra that this is a dream is the only thing holding his fragile mind together. Suddenly there is a burgeoning presence in his crotch and he sees a baseball lying squarely on his cock as it gets the message and quickly begins to force itself larger.

O’Hara bites his lip as blush begins to sneak through his still tanning face. The impossible fear of becoming something so contradictory to himself begins to pale with the mounting lust and desire for release rising from his ballooning crotch. He feels his balls quickly fill his briefs and his cock swiftly spills out of them down his pants leg. He cannot bring himself towards any reaction but rubbing his legs to try and distract himself, feeling the fabric of his shorts rapidly change and roughen. Growing elastic as his thighs begin to demand far more space than they could ever offer. He moans as a cup suddenly appears in his underpants, forcing his cock in an awkward position and hugging his still growing balls tight, of course for their own protection.

His mind hazy from lust and delirious as new hormones assail his waning mind a teammate comes to mind, yelling at him to get with it. Shit is he supposed to be on the field right now? He scratches at his head as his hair grows dark and dirty with dried sweat. His patch of pit hair expands as it releases his B.O. into the open air, heighting his erection even more. O’Hara goes to stand only to find his calves and feet cannot nearly support his monumental upper body.

He scowls down at them wondering how the fuck he ever let himself skip leg day to such a degree, he’s a fucking athlete right? An eye twitches and he is unable to begin to dispute the idea, flexing his pecs as he feels his calves begin to agree with him, quickly bloating with muscle. He screams in pain as they cramp to surge larger with the greatest haste yet. The pain breaks through to an immensely pleasurable soreness as they pound to the size of a titan’s legs. They  immediately fill his polyester pants, putting on size enough to ever show through, making it clear that O’Hara is more than a gem to his team. His team. Jeremy clutches his head again in one last attempt to recover. 

He opens his mouth to cry for help, only producing a deep moan as his feet expand, his no-show socks rocketing up his massive calves as his size seven shoes burst apart. Rubber and cloth fall to the floor as his toes shove through the front of them, his feet widening enough to be mistaken as flippers. His pupils shrink as he watches his hairy feet outgrow his new socks before the holes are stitched together by thicker cotton. His hands jump to his face in despair as a sob catches in his throat. His body pulses with the effort and expands yet again in every direction. Palms grow wider on his face and his mouth lulls open, he hears his pants stretch as his legs lengthen and grow heavier. His uniform tears as his shoulders grow wide with power enough to hit homers every time he’s at bat. 

His eyes twitch with effort one last time as he falls back into unconsciousness, the thought that this will be the last time he lets a ball hit him accompanies him as he crests into sleep. His conscious mind cannot dispute the new life that overcomes him in his dreams. Years of exerting himself to be the best at a sport which demands give and take. Exercising muscle in isolation to ensure optimization that could allow him to outperform in every regard. Sending pitches careening farther than his eyes can follow and sprinting to first base at speeds that the human eye would say is inhuman. He smirks in his rest as the cool air wicks the sweat off his ever-steaming body.

Suddenly Jeremy O’Hara awakens. Weird, he would’ve sworn he was in the middle of a game? His eyes glaze over becoming as dull as they are to be evermore, his slow one-track mind struggling to understand why he’s in a clinic. He springs up and makes for the door with a haste that he has never been able to muster before. Scratching at his crotch he throws on the size 15 cleats and wanders out into the stadium, not questioning why he’s not wearing a top. The music from the field blares in the busy hallway as he stumbles towards the dugout, smirking at the hordes of fans gawking at him. His massive hand struggling to cover the even larger bulge in his crotch as it pulses with their clearly lustful gazes. 

He hears his manager shout for him to get back to the team as he wanders around cluelessly. Forcing his way through the crowd he grabs O’Hara and berates him for his brainlessness, “I fuckin’ swear kid if you weren’t the goddamned best player I’d ever seen, fuck it the league’s ever seen, you’d not be worth the trouble.” O’Hara only caught part of that and from what he understood it was a complement. Hearing the game in play and seeing the green of the field O’Hara’s mind is suddenly preoccupied only with the game. Once more or for the first time it matters not. His coach watches as his bulge pulses in his pants and berates him to think with his real head before pushing him into the dugout.

O’Hara watches his teammates run across the field catching balls and strategizing the best place to throw them in turn. Chin upraised he just readies himself to join them on the field and show them what a real player looks like. Gritting his teeth as his opponents run the bases before the inning ends. His body vibrates with energy and an impossible eagerness to enter the playing field. He was going to show them what this sport is really about. What the best can really do. Hearing his walk-on music beginning to blare into the stadium he leaves the dugout to see a crowd larger than he can understand, feeling the vibration of their cheers in his chest as it bulges with even more power. He smirks as he prepares to perform, pointing his bat to the stadium, sure he’s got another home run ball soon to make its way to his fans.

Jock recruitment

There was no light in the locker room, except for one light bulb hanging from the ceiling that flickered from time to time. Three boys remained of a group of at least 40. They had all chained to the benches, and were all drenched in sweat. At least a day had passed with them being there. The first boy, Tyler had slim body build and had black hair which had not been attended. Tyler was sitting down on the floor legs spread out. He had his head down and was crying softly trying to figure out what happened and what was going to happen to him. The second boy, Milo was curled up in the corner frightened to death, he was also a slim body build, who had curly brown hair and wore glasses. The third and final boy, Patrick was severely obese, he had ginger hair and was currently eating all three boy’s meals that were provided by their captors.  

“Why do you eat so much?” Said Tyler

“because food is good, and tasty and lovely and everything to me” replied Patrick speaking with a full mouth

“Look at you though you’re a monster and you’ve definitely put on weight being here”

Patrick definitely had put on weight being there, since eating 15 trays of a weird pink mushy food.  

“Oh looks like the love birds are at it again bro’s” said Jeff mockingly as he entered

“I’m not gay, nor is Milo or Patrick so stop saying it” said Tyler furiously  

“Well not yet, come on then bro’s, Coach says the boys should be ready for dunking and fatso looks big enough” commanded Jeff to his other jocks who had all entered the room.

Two boys moved over to Milo and two went over to Tyler, the rest proceeded to try and lift Patrick up. The two boys at Milo and Tyler unchained them and then restrained them while bringing them into the next room. They were both brought before Coach. Coach was a big broad man in his mid-twenties, he had black hair which was styled as a thick comb over with buzz cut sides.

“well, well Tyler Goodhall and Milo Parsley, you two ready to be dunked….”

“I demand to know what is going on here” shouted Tyler even more furiously

All the Jocks in the room turned their heads to look at Tyler.

“What are you guys looking at, get back tending our new recruits.” Commanded Coach

“Ok Tyler, fine. I need more Jocks to get more funding for sports stuff. So far the deal is if I can find enough people for a football team, a soccer team, and a baseball team, the school will provide enough funding to build facilities for them on site. Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough jocks for that so I’m gonna turn you guys and every other nerd into my new Jocks”

Tyler stood in confusion

“Don’t worry all we need to do is pop you in these plastic barrels and let you brew for a bit, and then once you get out, you get a free cap which we will give you and that will remove any bad nerdy thoughts. Now enough of that”

The coach looked at his clip board

“Milo I’m signing you up for Soccer by default but what do you think about doing football as well”

Coach lifted his head and looked at Milo

“ummm….” Said Milo quietly

“Great you will make a fine addition as quarter back and you can mid fielder for soccer. Tyler your being signed up for the same but I want you as the Lacrosse team captain as well”

“Sir I….”

“That’s good that you agree with me son, now boys these two need to be stripped down”

Immediately Jeff and three other boys proceeded to remove Tyler and Milo’s clothing. The boys wanted to do something but these jocks would knock them out instantly. Tyler looked over and saw Patrick fatter than usual sitting on the floor being given an odd red sweet by Coach, Jeff quickly slapped Tyler so he would look forward. Once all their clothes were removed they were given dirty musky jockstraps to put on.

“Ok boys you look ready to go”

“Sir…” Tyler and Milo said in sync

“Oh that reminds me I forgot one thing. Well you see I’ve got all these Jocks. Well they’re very straight and I can see that you both are also very straight too…”

“HUH I TOLD YOU I WASN’T FAG JEFF” shouted Tyler at Jeff

The room fell silent everyone’s eyes fell on Tyler.  

“Bro, that’s like homophobic” Said Jeff  

“You kept joking about it though”

“Joking bro, Joking. We maybe big buff bro’s but we’re not homophobes bro. Isn’t that right Tom?”

“Are saying Tom the Soccer captain is gay” Said Tyler butting in before Tom could speak

“Yes Tyler, Tom the Soccer captain is gay” replied Coach

“But I thought…”

“It doesn’t matter we will wipe out that homophobia from your head and well….”

“Well, what?”

“I need more diversity in the department and like…. well the school is 99% white, we got to make sure we can show some diversity, to get more teammates and more funding”

“what?” Tyler was still confused

“You and Milo are gonna be the new gay bro’s” Said Jeff sharply

“Thank you, Jeff. You are my best number 2”

“Thanks Sir” Jeff replied happily

“now that’s enough time wasted. Get these boys jocked up and then dumbed down”  

Jeff and Tom moved to pick up Tyler. They both had a hand on his back and one his legs, they proceeded to effortlessly pick him up. Tyler began to panic and squirm.

“Ok guys. I know this is some sort of prank but I’m scared now. please put me down”

The boys ignored his plea’s.

“Ok I’m sorry I was Homophobic earlier Tom it wasn’t me I’m not like that but please I don’t want to be Gay it’s just not me”

The boys continued to ignore him. They reached the barrel. Inside was water with cum in it. It had a strong musky smell. Tom and Jeff lowered his legs into the water and slowly slid the rest of him in. The water was cold and deeper then Tyler expected. Once in Tyler was on his knee’s trying to stay above the water.

“P…pp…pp…please” cried Tyler one last time

“One hour that’s all bro” said Jeff

Jeff gave a big grin and put the lid over the plastic barrel, Tyler was now in complete darkness.

——————————

Patrick was sitting comfortably on the floor in utter bliss. He didn’t care that he was now unnaturally fat to the point he should be dead, but Coach gave him that magic red sweet and all his pains and worries disappeared. His breathing started getting heavier. Slowly his insides started feeling weird, like they were lighter and not attached to him. Suddenly he felt empty inside. He began coughing manically, he could feel something coming up and out of his mouth, he caught and pulled it out. In Patrick’s hand was a clean, brand new Soccer top. He felt slightly confused before his eyes suddenly closed. his skin felt all tingly for thirty seconds before being nothing. All thought and feeling that was Patrick had now stopped.

—————————-

1 hour Later

As Jeff and Tom lifted the lid of the barrel Tyler shot out of it. He was terrified but also strong, much stronger than he was before. He looked down over his body. He was buff as fuck now. He had abs, a big chest, big hands with muscly arms. His legs were also way more muscly and even though he couldn’t see them, his feet felt bigger. Jeff held a mirror up to his face. His face was more jock like and his hair was now better, instead of being unstyled and messy, it was now spiked up with short sides.  

“What have you done to me?” He said not realizing he had a new deeper voice

“Coach told you. We jocked you all up”  

Tyler looked around and saw Milo. He too was now buff, and his hair was styled in the same way as his. Tyler was slightly excited about this as he didn’t think any different than before, maybe they weren’t gonna make him a dumb gay Jock and just buff him up and make him play some sports. In his excitement he looked for Patrick but couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Where’s Patrick”

“Over there, there and there” Jeff pointed to three different neat piles of sports kits on tables.

Tyler looked at Jeff confused.

“Really bro, and you thought I was the dumb one. We turned fatso into our new sports uniform. That’s why we fattened him up so much, so there would be enough for all of you”

Tyler focused on the piles of clothes, and entered a trance. How did this happen?, what was going on?  

“Tyler, Tyler, TYLER” Shouted Jeff

Tyler snapped out of his trance and looked at Jeff. Jeff placed a cap on Tyler’s head. It felt weird at first, but a relaxed feeling came over him. Jeff spun it round backwards, the relaxed feeling became even better.

“Come on now Bro, out you get bro”

Tyler obeyed. Wait what? Tyler didn’t do shit for Jeff, Jeff was his intellec… his intel.. his in…., his Bro. Jeff and Tyler had always been Bro’s.  

Slowly the cap on Tyler’s head drained away any of his intelligence.

Tyler thought of all the cool stuff he would do with his new body, how he could party with his bro’s, play sports, and serve Coach. Then he remembered about Lily, she was the fittest, coolest girl in the school and he wanted to…. to get to know her as a friend, as he remembered that he wasn’t in to chicks. He remembered that his first crush was Tom, the soccer team captain and another gay bro. He remembered being fully accepted by all the bro’s in the school and by Coach. And Coach, he remembered him as his king, Tyler would do anything, whenever Coach wanted no questions asked.

Tyler walked over and picked up his soccer uniform. It looked Spectacular. Woah that was a big word, looks like some big words haven’t been drained.

Tyler tightly readjusted his cap and squeezed out what little intelligence he had left.

He felt the big words go and got changed in to his new uniform and went out to start his football training. Life for Tyler was gonna be so much more Lit now.    

I fixed the camera so that every time someone took a selfie, they’d become a little more like their worst nightmare.

In this case, it was two nerds from Christian camp terrified about the brutish bullying jocks waiting for them at home.

By the time they started to realise what was going on, the extra muscle on their frames and extra junk in their pants meant they were too hyped to stop.

Once they were nearly totally bro’d out, the only thing that made them pause was the thought of taking the camera into the girls’ dorm and turning them all into a load of sluts they’d be able to plough all night.

FUCK!!!!💪💪🤤 Leg Day tomorrow!!!!😎😈😈

Love everything here!!!😀 The size and definition plus the charisma!!!💪💪👏

Francisco Barrios

👏👏👏

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.

Bitten by the Country Bug

--- Original author: makingrealalphas ---

Alfred and his younger brother, Max, went to the same university in Austin and since their parents lived all the way across the ocean in Hawaii, this summer eventually seen them to visit their relatives in Texas after last year spent their summer in lockdown. They wanna go home, especially Alfred who just finished his degree and got his Bachelor, but their parents thought that it's best for them to just visit them later at Christmas and both boys reluctantly agreed.

As for their Texan relatives, well, what can they say other than the whole family member are the embodiment of classic Southern stereotypes. But their cousin Brett and Chad took that to the next level with their swagger, deep drawl and overall behavior. Even Brett and Chad's father, Joe, looked more of the city guy compared to both boys, who were trusted to run the family farm under the supervision of the family matriarch, Mindy, since both boys are of age. Aunt Mindy is definitely the one that rooted the family to Southern lifestyle, dragging the young accountant Joe back then to her inherited home and ever since then, continued the family farm and plantation while at the same time that forced Joe to work as an accountant in an oil company branch in the nearby town.

Everything went rather normal for the first couple days. Aunt Mindy and Uncle Joe welcomed both boys warmly despite not seeing them for more than 6 years. Brett and Chad also put on their best behavior in front of Alfred and Max, throwing some casual jokes about them having to work their asses off in the farm during summer while Alfred and Max can just sit down comfortably enjoying summer break after sitting down all year long doing online classes

In their fourth night, Max went to his bedroom right after dinner to have a FaceTime with his boyfriend, Dylan. Brett and Chad decided to bring Alfred for an outing to the nearby town. At first reluctant, Alfred eventually succumbed to the pressure and tag along with both of his cousins who grinned ear to ear upon hearing Alfred's reluctant agreement

"You won't regret it bro,"

The night out, like the other night so far, went normally. Alfred met some townies and the workers that worked in the farm and plantation, and they seemed to be very welcoming. But the night took a weird turn when the slightly drunk boys drove to this pitch black, deserted area. Now, the summer night suddenly feels chilly and……intimidating, as both boys stopped the car mid-way and then smirked to Alfred

"Let's step down for a while, will ya Fred?"

Confused but threatened, Alfred decided to step down from the car to not piss the two slightly drunken boys, but they sure as heck give off this malicious intention

"So….you see bro, we take you here because we have an offer to make,"

"We kinda short on…..resource, one might said. And we think, and maw think, you and your brother can fill that,"

"B-b-but….I….I'm not…..sure what you two…are…talking about,"

"Well, put this on and you'll get it," Brett said as he handed over this cap

Alfred looked to the cap, what does that suppose to mean? Are they very drunk until they make no sense like this? Why putting on a cap can make him understand their intention? And…..clearly he has no interest to work on the farm, he's not even close to the family, work for them is literally the last thing on his mind with his degree in Finance. Not like he's a Food Studies or Agricultural-related major

But even before he can react or make any sort of move, Chad grabs the hat and put it on Alfred's head and Alfred suddenly freeze

---

Max wakes up in the morning with Alfred's bed still neat as if no one slept on it last night. Hmmm…..is he sleeping in the other room last night? Well, maybe he'll meet him during breakfast.

Max goes down the stairs, something is definitely cooking in the kitchen and the smell is so good. But then, he is welcomed with a surprising sight

"A--A---Alfred?"

The guy standing in front of him is definitely his older brother, Alfred, but….this is an entirely different version of Alfred. A taller, more muscular Alfred. And definitely not the meek older brother of his judging from the posture and swagger.

"In the flesh, bro. Oh yeah, I got a surprise for ya bro,"

And all in a sudden, a cap placed on Max's floofy blonde hair. His body tensed and frozen all in a sudden. His pupil dilated and then his body convulsed wildly while his breathing becomes more laborious.

"Aww shit, he's going to be hella big, man," said Brett looking at the frozen Max as the sophomore's body stacked with newly growing muscle from all angle

---

*2 days later*

Max is driving back with Fred to Austin to pack their stuff back in their apartment. Brett and Chad smiled in the back seat looking all giddy seeing that their magical cap have done amazingly well to their cousins. In the middle of the drive, Max's phone ringing, it's a FaceTime from Dylan, Max's boyfriend for the past 1 year, and Fred looks at the screen with a beaming

"Look, the boyfriend calls. Let's surprise him, shall we?"

As Fred picks up the call and show his face, Dylan looked at the screen a little bit weirdly

"Uh….hi, who are you? Can you pass the phone to Max if you don't mind?"

"Aww sorry bro, must be the cap and the shades. It's me, Fred. Max is driving now?"

"Hahahah….okay….very funny, hick. Lol please, Fred doesn't have a drawl. Did you take my boyfriend's phone? Are you one of his cousin? Please, pass the phone back, will you?"

"Well, Max is not really interested to see your queer ass right about now, but well, I'll show Max to ya,"

Dylan instantly screamed in surprise as his boyfriend's face appeared on screen. It's Max…..but also not Max, with all the scruff, the slightly older face, and that cigarette when Max clearly doesn't smoke! Plus, that body is clearly way bigger than what he remembered

"Yo Dyl, I'm coming right over to yer queer place and I'm gonna show you some country fun, whaddya think?"

The farm and the plantation is expanding, and clearly some more human resource won't hurt

Unseen Self

--- Original author: brounderconstruction ---

bro’s got a tension inside himself. still thinks of himself as a writer and a rebel, even after he’s bulked up, inked up and started wearing his cap backwards with a white tee, just like his bro wants. looks like tough guy trash, but he thinks it fits his image. doesn’t take no shit, works in a proud proletariat tradition. it’s been a long time coming. he doesn’t see himself much anymore. sees one reflection, and another. his face looks better in profile. but those arms, bro? those arms are fuckin tight. back is really filling out. the way the white cotton clings to his body, hugging every bulge and contour. he wants this to happen. he’ll tell himself anything. every day it’s a new excuse. he’s not getting dumber, he’s just living in the moment. he’s not becoming an aggro meathead, he’s learning to stand up for himself. the man he really is? that’s out of frame. washed out. guess it’s gotta be that way, bro. like the light glowing on that tee, our identities aren’t fixed. they oscillate, wave, reveal by what they obscure. whoever you used to be? is that you? does it matter? don’t put the focus on him. look in the mirror and see your true self. see every aspect of the man you were born to become

Bro Switch

--- Original author: grandwagonranchmaker ---

These four bros used to be four gay nerds until I invited them over to play ‘Switch.’ Of course they couldn’t resist. What they didn’t know was that they would be switching. Aaron, the one in the hat was the first to feel it. His greasy hair was suddenly popping out into well maintained curls. As he reached up to fix his hat he decided to turn it around with a smirk. Eric, the one next to him, ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. At the same time both boys felt a pain in their feet and kicked off their shoes. Instead of their usual small, nerdy feet they found big jock feet waiting for them.

“Bro! Your feet are huge!”

“Bro yours too! Fuck why am I saying bro?”

Sam, the one on the end let out a deep, dumb chuckle watching his friends, surprising everyone including himself. He looked down and saw he too had removed his shoes, exposing big, elongated feet. What’s more - he could feel a growing urge to remove more clothes and suddenly pulled off his shirt. Instead of his usual flat, pale bird chest he now had a healthy tan and two protruding pecs. Even his arms had gotten thick and muscular.

“Sweet” he bellowed in his new, masculine voice.

“Bros what’s happening to us?” Cried out Jason, the smallest one. He slid his hands under his shirt, feeling hard muscles form. He tried but couldn’t resist pulling off his own shirt. He grabbed his face as his features hardened, losing their dorky roundness and becoming sharper and handsome, he frantically slid his hands up through his hair which was rapidly shortening into a cool bro cut. “No, no, no, I don’t wanna be a dumb, straight bro!” He cried out feeling his brains and sexuality fading away.

“Don’t fight it bro” laughed Eric.

“Yeah bro just give in” chimed in Aaron as both boys eagerly pulled off their shirts and rubbed their new, tan muscles. Eric suddenly moaned and threw his big feet up on the table as Aaron sat back and grinned dumbly. I knew what was happening now. One by one tents started popping out in each boys’ shorts as their dicks lengthened and their minds shifted from video games to boobs and sex. Even Jason’s eyes began to fill with pleasure and hunger as he gave in, surrendering his smarts and gayness.

“How you bros feeling, want some beer?”

Aaron threw out a thumbs up with his big, jockish hand and a dull expression etched into his face. The others followed suit, slowly giving up any hope of being nerds again they accepted the beer - sealing their fates forever. Bros for life…

--- Originally posted on 2020-05-23 by shapedbydesire ---

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

A nerd couldn’t stand his dumb jock roommate anymore. He learned a spell to change his roommate to be alike him but before he finished his spell the jock was aware of what the nerd would do to him. The jock grins and threw his dirty socks into the nerd’s mouth and began his own ritual to make him a perfect bro.

John Andrew was, to say the very least, a bit uptight. It was the first thing anyone could tell about the young collegiate scholar. But when you insisted on going by both your first and your middle name, it became pretty obvious that there was a stick lodged up your ass.

But he was rich, and brilliant, so he saw those things as a free pass to being an unpleasant person. He had every right to hold himself above everyone he met, because to John Andrew, that was exactly the truth. He was superior. Top of his class, always wearing designer clothes, a great family name at his disposal.

If not every single student in his university, there was at least one particular individual that he knew he was several heads and shoulders above. Travis James, or as he insisted to be called, “TJ” was a waste of an already worthless athletic scholarship. John Andrew wasn’t positive the guy had even passed elementary school, let alone qualifying for the same prestigious college as he did. At least the meathead could throw a ball around, right?

John Andrew could forgive the fact that TJ was dumber than a bag of bricks if not for two reasons. One being, there were too many other flaws to give just one of them a free pass, and two, John Andrew was trapped in a shared dorm with the disgusting idiot. The star athlete and the star academic, in one space, even his parents couldn’t argue the reason behind it.

But they weren’t the ones forced to swim through TJ’s sweaty gym clothes abandoned on the floor, they didn’t have to listen to him moan out some bimbo’s name as his bed frame knocked against the wall, they didn’t have to cover their noses and wretch whenever he let out a booming fart. The guy didn’t even realize how repulsive he was. He’d just smile, and burp, stretching out his arms and letting his pit stench waft into the air. “Dude, I need to take a shit.”

John Andrew could care less if TJ tried to be friendly, if he tried to invite the outcast nerd to all the coolest parties in an attempt to bring him out of his shell. One of them actually had a future to seek out, the other could afford to throw all of his ambitions away. So John Andrew kept telling himself to wait it out, that sooner than later he’d be free. He’d be on the top, where he belonged, and TJ would end up working construction on one of his many buildings later in life.

Then the prank happened. Or, at least, the prank that broke the straw on the camel’s back. John Andrew was trying to sleep before his big exam that next morning, already tucked away long before midnight. When TJ stumbled back into their dorm, drunk and gassy, he walked into John Andrew’s room while looking for the restroom. “Fuck,” was all he could say as he rubbed at his bloated stomach, looking down at his roommate’s exposed face sleeping soundly. He couldn’t resist it. It was a classic prank, he and his best bros had gotten lots of great laughs out of it over the years.

TJ stomped over and swung his big meaty body in position, almost graceful in his movements. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. And when he let a squelching fart rip right in John Andrew’s face, it was the scream heard all around the campus. The nerd was frantic, and furious, and gagging, and all TJ could do was let out another one. “Bro, I need to take the biggest dump. You want me to take a pic so you can see?”

No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to see TJ ever again. When he stormed out of their dorm that night, it was nearly a week later before he returned. He had aced his exam, but the memory of the rotten egg-like stench and the humiliation still wore on him, and it took him time to gather his thoughts. Now he had a plan, tucked away in the bags under his arms and the incantation scrawled across the piece of paper in his back pocket. If TJ wouldn’t fix himself, then John Andrew would.

It had taken many online searches and a few calls to close family friends, but he had learned an occult ritual to bend a person into the image of another. His traits and goals could be imprinted on TJ’s caveman brain. He didn’t think the jock was quite worthy of being his second coming, but people always said that two was better than one. What was the harm in two self-obsessed nerds with superiority complexes? Maybe then John Andrew would finally have someone he could hold a conversation with.

Setting up the ritual was easier than he expected, just a few chalk lines and one of TJ’s many abandoned gym socks at the center of the circle, candles burning all around the room. All he had left to do was add his essence to the air, transferring his energy into the thing that represented his roommate. Just a simple exhale, and he would have someone worthy of calling a companion. He was excited, voice rising higher as he went ahead with the incantation.

And then the door swung open, and TJ stumbled in drunk. “Bro! You’re finally home, fuck.” He was clutching his beer gut again, like he always was, smiling like an idiot. “I missed my best dude!” Then he noticed the candles, scrunching his face together and chuckling. “Bro, I missed Halloween? Fuck, we should get wasted.” He stomped forward, chuckling as his big feet tore through the chalk lines. John Andrew was sputtering, trying to stand up before tripping over himself and landing in the center of the circle. The slip of paper slid over to where TJ was standing.

All at once, everything went wrong, and so suddenly. His nose was hovering right over TJ’s sweaty sock, and the jock himself was looming over John Andrew in the circle. The big oaf bent down to pick up the paper, making his trademark “I don’t get it” face once again. He tried to repeat the words on the paper, getting eerily close to how they were meant to be pronounced. John Andrew couldn’t move, at first because he was stunned, but then because an electric charge was moving through him.

When TJ was finished, nothing changed, and John Andrew let out a breath of relief. He looked down at the sock, exhaling a bigger breath. Wasn’t that what the spell asked for? Wasn’t he still in control? Then TJ’s massive legs were on either side of his head, and he was in a headlock, the sock being crammed into his mouth. He gagged on the salty, sour flavor. TJ just kept laughing, letting a fart slip out. And then another one, because why not.

“My prank is better than your witch shit, bro!” But this wasn’t meant to be a prank, and now it was ruined, and... Was John Andrew higher off the ground? He found it more difficult to turn himself over than it should have been, spitting the sock out of his mouth and rotating his body to look at a developing shelf of pecs. The stench of TJ’s fart was still heavy in the air, thick with his essence, and John Andrew was still lying in the center of the circle. Covered in the stench, sweat dripping from his lips.

He tried to get up quickly, but tripped over his stretching feet. “Fuck. No.” He never swore, but this situation called for it. His hips flared out, thighs straining against his pant legs. It was like the air from the fart was inflating him, like he kept getting taller and thicker with every inhale. “Help,” was all he could whine, but the only person to hear him was TJ. The big jock strolled over with a light chuckle, throwing his sweaty bicep around his roommate’s widening neck.

“Man, you been working out? Sick gains.” John glanced down, and he couldn’t help but agree with TJ. He tried to tell himself it was more the fact that what was happening to him was sick, and twisted, but then he flexed a bicep without meaning to. It swelled in front of him, and he was smiling, for just a moment. Then he pulled away from his roommate, trying to run away, but all of the bulk and girth made his legs like jello. It didn’t matter that they were shredded, or that he was an absolute unit of a man.

When his cock started to swell in his gym shorts, which he didn’t remember ever putting on, he fell to one knee. He couldn’t stop himself from shoving a big meaty hand into his jockstrap pouch, fishing out the python now growing in his hands. “Oh, fuck. I’m so fucking horny, bro.” His eyes were so full of fear, he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his lips, but TJ was thrilled. It was nice having someone who understood him. The jock was starting to forget that this was a nerd who always tried to avoid him, that he enjoyed pissing off because he was such a prissy little fucker, and was remembering that they really were best bros. And now his best bro was jacking off right in front of him.

“Ha, dude. You should have went to the party. This one chick had the biggest rack of tits.” John, or Andrew, or whatever the fuck his name was could only grunt, laughing for no reason because that was what TJ did. And TJ fucking loved girls with huge racks, so JA - AJ? - did, too. Yeah, TJ and AJ, best bros since the first time they met and had a farting contest in front of the college scouts. It was kind of hard to tell them apart. They played the same position in football, on opposite sides of the field. They went to the same parties, wore the same clothes, lived in the same filth and flunked all the same classes. They even banged the same chick, once or twice. At the same time.

John Andrew and all of his superiority welled up like cum in AJ’s nut sack, every trace of him had disappeared from the room. All of his clothes, all of his books, even the signs that the ritual had even occurred in the first place. The stench grew heavier as if two jocks had been living here all along. All AJ could do was laugh, busting his nut in his shorts and wiping off the globs of cum on the outside of his shorts. There was hair all over him now, tattoos on his chest, a cap on his head. He was so fucking hot. All it took was a selfie to make the girls cream themselves.

“Dude, I’m an absolute tank. You wish you had guns like these.” TJ just chuckled, punching his best bro in the arm and walking into the kitchen to fix a late night meal. White chicken and rice, pure protein, now AJ’s favorite snack, too. He kept scratching his balls as he followed his bud, licking his lips as the food was being prepared. It wasn’t until TJ set his plate aside that AJ leaned over, trying not to chuckle and ruin the joke. “Dude, do you want some special sauce for that?”

TJ just blinked, like an idiot, because they were both idiots. “What special sauce, dude?” Then AJ turned on his heels, bending over and pressing his big ass right over his roommate’s plate on the table. He let a protein fart rip right into the air, right over the food, and TJ couldn’t even be mad about it. He plugged his nose and guffawed. “Dude, you are fucking rank!” And he was. AJ was a pig, and a stud, and he loved it. He was so lucky to have TJ as his friend and roommate.

He was lucky to be just like someone who was so fucking awesome. Thick, dumb, and gross as fuck. Because he had a right to be. Maybe he still had a superiority complex, huh?

“Finish your food, bro. This pussy hound wants to go huntin’ tonight.”

--- Originally posted on 2023-06-15 by shapedbydesire ---

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

A Better Ride

(inspired by a caption by the Abstract Vanity, this story includes muscle growth, gay to straight, wish gone wrong, reality change, musk & farts; as a notice, I’m aware some people are still having an issue with being able to see a Better Brother on their dash, so I’ll get to work on posting an updated version with cleaner pictures soon! thanks for your patience with me as always)

Neil, a skinny and fair haired twink, is inspecting the car his parents have given him for his twentieth birthday. He frowns slightly at the clunker as his best friend and only other gay guy in their small town, Kody, sits excitedly in the driver’s seat and tries to make light of the situation. “It’s really not all that bad, Neil! A car is a car, try to look a little more grateful.” Kody was always warm and kind, ever the optimist. In any situation, he could find the bright side of it.

But Neil just feels disappointed, envious and greedy. This thing looks like it barely has twenty more miles in it! He grumbles below his breath, “I wish I had a better ride,” thinking about all the popular guys at their college campus driving around in their fancy trust fund cars. As he imagines the straight jocks, he can feel his cock twitch a bit, coming to life in his tiny shorts. He knows the guys are immature and backwards minded and more muscle than intelligence, but he has always been attracted to the stereotypical frat bro douche that would never feel the same way about a lanky, effeminate nerd like him.

Not long after he speaks the wish, however, Neil watches as the driver’s side door slams closed on the clunker. Kody looks surprised in the driver’s seat with the window rolled up, his lips are moving but Neil can’t hear the question being asked. Catching them both off guard, Neil can only watch on in confusion and fear as green mist begins to appear around Kody, first thin tendrils of smoke and then suddenly, the coughing form of his equally skinny, pale haired twink of a friend is consumed in the cloud of green fumes. Before Neil can process this, he hears the crunch of metal, unable to do anything as he stares and watches the cheap old car morph into a larger, more modern truck on massive wheels, with a blaring bass system and lots of fancy gadgets modded onto the vehicle. It reminds him of the same rides his crushes would drive around in, revving up their engines and trying to impress all the chicks they could find.

Once the car finishes changing, granting Neil’s wish and making him smile, he rushes to the car door to make sure that Kody is inside and safe. He’ll be so excited when he sees what he’s sitting inside of now! But as he opens the door, all Neil can do is gag as his eyes begin to water immediately, the fumes of green gas pouring over him and reeking of rotten eggs, protein, and the stale dank scent of a men’s locker room. As the fog disperses, the man left sitting in the driver’s seat is not Kody, but instead a much more brutish and swollen version of him, cute hair cropped short and his now square, stubbles face leering down at Neil. He grips the steering wheel, and it makes his bicep look even more swole.

He flexes to show the little nerd what sets them apart. In this situation, and all others, the new and improved Kolton is in control. “Okay, fag. I know it’s your birthday so I’m gonna raw dog your ass just this once, but we gotta be quick. And don’t be fucking clingy and try to reach out to me after this. This is a one time thing, your boy cunt is an appetizer but pussy is the only meal I’m interested in.” Neil could barely process the vanishing of his bestie, too occupied with the tenting of his tiny cock. The man in front of him looks like he’s stepped out of a wet dream, or more accurately, a wish. Clearly this truck belonged to Kolton, and not himself, and surely some essence of Kody must have still been inside under all that muscle and rank stench.

But it is Neil’s birthday… he runs around to the passenger side, allowing himself inside and getting straight to work by taking Kolton’s cock into his mouth. He enjoys the rough, calloused hand pressing his nose into the wiry bush of hairs, the thick length making him gag like the smell had, he moans and whimpers and he is in heaven. Fuck having a car, this was the best gift he could ask for.

Kolton just sits there and closes his eyes, imagining breasts bouncing and pussies dripping as the twink works his magic on his fat dick. It was nice of him to make the fag’s wish come true today, but he’d be shoving his tongue into some pussy as quickly as he can find it after this. He’ll leave this twink in the dust and never look back.

Poor Kody, though… looks like he’ll be a passenger for the rest of his life. A twink trapped in the body of a hulking, reeking, walking stereotype. The picture perfect image of a straight frat bro.

Kolton’s got the wheel now.

Taboo

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

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

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

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

Here’s another treat:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday to him, huh?

--- Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by breedertfs ---

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

Caption 3 - Wednesday

For today’s caption, due to many of y’all requesting that I write this particular kind of TF again, I will be using more photos than just the one that @mystrangetfs provided. You can view that image here!

Have you been keeping up with his stories? Here’s his latest caption! He’s going above and beyond, folks. This has been as much of a treat for me as it’s been for y’all. I hope you keep enjoying what we have to offer!

Stud Pride

Emily was a prodigy.

She was the valedictorian of her high school class, first chair flute, captain of the debate team, and a state-qualified cross country runner. The girl had a lot of skills under her belt — anything she set her mind to, it seemed like she could accomplish — but what she lacked was confidence.

For all of her brilliance, there was an insecure shyness, too. She found it difficult to share herself with people, not sure how to string together a compelling conversation outside of her many debate-required arguments.It was easier being a wallflower, watching the world pass her by and telling herself she’d catch up with it when she was ready to put herself out there.

But here she was on the first day of her college career, after months of telling herself that this would be the push she needed to finally break out of her cocoon. Nothing seemed all that different as she hugged one of her textbooks to her chest, dodging around the sea of unfamiliar students and coming to a halt by the campus fountain of Parkview University.

She stared at the stone horses, idolizing how majestic they were, scolding herself for being so meek and quiet and reserved. Here she was, a Parkview Stallion in her own right, but there was nothing free or strong about her. She should have went to a university with a more appropriate mascot, she considered with a small frown. Something like a mouse.

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the galloping horses, pulling a penny from her pocket without even considering how childish it was. Wishing on coins and fountains was not logical in the slightest, but maybe that was her problem. Maybe Emily needed just a little bit of magic in her life. So she let the coin fly, watching it flip gracefully through the air before it collided with the water, and she made her wish.

“I wish I was worthy of this school. I want to live up to all the expectations of being a Stallion.”

It was simple enough, the tried and true ‘speak it into existence’ method, but nothing really changed or clicked for her. There were butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a swirling unease deep in the pit of her gut, but she was convinced that had been there the whole time. She sucked in a breath and went about her day.

The strange thing was how her fellow classmates began to interact with her. They didn’t say anything at first, just a series of nods and enthusiastic waves as Emily moved through the packed crowd. A few of the female students smirked at her in an oddly flirtatious manner, and many of the college jocks looked pumped to see the nerdy girl. She tried to play it off, blushing shyly.

But then she heard a low voice shout, “Bro, the legend is finally here! How you been, man?” It took her a moment to realize the beefy frat boy suddenly standing by her side was talking to her, let alone about her. He definitely wasn’t someone she knew, certainly not someone she went to high school with, and she was positive he didn’t have any interest in her. With a cautious sniff, she wasn’t sure he even had an interest in basic hygiene.

He was smiling such a goofy grin, though, and he looked so happy and excited to see her that it made her smile, too. Maybe someone had dared him to prank her? Maybe he was just getting too into the act? For just a moment, she felt confidence stir in her, and she let herself ponder the possibility that maybe he really was thrilled to see her. Maybe she had a reputation already. Maybe she didn’t have to question every little thing that happened.

“Yeah, uh, it’s me. I’ve been good.” Emily spread her legs a little wider, lowering the textbook she was clutching to her chest and letting it hang casually by her side. She needed to relax, or she was going to scare this guy off with how uptight she was. “How have you been?” She got the question out easily enough, but there was a slight pause as her tongue nearly pushed out the word ‘bro.’

That would have been pushing it a bit too far, she told herself, trying to find a balance between being chill enough to hang out with this dude and acting enough like herself that she wasn’t coming across as fake. The jock didn’t seem as lost in his head as Emily was, breaking out into a wider smile and moving into a double bicep flex without a second thought. “Bro, you see these gains? Summer was a fuckin’ pump fest. I’ve been great!”

Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to that, looking around the large campus and down at herself as she tried to come up with the right words  — wait, was she wearing this outfit the whole time? She could have sworn she had dressed more formal for the occasion, but at least she felt comfortable. That was really all that mattered. The workout shirt and elastic denim pants were large on her, but warm from years of use, so warm they calmed her down and slowed her thoughts.

“You’re a total beast, man. Keep it up.” And then she patted the jock on the shoulder, like it was the most natural thing, and he kept smiling and chuckling like there was nothing strange about them interacting like this. “I’ll catch up with ya later, bro.” Her vocal chords were stirring, shortening, and taking control. She didn’t realize what she had called the guy until he grabbed her hand in some sort of weird frat boy handshake and mock-saluted at her.

“See ya, bro.”

It ran through her mind that she needed to find her dorm as she watched the musky jock leave, shaking her head to break out of her daze. She didn’t feel her hair whipping around her face as she moved, but then she reached up and grazed her backwards cap, and that felt right. She had said she wanted to make a change, to not be so lost in her head, so she was sure to dress down on her first day. She was in college now. It didn’t matter what brand of clothes she wore, she was a fuckin’ athlete with a full ride scholarship. All that mattered was how much weight she could bench.

She stopped in her tracks, scratching at the back of her exposed neck and scrunching her thick eyebrows together. No, she was here on an academic scholarship — right? “Uh,” was all she could say, standing there like an idiot who couldn’t get her brain to function properly. The deep sound moved through her, down the length of her throat and causing an Adam’s apple to swell. She had been changing since she made her wish, and she should have noticed by now — definitely by now — but she couldn’t figure it out. Everything felt right.

All of a sudden she was so chill, and slow, strolling through campus like she had no better place to be. She started waving back at all the dudes and chicks who greeted her, feeling her legs burn as she started to stretch up and up until she was beginning to have to glance down at her new friends. Her worn out workout clothes were starting to become more than just warm, and she even lifted a pit to breathe in her rank stench. Something on the inside winced, and shouted out in displeasure, but all she expressed on the outside was a low, dumb chuckle.

They called him Stink Bomb for a reason.

Emily stopped again, this time pressing a meaty hand to her forehead and gasping from the sudden shocking memory. “No, bro. That’s not me.” She was so aware, for just a moment, hearing the stretch of fabric as she glanced down at the pecs ballooning against her shirt. Her thighs were becoming thick and straining the elastic of her pants, there were sweat stains all over her body, she was getting huge and smelly and losing every aspect of her former self.

She moaned in pleasure as something hot awakened between her legs, looking around her help, but all she saw were smiling faces and waving hands and a sea of strangers masquerading as her new friends. It was like the world had turned a blind eye to what was happening to her, just like she had, but now she was forced to watch as something thick and long snaked out from her crotch, pushing so tightly against her pants that she whimpered in pain and pleasure. “Bro, I’m too fucking big.”

And, fuck, he really was. Em couldn’t really think of anything else. He was so focused on his muscles as they continued to pump, he loved watching his pecs dance beneath his shirt, seeing his sleeves bunch up around his bowling ball biceps. He had thrown on the clothes he wore during yesterday’s workout, because he was fuckin’ late to his first day of college, but no one cared. They loved him. He was the big man on campus, the star freshman football team recruit. It was okay if he stank.

Em was here to stay, or was it Ev — an inward vice screamed, “Your name is Emily! Please don’t forget!” — but Evan’s new thoughts were so big and beefy and dumb that he squashed every last trace of the nerdy girl he had been. What kind of bro would go by Emily? He clearly wasn’t a fag. He smirked at all the babes checking him out, even being so crass as to rub the fat cock he was hiding in his boxers. He was gonna have so much fucking fun at the parties on campus, that was his priority beyond staying swole for sports. Yeah, he was going to flunk all his business classes, but Coach said he’d help him out. He scratched at his chin with a snicker, loving the feeling of his stylin’ stubble.

Pair that with the diamond studs in his ears? His shaven, tatted up body? God, he was such a pussy magnet. He didn’t have to do shit, just one flex and the panties went flying up into the air. He was such a smug, dumb douche, throwing up peace signs and duck lips like he didn’t know the meaning of growing up. Like this wasn’t a serious college. Evan was Peter Pan on steroids, frozen on an elementary school education with the rocking body of a prize stud horse.

And, hell, he fuckin’ was one now! PARKVIEW STALLIONS REPRESENT, BRO. His brain was wired to promote his university team, to live up to the mascot with every fiber of his being. He already had the horse cock down, and the full breeding balls. He squeezed out a silent but deadly fart as he strolled up to the fraternity he pledged to, and he chuckled even louder. He even had the stink down to an, uh… an S? Because stink starts with S?

He didn’t fuckin’ understand some shit, but who the fuck cared? He was loud, and brash, and popular. He felt his body pulse with energy one last time, moaning without a care in the world as his shoulders popped into place, his jaw squaring out, growing thicker and sexier and knowing he still had so much bigger to get. That’s why he pumped so hard. That’s why we was going to pump some more right now. When he saw the jock he had greeted that morning, he jogged over and slapped him hard on the back.

“Bro,” he almost slurred, grasping the boy’s shoulder tight and holding him in place as he let out a booming, sputtering fart. He was so fuckin’ proud of how he smelled. He was so gross, but the ladies couldn’t get enough of this stud. He couldn’t get enough of himself, either. He loved watching people choke on the mere scent of him.

“Show me where the gym is. Stink Bomb needs to get his pump on NOW.”

Evan was a Parkview Stallion, through and through.

Maybe he couldn’t do basic math anymore, or hold a flute in his big meaty hands, or win an argument without burping in the other person’s face, or do anything that involved too much cardio without exhausting his hulking body — but at least he was a confident son of a bitch now. He wasn’t shy about anything.

That was a fair trade off, right?

--- Originally posted on 2023-04-04 by breedertfs --- --- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

Arabian Nectar

“Drink, brother. I see you admire, and so I assist.” Robbie, who only moments ago had a hairless jaw and pale skin, was unable to pry himself away from the perky, golden nipple he now found himself suckling from. Even beneath a swirl of dark, wiry hair, he was entranced by the salty taste and musk of Amir’s hard earned sweat. His every nerve ending seemed to come alive with every lick and slurp of the tangy flesh. The handsome man in front of him was telling the truth, after all. Robbie had been admiring the Middle Eastern hunk for most of his workout at the gym throughout the day, unable to stop himself from risking a few glances when they eventually found themselves alone together in the locker room. Robbie, horny as he might be, was a polite and sensible twink, and he would have never for a second thought that he had a chance with the obviously straight, macho Amir. His attraction was harmless. Until the tan man snapped his fingers at him, that is, commanding Robbie’s attention before lifting his sweaty tank and hooking it around his neck to reveal his plump pecs and a healthy coating of body hair.

At first Robbie was stunned, lightly aroused, but more than anything confused. It took Amir nodding his head down at his chiseled pecs to get Robbie to snap back to reality, walking forward on feet he didn’t entirely feel in control of. He could feel his heart hammering as he approached the attractive man, could feel his throat tighten at the rank scent wafting into his nostrils. Spicy and earthy, and very potent, everything about Amir seemed to be traditional and masculine. He calmly watched the white boy approach with timid steps. “Sorry for staring,” Robbie began as he closed in, meaning to stop but still stepping closer and closer to his surprise. “I was just admiring, wait wha—” Robbie startled, leaning down and forward mid-sentence as he finally came face to face with Amir’s chest. He opened his mouth to protest, to ask questions, only for Amir’s large hand to secure itself on the back of his head.

“Suck, brother.” Robbie’s open mouth was forced to close around the nipple, face pressed into the hot, ripe flesh of the stud before him. Stink play was definitely not one of his kinks, and being man-handled wasn’t doing him any favors. He tried to fight against Amir’s grip, tiny hands failing to push the slabs of meat away from him. “It is a shame to eye fuck men when you can eye fuck women, no?” As Amir spoke, each thrum of his deep voice vibrated through Robbie’s core. The twink couldn’t stop his feasting. Obediently suckling from Amir’s nipple, tongue darting out to swirl against the salty skin, lapping up every ounce of sweat. “If you wish to spend time with me as a man, it should only be as a brother.”

Robbie could feel his jaw tighten as he nuzzled against the pec, a bristle of dark hairs covering his lips and then his cheeks and eventually his entire chin. As Amir ran his fingers through Robbie’s hair, no longer pressing down quite as forcefully, the strands seemed to go on for longer than the white boy remembered. Thick, dark, luscious, being swept back into a traditional, well groomed style. His eyebrows thickened and grew heavy, dark, forming a menacing line over his currently blissed out expression. He could feel his shoulders broadening within his shirt, heat sparking up in his pits and in his crotch, a heady scent of sweat oozing from his pores to match Amir’s aromatic musk. He continued to suck, to worship, to accept the gift being presented to him. He felt obliged to follow Amir in the way a man would follow a trusted general, or a political figure. As more and more of the essence coated his insides, pouring down his throat, he began to feel less excitement about the source of the nectar and saw the pecs as a means to an end, more than anything else. Amir produced the sweetest honey, and Robbie was grateful to receive it.

But as his hips widened and his large, muscular ass stretched his tight boxer briefs to their limit, he was powerless to stop the images forming in his mind. A rational voice tried to urge him to pay attention, to realize that none of this was normal, there was no reason he should be sucking Amir’s nipple all these minutes later, and there’s no way the sensations running across his body could be real. He licked, inhaled, and more and more of Amir’s scent invaded his senses until it felt as if he was breathing in his own scent, too. Beautiful women began to appear in his mind, golden skinned and raven haired, women from his home country. He could feel his cock lengthening in his shorts, a sweaty mass of dark hair forming a forest around it, heating up with every pulse and throb. Something was wrong. All he wanted to do was get a good workout and check out a few cute guys, but now the thought of that made his lip curl in disgust. A man’s purpose in a gym should only be to improve himself, and to bond with his brothers. The white twink had been effectively replaced by a proud Middle Eastern man, broodingly handsome and more than happy to show off his hardened body to any interested female. He was every bit the kind of man Amir expected a true brother to be.

Releasing his lips from the nipple, mind blanking and resetting, new and improved personality quickly squashing the whining twink’s consciousness into a headlock at the very back of his own mind — Rahim rises to his feet, removing his shirt to reveal his muscular form, gaze looking over Amir’s shoulder and instead settling on his own reflection. Rahim was deeply traditional, the kind of man who would wait until marriage to seed a womb, but was more than happy to ass-fuck horny white women who thought they had any chance of swaying him. They were simply holes to be filled, things to be won in conquest. If you couldn’t find him eating out a white woman’s pussy, then you would find him here in the gym with his brother, Amir. He was a man of simple pleasures. They lived together in the same bachelor pad, moving to this country together many years ago for the opportunities it provided. Following in Amir’s image, life was perfect. Rahim took out his phone, walking away from his brother and going to admire his reflection in one of the locker room mirrors.

“Thank you for the wake up call, brother.” He glanced at the large amount of messages flooding his inbox, the regular hook ups begging for him to fill them up, new women hoping to try for a taste of his cum, a few ladies even asking if his brother would be open to a threesome. He only smirked, licked his lips, and recorded a short video to send to all of these chicks to appease them for now. His cock still throbbed in his shorts, ball sack swollen and full of his superior seed, but he couldn’t allow his mind to be so easily clouded by lust. “I should focus on my workout, and my time with my brother,” Rahim decided finally.

His python would surely get its satisfaction later.

--- Originally posted on 2024-02-17 by breedertfs ---

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Frat Boy Fantasy

Marcus was really regretting his wish. All he wanted to do was spend time with the hot guys in the Frat House down the street, but he never meant that he wanted to spend time with them as a brother of the house. He wanted to be sucking on their cocks, sniffing their hot swampy armpits, not trapped inside a meaty sweat covered body without any ability to control it. He hated the version of himself he was now, his big thick hand scratching at his ass crack and pits, sniffing his rank stench. He felt so gross and stupid, lounging around in sweat pants, laughing at the dumb misogynistic jokes, flexing when given the cue.

He kept waiting for something fun and gay to happen, for all the hot guys to start kissing, or for someone to play pop music to relax to, but the best he got was kisses on the cheek and bros slapping his cock with a callused palm, muttering “no homo, brah!” Rap music was blaring, causing him to scream inside his head, but the vessel he was inside just nodded along and tapped his big stinky foot. “This shit is tight,” he drawled, at the same time his hand pawed at his fat package.

One of the frat boys he had the biggest crush on came and sat beside him, throwing a muscled arm over his shoulder, his slick armpit hairs touching his skin. His thick cock remained deflated, up until the bro shoved his cheap scratched up phone in his face, laughing. “Fuckkk Mark, look at these mommy milkers,” he said, showing off a GIF of some big boobed porn star squeezing her fleshy tits together. Instantly, Mark as he was now affectionately called, could feel all the blood rushing to his cock, a low groan leaving his open mouth, the stank of morning breath blowing out, but his bro didn’t care. He reached his big meaty hand into his sweats, at the same time his bro was doing the same thing. “Fuck brah, let me pull us up something good,” the dude said, using his sweaty pube covered fingers to quickly bring up a porn video, lesbians scissoring to be exact.

Their slick pussies sliding against each other, their titties bouncing. Mark couldn’t help it, even if a tiny gay voice was screaming in his head, begging him to remember that he was a gay boy who wanted to be fucked by frat boys, not be one. Mark was only hyper focused on the swaying tits and squirting pussies on the phone screen, he didn’t even glance over at his bro jacking his cock because that would be gay. No one in this frat was a queer. Least of all him.

Once he busted his load to the moaning MILFs, he didn’t even clean up, he just shoved his thick cock into his sweats and stretched out, shoving his bro away as he squeezed out a hot protein fart. Everyone laughed, breathing in the hot fetid stench, loving the sense of brotherhood in the house.

Everyone except for the old Marcus, that is. But this is the prime of Mark’s frat boy breeder life.

--- Originally posted on 2023-03-28 by breedertfs ---

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That Wish Stinks

“W-wait, let me be more clear!” The blonde twink barely has the chance to lift his hands up, gasping in shock, as a glowing rift appears in front of him.

In a half hour, his boyfriend is coming over to spend a fun evening cuddling in the sheets watching their favorite show together, but to Christopher’s dismay, his older brother is still crashing at his place. What was supposed to be a weekend has turned into a near month of free-loading, and for all that time, the admittedly prissy and tidy twink has been at his absolute limit.

Chad got laid off at his construction job, and their parents moved out of state years ago, so they couldn’t offer help. And as much as Christopher was horrified by the idea of being trapped in a house with his slob older bro again… what else could he do? But now, wading through beer cans and fast food wrappers and choking on the fumes that only a straight jock can produce, his empathy seems more like a mistake than a virtue.

It’s as Christopher is trying to clean under his couch that his fingers come into contact with a very warm and very sticky and EXTREMELY foul smelling sock. His big bro’s cum sock, hardened in some spots but still moist in others. “EWWW!” was all Christopher could cry out, rushing to grab more paper towels and cleaning supplies. In his frustration, going down on both knees to better clean the pig sty, he makes his wish.

“I wish my brother wasn’t the absolute filthiest, most stereotypical, stupid jock in town,” he started sassily, happy that his brother was gone and pumping iron at the gym so that he could express his thoughts openly. But that’s when the rift appeared, a glowing and radiant energy that somehow seemed to stare right at him, pulsing with light.

Wish granted.

Try as he might to protest, not realizing some entity was listening to his ill fated wish, Christopher is powerless as the rift consumes him. It feels like he is being stretched on all sides, legs extending and arms stretching, far past the limits of his older bro. In the rift, he could only stare in horror at a swirling mass of green fumes, reeking of the same foul, gnarly scent of Chad’s farts. The same ones that haunted Christopher in his youth, pretty little face squashed under those hairy, sweaty cheeks after no-consent wrestling.

He’s trying to scream when the gas goes straight down his throat, pouring into his being, making his eyes water as the last remnants of the twink wail and gag. He could down every inch of his boyfriend’s cock, but this was unalike anything he had ever experienced. As he inhaled the fart, his stretched body filled in all the spaces his former lithe frame couldn’t compensate for. His newfound stout, commanding figure bore a striking resemblance to Chad’s, but it seemed to go a step further. More swole, more reeking.

In a flash, his thin jaw cracks into a strong, lantern cleft chin. His shoulders pop up and broaden into boulders, football sized biceps following suit, he can’t help but to flex them. The twink used to hate burly men, Christopher used to hate size and smell and hair, but now Topher is grinning down at his sick ass gains, his huge muscular thighs straining against his sweatpants. His cock stirs, hardening, growing in size and length as the head of it rubs against the fabric, going commando because that’s just who he is. The new him. It throbs with the urge to be released, to penetrate, the flood of testosterone in his senses rewiring all of his urges, erasing every aspect of who he used to be to make room for who he wishes to be.

All he wanted right now was to plow a bimbo and seed her, pass on his majestic jock genes for the future generation, and make her cry out his name as he plays with her tits. He can’t even remember his boyfriend anymore. That’s not something he’s ever considered, not Topher. If you think Chad is a walking stereotype, just meet his brother, that’s what everyone says. Chad’s got nothing on Topher.

The absolute filthiest, most stereotypical, stupid jock in the house.

He settles into reality, raising his arms into his new favorite pose, breathing in deep the scent of his musk. His workout shirt is stained to hell and back, but he’s proud. There’s a bag of fast food junk he smashed earlier for his bulk, and there’s two cum rag socks under the coach he and his little bro share when they gotta let off some steam. Shit, what he wouldn’t give for some pussy right now. Maybe when Chad gets home from his pump Topher can propose a night out to go and satisfy their pythons. He’d be home in about twenty minutes, and Topher has a mean fart brewing in his gut that’s he’s gonna use for a glorious, protein reeking prank to greet him.

Then the doorbell rings, and Topher is surprised to see some fairy stumbling over his words on his porch, asking where his boyfriend is. Topher just chuckles, dim eyes looking sharp for possibly the first time ever. “Hey, uh, I still get two wishes?” A familiar rift started to appear over the frightened queer’s head as Topher, pawing his engorging cock, thought of how great life was doing to be living in his man cave with his bro, the next best thing to himself, and how even still it could be all just a little bit better.

“I wish I had a bimbo side piece standing on my front porch right about now.”

--- Originally posted on 2022-11-27 by breedertfs ---

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thrift shift: camo hat

“Yeah, thanks but no, guys who wear hats like this are the bane of my existence.” The blonde twink grimaced at the cap shoved into his hands, but the shopkeeper kept on insisting. Presley was a pacifist vegetarian with a successful fashion blog, and the last thing he needed was to blend into nature. What on earth was he going to hunt except for a sugar daddy? But the longer he held the hat in his hands, the more he felt a pulling in the pit of his stomach. Anxious energy rose in him, strangely inclined to listen to the owner of the new thrift store that had opened in town. He could always write a bad review on his blog later, what was the harm in playing nice now? Without bothering to search for a changing room for something so simple, he huffed. “Fine, whatever. But babes, we need to talk about your eye for style.”

He secured the cap on his head, but as he reached to adjust the strap to tighten it, he felt a wave of energy roll through his body as he poofed! out of the shop, leaving the clerk smiling happily and going on to help the next customer seeking their perfect Thrift Shift experience. Elsewhere, phasing into existence in a field outside a rural farmhouse, the new and improved Preston found himself feeling bloated, dirty, and exposed. He looked down for a brief moment of panic, trying to process the filthy slab of meat and thick hair and trashy tattoos attached to his new head.

The once new camo cap felt stretched to its limits around his broad face, lantern jaw falling slack at the sheer smell of sweat wafting off him. The hat felt hot on his scalp, damp to the touch, and the last remnants of Presley assimilated to his new environment quickly. Preston belched out in the open, pressing a calloused hand to his painfully full beer gut. He could smell the alcohol on his rank breath, suddenly and completely a full grown corn fed man acting like a drunken fool out in the backwoods. But damn, this was his fuckin’ property! All he wanted to do now was chug another can of beer and take his four wheeler for a spin down the backwoods. Maybe bring his rifle along and look for a nice buck.

The only real passions in his life were beer, hunting, and tight pussy. He’d have his fill of all that, but first… he could feel the pressure building in his gut, and he had no shame letting his rank odor fill the air, thick hairy ass cheeks jiggling from the sheer force of one longgg fuckin’ fart.

He lowered his underwear so that he could listen to the sound with pride.

“Awww yeah, that’s real nice. I tell ya what man, this is the life.”

--- Originally posted on 2021-01-16 by breedertfs ---

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

What You Desire: Poll Story

Personality Change. Masculine - Hairy, Dirty, Daddy. Straight to Gay. Mental Change - IQ Loss. Nerd to Jock. Muscle Growth. Race Change: Latino. Himbo TF. Changed By: Clothing/Wish Gone Wrong.

Hope y’all enjoy! More stories coming soon.

( update after the flagging issue: thank you for your patience! i reposted every image by itself to find the culprits, and i even found two variants to make up for taking them out. we should be good to go!! )

It had started off innocent. As innocent as stealing the college quarterback’s sweaty jockstrap could possibly be.

I know how it seems, but Nathan here isn’t a pervert. He doesn’t even like guys, let alone the toxic fumes that the jocks around campus seem to produce. So if you’re thinking that he stole Miguel Vega’s underwear to sniff the piss and cum-stained glory in private, you’ve got it all wrong.

If we’re being entirely honest, Nathan has always admired the jocks - in some quiet way that he’s never been able to put into words. As obnoxious as they are, always making vulgar jokes and putting fitness over their education, one fact remains true. They always get the girl.

For all their belching and farting, smashing their heads together on the football field day in and day out, Nathan can’t deny that the jocks seem to have it all figured out. They’re the big guys on campus, always surrounded by friends and bringing a new girl back to their rooms each night. And Miguel is the top dog, the boss man, the undisputed king.

As much as Nathan wants to be happy with his life, with his good grades and bright future and the strong friendships that he’s built with his teachers, well… he can’t help being envious of the other side. It’s lonely being a nerd. Only a few friends to call his own, invited to even fewer parties. Zero girls.

Maybe that frustrated horniness is what made him steal Miguel’s jockstrap. He had been helping the janitors clean out the football locker room, hoping to add some volunteer hours to his already shining resume, and then there they were, Abandoned under a bench and reeking even from a distance. The straps were strained and the pouch was stretched. Only the biggest cock could pull that off.

He grimaced as he stuffed them into the inside pocket of his hoodie without thinking, grateful for the gloves on his hands. He instantly felt dirty, the damp heat radiating against the side of his stomach, the raw smell already wafting up to his nose. He zipped up his hoodie and got back to work, but the whole time he was thinking of Miguel’s girlfriend, Cindy The head cheerleader, of course.

Nathan couldn’t help but to wonder - was Cindy attracted to Miguel’s musk? The combined force of sweat, testosterone, and gas was only making his eyes water, but his dick started to chub up when he imagined Cindy breathing in the scent of Miguel’s armpits, licking his biceps clean. That’s the kind of girlfriend he wanted. Someone wild and freaky; someone who would worship every inch of him.

But he wasn’t Miguel Vega. He was thin and tall, happy to wear his prescription glasses and button up shirts. He was Clark Kent without the alter ego, forever living his life as a shy, awkward nerd. Nathan wanted more. As much as it frightened him, he longed for Miguel’s life. To be carefree and popular, to have a body that made people want him, to have a girl like Cindy riding his cock.

That night, he stripped off his clothes and held the jockstrap in his bare hands. His features looked uncomfortable in the mirror, and for a moment he considered stopping. This was ridiculous, and gross, and he was losing himself in the fantasy. He was always going to be a nerd. He would always be forgotten, and he’d never get the girl. But he couldn’t stop… he wanted more.

All he wanted was a visual reminder of the goal he was about to set for himself, a way of looking himself in his blue eyes and telling himself that one day he could have what Miguel had. He slid the jockstrap over his long, pale legs, shivering as the sweat helped them to glide along his skin. The stretched fabric drooped on his waist, so he held it in place with a shy smile.

He stared at himself for a long while, taking in his average looks and timid personality, only to glance down and see Miguel’s jockstrap on his slender body. Breathing in the rank scent of him, letting himself imagine that it was his own. Pretending like one day his body could swell to fill the fabric, that his cock could support the large pouch. That a girl could place herself between his legs and breathe him in. Nathan’s musk. Not Miguel’s.

Nathan opened his eyes with a euphoric smile, making a promise to himself to start working out, to put less pressure on himself in his classes, to learn how to talk to girls. “I wish I was worthy of wearing these,” he whispered to himself as his fingers hooked around the straps, thrusting his hips into the soiled underwear. “I will be.”

For a moment, he imagined Miguel’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror. That’s the kind of guy he was going to become. A stud, a superstar, a king. A real pussy hound. He knew it was silly, thinking he could go from being himself to being anything like Miguel, but he had to let himself believe. It would be a long road to become worthy of wearing the star quarterback’s jockstrap.

“I wish it could happen sooner.”

And that’s when he yelped in pain, breaking free from his imagination and glancing down at the jockstrap constricting around his waist. It seemed to vibrate with life, sliding its wet fabric along his cock shaft and causing him to moan. Out of nowhere the loose underwear had become snug on him, grinding itself against him in an impossible way.

He cupped his hands over his crotch, trying to swallow down his moans, trying to ignore the energy that was swelling inside of him. “You’ll be worthy of me,” an unfamiliar voice purred in his mind, making him glance around the room in fear. “Look down at your new master.” He lowered his gaze to jockstrap, shining with a blue light, still working its sweaty fabric along his cock.

“You’ll be a stud.” Nathan gasped in pleasure, knees buckling as he crashed to the floor. The energy inside of him swelled to the surface, and he watched in shock as his body began to inflate with thick muscle. His chest ballooned out into a perky pair of pecs, his stomach became broad and firm, even his waist began to spread out, stretching the shrunken jockstrap back to its former size.

And then it kept stretching, his legs becoming massive tree trunks, his hands still pawing at his crotch. Even as his fingers became thick and meaty, his biceps swelling until they rubbed against his bloated chest. He could feel the cold floor against his ass, but even that was slowly swallowed by muscle and fat, lifting him up higher. “You think Miguel was worthy of me? I want a man.”

Nathan tried to steady himself, but his new body felt foreign and strange. Everything was rubbing against something, causing his body to keep shaking in pleasure. Even as the itching started, he couldn’t stop himself from rolling onto his stomach, thrusting against the air as dark, wiry hair broke through the surface of his skin. It spread everywhere that he could see, and where he couldn’t, he could feel the warmth of the hair sprouting into forests. He touched his sensitive nipples, piercings and tattoos manifesting out of nowhere.

( click here for a hidden GIF )

Inside the jockstrap, he felt his lengthening cock throb against the thick bush around it, and he could feel the hairs thickening beneath his arms and on his chest. It was everywhere. His ass, his face, a stinging kind of pleasure that made him let out a howl of pain and euphoria. “A grown man. The only thing Miguel had going for him was his race.”

Nathan lifted his hands to his now bearded face, still shivering in pleasure and watching as they became weathered and worn, darkening with a tan from many years out in the sun… and then darkening further, watching the complexion drip down his arms and move across his chest, over his body in waves and up past his throat. He could only imagine what was becoming of him. He knew what he was becoming.

He moved his eyes to the mirror again, seeing the last of this new change as his new beard connected with his ginger hair, staining it black as the curls became thicker and glossier, his whole body shining with sweat and dark hair, looking like he’d lived his entire life under the sun. He was glorious, and handsomely matured, the pinnacle of Latino sexiness. “You’ll be a superstar. I want sweat, and filth, and I want you to want it, too.”

There was a flash of blue light, and then something moved beneath Nathan. He looked down in shock, then at his surroundings, trying to make sense of why he was suddenly straddling another man in a room he couldn’t recognize. He felt his dick become softer, trying to remove himself from this unknown hunk, before the horny man tightened his grasp on Nathan’s waist. He smiled so sexily.

The voice came from inside his head again.

“I want men, Nathan. You want them, too. My whole existence is worshipping cock.” Nathan felt his features shift with anxiety, feeling himself come to the surface for the first time. It had been so easy to lose himself in the pleasure, enjoying every moment of what the jockstrap was making him become, but now he was afraid. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be on top of a woman, feeling her squirm beneath him. Not this meathead.

“Your whole existence is worshipping cock.”

Then his mind snapped, and he let his lust take control. The stranger cried out in pleasure as Nathan lifted the guy’s leg to get easier access to his ripe asshole. He lowered the waistband of his jockstrap and wasted no time plowing the stud on his king sized bed. “Cum on me,” he spoke in accented English, unable to take his eyes off the younger man’s cock. “Cover me with it. Please.”

( click here for a hidden GIF )

“And don’t forget worshipping pits. Ass. Anything sweaty. That’s what you and I are built for, after all.”

Nathan didn’t hesitate, still thrusting his cock in and out of the sweaty asshole as he leaned down, shoving his face into the nearest armpit. His large tongue started licking up the sweet taste, shoving his nose and entire face into the glorious warmth, making the stranger cry out in ecstasy.

“Don’t you feel like a king now? Don’t you feel worthy of me?” But Nathan couldn’t even think of a reply, he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t a thick cock, or a man’s sweaty body. He only wanted to be used, to be worshipped, to worship in return. “I am a man. A superstar. A king.” With a shock, he recognized the deep, accented baritone in his head as his own voice. His new voice. He had been listening to himself speak the entire time.

His jockstrap started squirming again, but he ignored the feeling. He felt like a jockstrap in human form now, made to devour cock and suck up sweat, bringing home a new man each and every night, never washing the scent of them out of his beard or off his body, always reeking and stained and loving every fucking minute of it.

He started doing porn under the screen name miguelsjockstrap69, though he never introduced himself with that name. He went by Rodrigo Royale in person, a real himbo of a man that had the gay community wrapped around his thick, smelly finger. His videos were the filthiest, and he had no standards. If you had a cock, he wanted to explore every inch of it.

“So, like, who is Miguel?” his conquests would sometimes ask after filling themselves up on his pit stink, and he’d chuckle to himself and flex his huge biceps for them to worship. “Nobody important. Just an old friend.” He was a man Miguel could only dream of becoming. A stud. A superstar. A king.

Funnily enough, he had a strange habit of calling his worn out, stained yellow jockstrap Nathan - not that his hook ups or fans cared, they thought it was hot. He was always wearing that jockstrap. Getting a chance to get between Rodrigo’s legs and sniff Nathan was worth every penny, and they both loved to please. Sometimes you could even see the underwear squirming in excitement.

Maybe fear.

( click here for a hidden picture )

“Yeah, Nathan,” Rodrigo purred in private. “You’re worthy of me now.”

--- Originally posted on 2020-09-17 by breedertfs ---

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

A Better Son

Apologies for my absence! Been without power for almost a month, still working on sorting some things out - but I’m still alive! And still kinky as ever, of course.

Here’s a quick story as a treat.

Matthew was a good kid.

Good looks, good grades, good future - but he was never able to come to terms with being abandoned by his father as a baby. Not that his mother did a bad job of raising him, she was wonderful, but like most young men he craved having a father figure in his life.

Someone to play ball with, to introduce to his girlfriend that he was sure he’d marry one day, to teach him how to be a good man - not that he even knew anything about his father, only that his mother said he wasn’t missing out on much. That he left for a reason.

But still, Matthew liked to fantasize. He imagined a great, incredible guy, a guy that chose to give up on Matthew before he even had a chance. He couldn’t get around it. So maybe that’s why he made the wish, “I wish I could be the son my father wanted,” and maybe that’s why everything began to shift.

He could sense the world warping around him, everything changing in a blur, himself included. He felt a cold breeze run over his body as suddenly he was nude, felt himself tumbling through time and space, but nothing was stranger than the feeling of his body stretching and expanding. Inflating.

When he tried to scream, all he could do was moan. Each sensual purr soared higher and higher than the last, as he felt his body writhing in the air and screaming femininely, biceps pressing against a bloating chest and ass cheeks jiggling just behind him. He was terrified, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt huge, and horny.

And then he crash landed, knees making contact with a soft king sized bed. All he had time to do was look down at himself, at the beefy tattooed body and tiny speedo he was now trapped inside, before he lost control again and began grinding against the plush blanket like a bitch in heat.

“Papi,” he was forced to moan, not recognizing the accented voice that left his mouth. He sounded so dumb, and desperate, no longer able to find the English language anywhere on his large tongue. He had no control over his body, over the bouncing booty or the fingers dancing across his cobblestone abs.

When his father walked into the room, looking like the symbol of masculinity Matthew had always imagined, Matthew wanted to cry out in joy. He could recognize him from childhood pictures, and he had aged well. He was well dressed, and ripped, and smelled of leather and wood. He hated that his father was meeting him while he was trapped in this slutty body.

But his father was thrilled, and didn’t seem to be surprised in the least by his presence. “Daddy’s home, Mateo,” the man said as he began to pull off his shirt, revealing his lean body that reeked of power and control. “Have been a good slut while I was at work? Are you going to welcome me?”

All Matthew - or Mateo, it now seemed - could say was “Si, papi,” jumping to his feet and starting to twerk and twist his body like some sort of male stripper. His father smiled, inching closer to his trophy boy, enjoying every jiggle of his perfect body. It was then that Matthew began to realize the truth.

His father left because he was gay. He didn’t want kids. His mother had been right, he hadn’t been missing out on anything at all, and the kind of son that his father truly wanted… wasn’t a real son at all. Just a beefy whore that was good for nothing but moving his body and taking his daddy’s huge cock.

Matthew was never able to free himself from Mateo. To the world, that was who he was now, just a beautiful slut with a huge ass and bigger muscles, who had a daddy that flew him to the states and bought him everything his little heart and smaller brain could desire. He was living his best life.

But Matthew was in agony, forever spending the rest of his life with the man he wanted to want him so desperately, only to get exactly what he wished for in the worst way. He’d never go to college for football, he’d never marry his high school sweetheart, all of the good things were gone.

He was daddy’s pride and joy now. His juicy treasure, forever waiting on him hand and foot. Begging for mercy in his mind while he was forced to tell his new papi to do terrible, nasty things to him. Nothing more than a sentient sex toy.

But at least his father wanted him now. Loved him, even.

That was all that mattered in the end.

--- Originally posted on 2024-02-18 by breedertfs ---

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

A Bad Wet Dream

Aaron would have never made the wish to become his hookup's walking wet dream if he had known what the gorgeous twink was truly into. He was just so nervous, happy and giddy that the beautiful bottom had even agreed to meet up with him in the first place, but he was also feeling anxious that the evening was undoubtably going to end up as a dead end one night stand. He wanted more, wanted a relationship, wanted to be worthy of that beautiful, sweet, bubbly handsome boy.

The first sign that something was wrong after his wish was as he was trying to get prepped, feeling a strong itching from beneath his arms. Thick, black hairs were curling outwards from once smooth skin, sticky and slick and dripping sweat down his broadening sides. He had always been on the larger end of the scale, but now his body was being molded and chiseled by invisible masculine hands, reshaped into something bigger and better. He smirked at his reflection, a little unlike himself, his jaw seeming a little more sculpted, his gaze more commanding, his features more ruggedly handsome. He couldn't help but to bounce his firm pecs as they swelled, nipples perky and suckable, dark brown flesh rising from rosy hues. His pale skin was washed over by a wave of bronzed, sunkissed shades. His blue eyes turned to dark honey, glittering with power and lust, his stomach hardening with rippling abs. His legs stretched taller, his frame looming in the room, his thighs growing thick and shredded and accenting his tree trunk legs. He felt so powerful, his every inhale of air a surge of alpha coded influence moving through him.

And then the dark, thick beard broke through his chiseled jaw, reeking of pussy juice and the aftermath of rank morning breath. His thick, fattening ass cheeks rumbled, crack growing dank and slick and hairy as a protein fart trumpeted through the meaty globes. His cock was snaking outward, growing thick, mushroom head flared against his tight gym shorts. The cock print was visible.

A golden cross materialized around his thick neck, nestled safely between his firm pecs. It jostled about his body flexed and tensed, his hungry, domineering gaze drinking up his superior masculine form. He was confused by the smells, by the sudden feelings of devotion inside his mind, the faith he wore so proudly around his throat- but he thought of his handsome face, his thick body, his impressive cock. It was only natural the faggot- the twink was turned on by pure, uncorrupted alpha men. Every inch of him radiated power, the rancid stench of a king, the throbbing fat python of a breeder leaking pre into his shorts. Somewhere in Amir's newly forming mind, the last traces of Aaron tried to make sense of his new form, his new thoughts, the way his wish was being twisted- but he was quickly smothered and quietened between the sheer amount of fat, jiggling breasts and squirting pussies Amir was conjuring into his mind.

When a knock sounded on his front door, strolling through a haze of hookah smoke and the stale scent of a jock boy's sweat and farts and dirty gym gear, he opened it to come face to face with a tiny, pathetic, already drooling twink. Amir smirked at him, his fat cock still throbbing to the thoughts of women in his mind, ready to pull out his phone and call over a bitch to service him. But not this one. The twink was already popping a boner, his cheeks flushing, coming face to face with one of the cocky obviously straight men he jerked off to on his social media feeds nightly.

Aaron wailed for help, a feminine nipple entering his open mouth, a dizzy daydream of motorboating tits forming in Amir's hazy, stupid, alpha mind. He laughed, and went to shut the door in the faggot's face. "Not even in your pathetic dreams, little man." Thud.

--- Originally posted on 2023-08-16 by shapedbydesire (breedertfs)

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

Shady Unit

ϟ gay to straight tf, muscle growth, cop tf, forced tf, changed by surroundings, mental tf, reality tf, breeder/conservative tf

Peyton accepted his friends' dare against his better judgment; the gaggle of gays had been walking home from their early morning brunch, mimosas fizzling inside their dizzy heads, when they noticed the parked cop car with a wide open door. No pigs in sight, only an abandoned police unit just begging them to come over and snoop around. "Ohhh my god, you have got to let us take a picture with you sitting in the driver's seat, Peyton! That would be so funny!" This made the boy in question frown, blonde curls hanging in his face and obscuring his narrowed, baby blue eyes. Looking at the group, the least straight OR cop passing of the whole bunch would be Peyton, the twink runt, so that just made his friends laugh louder at the thought and push him closer to the unguarded vehicle. "Come on, Peyton, do it! You've got this!"

Making sure once more that the coast was clear, he decided that there was no harm in it. All he had to do was run over, strike a cute pose, and then get the fuck out and go home! He marched his way over, struggling a bit as he pulled the heavy, solid door a little further away so that he could squeeze inside, and then he turned to smile at his friends with flushed cheeks, hands lifted up in a double thumbs up pose. It was just a shame that the car door slammed shut before his buddies could snap their pictures, a faint murmur of gasps and sounds of confusion behind the thick shell of steel as Peyton found himself trapped and silenced within the car, panic rising in his system as he tried and failed to get the door to budge as he pressed and yanked trying to open it. All to no avail.

That was when he heard the rustling on the dashboard, the bulky pair of black sunglasses rattling in place, as if charged with energy and about to combust. He was staring at them in shock and fear when they suddenly leaped forward, opening their hinges and sliding right onto his frightened face, covering his shocked vision in a shield of dim, repressed light. Honestly, the jumping object would have been the most frightening part, if not for the pain that suddenly flared in the space between his temples. He gasped out in pain, muscles tensing, spine locking in place as shocks began to pulse through his body.

Little thoughts began to dance with his begs for mercy, his brain was a battlefield of trying to rationalize what was happening to him, and trying to ignore the presence that was steadily making itself known inside of himself. Another man's casual thoughts were overlapping his own, overpowering them. "Fuck, I can't wait for this shift to be over so I get home to my girl." Peyton grimaced, another shock rolling through him, his jaw stinging as it cracked outward into a chiseled, strong, pitch black stubbled line. The twink was confused and alarmed to hear this gruff voice speaking, especially one that gave a shit about getting home to a girl.

He reached up to pull the glasses off, trying to exert control over his spasming limbs, but then he could feel the muscles in his arms tearing apart and stitching themselves back together in an instant, his spindly arms vibrating in the air as suddenly they ballooned out into firm, solid, vascular biceps that were swollen with raw strength. Except now they were forced into a double bicep pose and no longer reaching for the glasses still trapped on his head.

"Fuccck, I just want to get home and flood her cunt. The good book says to be fruitful and multiply, my only purpose in life is to be a traditional man, to fulfill my duty as a male," the low, bovine voice kept talking despite Peyton's inner protests, his newly large and calloused hand reaching down to cup his bulge, lithe fingers fattening into sausages. His rough fingertips could feel a different and more durable fabric where his mesh shorts had once been. But that all paled in comparison to the heat radiating from his crotch, the trembling of his little nub cock as it began to engorge, fattening into a thick, girthy, vein covered shaft.

His cock head flared out into a large purple mushroom that was already leaking pre into his tight and sweaty boxers, a sun kissed hue washing across his pasty skin with every twitch of his bulking up body. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His firm jaw itched as black, wiry beard hairs burst through the coarse skin, making look him manly and intimidating. His blonde curls retracted into a dark black, traditional cut.

With what little control he could muster, he reached up to the driver's side mirror, pulling down the flap and gasping in absolute shock. Or at least he meant to, but now his permanently fixed cocky smirk could only speak with the same voice that was inside his head. "Fuck, I look clean as shit! My bitch is gonna be dripping all over my cock all night long." He watched clear as day as his now douchey, older, masculine face moved on its own accord, speaking without his say in the same dumb, harsh, jock voice he had heard earlier. Now looking at himself in the reflection, unable to control the posing body of the conceited bodybuilder cop he was trapped within, he could see what had become of his clothes. His little rainbow buttons and badges were now deadly gear strapped to his vest and belt, and his cute outfit was now a traditional and crisp police uniform.

Nothing that made up Peyton was left once that door slammed shut, leaving behind a smug and newly minted Officer Dickson sitting inside his very own unit. Flipping on the siren lights, he popped open the car door with a casual lean of his bulky body, Peyton wailing inside his mental prison at the sight of his former friends. This was their idea, and they needed to help him! He just wanted to be set free, safe to go home and far away from this awful, backwards minded brain his essence had now been shoved into.

But the massive man only sneered and glared at the group of fairies behind his dark black, emotionless lenses. "Clear the fuck out, or I'll take you all in for processing." He was okay watching them sprint to run away, vowing to deal with their presence another day. As much as he loved bringing alpha men into this world by changing gay men to serve the police unit, repurposed to better suit traditional society, he would always have a fondness of doing it the old fashioned way. And his wife was certainly gonna end up inflated with a few alpha sons in her belly once he was finished with her tonight. Peyton would just have to get used to the countless flashes of bouncing tits and squirting pussies inside his new cage. Officer Dickson wasn't going to change his mindset for anyone, let alone the skinny little queer he didn't even remember being.

Stop babe

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-13 by breedertfs ---

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

“Stop, babe!! You have to stop or we’re going to keep changing!” When the jock said he’d help us enjoy the straight bar after my boyfriend & I spent the whole night complaining about the lack of fun drinks and cute decor, I never thought he’d curse my boyfriend to have a straight man’s impulses, and worse: a transformative kiss.

As soon as he pecked me on the cheek to calm me down, my beard pulled back into my skin, and when he kissed my neck my Adam’s apple sank away into a smooth line; at first he was trying to help me relax, shrugging off the jock’s warning, but the more feminine I started to appear the more I noticed it looked like his cock was fattening up and drooling pre in his shorts; looking at him I could see that his jaw was more square, his body more defined and still bulking up, his stare hungry.

When he grabbed me harshly and pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me like a trap and planting a big, wet kiss on my flat chest after ripping off my shirt, all I could do was gasp and moan and struggle to push him off as I felt my tits starting to swell, at first two soft mounds and then eventually fat bouncy mountains, his tongue swirling expertly around my sensitive flesh, I just kept moaning and trembling, the entirety of my body changing the longer he held contact; longer hair, narrower waist, wider hips, my cock receding as it began to be slurped by two wet, dripping folds. He has one hand squeezing my fat tit like it’s about to burst and I can feel as he reaches down his other one to stick his greedy fingers up my cunt, slick with juices.

“Please, baby,” I try to plead again as I feel the dizziness in my brain starting to take over my urge to fight back, missing my sweet and intelligent boyfriend and not at all recognizing this muscular, musky straight man treating my body like his sex toy, “remember we’re gay! You’re my boyfriend! Please don’t do this to me!”

The man that has taken the place of the love of my life pulls away from my jiggling breasts just long enough to smirk down at me, gripping me by the waist with strong hands and jerking me forward, sliding his cock into my pussy like it was made to fit his length. “This feel gay to you, baby?” he says gruffly, beginning to buck his hips as he pleasures my slit, a whiny moan leaving my lips, fucking away all my resistance and memories. “And I’m not your fucking boyfriend, slut.”

--- Originally posted on 2020-10-01 by breedertfs ---

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

OnlyWishes

When Tim’s boyfriend jokingly wished to be an OnlyFans star so that he could help pay off their bills for the month, Tim had only laughed and shoved the twink playfully. “Sure, babe. Just as long as I’m in all of your videos.”

Little did they know, I was listening. Two wishes for the price of one are rare, but I was feeling generous that day. If Tim’s boyfriend wanted to be a star and rake in the cash, then I could make it happen. Things just had to change.

Skinny blonde twinks are boring. They’re just a quick web search away. He wanted to be every gay boy’s forbidden desire? So be it. Watch him start to stretch taller, watch his muscles begin to bloat, smell him sweat like a pig.

All Tim can do is look on in fear as before his eyes his sweet boyfriend is quickly replaced by another man. A flash of blue light and then the form of a hulking monster taking over everything that made Tim’s boyfriend… well, his boyfriend.

“Fuck, bro,” is all the new beast cares to say, smelling like the inside of a gym sock and smirking like he’s done something worthwhile. This isn’t Tim’s boyfriend, not anymore. Tim’s boyfriend hadn’t been an OnlyFans star.

“Time for a new video,” the bro says, stomping closer to Tim. That’s when he remembers his own wish, to be in every video with his boyfriend, glancing down to see the thick python straining the stranger’s sweatpants. But then…

It’s not even erect. He looks up into his former boyfriend’s eyes, and the dude isn’t even paying any attention to him. He glances at the room as it changes, weights on the floor and cum stained jock straps hanging off everything.

Posters of chicks with big tits on the walls. A fleshlight with pussy lips lying on the messy bed. He covers his nose, suddenly trapped in the lair of a straight man, forced to watch him stomp closer and closer to his prey.

And then the man walks straight into him, slamming his chest against Tim’s cheek. But to the young gay’s dismay, he finds himself unable to pull away. He lifts his hands to the two beefy pillows, only to watch his fingers sink inside.

He starts screaming, trying to free his body, but it only takes a matter of seconds until the room is silent and the fighting stops. Tim’s perspective changes, feeling heavy and bloated and so warm. Something rubs against him. He can’t speak.

“Oh, shit,” a deep voice rumbles through him, followed by booming laughter. He feels himself start to bounce, up and down until he feels almost sick. “Yeah, you fags love my pecs. Watch ‘em twerk.” Tim tries to cry out, but he can’t. He’s nothing but a money maker for his former boyfriend now.

“Stay subscribed, ass eaters, next week is the fart video y’all freaks keep requesting. Whatever, as long as I get paid! That’s all that matters!”

Tim nods in agreement. It’s all he can do,

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-03 by breedertfs ---

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

Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.

The New Frat: Part 2

--- Original author: newyoutf ---

“C- Chris? No way… This is some sort of prank right?”, Todd stuttered.

“Not a prank, man! Tried on those slides and now look at me!”, Chris replied, “Guess I don’t need a costume now if I’m the real thing!”

“What slides? What is going on?!”, James yelled, puzzled.

“T- the frat bro costumes we ordered… We just got footwear, but this can’t be real… Wh- where’s Chris? Who are you?”, Todd answered.

“Todd, James, it’s me! You told me ten minutes ago to make the best with what we had for the party tonight!”

Todd’s mouth slackened slightly, no-one else could have heard that conversation…

“You guys should try this shit on too!”, Chris continued enthusiastically as he reached back into the shipping box, “I think these boat shoes might be a good match for you, bro!”

Chris tossed the box containing the boat shoes at a startled Todd, followed by the final box holding the flip-flops towards James.

Todd’s mind raced. If this was really, actually real then he might be able to *become* a frat boy instead of just lusting over them from a distance. Part of him still feared this was an elaborate hoax of some kind, but this was almost certainly Chris, no other explanation made sense. And the thought of actually being what he what desired most was too much to pass up.

“S- So… I put on the shoes, and I became a ‘bro’ or whatever?”, he asked nervously.

“Uh, I’m 99% positive, but only one way to be sure, bro!”

“Todd! You’re not actually believing this right?”, James interrupted.

“James, man, we all know Todd’s crazy for the prep bros, this is his one chance!”, Chris snapped back.

Both of the roommates were stunned, only the real Chris would know about Todd’s admittedly embarrassing predilection for the preppier men on campus.

“O- Okay, I’ll do it…”, Todd began to kick the shoes and socks off his feet while opening the box in his hands and tossing the leather boat shoes to the floor.

“I- uh… s- sure…”, James added while he more cautiously followed.

Todd slipped on the left shoe. It went on with ease being larger than his foot. At the same time James nervously stepped into the flip-flops. He couldn’t believe he’d ever fit into these, the massive slabs made his feet look tiny in comparison. In that moment he thought how crazy he was for falling for whatever joke this was.

“These are like wearing skis! This is ridic-”, James stuttered as he inhaled deeply.

Todd looked at his roommate in surprise just as the right shoe covered his remaining foot. Unimaginable waves of intense pressure and pleasure rocketed up the two men’s legs causing the sounds of moans to fill the room. Todd bucked his hips in the air, “C- Chris! You… urgh…. didn’t mention this p- paaaaart!”

Both men could feel their limbs stretching longer as they grew taller. Backs groaned upward and arms dangled down longer. Todd growled as his 5′9″ frame was stretched into one 6′0″ tall.

James - previously the tallest of the trio - grew slower going from 5′10″ to 6′2″ - a substantial increase, but leaving him to be now the middle height of the group. He staggered forward and tripped over the leather slabs loosely held by his toes, catching himself on his knee as the bones and tendons of his size 9 feet were forced to grow. Sweat rolled down his face to the floor as leant onto his bent knees, watching the exposed feet spreading wider, thicker and longer as they covered the size 13 leather soles completely.

By this stage Todd’s toes were stretching forward within the boat shoes. His heel eased backward while the rest of the sole grew forward. The feet pushed wider, his lengthening toes striking the sides as they filled up the size 12 shoes.

James began muttering senselessly with his lip trembling. All over his skin had darkened to a deep bronze surfers tan. He pulled desperately at the waistband of his pants and freed his hard 6 inch cock. His member quivered with tension as it began to very slowly extend extend longer…

Chris watched on as the mens four legs began to tremble as growth infected them. Thick muscle spread up from their strengthening ankles, wrapping up the back of their calves. James’ legs bulged harder and thicker than Todd’s, violently blowing apart his pants revealing thick, bulging thighs and sturdy, strong calves - all now devoid of hair.

Todd’s shorts, on the other hand, groaned under subtler pressure, tearing and falling away slowly as strong legs emerged from the ruins. Light hair spread across the powerful thighs and reached his pubes, which became tidier, revealing more of the gradually expanding cock.

Todd choked back a loud moan as head of his cock surged in size wildly. He stood panting and shaking as pecs and abs began to press against his shirt, the buttons struggling against the muscle. One by one the buttons popped away, revealing a lean, muscular chest decorated with light hair.

The other friend’s transformation was becoming more dramatic by now. Failing in an attempt to stifle a lustful growl, James collapsed backward onto the side of the bed, feeling abdominals bulge out of his stomach. He placed a hand on his abdomen and felt defined cum gutters chiselling their way out below his new abs. His pecs weren’t far behind as the sensitivity in his nipples rose to unbearable levels, the muscles beneath them surging outward. As his hand brushed along the meaty chest muscles, he felt what little body hair he had dissolving away, showing off his tanned skin and glistening muscles. His small shirt began to warp and tear before exploding under the pressure of the meaty pecs and huge shoulders.

“Fuck yeah, man!”, Chris chimed up, turned on and excited by his friends becoming frat studs like himself. He pawed gently at his own hard cock watching the transformations unfold in front of him.

James wailed, pushing his shoulders back as they expanded even wider. Muscles bulged from them and rippled down his biceps where they swelled even larger. Individual muscles could be seen wriggling and expanding, creating the deeply attractive bulges of muscle seen on other jocks. With the growth spreading down the limbs, hair faded from his inflating forearms. The fingers on his hands stretched outward as they grew longer and thicker alongside his palms. He watched as the digits cracked and flailed becoming intensely long and broad.

The disproportionately enormous hands would provide the world a hint of the massive cock he possessed, now sitting at 8 inches and continuing to swell. He gripped the shaft with his hand and began to stroke.

Todd meanwhile was growling with lust at his own expanding biceps. He gripped his scalp as the changes moved through his head. He could feel his fingers sliding longer through the mop of hair on his head, the hands becoming large and nimble. The hair pushed through the long, tidy fingers, sweeping into a neat, preppy part. He rubbed his face and moaned feeling short spiky stubble where none existed prior. His fingers traced a reshaping facial shape: a sharper jaw and chin, a smaller, cuter nose and ears, a steely-eyed brow.

Both men moaned in acceptance as their personalities were plucked apart and rearranged. Todd staggered, feeling thoughts and memories filling his head: sex, drinking, prep fashion, sex, more sex.

Similar mental changes zapped away at James’ mind. His days would now be consumed by sports, working out, the beach and fucking. Overrun with lust, he angrily stroked his cock as it stretched to its finale of 9 veiny inches. While he thrust desperately he gritted his teeth, feeling them shifting in his mouth. His face creaked and rippled as it shifted into that of a gorgeous, vain, beach-dwelling jock.

The fully transformed James was close to his climax now as he turned to Todd, witnessing his friend clamor and grasp in lust at his own shifting visage. His face was widening and elongating, accomodating a broad and ever more stubbly jaw. He was smiling and moaning, running his hands through his hair as it swept across and lightened a shade. His newly blued eyes fluttered open as he felt his cock surge outward.

“Oh shit, bro!”, James watched lustfully as his friend approached the end of his changes, “Almost… there, man!”.

Todd nodded at James, his mouth hanging open while his cock and balls inflated like balloons - what was once 5 inches minutes ago now pushed beyond 7.

“You ready… bro!”, James gasped loudly.

“I- I’m… r- ready… b- b- broooooooooo!”, with two simultaneous roars, Todd’s cock shot out to 8 long inches and ejected it’s preppy frat boy contents over and over. Similarly, James’ huge cock sprayed stream after stream of his hot jock cum across the floor and up his tanned abs.

“So you guys believe me now?”, Chris chimed in.

“Ha… ha… yeah, man…”, “Ch’yeah, bro…”, the two new additional frat boys replied.

“So, fuck tonight’s party. What do y’all think about throwing our own frat party? A few beers, maybe order some more shit from that site for some friends? What do you think, boys?”, Chris said with a smile as his yanked his phone off the bed and opened it to the website that had started all of this.

James and Todd looked each and smirked, nodding in approval.

“Hell yeah, bro…”

The New Frat: Part 1

--- Original author: newyoutf ---

“Ah, Chris…”, Todd bemoaned, “it looks like they’ve sent shoes instead of the costume pieces…”

“I don’t get it…”, Chris rummaged through the box, hoping to find any clothing. He held up the shipping invoice to see it matched his order: “New You Industries - Assorted Frat Boy - Quantity x 3 - $120″.

“The invoice is right, but this isn’t what I expected?”, Chris sighed.

“What do you mean, ‘what you expected’…”

“Well… the description didn’t technically say they were full costumes. It was listed as one-size-fits-all and had some cheezy description about feeling like a real frat bro or something. I thought that meant they were costumes… Sorry…”

“Look… We got an invites to this thing, so, let’s just use what we’ve got now, if the shoes fit okay then we can use those too,”, Todd replied as he scanned his eyes along the labels pasted to the shoe boxes within the larger shipping box, “Flip-flops, boat shoes… and slides! These are fratty, Chris, so look on the bright side! You check these out and try to find something to wear, I need to shower before James gets back.”

Todd was adamant to at least attempt to finalise the frat bro costumes. The idea was originally that of the third roommate, James. A simple and safe enough concept, likely to get a little laugh here and there at the party being held on their colleges campus.

“You’re right, James will be back soon and we can help each other see what looks douchiest”, Chris said with a laugh.

As Todd swayed into the bathroom, Chris picked up the box and moved it into his bedroom. Inside, he opened his wardrobe along with the large cardboard container and proceeded to give the contents a closer look. Three individual shoe boxes sat inside the larger box with generic labels “flip-flops”, “slides” and “boat shoes”.

“Todd’s right, these might actually work… if they fit…”, Chris thought to himself as he picked the box of slides out removed the rubber footwear.

He tossed the slides to the floor, noticing immediately there was no possibility of them being a good fit. The rubber sandals looked practically massive next to his feet. For good measure, he slipped his feet into them and turned the shoe box box in his hands to find the size

“Size 13?! Way too big…”, Chris thought, “They feel like they’re going to fall straight o- ooooooooooofffffff!”, Chris hunched over with a yell as the slides blasted his body with an invisible energy. He immediately felt the front of his shorts, fearing he’d cum into them, only to feel that they were perfectly dry. Chris growled as he began to stretch taller, watching in horror and lust as his lengthening legs and torso made the floor move further away. Chris shuddered at the sight of his pale, white skin becoming bronzer as he stretched taller, leaving him with the deep tan of someone who spends plenty of time in the sunshine. He could feel his arms elongating, stretching further as they grew in proportion. Soon, the 5′7″ Chris was standing at a proud 6′3″.

The toes on his size 8 feet felt as though they were being pulled and pushed from both the inside and out as they began to slowly lengthen. The soles slithered out longer and wider, pushing toward the back and front of the rubber. Chris could feel the strap begin to grip around around the sides and tops of his feet as the entire foot expanded. Hairier toes jutted out further and further from under the strap as they reshaped into long, thick digits. “H- holy shit!”, Chris’ cock throbbed as the feet finished filling the slides.

Impatient for their turn, Chris’ calves began to bloat outward as thick hair spread across his entire legs. He could feel the tiny muscles swelling and growing, forcing him to grip the corner of the wall as he convulsed in pleasure.

The sound of tears signified the growth of Chris’ thighs. They bulged outward, larger and larger, followed by two huge ass cheeks fattening at the rear. The bottom clothing stood no chance. The hairy legs and ass exploded through the small shorts, tatters of denim and cotton underwear falling to the ground.

“Fuuuuuuck!”, Chris screamed in bliss as his exposed cock began to expand. The 6.5 inches twitched up and down as it stretched longer. The shaft pulsed as if were trying to shoot ropes of cum. Longer, thicker pubes flourished around the growing pole while his balls ballooned. The larger balls had their genetics rewritten, just like the rest of Chris, producing thick bro cum and huge amounts of testosterone.

Chris looked at his hairy, muscular lower half in astonishment. He couldn’t believe what was happening, but it turned him on like nothing before. He wrapped his hand around his now 8 inch cock and stroked hard, feeling the head mushrooming outward as the cock arrested its growth at 9 thick inches.

Sweat was pouring down Chris’ unimpressive chest, tingling against his stomach which had begun to throb. He knew what was going to happen now and swiftly pulled his t-shirt over his head. Slowly, two by two, a six pack of abs grew across the flat stomach. He comically puffed his chest out as he felt muscles building and surging forward in his chest. Sensually, two meaty pecs began to appear and swell larger, and larger. Chris was too enraptured to even notice the dusting of hair spreading across the muscles of his formally hairless chest.

Chris wailed as his arms began to swell. Muscles ballooned and spread through his shoulders and biceps. He could feel his shoulders broadening and strength flooding across his back. His forearms gained a covering of hair while they widened and filled out. Chris fingers coiled into a tight fist as his hands began to swell larger. He thumped the wall hard with one hand, orgasming once more, feeling his fingers lengthening dramatically, thickening as well. He held the other hand in front of his eyes where he could see the long, thick instrument spreading larger while hair poked out from the first knuckles.

Chris stifled a loud scream as veins bulged from his neck. It broadened and thickened. He could feel his vocal cords growing, becoming deeper, his entire accent shifting as well. Hair began to unravel across his face, growing longer and longer. Bones reshaped underneath the short beard, bringing the curved face into a straight edged, sharp jawline. Hairs growing along his upper lip tickled his nose while it grew larger to fit the new face. His brow masculinized while his hair grew out into a brown undercut.

He clutched at every part of his body while his personality became more brutish and extroverted. He thrust the air, spraying enormous ropes of jock cum across the floor and tattered remains of his clothing.

Outside the room, Todd had just exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, greeting the third roommate, James, who had arrived home moments ago.

Screams of ecstasy roared down the hall, triggering Todd and James to rush toward the source in Chris’ room.

“Chris, what’s wrong? What’s t- oh my god!”, Todd gasped in surprise at the heaving muscular stud who was continuing to shoot out streams of cum before collapsing backward onto the bed, panting. Todd and James looked to the ground seeing Chris’ tattered clothes littering the floor, damp from cum.

“What the fuck? Who are you? What is going on?!”, James yelled angrily.

The pair got an increasingly better look at the unfamiliar man, noticing how his face seemed to look ever so vaguely familiar to that of their friend.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Right here, bro”, Chris cockily replied, flashing a wink as he approached his stunned roommates…