Born To Be A Father

Born to Breed

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-10 by breedertfs ---

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

If have to tell you, genuinely beyond the fantasy, that your stories are incredibly hot and make me somewhat question how gay I am haha.

If you’re questioning, bro, then you’re not fully gay. 😈

Listen to your urges, accept your attraction, there’s nothing wrong with being so turned on by all this. I totally understand how good it feels. When you’re watching porn with women in it, or even just jerking it to a sexy GIF of a pussy being eaten out, try imagining yourself as the guy in the frame. Focus on the woman and her curves, the way her tits jiggle, the way her fingers touch her cunt like a greedy slut. Ignore the male, he’s just a stand-in for you, a manifestation of all the things you want to do to this bimbo. Your lust and focus will always be on the female sex.

No going back.

There’s no shame, bro, this is all natural. Your cock is aching because you’re finally realizing how desperately you want to slide it into a wet, warm cunt. It’s going to feel so good, so right, you’re not gonna be able to stop once you get going. Imagine her moans, the wet slap of your cock pushing through her folds, the warmth of her pussy juice touching your skin. Once you unleash your hot, potent load inside her, there’s no going back.

If you are finding women hot now, just think how mind fucked you’re gonna be when you watch one swell with your child. Bigger tits, a huge pregnant belly, her skin glowing with maternal pride.

You’ll be glowing, too, and growing inside your shorts as you stroke your shaft to the idea of loading her up with another baby as soon as she pushes this one out.

Women are undeniably hot. Men are born to breed. Accept this gift that’s being given to you, and take what is yours.

The Bald Bug

The parasite had gotten to work so quickly you hadn’t known how to react. It had all started with that one lick. That one, stupid, horny, misguided, inappropriate, deliciously perfect lick. Yet that one lick is what had gotten you sick.

“Go on,” the older male purred, maybe 10 years your senior at most. “I know you wanna.”

It was a rumor that had been spreading around the gay world everywhere. This new parasite that–unlike AIDS–actually only affected gay men. They called it the “Bald Bug,” and it spread by any bodily fluid. Apparently, the parasite turned any homosexual into a stereotypical straight man; one that was particularly ripe with a libido beyond control and an urge for semination. This bug wanted to conquer, multiply, and spread. 

“Look at them,” he pushed his feet out further. “These bad boys want some…need some attention.”

But it had only been a rumor online. You didn’t really believe in the conspiracy theories. Some accounts had said it hadn’t reached the news because the government had released it, hoping to repopulate after years of low fertility rates. But again, you didn’t give in to the madness. A lot of facts didn’t line up, and others did too conveniently. Anyway, all you saw in this guy was a closeted hookup. And all you saw right now were his big, sweaty feet that were begging to be loved.

“Size 13.” He crossed his arms, getting tired of waiting for me to engage. “You gonna do it or what?”

I lunged, sending one long swipe of my tongue across his feet in a tantalizing movement. I moaned with delight as I tasted the salt that coated his soles sink into my mouth. I shivered in fear when a fiendish smirk wrapped itself around his bearded jaw.

“That’s right, fag,” he chuckled. “Hope you didn’t care for that pretty quiff of yours. That queerdo haircut will be wiped away in no time.”

That was the last part of the rumor. You could tell who had been infected because the victims all shared a particularly notable outcome: every man was left bald. And because no one was working on a cure (because these were all just rumors after all), the effects were irreversible. Your eyes widened as you lifted yourself up and away from his deliciously odorous toes, their beauty now tarnished. You looked him over; his bald head, his confident aura, his very soft cock in his very straight attire. Only now did you notice all the signs. You grabbed your things and ran, his brutish laugh following from behind. You were infected.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, you could already feel that the bug’s work had begun. Your original twinky frame would’ve never been able to carry you the last part of that run. Locking the door behind you, you dropped your things and ran to your bedroom, frantically investigating your body in your full-sized mirror. The shirt you wore now looked more like a crop top, being that it had lifted above the navel and appeared tighter around your upper chest. Your jeans had a similar problem, now landing partially over your enlarging calves when they should have brushed the tops of your feet. The feet that shouldn’t have looked so monstrously large.

Quickly, you grabbed the collar of your tee shirt and ripped it off your body, hoping to save it from a fate you feared could be possible. The fate your jeans suffered moments later. In moments, your height stretched up to well above 6 feet, stretching out the jeans beyond repair as large rips occurred near your newly bulky thighs and muscled bum. Not knowing what else to do, you tore away at the shredded remains of the denim, every pull becoming easier as the parasite expanded the tissues in your arms with strength more appropriate for holding a woman down in an animalistic fertilization.

Luckily, your underwear had been a little more conforming to the stretching nature of your situation. With your newly-callusing hands, you quickly disrobed and watched as your previously-small dick emerged forward. It piled on inch by inch as it thickened outwards, almost like watching a time lapse video of a tree’s growth. Your balls descended further too, yet the visibility of their drooping was becoming more hindered by plumping of your pecs. 

You couldn’t help but be amazed by the new body the bug had created for you, a true stud of a man. A carpet of hair adorned a good lot of your torso, along with your arms and legs. Even your face had changed. A sharp jaw, thick brow, and permanent beard all reeking of masculinity. And speaking of reeking, your body now gave off an odor like no other. Pits, crotch, feet–if it could make a funk that could attract women, then it did. Your body had been crafted into a machine, one the parasite had designed to work as the perfect contamination device, whether through correcting this generation or creating the next.

Caught off guard, you felt a shock course through your body and down to your larger cock. Rolling your eyes backwards, you moved your naked body onto the bed and spread your legs apart. With your head against the headboard, you grabbed your cock and began stroking like you had hundreds of times before. However, this time around, new images were at the forefront of your fantasies. Women were everywhere. Boobs here, pussies there. Big swollen breasts and puckered lips. The women could be nearing 20 or nearing 40. They could have double D’s in the front and/or packed in the back. But the one thing that brought them all together was their ability to become mothers.

Your engorged dick began to spurt at that, the thought causing you to grunt in ecstasy. You continued pumping, no longer caring about the effects of the bug and just wanting to bust a load. Looking in the mirror across from you, your glossy eyes struggled to focus on the scene being reflected. Just like it had been prophesied, the chestnut-brown quiff you so heavily maintained began to falter. The parasite pushed any forms of homosexuality, personality, and resistance out of your body, purging it all through the follicles of hair it vowed to destroy. 

One by one, you observed as your hairs began to evaporate into dust upon your scalp, thinning out before poofing away. You felt your head emptying as your quiff flattened in height, no longer able to support itself. The classic horseshoe formed first, before eventually the entire top of your head was smooth. Things that made you unique, different, and therefore could bring you on a divergent course than the one now planned for you were eliminated with the hairs that still remained along the sides of your head. If the bug was to survive, then its host would have to be completely committed to its existence. And the promise of impregnating tons of women and contaminating faggots made you so. 

With one last huff of air, you watched as the final follicles on your head disappeared. You felt a cool shiver against your newly-exposed bald head, that shiver crawling its way down to your cock and releasing your long-awaited load.

“Oh fu-”

Your words shifted into a groan as your offspring squirt in their milky substance all over your body. You took a second to collect yourself in that moment of post-ecstasy, licking your lips at the epitome of masculinity looking back at you in the mirror. Grabbing the underwear from before, you wiped up the semen and tossed the tainted garment into a gym bag. You could bring it to the gym, knowing it to be the perfect trap for some helpless little homo. 

Grinning, you rubbed a meaty hand over your Cueball head with pride. You snatched an old pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, ready to head out. The gym could come later; you had bald babies to make now.

The rings: Jake

--- First time writing my own story ---

--- Please let me know what you think ---

Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.

Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.

Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.

To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.

Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.

He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.

Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.

Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.

To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.

He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.

--

As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.

It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.

Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.

He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.

Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.

I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.

Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.

As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.

Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.

A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.

"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.

The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.

Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Huh? What the fuck?

Okay, this is kinda weird.

I need to get rid of this ring.

It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.

Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?

Hey nerd, you hear me?

No response. Fuck.

I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...

Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.

Hey Jacob, say something!

In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.

"something"

You've gotta be kidding me.

Uh, let's try something else.

Jacob, jump!

Without skipping a beat he jumped.

This is kinda awesome...

Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings

"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."

Explain what you mean with transform

"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"

Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?

As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.

The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.

I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.

I realized that with these rings I could do anything.

I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.

--

Time to get to work.

Strip

The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.

I could not help but feel pity for the guy.

He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.

I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.

Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock

His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.

I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.

To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.

Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%

His already slim frame now became quite boney.

Add 40 lbs of muscle mass

The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.

Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.

The changes didn't stop there, however.

A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.

Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.

My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.

It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.

To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.

You've always worn a size 13

His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.

You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff

Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.

Now, flex for me

Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.

----

"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"

Ah, wait.

You will wake up

"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.

"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.

"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.

Don't move

Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.

"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.

"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.

"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.

"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.

"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"

"Wait no! Please-"

You've always been a dumb

"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"

"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"

You have always been called Jake

"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."

"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.

You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.

Oh, and you may move again

"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.

"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.

"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.

When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you

"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.

"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.

A bro is never afraid of a little bromance

A little fire in his eyes lit up.

"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.

"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.

"Ready?" I asked.

3.. 2... 1..

I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.

"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.

"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.

I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.

I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.

"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.

"Of course bro, always down"

"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.

"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate

My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.

"You think you can help a bro out?"

If you had one word - just one word - to describe yourself, what word would you use?

Man, that’s a tough one, bro, I dunno.  I guess alot of my friends would say I’m a typical bro, you know, I like all the bro things that bros do, I kinda bro out alot, especially since I met him, yknow?  Even though it don’t really feel like it’s only since I met him, it’s more like it’s been happening in slow motion for my whole life, if that makes any sense, you know?  Like a sleeper thing, like it was asleep in me, and just like, woke up, sorta, when I met my bro.  So I guess I’d say bro, that’d be a good word to describe me, cuz it doesn’t only describe me but it describes my bro too.  Two halfs, one whole.  You dig?

Okay, sure.  I’m not really sure I - exactly follow your train of thought, but okay.  Next question.  With whom in your life would you say you are closest?  It could be a roommate, or a –

That’s a easy one!  Totally my bro.  We do fuckin everything together.  We even share clothes.  Work out together, climb shit together, go hiking, play ball - football, baseball, basketball.  He says he’s gonna teach me how to skate, too, so we can even play hockey together.  How fuckin sweet is that?  We’re gettin big together, like crazy.  Already pretty ripped.  Been takin these awesome supps that my bro gave me.  You outta try em, bro.  You work out?

I, sure, yeah.  Go to the gym.  Not real regular, but I work out some.  But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.

Oh yeah.  I forgot again.  Just sayin, bro, you could probly use some of these awesome supps.  You look like you could be pretty big.  If you wanted to, yknow.

Have you always been such a workout junkie?

Huhuhuhuh workout junkie.  That’s a funny way to put it, bro.  Dya mind if I call you bro, bro?  I guess I just kinda call everyone bro now.  Huhuh, even chicks.  It’s cool though. 

So …

Uh, sorry bro.   What was the question again?

Have you always been such a … uh - did you always, yknow.  Uh, workout.  Alot.  I mean, your guns are fuckin huge.

Fuck yeah, right?  Look even better when I flex.  Been workin the bis extra hard lately with bro.  See?

Wow.  Fuck.  That’s, uh, yeah.  Fuck.

Yeah bro!  Uh, you sportin a little wood there, bro, huhuh, you like what you see?  Yeah, it’s cool, bro.  You wanna just kinda stick your hand in your shorts and mess around a bit, that’s cool, bro.  How ya feelin?

Uhhhh … fuck … good, bro … real fuckin good …

Fuck yeah bro!  Maybe you can come workout with me an my bro sometime, shape up your guns.  Hey, so what’d you say you were interviewin me for anyway?

Uh, the school … paper.  Fuck.  Fuuuuck.  Your friends, they wanted to know … fuck …. where you’d gone …

Yeah, bro.  Uh, what friends?  What paper? 

Yeah … what friends.  What paper.

Yeah bro!  Hey, I got a hat for you.  It’s just like the one my bro gave me when I met my bro.  It’s cool, right?

Fuck yeah …

Says “REBORN.”

Reborn, bro.

Fuck yeah!   

Check out my new story on my side-blog!

Power Couple

---

Thank you all for waiting! Its a tad longer than I've ever written before.

I hope you all like it! Thanks again to @mrrharper for proof-reading!

----

"Hey, Babe?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"Can you help me put this on?" Chris said, motioning over to the little white tube on the counter top.

As Alex walked over into the kitchen, his boyfriend was already taking off his shirt.

"So, what's this for?" Alex asked, inspecting the label on the tube he just picked.

"You know my co-worker Jack right?"

"The gym bunny, right?"

"Yeah that one."

"So what about him?"

"Well. I was chatting with him during my break and he told him I recently started going to the gym, so he offered me this cream."

"Hmm. What's so special about it though? Looks like any ordinary cream to me" Alex remarked after scrutinizing the ingredient list.

"Uh. He said it helped him a lot when starting out. Helps prevent sore muscles and promotes muscle growth or something."

"Anyway, it's getting a bit chilly. Can you lather me up already?"

"Uh yeah sure, sorry"

Squeezing the tube revealed a solid white cream which felt cool to touch. Alex put a sizeable blob on his hand and spread it out on Chris' back much like you would do with sun screen on a hot summer day. It felt like it too. The thin liquid quickly disappeared into his, what looked to be broader, shoulders as he rubbed it in.

"I think I can see your effort pay off a little already babe, your shoulders look a bit broader" Alex noted.

"Really?" Chris asked, glowing from the compliment.

"Of course!" Alex replied smiling back at his boyfriend.

"Well, this is the only start babe" he said with a confident smirk while quickly putting back on his workout shirt.

"That said, time for my workout. Thanks for helping babe" Chris said giving a peck on his boyfriend's cheek before leaving the apartment.

Chris could definitely feel the work of the cream. Like a machine he was pumping through his sets. Usually, he'd feel his limit kick in quickly. However, today he felt like he could pump another extra 2 sets.

Chris wasn't the only that had noticed the change. One of the biggest guys, Scott had made his way over as Chris was still busy pushing out reps.

"Want me to spot for ya, bro?" a familiar baritone called out.

As Chris looked up he was met with Scott's face.

"Uh yeah. Thanks, that'd be great" Chris replied, not expecting Scott to come over.

Scott was the gentle giant you'd always hear of: mind fully set on lifting but always there to help newbies in the gym.

"No problem bro. I noticed you've been in the gym longer than you'd usually be, you getting a feel for it bro? huhuhuh" Scott said, his hands now hovering under Chris' bar.

"Yeah huhuhuh, today's been great. Been lifting so much more than I usually can, I'm really feeling the burn" Chris replied, surprised at the sudden guffaw he'd apparently taken over.

"Bro you should watch your form, your arms are a bit crooked. It'll make your shoulders will really start hurt, bro. Here lemme show you" he said as he helped Chris rack his bar.

"You've gotta make sure sure you spread your arms wider, it shifts the strain back to your chest muscles" Scott said, as he pushed Chris' arms futher apart.

Taking his advice, Chris once again lowered the bar to start benching another set.

"You feel the strain now, bro?" Scott asked while gently pushing down on your pec muscles

"Yeah bro, that definitely makes a difference" Chris grunted as beads sweat started to form on his face.

"I think you can do better than this bro, let's add a plate"

Normally Chris wouldn't have considered it, but today he was on fire.

"Yeah bro, let's do it!"

As Scott loaded up another plate on each side, Chris felt his motivation rise further.

"Come on lil' bro, you almost have it!" Scott hyped up Chris as his last rep.

With Scott spotting him, he managed to break multiple PRs that day. Not only had he done more sets in one session than he usually would but he also managed lift extra weight.

"Good shit bro, huhuhuh" Scott said as he helped rack the bar again.

"Man, I can't believe it went this well today. I hope I'm not too sore tomorrow" Chris said to himself.

"You'll be alright bro. Let's hit the showers" Scott reassured him while putting away the weights.

After putting back all the weights the two of them walked towards the locker room.

"Hey bro, you've got a good pump now. Gotta show it off, you know what I mean?" he said with a slight smirk.

"Come on bro don't be shy, huhuhuh" he said put his hand around Chris' shoulder and leading him to the mirror.

Like an older brother teaching his younger brother Scott took off his sweaty tank and struck a side chest pose.

"You see bro? Like this" he said to the side as he kept looked straight forward to the mirror.

In the reflection he could see Chris acting shy and hesitant.

Taking matters into his own hands he grabbed onto Chris shirt and lifted it over his head in one swoop.

Chris' sweaty body was now fully on display.

"Hey, uh, what"

Chris was stunned. One second he was lost in thought and now he found his shirt was missing laying on the ground.

"See bro, your body looks good" Scott said, as he placed his large paw of a hand on Chris' shoulder.

Having Scott support him felt really good.

He felt like a big bro to Chris, which reassured him.

Quickly, Chris' hesitation started to fade and he started notice the, albeit small, amount of muscle definition that had started develop.

"I look good bro" Chris said, as he now admired his muscles, his mouth almost agape.

"You do bro. Now come on, show off those arms. Ya know, strike a pose, go crazy huhuh"

Without much hesitation this time Chris flexed his left arm. He looked in the reflection as he saw a bump form as he curled his arm.

"Your arm is looking pretty big now bro, right? huhuh"

"Huhuh, yeah bro. This is great"

"You coming again tomorrow bro?"

"You bet."

"Hey babe, how was your workout?" Alex called over from the living room upon hearing the sound of the door opening.

"It was amazing. This jock cream does wonders. I was able to do like two more sets than usual." he explained as he dropped off his gym bag.

"Wow babe, thats great" Alex said, giving Chris a quick kiss.

"Yeah. The biggest guy even came to spot and me gave me some tips about my form. Bro's amazing" Chris explained enthusiastically.

"Look, he even taught me how to a pose" he said, stricking a double bicep pose.

"You like what you see? huhuh" Chris said with a cocky smirk on his face.

"Yes babe, I do" Alex replied, totally turned on by the sexy muscle and newfound confidence.

"Well then. Let's go somewhere you can see some more" Chris winked, eying at their bedroom door.

"Ah... I really overdid it yesterday" Chris groaned in pain.

"Yeah.... You did...." Alex laughed, rubbing his ass cheeks.

Chris put his arm around Alex as they snuggled up together and cuddled for a couple minutes.

"Alex, could you help me put on the jock cream again? I promised bro I'd be there today as well."

"Of course babe, let me grab it."

Upon returning Alex found Chris laying on his back already. Alex never really paid that much attention but his boyfriend really had some nice definition going.

He was also wondering why Chris was saying bro so often now, but in all honesty, he actually found it kinda hot.

Again he put the cream on his hands and started the massage it into his boyfriends skin.

"You like that bro?" Alex said, thinking his boyfriend is just roleplaying.

"Yeah bro, that hits the spot" Chris replied, letting out a soft moan as the soreness of his muscles soothed.

"So, you're gonna lift with your bros today right?" Alex asked.

"Yeah, huhuhuh. You should join bro"

Alex started to think about it.

"Turn around babe, I'll get the front for you as well"

"Thanks babe"

He started fantasizing about becoming a fitness power couple.

"Hmm, perhaps I could try it out some time."

"Bro, no better time than now! Come join me today" Chris said enthuastically.

"I'm not sure yet babe" Alex said, avoiding Chris' gaze.

Noticing that Alex was avoiding looking at Chris he grabbed his arms and flipped him around.

Chris was now on top, pinning down Alex's arms to the matress.

"Come on babe, do it for me" Chris pleaded.

"Okay... Fine" Alex said with a slight giggle.

With a triumphant sigh Chris let go of Alex' arms.

"If I'm going I want to try that cream as well" Alex pouted.

Chris obliged and made sure oil up his boyfriend just as well as he has done for him.

The two oiled up lovers grinned at each other for a moment before starting resuming their cuddle from 15 minutes ago. Whilst cuddling they could feel the slick layer of jock cream rub against each other's skins as it slowly absoorbed into their skins.

"Hey bro, ready for the workout today?" Scott called out at the sight of Chris

"Of course bro, wouldn't want to miss it." Chris replied enthusiastically.

"Lil' bro, who's this?" Scott asked, looking at the newcomer that stood next to Chris.

"This is my boyfriend Alex, Scott. Managed to convince him to go with me to the gym, huhuhuh"

"Nice bro, the more the merrier. The more muscle the better right, bro?" Scott asked Alex who stood awkwardly next to his boyfriend.

"Yeah, bro. Of course" Alex replied.

While it was fun roleplaying with his boyfriend, Alex had to admit it felt kinda embarrased calling Scott a bro. He did however see why Chris said he liked the guy.

"Let's go, broskis" Scott said, heading towards weight room

They started their workouts, going even harder than the day before. The three of them pumped out rep after rep on various machines, aiming to .

"Come on, you can do it. One more rep, just one more" Alex said to hype up Scott as he had already pumped five reps of what seemed to be Alex and Chris' weights combined.

"Nice bro you got this" Chris said, giving Scott a pat on the back.

What Alex thought was just some casual banter between dudes started to worry him now. In his recollection, Chris never said bro before yesterday. If anything his boyfriend not only sounded like a bro but also had started to act like one.

"Hey babe, can I talk to you for a sec?" Alex asked, pulling Chris to the side.

"Ever since you came back yesterday, you've been acting like some frat bro. What's up with that?"

"huhuhuh I guess you're right bro, I have been acting like one"

"There you go again. Chris, what's happening to you?" Alex asked, sounding legitimately concerned now.

Intrigued by the heated conversation Scott had made his way over and put his arms around both men's shoulders. "What's the fuss about bros?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is! 'Bro' this 'bro' that' Alex said angrily as he removed Scott's arm from his shoulder.

"Bro, calm down" Scott said

"I am- uh not a bro!" Alex defended with a slight hesitation in voice.

"Bro, babe, why are you getting so heated? Why not put that energy towards lifting? huhuhuh" Chris said

"Br-babe, I- bro"

Alex could feel his control slipping away.

He felt his brain turn to mush as his worries started to fade.

Bro...

Bro...

Bro...

The more it was repeated, the more Alex lost his way.

Each time he got a step closer.

Step by step.

Until something just snapped.

"Hey bros, why are you just standing there?" Alex asked with a perplexed look on his face.

The fog in his mind had cleared. He was no longer confused.

Alex was a bro. Chris was a bro. Scott was his big bro.

They were always best bros.

"Ah it's nothing bro, you were just being a little dummy" Scott said

"Huhuhuh sorry bro" Alex replied, absently scratching his head

"Let's continue working out, broskis" Chris chimed in.

This time, the trio really managed to finish their workouts. Despite only being a newcomer Alex had been able to lift a huge amount of weight. Normally, one would only be lifting as much if after half a year of consistently working out.

Thanks to the magic of the jock cream however both Chris and Alex could easily push pasts their limits again and again.

Before finishing their workout Chris quickly snapped a pic.

"You two are really becoming a power couple aren't you, broskis? huhuhuh" Scott remarked.

"Huhuhuh yeah bro" Alex said as he continued lifting his barbells.

"Of course bro" Chris chimed in, quickly striking a double bicep pose to show off his gains.

Beach Bod

Rusty’s favourite thing about being home was the beach. Well, maybe not the beach itself - but certainly what was on the beach. And that was, as it usually is for horndog college students, the copious amount of shirtless boys.

Rusty’s parents had invited him to spend the weekend down at the family beach house - a proposal he’d eagerly agreed to. His first semester of college hadn’t gone exactly as planned. In fact, Rusty had already accumulated a list of crimes committed against his freshman year: his roommate was a homophobe, he’d somehow lost weight, and his grades were plummeting faster than his metabolism. He needed a break - and a weekend spent in the unadulterated, midyear sunshine might be just what he needed to get back up on his feet. 

So there he was, waddling up the driveway in his flip flops with fluorescent zinc already smeared on his slightly crooked nose, and a spritely grin plastered on his equally as crooked jaw. With a beach towel flung over his slim shoulders, Rusty was looking forward to a one-man, 48 hour paradise; a weekend spent on the sugar-sand beach just a short distance from his bedroom, soaking up the mid-summer coastal sunshine and sizing up the bountiful amounts of hunky blond beef that would no doubt be lining the shoreline, glittering like seashells. As the old saying goes: if you hold a conch shell to your ear, you can almost hear the sound of a surfer dude moaning, “Fuck me harder, bro!”

Rusty nudged open the door to the house and called out for his parents. His soft voice echoed through the open floor plan, bouncing between pockets of coastal furniture. 

No response. Huh. 

He checked the living room, the kitchen, called up the stairs. Still no response. He figured they’d already beat him to the beach - which meant he was all alone, horny and heat-fuelled. Perfect. Rusty whipped off his shirt, shimmied into his board shorts and reached for a beer.

He dropped his bags by the door and made his way over to the veranda, which seemed to be beckoning his name with every warm breeze that blew in through the open sliding doors. The hardwood deck was stark with heat, and the sun beat down on him as he shaded his face to get a good look at the view. It was a prime vista of the beach, and the water was as glittery as the sand it lapped at. He couldn’t see his parents… But he did see a whole lot of something else. Men. Lots and lots of shirtless men. 

Rusty’s itinerary was pretty standard: stare at the crevice between the big bouncing pec’s of some adonis in a speedo; admire the way sweat and saltwater, a concoction he’d dubbed beach-boy-brew, dripped down a surfer boy’s cum gutters; and ogle at the sand dollar sized nipples of a bronze boy-toy too big for his own good. Oh, and if he could be crushed between the thick, rolling thighs of a strawberry-blond titan with the strength of the ocean, that would be pretty rad, too. Just the simple pleasures of any good summer getaway, really. And on a hot weekend like this one, Rusty was certain he’d have no problem ticking them off his lascivious list. 

He could see a few groups of collegiate hotties already partying on the sand, tanning and drinking and looking generally sexy. A football flew threw the air, the smell of testosterone wafted up the sand. He felt his grip on the veranda railing weaken as one of them began drunkenly gyrating his bubble butt against the air as an unimpressed group of girls walked by.

Rusty could see it now: the entire coastline would soon become a sprawling panorama of empty heads and beefy muscle, just aching to bend over and get eye-fucked. For a jock, the heat tended to act as an aphrodisiac: a stupefying, steamy somnolent that washed away any desire to put clothes on and instead amplified an innate, irresistible desire to show off. No well-bred stud could resist the urge to strut bulge-first down the runway of a busy beach. Every buff blondie within a ten mile radius would stuff his bubble butt into a speedo, lumber into his dad’s open-roofed jeep, and cruise down to the ocean - one paw on the steering wheel, the other on his crotch. Revving his engine. The heat would feel too good on his golden skin not to, flaunting his premium goods and soaking up the rays. Photosynthesising, preening, growing. Of course, he’d make a pitstop along the way to pick up his platoon of linebacker buddies, packing the backseat with brawn, their off-season quads fighting for room on the hot leather seats. Deltoid to deltoid, like canned sardines. Huge, hulking, steroidal sardines. They’d turn up the radio, tunes pumping, pecs bouncing to the trap style beat. Cockily flexing their biceps for a group of girls in a passing convertible, waggling their overly long, thick tongues at the flustered beach bunnies, miming vulgarities. Eager to impress. Rusty didn’t blame them. Having an uncontrollable libido and shoulders twice as broad as your waist when you’re young and dumb and impossibly full of cum would turn anyone into an exhibitionist — and anyone close enough into a hopeless and drooling voyeur.

Rusty had spent many summers sat by the water, ogling and drooling until the sun was low in the sky and the sea of blond hunks had receded with the tide, sand sticking to their tanned bubble butts as they staggered back up the coastline to hit the bars and get even drunker. Turns out, 19 inch biceps and a cleft chin work just as well as a fake ID. All it took was an absent-minded flex, a slow lick of the lips, or a strategic, innocent bend-over, and the doors to every bar and club on the boulevard flew wide open. If only one of them had extended a hand and asked Rusty to join them - or pulled down his speedo, popped his pecs and ordered Rusty to fuck him. Either would’ve sufficed. 

But hey, maybe this time one of them would. With Rusty’s lanky physique and unimpressive features, it was pretty unlikely - still, a dork could dream. Surrounded by steroidal blondies, Rusty had always felt like a washed-up stalk of seaweed. When all his hometown peers were prodigal bodybuilders with movie star jawlines, it was difficult not to feel inadequate. You couldn’t walk down the boardwalk without some bronzed-out bro giving you a boner. They swaggered to and fro, their bulging shoulders too big for their pretty little heads, no care in the world. His dad always seemed to have a permanent twinge of disappointment etched into the corners of his face, his dreams of having a football hero for a son dismantled by the tech major Rusty had become. He’d often dreamed of what seeing the world from over six feet tall felt like. He’d often dreamed of his father throwing him a football, and catching it with an arm bigger than most peoples heads. 

A large sea swell broke over the sand, and Rusty watched as the golden frat bros lumbered down to the water (their bodies too big, too clumsy and too inebriated for it to qualify as running, though he guessed that was what they were trying to do) and dived in after it, covering their muscles in sparkling sea foam and rubbing it into their abs like soap on a washboard. Rusty glided a hand over his own pasty torso, lightly dusted with hair and sunken inwards. He took a long swig of beer.

Rusty turned back to the living room, the sound of the waves dimming. He saw something flapping in the breeze on the coffee table. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but somebody had left a note.

“Dear Rusty… Sunscreen’s in the garage. We’re trying out a new brand. Give it a go. You’ll like it. - Dad”

Huh. Alright then. Rusty couldn’t conceive of a sunscreen special enough to elicit its own foreboding note, but his dads writing always came off a little ominous. Truncated sentences. No personality. Scary. 

Rusty followed the big mans orders, flicked on the light in the garage, and was greeted by a familiar sight. It was filled with his father’s workout machines, rows of dumbbells and weights lining the walls. Before he’d moved away for college, his dad was always trying to coax him into the home gym with fancy new equipment. He must’ve kept buying them - the place looked like a certified fitness centre. Rusty figured he’d put the sunscreen by the weights in a final attempt to get his pip-squeak son interested in working out. How very subtle. It was sat on one of the weightlifting benches, and he weaved his way through the machines towards it. 

The bottle had almost no labelling - it didn’t even have a brand name. Rusty pressed down on the nozzle, and a big glob of the stuff shot into his hands, creamy and white. It was surprisingly warm, and the texture vaguely gelatinous. It smelt good, too. Like musk and sweat. His horndog brain waltzed into the room with an intrusive, albeit sexy thought: it was a lot like holding a handful of cum. 

Rusty applied a liberal amount of the sunscreen to his whole body, diligently smearing the zinc infused jizz into every pore - noting with lip-biting surprise how good, and oddly erotic, it felt on his pale body. It was kind of turning him on. In fact, there was a strange and pleasurable buzz emanating from his skin everywhere he applied it to.

Rusty reached for his cock, lubing it up with sunscreen, only half aware of what he was doing. Aw, fuck. He barely stifled a moan. Not because of his achingly horny brain, or even his needy, stiffening cock. The buzz had evolved. There was a strange, static warmth in his hands that was quickly blooming into a crackle of fireworks, shooting up his scrawny digits with hot pleasure. Fuck, what was in that stuff? It felt like his fingers were on fire. Had his dad mixed up the sunscreen with some sort of weird sex lube? Did he want his son to blow a load all over his workout equipment? Rusty’s cock was rapidly engorging with heat - and, weirdly, it kind of felt like his fingers were too. 

He felt a sudden pop in his knuckles, and Rusty opened his eyes just in time to see his index finger shoot out in length and explode with size, a quicksilver rush of pleasure accompanying the birth of the dildo-sized digit. He stared at it, slack-jawed. An involuntarily groan escaped his lips as his middle finger followed suit and lurched longer, shooting out in length and then thickening up with meat like a pier-side hotdog. Holy shit. Rusty stumbled back in shock as the next finger joined in, and then the next, the bones cracking longer and the muscle thickening. He shook his hands, trying to shake off the extra beef, but each of his fingers gleefully continued to fire off, exploding with size like red hot sticks of dynamite, bursting outwards and swelling thicker. Both his hands began to bulge bigger in unison, pulsating outwards, palms stretching wider as his knuckles cracked to make room for more growth. Rusty watched as the pale skin on his hands shimmered like the sparkle of a breaking wave before deepening to a golden tan and suctioning down onto two thickly veined, hulking fists. 

Rusty quivered, slowly bringing the gargantuan mitts up to his face. They were still twitching with growth, buzzing and inching slightly longer. Holy shit. Somebody had attached a bodybuilder’s hands to his lanky wrists. 

Rusty tentatively wriggled his fingers, testing their new size, watching the meaty soldiers bend to his will. He almost started drooling. Fuck. These babies belonged around a football, or a dumbbell, or a throat, or a cock. He’d absolutely dwarf all of them. The thought of making any of those things look small in a single grip was almost enough to make his hips start bucking, but the transformation of his hands from wimpy to stud-sized had completely robbed Rusty of all motor control, and all he could do was marvel at their utter maleness and try not to freak out. He imagined he looked like a total weirdo, waving around these huge, cartoonishly out-of-proportion hands on an otherwise puny body. Shit - what was he supposed to do about the rest of his scrawny self?

Wait a minute. Rusty whipped his head around to where the bottle of sunscreen sat on the benchpress. Its innocent packaging stared back. Shit. It was the sunscreen. For just a moment, Rusty wondered how his dad had gotten his hands on some kind of growth-inducing miracle cream. But then, a much more pressing thought entered his head. The hole at the tip of the nozzle seemed to wink at Rusty as he realised he’d just smeared the creamy substance all over his entire body. Oh, fuck. 

Rusty threw his head back and moaned up at the ceiling as he was hit by a wave of oceanic bliss. Currents of tingly pleasure coursed through his arms as they suddenly shot out and extended several feet to the ground, hanging off his shoulders like pool noodles. Rusty whined in pleasure - he could feel his knuckles grazing the floor. He wriggled his thick new fingers, moaning as they continued to bulge even larger on the cool concrete, now big enough to jerk off a giant. His left leg trembled with energy, then rapidly elongated, sending him straight towards the ceiling as he grunted and moaned in combined shock, confusion and pleasure. He wobbled this way and that, his disproportionate body caught in a riptide of ecstasy, before his right leg detonated and lengthened down to match its neighbour, allowing him to surf the wave of euphoria with just a bit more balance. Rusty arched his back and moaned, and with several pops his torso began stretching longer, as well as his neck. His tongue lolled out in glee as he felt himself rising upwards, being stretched taller than puberty ever allowed, inching closer and closer towards the garage ceiling. It was as if he was being pulled at both ends by some invisible, horny force, eager to turn him into a freaky wet dream. 

Rusty grinned down at himself, his neck spasming and inching up even longer. It lurched upwards like one of those inflatable palm trees - he wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up shooting through the roof like a cartoon character - but his body only remained disproportionate for a moment, as his other limbs stretched down accordingly and evened him out.

A ripping sound alerted Rusty to the state of his ginormous feet, which were in futile competition with his flip flops, barely holding back against a pair of widening soles that had sneakily accelerated with growth and doubled in size while he wasn’t looking. A little left behind, he wriggled his toes as they popped out longer, bulging in a race to keep up with the rest of him. Rusty couldn’t help but laugh as the asynchronous growth suddenly coalesced and crescendoed with power, both feet swelling to the conferred stud-status of his hands, and finally destroying his shoes like the mythic Hercules outgrowing his willow-leaf sandals. 

Fuck, this was getting good. His body had clocked in at a cool six-foot-four, tall and tanned, and the high felt far from over. A heady rush had slowly filled his brain, a steady stream of gaseous, dumbing pleasure — and the sunscreen had only just decided to turn it up a notch and rev its tingly magic.

Rusty felt a cascade of tingles rush through his left arm, and he groaned as his bicep pumped itself full of muscle, swelling instantly to the size of a beach ball. He flexed his arm and watched the muscle ball up, thick and hot — and then watched as it grew even thicker and hotter. A puff of blond armpit hair exploded out from under it, which tickled a little but mostly sent a shock of sex down his spine, while the brawny peak above it continued to rise like the swell of a tidal wave. Rusty threw it up behind his head like an amateur model, almost hitting himself in the eye with his bicep as it suddenly inflated so big it connected with his ear, which only spurred the growing boy on as he began flexing like a stripper on a birthday card, revelling in the feeling of his arm growing so thick and huge it pushed into the side of his head. The sheer weight of it caused Rusty to wobble to the left, and, wishing his body would even itself out, with a sharp pop and a grunt, his right arm dutifully exploded with brawn, quickly growing to match the size of its beefed-out brother. Rusty whimpered as the growth rushed down from his shoulder and into his hand, another poof of golden armpit hair bursting out from under it. The size of his right arm seemed to overshoot its target, and his fingers popped out bigger at the end so as to remain perfectly in-proportion. Fuck, he had a pair of king crab arms! 

Rusty grunted, a sudden tectonic shift sounding in his shoulders. Oh, shit. He was pulled in two directions at once as his shoulders rapidly broadened, deltoids rushing away from his neck with anatomical abandon and widening his silhouette into an imposing mountain range of male breadth. His deltoids rounded out into armoured caps of muscle, and beneath them Rusty felt his arms lift up and fan out as his traps unfurled like wings, whimpers of pleasure echoing off the walls as the muscle stacked itself up in undulating rhythms. The pressure of the growth forced his hands onto his hips, and he thrust his lats out into a wide flex as muscle bloomed across his back, cracking and shifting into an impossibly broad V shape. He lout out a huff, feeling twenty pounds heavier and horny as a bitch as the tingles sparked on his skin like he was a walking beam of light. He flexed his guns as his shoulders stretched further outwards, boom, boom, unable to process the sensation of hitting a double bicep and feeling cannons of muscle jump to attention.

A gurgling groan caught in Rusty’s throat as it swelled from base to tip into a thick trunk, the tingles cascading down from his collar and into his chest. He felt his nipples harden, like a warning sign, and then a surge of energy enter into his tits. He looked down at them with a scared whimper as they lurched out a whole inch, and then another, and then another, pulling his whole body forwards with them. Another heave of muscle and his feet were covered by their burgeoning mass, the force of their growth momentarily closing the deepening crevice between them as they pushed against each other, striations trembling like surf over a reef. His nipples tingled like lit fuses, and he hoisted his meaty hands up in a desperate attempt to rub and squeeze the growth out, his eyes widening as they shot out bigger in-between his fingertips and bloomed into dark, fat caps, sensitive and raw, nipples you could suck on. The muscle shelf beneath continued to inflate like two water balloons connected to a tap, pumping bigger with each bounce as he wobbled clumsily. He had a despicably big rack. The kind of chest a dick would disappear in-between. He groped and groped the twin slabs of meat, feeling the pressure build, like someone had suddenly turned the tap onto high. It was too late to brace for impact as they suddenly exploded in a final oomph of size with such force that it knocked his head back like a sucker punch and sent him careening backwards onto the weight lifting bench, falling onto it with a thud. He laid there, face up, his chest heaving up and down, a pair of huge, enviable muscle tits.

Rusty stared up at the empty weight rack, his back cracking wider on the warm leather, beefy pecs obscuring the lower half of his vision. God, he was so top-heavy, his gorilla arms hanging off the bench and onto the floor, thick and heavy. He lifted his head up as best he could, feeling a steady stream of tingles rush down his torso, and wriggled as each of his abs popped into existence, a perfect 6 pack blooming across his midsection. He fingered them with his meaty digits while cum gutters swooped through his waist and tributaries of veins reached up from his groin to meet them.

Rusty writhed with pleasure, and out of his slim, cinched waist burst a pair of big, titanic thighs that ripped out the bottom of his board shorts and swelled huge with muscle, first in rippling grooves that carved a roadmap of teenage surfing into his bodies history, before quickly ballooning outwards into legs composed purely of thickness and size. He felt them inflate and spill out over the bench - man-spreading would now be compulsory - and used the extra strength to hoist his upper body up and into a sitting position, straddling the bench with his now behemoth thighs. It wouldn’t be possible to walk without these tanned, off-season, columns rubbing together - they were the kind of legs that spread out and dominated any surface they blessed their hairless, heat-filled mass with. He chuckled dumbly at the thought of swallowing any space he tried to fit himself into, so thick he’d been rendered human cargo.

A shockwave thrust his ass out behind him as he felt his cheeks inflate to the size of beachballs, sending a loud rip straight down the back of his board shorts. A long slither of his juicy, growing butt crack pressed into the tear, his glutes swelling huge and round, threatening to bust his shorts open completely. Rusty panted, riding the weight lifting bench like a dick, gripping the leather with his hands, arm muscles bulging in full relief. The boy’s butt was obscene, expanding out behind him into two tanned spheres of category 5, tropical muscle as he gyrated against the warm leather. He whipped his head around his beefy shoulders to watch the bouncing cheeks expand into a high shelf, a permanent jockstrap installing itself into his musculature. With a surge of tingles, Rusty leaned forward, gritted his teeth, stuck his ass out behind him and groaned in relief as it shot out through the back of his pants, exploding the fabric into strips of polyester confetti and swelling in naked celebration. Warm air instantly hit his hole, and he trembled as a bolt of tingles ran straight down his taint and lightened the flesh to a boyish, peachy pink. He gripped his muscled cheeks and pulled them apart to reveal a tight jock hole, tingling with desire. Fuck. 

Rusty thrust his hips forwards with the oceanic power of his muscled ass as he felt his balls churn and swell beneath him, tightening the remains of his board shorts around them with their expanding size. They pumped up into tennis balls, which in turn fed the sea cucumber he could feel his dick becoming. The fabric instantly gave up the fight as his sweaty, monster cock burst free from its confines and landed with a hefty smack on the warm leather, continuing to grow thicker and longer, unabated by swimwear meant for wimps. A waft of his manhood travelled up to his nostrils, and Rusty saw sparks. Shit, his cock even smelt big.

Rusty wriggled his nose as the delicious musk seemed to fill it up to the brim with tingles. It felt like he’d shoved a firework sparkler up his nose. He took a deep breath in, and then —

Achoo!

The bones in rusty’s nose instantly reshaped. The bridge cracked broader and the tip snapped perfectly straight. Rusty felt it twitch, and went cross-eyed watching it suddenly bulge bigger, growing huge and almost phallic on his otherwise unchanged face. He reached his sausage fingers up to touch it, and then, like a shockwave, the changes rippled out from his big nose and into the rest of his features. 

His whole head grew to match, lips popping bigger and forehead widening. He grimaced as his jaw broadened into a chiseled square, two angles jutting out from beneath his ears which simultaneously popped bigger. He grabbed his chin as it pushed forwards and expanded, moving his fingers apart as it turned into an ocean cliff of male geometry. Rusty licked his lips as they plumped up, feeling all the extra realestate of a big, beautiful mouth, while his cheeks became cut but ruddy and plump, a cherubic innocence that betrayed his otherwise lewd proportions. When he flashed a smile, his teeth shone brilliantly white and perfectly straight. His features had quickly masculinised into a mosaic of surfer boy good looks. Fuck, he was hot. 

A single blond hair dropped into Rusty’s vision, followed by a wave of golden fringe that cascaded down onto his forehead. He ran his hands through what he could tell was a beautiful mane of beach-bleached hair, and as he did, any darkness that remained turned to streaks of blond lightning with the brush of his huge fingers. He couldn’t tell, but his eyes had washed over into a sparkling blue. He was a total blondie. A maritime warrior, built for the ocean.

Rusty panted. Having grown a new face and body in a matter of minutes, he should have been exhausted. But he wasn’t. His pants were sexual, not sleepy. They dripped with erotic and kinetic energy he’d never felt before. He wanted to rip a can of beer open with his bare fingers and then shove them up some frat boys hole. And then shove them up his own. 

Rusty clambered up from the bench, feeling stacks of muscle follow him. His hair bounced in perfectly placed streaks. He looked down at his new body, at the heaving pecs that glimmered with pearlescent shine. He looked like he’d come straight from the ocean. Oh, god. He was gorgeous. The sunscreen had oiled him like a machine. Rusty, more like busty, he thought with a grin, bouncing his heavy pecs. He’d been turned into a  certified hunk. He spun his behemoth body around, craning his neck back to get a good look at the twin bowling balls that jutted out from behind him. He couldn’t stop touching himself. His hands were grabbing and groping at every new bulge, pawing at his edges, gripping… 

… the bottle of sunscreen. Without even realising it, he’d picked up the creamy formula and was holding it in his paws. It looked much smaller than before. As he stared at it, something flashed in his cerulean eyes. 

It smelt good. It felt good. He almost wondered what it tasted like. 

Before he could even consider the consequences - as if his new body had decided for him - Rusty lifted the bottle to his plump lips and chugged it down like a drunk frat boy fellating a keg. With his big wet mouth wrapped around the bottle, its transformative contents sliding down his throat, a smidgen of panic knocked at the door of Rusty’s brain and asked him, in a feeble voice, if he had any idea just what the fuck he was doing. Rusty slammed the door in its face and tore the knob off, crushing it in his gargantuan grip. This was going to fucking rock. 

He sucked the bottle dry - no, sucked the bottle off - groaning deeply, and the moment the white, creamy fluid hit his stomach, a neon-pink wildfire of rapture raged through Rusty’s nervous system like a lustful armageddon. Every neurotic emotion he’d ever felt in his entire life was filed away, replaced by a pyrotechnic explosion of rewired neurones, their microscopic dendrons flexing and growing like biceps, pumping dopamine like a set of weights. It was filling his bloodstream, his balls, his brain. Rusty was ablaze. 

He tore the bottle from his fat lips with a pop and ripped out a belch, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to uncontrollably moan. Rusty’s entire body convulsed with pleasure, excess sunscreen dripping out of his mouth and down his chin like a satisfied slut after a good blowjob. He fell to his hands and knees, his body jerking in every direction. Rusty felt his back spontaneously arch and his gargantuan bubble butt stick straight up into the air behind him, being forced to gyrate in a please-fuck-me twerk. It was like he’d been possessed and made to act like the worlds biggest golden retriever, begging for a treat. He was drooling saliva, sunscreen and pre-cum onto the floor, his brain flooded with backed-up pleasure and pressure, a leaky faucet that was about to explode.

It went straight to his groin. Rusty involuntarily started bucking his hips as he felt his already sizeable balls tingle like mad, then swell and drop, quickly growing into a pair of huge, pendulous bull nuts. He looked down to find he was now sporting a pair of big fucking man balls, atlantean pearls, and actually felt them begin to churn with new and improved jock seed. The sensation was incredible. It began to drip from the tip of his purebred cock, creamy and concentrated. It was almost too much. Rusty quivered in hot delirium as an overwhelming sensation hit him at both ends, and too much became not enough, as the overgrown beefcake felt his throat widening and his asshole tightening. His balls swung beneath him as his throat stretched bigger and his hole constricted tighter, both ergonomically redesigning themselves to deliver maximum pleasure to beach-boy sized cock. One meaty hand stuck itself around his bulging neck as it thickened and grew, his gag reflex disappearing, while the other desperately groped at his fat, eminently pound-able ass cheeks, the gilded entrance to a tight hole that was getting tighter. 

His bellowing moans grew deeper with each vocalisation of his blossoming hunkhood, roaring in undulating ecstasy, a testosterone-drenched baritone booming out of his once-shrimpy throat. His adams apple swelled with unabashed ambition as the sunscreen coated his throat until his voice was as deep and powerful as the ocean, shaking the garage walls. 

Almost involuntarily, like a new jock-slut instinct hitting his thick skull, Rusty plunged a sex toy sized finger into his ass, gasping as the walls of his hole constricted around it and pulsed with pleasure. A long, deep, drawling groan oozed out of his lips as he realised he’d just coated his insides with the growth-inducing sunscreen, and he felt his finger begin to bulge bigger inside of himself, filling his virgin hole with its increasing size.

Aw, fuck. The impossibly sweet sensation caused Rusty’s tongue, which was coated in sunscreen and tingling like a motherfucker, to shoot out of his mouth like an unfurling party horn - surprise! - and the newborn hunk almost went cross-eyed watching it slap down past his superhero chin, thick and meaty and much longer than he remembered. Shit. He was huge.

Rusty suddenly felt a deep and strong tug at the end of himself, and immediately became aware of the porn star cock throbbing with hot need between his horse-heavy legs. With all his mental processes, Rusty seized it between his oversized hands, roared with lust, and began jerking himself off. He shoved his finger deep inside himself at the same time, quickly sinking into an expert rhythm of jackhammer speed - in and out, up and down - totally unaware through the heavenly stupor that he was now ambidextrous. 

Oceanic pressure flooded his system - his cock felt harder than obsidian as globs of warm magma pre-cum began to bubble and overflow from the tip. His finger was the size of a dick, fucking his prostate better than most dicks ever could. Rusty bellowed deeply as the pressure peaked and his cock couldn’t take it any more, vibrating with pleasure as the damn exploded and an eruption of jizz rocketed out of him. 

Load after load jettisoned out of his demigod, blond cock, covering his dad’s gym with his hot cream. It fired off like the nozzle on a bottle of sunscreen, arching in thick spurts of sex. He painted the room white, the smell of cum and man strong enough to put a beard on a boys face just by inhaling it. 

Rusty lay there, panting. His hands absentmindedly fondled his balls, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl. There was the sound of metal, and then the feeling of sunlight moving over his gargantuan form. He shaded his face with a thick forearm, and looked to see the garage door sliding slowly upwards. The silhouette of a man was being unveiled as it rose, and before it reached the man’s neck, Rusty could tell it was the shape of his father. He was holding a football.

Behind him, the beach sparkled with sun. A warm breeze blew in, and Rusty blew his load all over again.

--- 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.

Hey are you still taking transformation applications? Just found this blog and it's great. I was wonder if you could turn my into a dumb himbo surfer? I'm white, 5'9 and a little on the fat nerdy side, but I'd love to be a tall tanned lean surfer dude!

“Alright dude, welcome to the Amalia Aquatics Center. We have been looking for more surf instructors and you are the man for the job. The name’s Kellan and I’ll be your boss.”

You look at the tall surfer guessing he had to be about 6′7″, almost a foot taller than you. His muscles are lean and his skin is tan. He looks like a stereotypical, but tall and slightly more built, surfer. He even spoke like one. Hardly the professional you were expecting from what you saw at the front desk.

“I’m just here to help you get used to your job. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to fit in, brah.” He chuckled, “Now why are you wearing a shirt?”

You look down, a little embarrassed for even trying this. You look back up at Kellan and he his simply looking back at you with a smirk on his face. Your eyes look down at the beginnings of moobs and gut pushing at your shirt. 

“You want to be a surfer or what?”

You grip the hem of your shirt in frustration. Struggling to pull it  off, you finally do, red in the face. Kellan is just chuckling, “See that wasn’t so hard.”

A blush fills your cheeks again. You look down at your lean, tanned torso wondering why you wouldn’t want your shirt off. You love going shirtless. 

“And we like our surfers to be blonde. Longer hair is preferred.”

You run a hand through your hair, remembering you got it died a few weeks ago.

“Oh and the clients usually like a big cock. From your swimsuit I see no problem there.”

You smirk, thinking of the 7-inch soft torpedo in your swimsuit.

“And our surfers always love getting fucked as a tip instead of cash.”

Your ass suddenly feels very hungry and your cock grows to a full 9 inches at the idea at your prospects for sex. Not that your brain even knows what a word like “prospects” means anymore.

“So dude I think your ready to start.”

You smile dumbly, not even realizing you had changed, “Awesome dude.”

The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but… 

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

Drawn

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

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

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

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

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

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

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