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Think you can give me the body of an Olympic swimmer, Adam Peaty, Duncan Scott, Michael Phelps, I don’t mind who, I just wanna wear a Speedo and have the whole world look at me as a stud

Adam never saw it coming. A little sting was all he felt before his body collapsed and his mind went blank. His well-formed body turned into a nice skin suit just for you.

All you need to do, is to take care of your newest posession.

it is the perfect fit right away: it is easy for you to adjust to your new frame, the thick, toned body, the tattoos, and all in all, your new life as a professional swimmer.

You love all about it. Running around barely clothed, just a tight speedo to cover your manly parts, and people dont mind. Instead, they appreciate your physique, watch your muscles flex while moving effortlessly through the water.

It doesnt even matter that you are hard most of the times. Its no secret that you are packing heat inside your trunks. It is visible for anyone with eyes. Who could fault you?

Seeing all those sexy, almost naked guys all day, and performing at your best would anyone grow hard.

And as a swimmer, this is your work gear, and thats what you love the most. People see you as the stud you are, showing off your taut muscles and thick meat.

And another perk of your new job; you are wet all the time, an easy way to hide your cock leaking anytime you would see your fellow swimmers.

Wearing tight gear isnt making it easier not to cum once youre dressed up. Your body, somehow, is horny during swim sessions. And this makes it even harder to stay focused.

Luckily, your fit body allows you to perform well after all.

You are flourishing inside your new body, and no one will ever expect you to not be Adam Peaty.

Reblog this to give me a gentle kiss

Guess I’m a pit boy, didn’t know I was, but I enjoy these photos so…

Somethin’ for my pit boys😘

Something I didn’t know I needed, but will occupy my thoughts for a while

anyways

Good morning ☀️

Reminder I am 5ft4 and like to be thrown about 🙂‍↕️

Hey support

So I decided to go to my first fetish event at a club next weekend, but being a shy always in my own head kinda guy I was a little anxious about the whole thing. So I thought, I might find some temporary presets or changes on Chronivac to last for the night to get me out of my own head and make me feel more at home with being at the event.

I think I messed something up though, cause although the changes are suppose to be temporary and only for the day/night of the event, I can’t put my finger on it, but things seem to be changing in my daily life right now, over a week before the big day.

It's Sunday morning. According to your memory, you had a quiet Saturday evening on the sofa. Chips, Netflix, a bit of wanking. A perfectly normal Saturday evening. But why the hell do you have this hangover? And the apartment smells of beer and cigar smoke. Full ashtrays in the kitchen. Empty whiskey glasses. Full condoms on the floor. A few jockstraps. Empty poppers bottles. What was going on here yesterday. And where did that hairy, snoring fellow on your sofa come from?

It's 6pm when you finally get rid of the fellow (hottest Sunday morning sex ever), you've tidied up and cleaned. Now you feel like a cigar. But not at home anymore. You've just got rid of the smell to some extent. But now you need a whiskey and a cigar.

You actually thought that the stranger on the sofa owned the biker boots and the leather jacket at the coat check. But he left your apartment wearing just one of the jockstraps from the kitchen floor and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. But now you're standing in front of your hallway mirror with one of the jockstraps, a 501, a white T-shirt that doesn't fit at all badly, the boots and the leather jacket. And you like what you see. There are cigars in the leather jacket. And as if remote-controlled, you walk through the evening streets until you find yourself standing in front of an inconspicuous door in the basement of a side street. You ring the bell. The doorman greets you with a fist bump and says it's good to see you back. Your regular seat at the bar is free. Your whiskey and ashtray are ready before you can even take a seat. You like Sunday evenings here. No curious tourists. No hustle and bustle. Real men who want their peace and quiet. And maybe a quick fuck. The fellow who disappears into the toilet had clearly made eye contact with you beforehand. You follow him…

Monday morning. Shit, you could have stayed in bed for another hour. But you have to look good at the weekend. And you have to go to the gym before work. And you're still wearing the urine-yellow and cum-encrusted jockstrap from yesterday. Your cock never gets limp when you wear it. Your PA shines through the stretched fabric. Fuck, you're so horny that you have to jerk off in the shower. And with every movement, your PA gets a little thicker. And your circumcised foreskin comes back. As you stuff your sweaty clothes into your gym bag and put on your suit, you think wistfully of your leather jacket. You miss the smell of masculinity in your work clothes… And the creak of leather.

On Tuesday after work, you get changed and go to your favorite barbershop. Hair radically short, beard in shape. On the Friday before the party, you only need to have the contours corrected once. You're actually always here twice a week. Great atmosphere. You're not the only man sitting in the styling chair in leather jeans. And with a cigar and a glass of whiskey, it's almost like being in your favorite bar. And once you've changed your clothes and had your hair done, you can see what's going on in the bar. As you might expect, not much. But Hendrik, the Danish barman, plays with your nipple piercings. And just before you leave, there's a submissive skinhead who first serves as your urinal and then gives you a blowjob. Good evening!

Yesterday was a normal day at the gym, but on Thursday you realize that the big fetish events are in town this weekend. There are more men than usual at the weights in the morning. And the men are bigger, more muscular and hairier than usual. It smells of sweat and musk. The air is full of testosterone. Damn, there's more than one ass you'd like to fuck. And a number of fellows obviously wouldn't be averse either. But you won't cum until tomorrow night. You want maximum pressure on your balls. You spend the evening with leather waxes, brushes and polishing cloths. Boots, pants, jackets, shirts, harnesses… There's a hell of a lot of black leather to polish to a high shine. Your new fullsleave has healed perfectly. The new sling is hanging, the St. Andrew's cross is fitted and tomorrow morning you'll swap the cotton sheets for black leather. You are a neat freak. But planning and preparation is everything!

Today is Friday, so you can wear leather trousers to the office. The dirty jockstrap and cock ring underneath. The white button-down shirt will be changed quickly later. You don't want to waste any time.

You change in the barbershop to the cheers of the other customers. Zac takes the opportunity to trim the fur on your chest. There are already long queues outside the club. You don't care. You just walk through to the entrance. You greet the doorman with a handshake and a French kiss. He returns the favor by grabbing your bulge. Fuck, your balls are about to burst. The party can start.

Pic found @my-gear-smoking-favourites

In my expert subjective opinion this photo is both fashion & art, end of discussion

wheeee!

Anyone wanna teach me how to wrestle?

I look young for my age so when I wear a waistcoat or suit I feel like a kid wearing their Dad’s clothes, just playing dress-up. I wish I had the build and face to look like a mature adult that would wear a waistcoat to show off their masculinity.

The genie has put his measuring tape against every possible part of your body by now, surely. He finishes measuring how much your ears stick out and finally steps back, a considering expression on his handsome face. He nods. “Here!”

With a wave of his hand, the genie is holding a heathered charcoal waistcoat. You hold it dubiously, sure that it will be too big, but at the genie’s urging you slip it on top of your T-shirt.

Of course you weren’t wearing a T-shirt. You only wear perfectly pressed white dress shirts. It’s important to always look your best, and you secretly love the pull of the buttons against your toned chest muscles. You move to look in the mirror, stroking your carefully maintained stubble as you consider the waistcoat.

The genie names a price, and you gasp. For one waistcoat? It’s daylight robbery! But then again, the craftsmanship is impeccable. And, you think, stroking your Rolex, it’s not like you can’t afford it. Plus, it makes you look so distinguished.

Your cock chubs in your slacks. You love the feeling of silk underwear. You lick your lips. “Done,” you tell the genie, pulling out your platinum card. You can’t wait to get back to your office at the end of your lunch break and jack off at your desk. No need for porn when you look this sexy and expensive.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.