Beardifying-him - Man Me Up

Flex hard and grow! Watch more muscle growth content at my patreon: https://www.patreon.com/muscleexperiments

Hungry like a wolf

A couple of days ago, while on vacation, I hooked up with a local boy. We met at a bar and it was clear he couldn’t believe his luck: his eyes went wide when he first saw me. While we chatted, he kept looking at my chest, and at my arms. I would slightly bounce my chest to tease him…

We headed over to the room to get better acquainted. I told him the rules and instructed him to take off my clothes with his mouth. I let him worship my body after asking my permission for each part. He mentioned he’d never been with someone as hairy as I am and he was extremely turned on by it.

The twink was eager, but I made him wait. I made him take his time oiling every part of my body before letting him have it. After he was done, I made him beg for it several times before I finally made him mine.

I had him once, enjoying his tightness and really letting him milk my manhood slowly. He moaned quite loudly as I pushed through his second hole. I felt my head pushing against his prostate with every thrust. He was already leaking by the time I shot my testosterone-laden man juice deep inside him. I told him softly: “that’s a good boy.”

As I was ready to go for round two, he says to me “Wow! You’re hungry like a wolf”. I started laughing so he adds “Because you’re so hairy!” It made me laugh even louder. I told him “I think the word you’re looking for is horny!” That made him laugh too. Then he turned around and showed me he was ready for the next one!

This morning I was thinking about what he said. It made me look at myself more closely in the mirror. I’ve always been fairly hairy, but I’ve definitely gotten more of it: my back is sprouting new fur, and other patches that were previously empty are getting some too. And my bush has been getting out of control. It’s a jungle down there, just ask my boy… I fucking love it!

Furthermore, I’ve started to get hair in the oddest places, like my ears! It’s seriously making me think there’s some lycanthrope hormones mixed in there somewhere. I wouldn’t mind getting hairier and hairier all over. I’m more than ready to start howling at the moon!

In case you’re curious, this is what I saw:

I’ve been hitting up Gold’s gym down in muscle beach recently and really wish I could blend in a bit more with the meatheads there. Everyone looks so big and powerful. I wish that could be my life. I want it all, the hairy body, the simple mind. It seems like such a nice state of being.

Could you work your magic and make my dreams come true?

You enter the locker room at Gold’s Gym, the familiar scent of disinfectant and sweat filling your nostrils. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the cold metal lockers and worn benches. With a resigned sigh, you start changing into your workout gear. As you pull on your athletic shorts and tank top, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror mounted on the far wall.

Your reflection is a stark reminder of your frustrations. The body staring back at you is far from the ideal you had hoped to achieve. Months of effort have yielded little progress, leaving you feeling self-conscious and disheartened. You haven't been on a date with a guy for fear of being too embarrassed to be seen without a shirt. You let out another sigh, almost ready to give up.

Just as you're about to leave, something catches your eye. At the back of the locker, partially hidden beneath a pile of discarded gym clothes, is a glimmering, gaudy gold necklace. It’s hideous—chunky and excessively ornate, far from anything you would normally wear. Yet, inexplicably, you feel a compulsion to pick it up. The necklace feels unnaturally heavy in your hands, and a strange warmth radiates from it.

Without much thought, you fasten the necklace around your neck. It settles heavily against your chest, its weight dragging you down slightly, as if it’s anchoring you to the earth. You shrug it off, though the heaviness is oddly persistent.

You leave the locker room and make your way to the gym floor, the necklace’s weight growing more oppressive with each step. The clang of weights and the rhythmic thud of treadmills create a cacophony of motivation and effort around you. You approach the free weights area, where the sight of the barbell on the rack catches your eye. It’s loaded with a modest amount of weight, but today, it looks different—daunting.

As you prepare to lift, a deep, sluggish voice starts to echo in your mind. It’s not your own, but a guttural, almost primal presence that urges you to add more and more weight to the barbell. Its tone is mocking, a low, resonant chuckle that seems to come from somewhere deep within you.

Despite your better judgment, the voice’s persistence is overpowering. You add more weights to the barbell, each plate increasing the challenge until the barbell is stacked high with more weight than you’ve ever attempted. Anxiety grips you as you position yourself beneath the bar, your palms sweaty and heart racing. The voice is relentless, laughing at your apprehension.

With a final, terrified breath, you lift the barbell. It’s impossibly heavy, and as you struggle to keep it aloft, you can’t help but feel a crushing dread that you might be pinned beneath it. Your muscles tremble under the immense load, and the room seems to darken around you.

Unbeknownst to you, the gold necklace begins to shimmer and glow with an intense, otherworldly light. Its gaudy appearance is replaced by a radiant aura that pulses rhythmically. The light washes over you, and a deep, unnatural tan begins to spread across your pasty white skin. It’s not just a superficial change; the heat that accompanies it is searing, almost unbearable.

The warmth surges through your veins, turning your skin a deep bronze as it spreads from the neck down, leaving a vivid contrast with the remaining pale patches. Your body feels as though it’s being engulfed in a furnace, the burning sensation pushing through every fiber of your being, fueling a new, inexplicable strength.

As the necklace’s glow intensifies, your physical sensations shift. The once unbearable weight on the barbell becomes manageable, and with a sudden surge of power, you lift it effortlessly. The voice in your head, now more a triumphant roar than a mocking chuckle, subsides into a satisfied murmur as you complete the lift, the gold necklace continuing to shine brightly around your neck.

As you grip the barbell, the cold metal feels foreign against your hands, your palms slick with sweat. Your mind starts to blur, thoughts dissipating like smoke as the deep, intrusive voice in your head grows louder, more insistent. It’s a thunderous, guttural sound, dripping with a manly authority that carries a hint of an accent you can’t quite place. It’s as if the voice is not just in your head but echoing from some unseen source, commanding and relentless.

You focus on the weights, your arms trembling as you prepare to lift. The barbell seems impossibly heavy, but the voice drowns out your doubts, pushing you to act. As you begin to push, your thin, sad body responds with a shocking intensity. A searing wave of heat floods through you, and every muscle in your frame starts to pulse with raw, primal energy. It’s as if your very cells are being supercharged, expanding and contracting with a fierce, almost painful vitality.

The sensation is overwhelming—a mix of intense pain and electrifying energy that makes your skin tingle. Your body is undergoing a rapid and violent transformation. The familiar, underwhelming physique you’ve known for months begins to shift and swell with a power that seems almost otherworldly.

You glance down and see your body morphing into a vision of exaggerated muscularity. Your once-skinny arms are inflating, bulging with veins that snake across your skin like live wires. They pulse and throb in sync with the heartbeat that now feels almost audibly loud, reverberating through your entire being. Your chest begins to expand, the muscles swelling outward until they resemble an over-inflated balloon, each pec twitching and throbbing with its own rhythm.

As the transformation progresses, your triceps become a shelf of sinewy muscle, so pronounced they look almost inflated. Your quads grow into massive pillars, each thigh now a testament to relentless training and excess. The heat in your body becomes almost unbearable, but it fuels the transformation, pushing you further into this new, exaggerated form.

Your skin undergoes a drastic change as well. The pale, sad surface is replaced by a deep, unnatural tan that spreads quickly, making you look like you’ve been marinated in a vat of tanner. The color is almost unnaturally uniform, giving you the appearance of a living statue of muscular perfection.

You’re a walking, talking shrine to muscular excess, with a physique that screams both confidence and absurdity. Your hair, which you didn’t even realize was styled with so much precision, now looks like it’s been sculpted with gel and a wind tunnel. More and more hair seems to transplant itself on your body, growing wild with abandon.

Your face reflects this transformation too—a chiseled jawline and a smirk of cocky self-assuredness, as if you’re not just in the gym but the star of your own reality show. The combination of your new body and your smug expression creates a striking contrast with your previous self, embodying an arrogance so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

The voice in your head continues to roar, triumphant and obnoxious, as you complete your lift with newfound ease. You’ve become a living testament to the philosophy of excess, every movement and gesture now imbued with a larger-than-life bravado. The transformation is complete, and as you stand there, it’s clear that you’ve become the very embodiment of gym culture’s most exaggerated fantasies—muscular, arrogant, and impossibly perfect.

The heat coursing through your body reaches a fever pitch as your transformation completes. Your thoughts, once a steady stream of doubts and insecurities, begin to slip away like sand through your fingers. The voice in your head, now roaring with triumphant intensity, drowns out any remaining fragments of your former self. What was once a mind clouded with frustration and self-consciousness now narrows into a single, singular focus: dominance, muscle, and the gym-bro lifestyle.

With a sudden burst of energy, you stagger toward the mirror. Your reflection is a hulking figure of exaggerated strength and arrogance, a walking shrine to gym culture’s most over-the-top fantasies. Your mind feels like it’s collapsing into a narrow, primal focus. Intelligence and self-awareness sink into the abyss, replaced by an overwhelming need to assert your newfound dominance.

You lift your arms and flex in front of the mirror, muscles straining and veins bulging with every movement. “Check this out!” you holler, your voice booming through the gym with a raw, arrogant confidence. “Look at these guns! You wish you had this kind of muscle, bro!” The words spill out of your mouth, each shout more obnoxious and self-congratulatory than the last.

In the gym’s echoing space, you spot a group of women lifting weights nearby. You strut over, your chest puffed out, and flash them an over-the-top grin. “Hey, ladies! You know you’re looking at the real king of this gym, right? Why don’t you come over and let me show you how it’s done?” You flex your biceps and do a showy, exaggerated pose, completely oblivious to their reactions.

As you strut around, you down a protein shake with exaggerated gusto. The thick, chalky liquid doesn’t just fuel your body—it’s a statement. Each gulp is accompanied by the smell of overworked protein powder, and with every swallow comes a series of loud, protein-fueled farts that roar throughout the gym. PFFFFFFFFFFT "Man, this is the fucking life!” you exclaim, your laughter a deep, throaty bellow.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to see a text from your bro: "Yo, meet me at the Murphy's bar tonight. Gonna hit up some drinks and catch the game. Fine us some nice piece of ass tonight. bet!" You don’t think twice. Or at all.

Memories of the past few hours are overshadowed by a torrent of new ones forming in your mind. Your life is a montage of protein shakes, muscle flexing, and flirting with whatever bimbo you can find. You envision nights out at bars, where you’re the center of attention, picking up chicks with your chiseled physique and over-the-top charisma. The gym is your kingdom, and every session, every flex, is a reminder of your dominance.

As you flex your biceps in the mirror, admiring the definition and size of your muscles, you notice a hot blonde standing behind you. She's staring at your reflection with a look of lust in her eyes, fixated on your massive arms. You turn around to face her and catch a glimpse of her huge tits straining against her tight top.

Without hesitation, you shout out "Hey baby, wanna see my protein shake? It's packed with enough creatine to make your pussy grow three sizes." you say with confidence as she looks up at you with those big blue eyes. Her lips curl into a smile as she responds playfully, "Oh yeah? And what do I have to do to get some of that?"

You take hold of one hand and place it firmly on her ass cheek while leaning in close enough for our noses to touch. "Well," You whisper seductively into her ear while running your tongue along the edge of it teasingly before continuing speaking softly but firmly so only she can hear it clearly enough. "Why don't I give a real workout babe" As if by instinct-she turns around slowly allowing you access behind those tempting curves once more; this time grabbing hold fistfuls full-on ass cheeks squeezing them hard enough so they leave red marks when released later tonight after hours spent pounding away at every inch available inside those tight holes begging mercy from being stretched open wider than ever imagined possible.

Luma #14-2