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I'm picky about my coffee beans. Got anything with dark roasted arabica?

You're suspicious that you got a pound of coffee beans for so cheap. They smell incredibly high quality as you brew them in your coffee maker, the machine whirring and grinding, filling your kitchen and apartment with the rich, deep smells of the Coffee. You stand by, tapping your finger on your countertop. You've got a long day ahead of you. Work, hanging out with friends later and going out to celebrate the weekend coming up. Nothing like a little pick-me-up cup of Joe wouldn't fix.

As you continue sniffing the air, you notice that you're starting to get hard. The smell is wildly intoxicating. Strangely strong. It smells almost like musk, the top notes of some expensive cologne mingling with someone's already strong body odor. It's hot and masculine. Hot also because you're starting to feel like it's 100 degrees in your apartment. Your skin feels heated like the sun is blazing down on it. Your cock continues hardening, topping off at its average length. It's so hard. Like steel. Oddly insistent too. And sensitive. Twitching and throbbing against your sleep shorts so much that .... you let out a soft moan as your cock spits up some pre.

You wipe your forehead and your palm comes back slick. Your nipples are hard on your bare chest, the cool air of your apartment brushing against them. The Coffee pours into your mug and you hold it. The smell hits you in the nose and your knees buckle, and you collapse against your counter. This is not normal. At all. Coffee making you horny? So horny it's like you can't focus on anything? Like your balls, which for some reason feel so hot, so warm, have become your brains? You take a sip of the Coffee, expecting it to be scalding hot.

But it's not. It's lukewarm.

But so fucking delicious.

You take your sweaty, damp shirt off and toss it to the floor. You're shaking as so much blood pours into your erection you can feel your cock getting bigger to contain it. Stretching longer and bloating thicker, leaking so much pre cum to make room for the extra cum now filling your bloating, tingly, hot balls. They inflate and droop, swinging between your legs like two giant, overripe oranges. You spill the rest of your Coffee as you spasm, unable to contain the onslaught of hormones filling your head. Filling your body and making it warmer, sweatier. You feel your pubic hair grow bushier and thicker, sweatier. Your musk seems like it's getting stronger as you lift your arm and get a whiff of your pits. When your smell hits you, you moan and cum like a cannon down your leg, your swollen cockhead pressed against the rough fabric of your sleep shorts. You're whimpering like a scared and horny animal as your cock continue to cum, little rivers of your hot, musky cum running down your leg.

You look down to not only a huge, tight bulge in your shorts but that your bare feet are darkening. Like someone's spilled paint on a canvas, the dark color starts from your feet and travels upwards. You're panting as your feet crack and expand. Stretching across the tile floors and making you grit your teeth with the insane, mind-numbing pleasure that rips through you. They stretch and bloat, meatier and muskier, thicker and corded with muscle. They grow into size 12s, easily tearing through your socks and definitely not fitting in any of your shoes.

You huff and puff as the color spreads upwards, and with it, thicker, darker hair grows up your calves. Carpeting your thighs and thick hairs coming out of your inflated balls, the sensation making more pre shoot out of your cock. Your ass grows furry, hole tickling as hairs sprout around it as it tightens and contracts. Your eyes bug out of your head as the skin tone reaches your nipples, darkens them into dusky buds, the areolas expanding and stretching across your flat chest as some fat bubbles beneath them. Your moans grow deeper as your Adam's apple expands, punching out of your thickening throat as the color overtakes your face. Thickens up your lips, perfect for sloppy make-out sessions and even sloppier head. Thicker, wider tongue perfect for eating out an ass to the next century. A sensitive moustache sprouts on your lips as your jaw and cheekbones chisel themselves into sharp, handsome, masculine features. Hair darkening and curling, pleasurably sprouting from your scalp and sending waves of pleasure down your back.

As the color goes into your hands, they thicken and inflate. Palms widening and fingers stretching into meaty digits. You're still so horny, grinding your beyond hard 9-inch cock against your counter. You slip your tighter shorts down to your ankles. You bend over, sticking out your larger tongue, and begin licking the counter, desperate for all the dregs of Coffee that you can drink. Your head ignites with pleasure as your bigger hands graze your increasingly sensitive ass. The furry, flat ass starts expanding into your palm as you continue dragging your tongue across the counter. Your moans are deep and loud, and desperately horny. You cum again as you squeeze a fistful of your fatter ass, the muscle expanding and growing, some extra fat pouring into the inflating globes as some of it lands in your increasingly muscular thighs and calves. You feel your smarts leaking out of your cock as your thighs continue growing, swelling and inflating, so close to squeezing those swollen, churning nuts that your eyes cross as you let out a deep groan as the final push of growth bloats your ass into a strong, soft, hairy bubble butt. Your calves inflate and strengthen becoming thick diamonds underneath the skin.

You grab your still hard cock, oozing with pre, and stroke yourself, moaning as you throw your arms behind your head. Your pit hair explodes into thick, dense, musky hair. Your smell is so incredible your hole puckers. You play with the slick, swollen head of your cock as your chest expands behind your swollen nipples. The dark pegs jutting out and stretching forward as your muscles expand, become a little softer and less chiseled as some fat pours into them. The stretching of your chest broadens your shoulders, popping them out like two massive boulders in your upper arms. You swear vehemently in Arabic - a language you most definitely did not speak before - as your huge hands tug and play with your huge nipples. Your chest expands into strong muscle tits, hanging over your quivering abs as they begin tightening and contracting. You grab and squeeze handfuls of your pecs as your cock spurts huge wads of pre from the sensation, your horniness just getting stronger and stronger. Your back broadens and becomes stacked with muscle, which allows your pecs to surge forward one last time to take advantage of the extra support.

You let go of your cock as your biceps bloat and expand. You throw your juicy, heavy arms into a double bicep flex as your abs expand against your skin. The muscles shifting and strengthening, bloating against the skin and pushing your waist wider to contain them. With both of your hairy, musky pits exposed, you cum hands-free, bellowing with pleasure that goes right to your brain and fries it. Thick wads of cum splatters all over the counter as you feel the muscles in your biceps become two huge, dense, muscular balloons. Your forearms expand and become equally strong and muscular, thick veins bulging against your muscle. You feel strong enough to lift a car. Throw around a hungry bottom. You thrust into your waning orgasm as a final wave of growth hits all of your new muscles. Thicker arms, fatter ass, stronger thighs, abs becoming more defined, pecs inflating and broadening your chest.

Panting, pleasantly exhausted, you lean against the counter and catch your breath. You're still so sweaty, and smell so ripe. So masculine. You massage and worship your muscle tits. Flex your abs. Your cock shrinks into a semi and you feel a dull throb of horniness in the back of your much slower brain. You slide your shorts back on and smirk cockily at the tightness of them, your dick print so obvious and you're not even fully cocked. Ass huge and swollen against the back of your shorts, you can feel how heavy and weighty it is.

Your phone dings with several text messages from a number you don't recognize. All that's important is that this guy is coming over to your place. You take a pic and send it to him so he can get a teaser of the full package he's going to unwrap.

You notice the heavy bag of Coffee beans on your counter. Maybe after you're done fucking him into next year, dumping load after load into his ass, you can make him a cup.

And then, well, he'll definitely be able to return the favor.

A Burly Bargain

Connor had finally decided to dedicate a day to updating his aging wardrobe. An embarrassing amount of his clothes were still from high school, despite being a college grad now. He decided to check out a thrift store he’d driven past a number of times, a quaint little building called ‘New You Thrift’. There were always plenty of cars outside so he figured it had to be a decent place to try to find something new. He pulled into an open spot right in front of the door and hopped out of his car.

Upon entering he found that the outside was deceptively small; the store was massive, with aisles of every type of clothing he could think of stretching into the distance. With no one to greet him, Connor began wandering around displays and racks, unsure of what he was actually looking for. He figured he’d know when he saw something he liked, but as five, ten, fifteen minutes passed he started to stress out. That was, at least, until he stumbled upon a rack with a big sign labeled ‘Bulked Up Deals: 80% off!’. He couldn’t pass up a deal like that, he thought to himself, as he browsed the offerings. There was a lot of junk, but he found a cute short sleeve button up shirt, and some comfy looking shorts that he thought he’d at least try on. Pulling his gaze from the endless racks of clothing he saw a bright neon sign on the wall for dressing rooms, and began to make his way in that direction. 

Connor drew the curtain of the room closed and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a cute guy, he thought to himself, with a slim build and a little bit of scruff on his face. The old t-shirt and gym shorts look wasn’t doing him any favors though. The shirt was faded and he was pretty sure it had a hole somewhere on his back, and the shorts were too long and baggy. He stripped them off before pulling the new shorts up his legs, then slipped the shirt on and buttoned it up, leaving one open at the top. Connor took a step back and looked at himself in the mirror. Objectively it was a cute summer outfit, but it looked off to him. Maybe he was just too used to seeing himself in baggy t-shirts, he thought. As he looked over himself in the mirror something caught his eye; there was a speck of something dark right above his shirt collar. Concerned, he leaned in towards the mirror to look closely. It was… hair? Connor squinted at his reflection to confirm what he was seeing. Sure enough, there was a long dark hair poking out from his shirt.

Connor reached a hand up to feel for this hair, and his hand found plenty more just beneath the collar waiting to pop out and join it. He paused, thoughts racing, unsure of what to make of this revelation, when suddenly his whole body seemed to cramp up in an instant. Connor buckled to his knees, his entire body contorting as muscle began to push out of his slim frame. Two large pecs raised themselves like mountains from the flat plane of his chest. His abs enlarged and dug themselves a deep shredded valley between. His shoulders grew into boulders as the size traveled down his arms, biceps and triceps inflating with years of muscle. Connor’s back tightened as his lats and traps doubled in size, widening his upper body considerably. His thighs swelled, pushing against the new shorts as his legs strengthened. A groan slipped out of Connor’s mouth as he hunched over in front of the mirror, finally looking up at his reflection. The man who stared back was shockingly different, a shredded jock stretching the thrift shop clothes to the limit. 

Connor finally managed to get back to his feet when a strange itching sensation arose in parts of his body. For a moment he thought it was a reaction to the fabric he was now tightly pressed against, but the feeling was far too concentrated. Within moments it reached a breaking point in his pits, where under his skin tight shirt hundreds of hairs had started to push out. The soft wispy hairs that had occupied his pits before were overwhelmed by new, dark, thick armpit hairs. The hairs sprouted and curled together as a thick rug took root in both his pits, already slick with sweat. He could feel the hairs continue to push out, growing longer and thicker as testosterone soaked the follicles, adding more hairs to the muscled cavities under his arms.

Connor couldn’t help but try and scratch at his pits, hair flourishing from inside his shirt. He instead felt the sweat-soaked fabric as his pits had gone into overdrive, muscle still slowly building in his arms and shoulders. He took a deep breath, trying to still the overwhelming sensation. Instead, the top button of his shirt popped off, exposing his still-growing pecs. In his surprise he inhaled sharply, popping another button off. The blank canvas of his massive chest was revealed, graced solely by the scant few hairs he’d felt earlier at the base of his collarbone. Those few hairs began to spread like wildfire with thick hairs cropping up across his chest. They spread outward, first engulfing his collarbone before racing south, hairs coating his pecs and multiplying in the valley between them. The hairs also traveled upwards unbroken, creating a solid path of fur from his chest up his neck. The wispy scruff that grew on Connor’s upper lip and chin was engulfed by a wave of dark stubble. It stretched from his neck over his jaw and up his cheeks, hairs filling in between others, leaving him with an extremely dense layer of hair, though still short. His chest itched as the fur coat grew thicker, hairs tangling and curling together as his testosterone fueled carpet continued to expand, stretching out to mingle with the bushes in his pits. The wave of hairs continued downwards, his newly defined abs vanishing beneath a thick rug of curly hairs.

Connor, unable to make sense of what was happening, scratched at the newly grown pelt on his chest. He pulled through the dense mat, hairs curling around his fingers as whorls of hair were stretched and pulled longer from his chest. Upon pulling his hand back he thought dozens of hairs had been pulled free, stuck in his hand. In reality, his knuckles had started to sprout the same dark hairs as the rest of him. Patches of thick hairs were popping out across the backs of his hands, the dark fur surging up his forearms. His upper arms succumbed to the hairs, becoming buried beneath a constantly growing and shifting rug. The hairs traced over his shoulders, sprouting like weeds across the open expanse of his delts and traps, circling back to connect to the ever thickening carpet of hair on his chest. 

The hair on his collarbone tufted out slightly more, that same growth racing up to his face, where his thick stubble slowly began to push outwards from his face. The shadow across his cheeks lengthened into a dense beard, hairs weaving together into a solid mass of masculinity. The last vestiges of his original peach fuzz were erased as dark hairs erupted across his upper lip into a solid curtain of hair. Connor felt an itch on his back as hairs shot up across his shoulder blades, patches of hair that grew fuzzier as they spread outwards. He could feel it as the hairs began pushing against the tight shirt hugging his back, the growing forest of hair puffing out as it raced down towards his ass.

The explosive hair growth shot down Connor’s back til it reached the small of his back where it blossomed into a field of dark hairs that rested above his waistline. His ass was next up, his plump cheeks slowly darkening as hairs dusted themselves across the globes before the shadow pushed out into a curly rug. He could feel his ass inflating too, stretching the fabric of the shorts even more as hairs squirmed out between. Between the cheeks was even worse, with thick wiry hairs erupting from his crack and hiding his hole beneath a forest of dark fur. The itch of sprouting hair was unbearable as Connor tried in vain to relieve himself, but the changes beneath his shorts had only just started. 

Connor’s cock, pressed between his ever tightening shorts and his body, began to twitch. Blood raced into it, engorging his member to its full five and a half inches, throbbing against the fabric. The same itching sensation appeared in his groin moments later. Connor stifled another groan as he could feel thick, wiry hairs pushing out above his cock. His wispy bush quickly darkened, becoming a thicket of curls as hair after hair pushed out. His balls swelled up to twice their original size before flooding his body with even more testosterone. Hormone fueled follicles went into overdrive, thick hairs erupting across his balls as his bush crept outward, engulfing more and more territory beneath a jungle of sweaty hair. His cock lurched, feeling harder than it ever had before as it stretched out, growing thicker and longer. It pushed out, six, seven, eight inches creating a solid imprint in his shorts as hairs began to crawl up his shaft. His bush at last escaped the confines of his shorts, hairs blazing up to his navel and blending with the rug on his stomach. Connor looked down to watch helplessly as dark hairs popped up across his meaty thighs, at first just a handful but within moments they were sprouting across the entire surface. The carpet descended his legs, thick hairs tangling together as the growth never ceased. His feet pulsed with pain before his shoes split open, revealing his newly size 15 feet only to have them coated with hair in seconds, dusting even his toes with dark curls. 

Connor groaned as his whole body felt like it was bloated. Any movement he made brought the sounds of tearing seams as his body tested the limits of the fabric. His stomach gurgled as his newly defined abs slowly vanished beneath a growing layer of fat. His eyes went wide as more buttons popped off his shirt, his growing belly making itself known. He could feel the rest of him putting on more mass, softening as defined muscles were buried. His fingers thickened and hands grew calloused as more hairs continued to push out. The open shirt revealed the muscle gut’s growing rug as hairs filled in between others and curled together across his meaty torso.  His face itched once more as his beard grew dense and longer, hairs crawling up higher on his cheeks. His face grew more square as his jaw widened beneath the increasingly wild beard. His brow thickened and eyebrows grew darker. Connor saw the hair on his head start to retreat, the testosterone flooding his body giving him a more mature hairline as the hair migrated south. 

With a final tearing sound, his body relaxed, having overpowered the flimsy outfit and grown into its full glory. The man who looked back at Connor in the mirror was the most masculine, virile figure he’d ever seen. Built like a truck and every exposed inch covered in thick hair, it was an unreal sight. He felt like he should be angry, disgusted, shocked, anything at all, but instead he felt content. The itchiness and growing pain subsided as a newfound confidence washed over him.Sure, he couldn’t close this shirt, but he looked damn good showing off his body in it. Perfect for the Bear Night he’d seen advertised at a local bar. He decided he’d ask the cashier if he could wear his new fit out, and with that he left his old clothes, and old life behind.

Thanks for sticking around y'all! I know it took a while to get a new story out, I hope you enjoy :)

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Beau Of The Ball

Forced to spend the night in a town he conceptualizes as worlds beneath him, Brock is drawn to the local mechanic by something more powerful than desire. Try as he might to flee he's becoming more of a community member by the second.

Business busybody into something of a loyal country handyman! Quite the doozy, Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Someone had to make the trek to Austin and Brock figured biting that bullet for the team would pay dividends down the line. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out why on god’s green earth he had to physically drive there though. Carbon footprints be damned! Starting out he didn’t quite mind the idea, getting paid his rate to just drive is not too bad a deal, but as the hours rolled past it began to lose its novelty. Worse yet, when he crossed the border into Texas he found his car beginning to make a slightly concerning clunking sound. 

Pursing his lips he briefly wonders what could possibly be making that sound in his electric car. Brock swiftly comes to the limits of his car knowledge and throws in the towel. Not wanting to be stuck in the middle of nowhere Texas however, he keeps pedal to the medal and continues speeding towards the capital. Flying into some podunk town called Smoketree, Brock rolls his eyes at their droll cookie cutter town square. They have banners up for some sure to be trite festival happening in the square this weekend that Brock can’t help but laugh at. He struggles to imagine a single thing worth seeing in this backwater redneck speck.

Nearing the edge of town he notices an acrid scent in the air and soon after his vision is fully clouded by smoke pouring from his hood. Memories of scrolling past articles of electric vehicles blowing up he swerves into the shoulder and jumps into the grass with speed he hasn’t neared in years. Covering his ears and damning his boss for sending him into this fresh hell, Brock awaits some dramatic explosion. Instead his car simply continues idling forward a few feet before coming to a stop as it scratches against the guardrail. Something under the hood shudders and the smoke, initially emblematic of a wildfire, quickly pales into steam before slowing to a stop altogether.

Brock scratches his head in confusion, grimacing at the idea of making a trek into the town he had mercilessly mocked to himself. Unhappy about the prospect of asking hicks for help and, feeling how he does about the South, slightly anxious about wandering around a place sure to be less than welcoming, Brock crosses his fingers and makes to grab his phone from the car. Plugged into the charger he finds it dead, potentially short-circuited from whatever caused his car’s failure. “Fuck!” He tosses it into the backseat and storms away from the wreckage, “God damnit!” Ruffling his own hair he struggles through some breathing exercises while struggling to plan some flight from this god for nothing country wasteland.

Soon enough there is the rumble of an approaching truck. It’s followed by the whistle of a driver, “Whooey! Yew sure got yerself into a pickle there young man! Here lemme see if it’s sumthin’ I can give ya a hand with!” The massive truck pulls ahead of Brock’s burned out husk. Ever hesitant about interacting with bumpkins, the executive quickly goes into detective mode. Sure, the man is offering a helping hand but you never know with these small town folks. Seeing a trucker’s union bumper sticker on the vehicle he feels the smallest pang of optimism. Shifting to look at the man himself as he hops down from his raised truck, Brock quickly drills himself to not be outwardly judgemental to him or the shitty town he must surely come from.

The older man sidles over, squinting his eyes as he looks at the busted car while fanning the air as he smells the residual chemical scent in the air. Brock grimaces as the overall-clad man reaches out a hand with a wide smile, “Names Arthur Rhoades!” Patience already tested by the pleasantries while he’s already teetered past the edge of disaster, Brock keeps his disgust at the man’s hand just hidden as he offers his own. He flinches at the strength with which the man shakes his hand and after a pregnant pause offers his own name, “Ah! Oh, I’m Brock. Thank you for the assistance, sir. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about electric cars would you?”

Arthur whistles again and narrows his eyes at Brock’s ride, “I myself am not mucha a mechanic, but my son Junior sure knows his way around ‘m. Howsabout we get yer ride towed on back to our place and see what he can do in the mornin’?” Brock bites his lip and quickly sifts through a handful of answers about how he’d rather die before spending a night in a place where cows outnumber people, but looking back at the small trail of steam still rising from what used to be his car, he sighs and thanks the man for his kindness, “I appreciate the offer sir. I’m sure you can tell I’m quite the city boy, as it were, and would more than make it worth your while.” 

He laughs, patting Brock on the back, “Yer not wrong there boy! Can almost smell it on ya hah! But don’t you worry ‘bout payin’ me nuthin. ‘S the least I can do, host ya for the night. Who knows maybe you’ll like it s’much you decide to stay! Hah hah!” Brock laughs as well, hard enough that Arthur can probably feel the disrespect, though he certainly doesn’t show it. Before ushering Brock into his truck the older man turns and give one last look at the car and does a double take. “You said that was ‘lectric boy?” Brock tilts his head impatiently and nods, trying to ignore another passing thought of denigration that the yokel probably hasn’t seen one before.

His eyes follow the man as he walks up to the side and Brock’s face reddens with embarrassment as he sees Arthur open a fuel door. He stammers over himself swearing up and down that his car is absolutely electric. Brock almost hyperventilates as he runs the numbers in his head and begins to question his own mind. Seeing the man who was already on edge start visibly questioning everything Arthur rushes to comfort, “Must just be a plug-in hybrid right boy? Maybe she’s just needin’ some fuel in the tank if’n youve only only been chargin’ her up?” Brock slowly nods, “Y- yeah it must just be a hybrid.” Arthur ushers the slightly shellshocked suit up into his truck, “Easy fix then I’m sure, now let’s get ya t’ somewhere ya can lie yer head.” He quickly calls his son to tow the car to their place and he starts his truck.

Setting out, Brock tries to not let it bother him as Arthur drives the opposite direction from Austin. Heading back through the town square he looses a heavy sigh and Arthur immediately tries to lighten his spirits, unaware what a torpedo shot his first question will be to the man’s psyche. “So what brings ya to town youngin? Don’t get many new folks round these days?” Relieved at the chance to just be honest Brock quickly replies, “Ah, I was just passing through for work.” Mind back to work he sinks even lower in his seat thinking of how he’s guaranteed to be chewed out after being a no-show at the conference, no matter the circumstances. He’ll just need to let someone know when he gets to Arthur’s, surely they’re not so barbaric as to not have internet. Turning back to the driver he realizes that Arthur has continued talking, presumably about whatever nonsense he thinks their shitty little town has to offer.

Saving face he speaks up, “Ah! So sorry sir, I was uhm. I was thinking about work and totally missed what you said.” Arthur smiles with an empathetic kindness and pats Brock on the leg, “No worries, no worries lad. I’m sure Junior’ll get ya back on the road early in the morn. Sportin’ lad he is! Oh! I hope ya don’t mind but we only got the two rooms, so either you’ll share with Art or ‘s the couch for ya.” His ears perk up at the idea of sharing the room with a man described as ‘sporting.’ Judgmental of hicks he may be, but Brock is certainly not immune to the charm of a rough around the edges mechanic. The prospect is so alluring he almost forgets that the man’s almost guaranteed to be straight, in which case the couch could not be more promising.

About fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of town Arthur turns down a long driveway and into quite the idyllic homestead. Realizing he’s left all his luggage in his abandoned vehicle Brock struggles not to chew a hole in the side of his cheek as he writes an explanation for his workplace in his head. He tries to keep appearances as he gets a brief tour of his gracious hosts, meeting Arthur’s wife and promptly complimenting her efforts on decorating the cabin, earning him a peck on the cheek. He tries to settle his nerves and sits on the couch that’s almost guaranteed to be sleeping on tonight as three of them chat about the town. Inside and away from the car it’s a good deal easier for Brock to pretend that he’s not stuck here without recourse, he almost doesn’t mind the time wasted here.

Though as the couple keep talking up the festival Brock can’t help but be reminded of how little he cares for the rurality of it all. The idea of this shoddy little community having a celebration that appeals to him at all is simply beyond his imagination. “Country life ain’t as bad as ya think there Brock! I’m tellin’ ya, take it slow a few days and you’ll be a changed man! Some things are better than the hustle ‘n bustle!” Brock forces a smile and avoids rolling his eyes as he laughs off the appeals, “Oh I’m sure sir, I’m sure. It’s just so,” he pauses as he struggles to find any good way to say it is a life full of nothing. Before finding an insult eloquent enough to not be insulting Arthur’s wife Martha speaks up. Waving her husband off, she apologizes to their guest, “Oh you don’t let him get to ya dear. He’s just all riled up for the shindig y’know.” How could he not the number of times they’ve mentioned it

Before he’s able to respond, the door slams open and in walks a man that forces Brock’s ajar in a pavlovian response. The cowboy’s almost deliberately styled to make Brock drool, spinning the keys to a tow truck around his pinky. He isn’t sure if his being stuck in this town is making him more attracted to rednecks or what, but Brock can’t help but follow the man striding in like a moth to a bug zapper. He sees the man's lips move to say “Who’s the twink,” though thankfully his attention is so focused on ogling the man, his ears can’t quite hear him, or perhaps he’d have lost it then and there. Turning to Arthur as he gives the lowdown Brock shakes off the stupor and offers forth a shaky hand to who must be none other than Arthur Rhoades Junior.

The man smirks and wipes his hand on his jeans before walking up to and squaring up against Brock. Upturning his chin to nod and stare, taking all there is to see of the city boy. His eyes flicker across every aspect of his being, “Brock eh? Names Art.” His stare turns to Brock’s eyes, not so much making direct eye contact but staring through the visitor. His lips are pursed in appraisal and then he reaches out and takes the outstretched hand, his palm completely enveloping Brock’s before he squeezes. Not so hard as to display his brutish masculinity, but powerfully firm. One that clearly shows who is in charge here. It’s a brief moment, but it irrevocably asserts to Brock that he needs more.

Art’s pursed lips straighten into an expressionless straight line as his eyes shift from intense inspection to bemused invitation before he heads upstairs to his room. Martha and Arthur Sr. glance at each other in some charged way that Brock wouldn’t be able to make out even if his attention wasn’t focused on the hand that Art grasped, still feeling the pressure from being held. Arthur’s voice again cuts through Brock’s bewilderment as he prepares to retire for the night himself, “Well it’s gettin’ dark early here so I’m fixin’ to head to bed. Got blankets in the closet yonder if yer lookin’ to sleep down here in the cold livin’ room. If yer thinkin’ about Art’s room or maybe even seein’ if he’ll take the couch ya probably wanna do so soon, big day tomorrow with the shindig ‘n all!” He walks over to Brock to pat him on the shoulder as the guest tries not to interpret the emphasis Arthur had on how cold the living room was. “We’ll see ya in the mornin’ youngin. Hope ya can have a good rest under our roof.”

Martha walks up and offers him some of Art’s old clothes to sleep in since his luggage is away, “Might be a little big on ya love.” Brock thanks her and she heads off with her husband. Left alone in the living room Brock can’t help but focus on the steps in the room above him, he hesitates at the foot of the staircase. Anxiety about talking with the beyond daunting man should well hold him back from action. In any normal case it would. As the seconds pass though, the air around him grows colder and everything in his body begs for the warmth that he only had the smallest touch of. Clenching his hand he pushes down his fears and ignores the couch he had all but resigned himself to as he walks up the creaky stairs.

Before he even reaches the top, the door to Art’s bedroom opens. Light from inside illuminates the landing, and with it flows the woody, musky scent within. Art’s massive form cuts through the beams as he moves to lean on the door frame, dressed down into a strained wife-beater with one arm upraised to expose his pit as an yet another invitation. He leers down the stairs at Brock just long enough to ensure he’s coming before turning back to strip further. Brock stares at his powerful ass as he almost falls over himself climbing the rest of the way into the room.

As soon as he enters the door closes behind him and Art speaks up, his rough voice rumbling sends a shiver down Brock’s spine, “Wha’ chu want city boy. Might think ya got my parent ‘round yer finger but you ain’t got me fooled.” The executive shakes his head in surprise before quickly backing into the shut door, stammering as he tries to find some foothold. “Might not hear every little thought goin’ on in yer head but I can tell what yer thinkin’.” He slowly approaches Brock, slamming a arm above him on the door as the smaller man just gets his hand on the handle. “Ya think yer better than us, ‘s that it? ‘S not all though huh.” He in close to Brock’s ear, his thick mustache rubbing against the man’s cheek, inflaming his passion all over again as it takes everything in his mind and body not to turn to jelly, “can’t right help yerself huh.”

His mouth curls into a grin as he grips Brock’s face, his hand easily covering most of Brock’s head. “Yer fuckin’ obsessed with me runt.” He pulls him into a rough kiss that could have gone on for minutes or years with next to no input from Brock as his body fights to not slide to the floor, any thoughts behind his eyes vacate as no higher function could survive the pure lust taking over. Before he knows it he’s thrown onto the bed like a ragdoll. Brock sees nothing but stars as the passion comes to a head, escalating beyond his understanding. Every inch of his from cries with sensitivity and blares with pleasure. He feels spit or cum splatter across his form, pain and pleasure become one in ecstasy as he is nothing but a sack of nerves for Art to play with.

Once the mechanic is done with him he feels something tight secured on his head and hears the man grunt out in a manner nearing affection, “See ya in the mornin’ pardner.” His dreams are a blur. Rushing through woods on four-wheelers, hunting with Arthur and Junior, home cooked meals made by Martha. He feels the rough hand of Art that he’s so intimately familiar with now in his own, but it feels almost smaller than it should be. He grunts in his sleep and in the realm of dream it sounds deeper to his ears. He looks down at his hands and sees them oil covered, rougher, and impossibly large. He turns his head to see Art smiling at him with a bestial grin. He awakens with a start, face down in Art’s bed sweat, drool, and cum crusted across his form.

“Jesus fuck man!” He hears Art’s snoring come to a stop as the massive man grunts in response. He turns to look at his plaything and Brock sees the same animalistic grin that woke him up grace Art’s face. Brock rolls off the bed and shock and feels his own face, stained with stubble that should have taken nearly a month to grow before their night together. He wrenches the camo hat off his head and hurls it against the wall, “What’d you do ta me ya-” he grasps at his throat, feeling the same stubble has inched down his neck. He feels an adam’s apple three times larger than what he went to sleep with bounce as he swallows in fear, “Ya- you monster!”

Art rolls over, keeping the same smile on as he looks down on the man once more, “Weren’t complainin’ last night bud.” Brock’s eyes follow him as he gets up to stretch, feeling his cock immediately harden as he traces the mechanic’s powerful curves, his face reddens with rage at himself. He sees Art scratch his ass and pits as he feels what must be similar itches rise across his own body, fearful of any further inspection he stands and stamps his feet, “Now you listen here, Bud. I want out of this town, now. If ya don’t- ugh. If you don’t take me to my car now I’ll-” Rolling his eyes Art puts a finger to Brock’s mouth to shut him up and he’s powerless to do anything but obey, “Now listen here, Breau-” 

Art continues speaking but Brock is unable to listen after Art says the name. Breau, it sends a powerful shiver down his spine. It’s like Art hit a reset button on the man. Judging by the blank eyes it’s clear he’s not listening so Art simply turns away and grabs some clothes, sniffing them to see if they’re dirty before just shrugging and throwing them on anyway. He grabs a stained shirt and some shorts and throws the clearly stained outfit at Breau, aiming right for the eyes glazed over. Knocked over with the force he simply lies back and inhales and bathes in the dried musk on the dirty laundry. Feeling his cock grow large enough to strain his shorts he moans and the unfamiliar sound brings him back to his senses, “wha- now gahd-damnit!”

Art laughs as he hears Breau struggle with the new dialect on his tongue, feeling his own heart rate quicken at the idea that he’ll continue to fight against it, not knowing the foregone conclusion. He sees the man’s hands hover near his bulging cock barely holding back from masturbating then and there as it pulses with his heartbeat, clearly exposing pubes darker and thicker than the city boy has ever let them get to before. The mechanic sprays a cloud of axe in the air and walks through it before heading out the door, calling back to Breau, “Now you throw sumthin’ on before headin’ down. Don’ chu be indecent to yer hosts Breau.”

Breau clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the new power he feels surging in his neck, paralleling just about everywhere else on his form. He looks for his suit hoping to just throw that on but his clothes are nowhere to be found, he can’t tell if it’s anxiety or pleasurable anticipation prickling under his skin as he thinks about wearing Art’s clothes. Looking down to see muscles bulging under his skin with every movement his balls pulse and he realizes he needs to cover up now. He goes through Art’s room trying to find the cleanest outfit he can muster before following the man downstairs.

Racing down the stairs he’s just in time to see Art hugging his mother goodbye, something uncomfortable flutters in chest and Breau grumbles under his breath low enough to not hear an accent steep every expletive. Arthur makes his way over to his guest and throws his arms around him, “Well seein’ as my boy’ll get yer car fixed up in no time this’s more than likely goodbye, son! Hope ya didn’t mind our ‘ccomidations too bad. Hope ta see ya again some day y’hear!” Breau is surprised at how overly familiar the man’s hug is, it should be awkward enough to make him squirm out of his skin but it’s like he’s been hugged by the man hundreds of times. He doesn’t even think about the fact that Art’s father hasn’t commented on his clearly changed appearance as he instead goes to hug the man back, pleasantries staining his tongue alongside the accent, “No trouble at all, Art ‘n I had a great time.” Blushing as the memories of their steamy session burn to the front of his mind his voice cracks, “Uhhh, thank ya for yer hospitality Da- er, sir.”

Arthur pats him on the back and nods, wiping his own mustache as he sets for the door, “Well see you boys later, me ‘n the missus are off to get ready for the jamboree tonight!” Martha does a little excited dance at the door before waving off their guest as well, “Besta luck with yer car now Breau!” His head twitches as Art’s mom uses the name he only just realized he has been identifying with since Art first said it. Art closes the door behind them and goes to grab a beer from the fridge. Breau quickly throws his body at the mechanic to stop him, knocking the beer out of his hand, “Now what’re ya doin’ Ugh! What do you think you’re doing Arthur Rhoades!” Grimacing at his can on the floor and the man calling him by his full name he just sighs and looks Breau up and down, “Still think yer gettin’ outta dodge do ya? Look at yerself.”

Breau struggles to ignore his words as he feels abs and a chest that have never been begin to fill a tank top that never should have fit him. “Where’re- are your keys, you hick.” Art’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the fight left in the man and whistles as he picks up his beer and promptly shotguns it, releasing a large burp before pointing at his truck’s keys. “You wouldn’t mind drivin’ now would ya?” Breau grunts and pulls at Art’s shirt as he goes for another beer, the large man smirks at the ease with which Breau pulls his massive form, eying the larger hands and veins pulsing along his thin arms as they gather all the strength with him.

Breau hops into the driver’s seat of the tow truck with ease and familiarity he shouldn’t have and starts the engine. Swiftly, the pair are off down the road before Breau realizes that he’s driving stick, his eyes grow as wide as Art’s smirk at the realization, “Yer a natural at this Breau, jus’ give in. It’ll be so much easier.” One of his rough fingers traces a bulging vein on Brock’s arm, “‘Sides, ya can’t tell me last night wasn’t the best fuck of yer life.” Breau struggles to tune out the man’s words but the still growing bulge in his pants makes it clear that his mind is flashing back to the pleasure beyond pleasure he enjoyed, perhaps for the best, lest he realize he’s driving to Art’s shop with memories he shouldn’t have.

Approaching the shack he sees parts strewn about the yard and a few hunks of junk that must be passion projects parked in a line. He quickly shuts off the truck and tosses the keys at Art before storming out of the vehicle and looking for his car, “What’d you fuckin’ do with by ride bitch?” Art slides out of the truck and meanders up to the man, chin upraised he grimaces at Breau’s rage, “Y’know I’m thinkin’ you should mind yer tongue. Yer talkin’ like someone who's about a foot taller ‘n ya.” Suddenly everything within Breau comes to a boil, he rushes at Art. 

In response the mechanic hoists him into the air by the neck of his wife-beater. He makes direct eye contact and both men feel the tension between them, as well as that in their pants before Breau forces his feet back to the ground. His whole body lengthens over a foot in height in over a second and his arms try to grab at the larger man. The smug grin of a winner returns to Art’s face as he opts to just push Breau away with his leg, keeping hold of his shirt as it tears off him. He slides into the dirt and it sticks to his sweaty back as he convulses with a level of anger and energy he’s never had to deal with before, surely a side effect of the massive balls bulging through his shorts. Art laughs at the man struggling as he pushes himself up, his body vibrating with a desire to enact violence.

Torn between impulses of fucking and fighting Breau can’t control himself in the slightest. His arms desire, lust, need to swing, to hold, to scratch at the man who is just leering at him with a confidence unfounded. He charges again but trips over his longer legs and Art calmly steps out of the way. Seeing red he stumbles back to his feet and charges once more, exhaling through his nose like a bull. This time Art catches him flat out, stumbling back a step but still maintaining complete control of the man. The smile disappears from his face as he leans down to whisper, “Now, clearly yer dealin’ with new hormones coursin’ through ya, but if yer gonna act like an animal we might need to have a change a plans hm?”

Breau’s eyes indeed flicker around like he’s an animal in his trap. Everything in his mind cries out to fight, to flee, to fuck with not a single higher function speaking up. Unable to process thoughts let alone produce words Breau takes heaving breaths as his chest tries to expand, feeling his sweaty body against Art’s he calms down and his mind fights against the lust and anger driving him, “What, what do ya want with me.” Art turns Breau to a small outdoor gym he has set out in between some workbenches and lets him go jutting at the area with his head, “Go work off some of yer energy ‘n get back to me. ‘N we’ll see ‘bout yer car.” Immediately feeling feels every muscle fiber in his being cry out at the challenge, the desire to be even more powerful sends him barrelling to the meager set up.

Art goes to a fridge in the shop and grabs another beer as he watches Breau mindlessly exercise Smirking as he imagines the mileage he’ll get out of every expanding muscle in the man. Picturing pecs as large as his own and biceps that might even be able to hold him down one day. He scratches at his stomach as he looks around the yard trying to remember which car even was the man’s. Turning back to see pounds of muscle piling onto the man he wonders if he’ll even remember that he was some pansy executive by the time he’s done working out his anger. Judging by the expression growing even duller with each rep he’s not even sure the man will remember his own name.

Breau isn’t sure if he’s done two sets or thousands, everything within him burns with years of pleasurable soreness. He feels his cock bulge through his shorts as each rep drives him even deeper into bliss. Pre stains his briefs and sweat drips so fully across his form it’s like he’s in a rainstorm. The exercises drive him so deep into mindlessness he indeed forgets his anger, his balls instead cry out for release that he knows only Art can bring him. Art Rhoades, he looks up to see the man and sucks in the drool that has apparently been streaming out of his mouth this whole time.

He saunters over with a new gait, not used to the larger cock swinging between his legs, and speaks up to the man, “Done gettin’ ripped. Can ya fix my car now.” His head twitches to the side as he feels something is off about the way he’s speaking, the idea graces his mind that his voice just sounds even deeper which turns him on even further. Ignoring the question, Art tosses him a beer and gets to his feet with a groan, beckoning Breau follow him into the yard. Absolutely ravished having grown exponentially in every regard he finishes the beer in seconds before grabbing himself two more from the fridge, burping as he trails the man he can now only think of as a ticket to endless pleasure.

“You remember which one of these beauts was yers Breau?” The theoretical executive looks across the yard, littering the empty cans behind himself as he rolls his eyes at the dumb question, obviously it’s uh. He squints as he struggles to even find a car, it was a hybrid right? His face twitches at the idea, as if he’d drive some pussy shit like that. Nah obviously he must be drivin’ the biggest tanker here yeah? He scratches his ass and Art just smirks as he walks up to a large truck missing a tire, and points to it, his mouth lolling open as is its default state. Art bites his tongue to prevent from bursting into laughter at the idea of that puny man hopping up into that rig. Keeping it under wraps he saunters over and feeling generous gives the man one final out, “You sure about that hun?”

Questioned, the conviction in Breau’s chest only grows as he puffs up his chest with pride. He checks the back seat and smirks as he sees a bag filled with his belongings, tearing it open hoping to find a laptop for reasons that escape him; he instead finds a toolkit, some lube, and old work clothes. Still, each object in the bag is unquestionably his. He tosses the bag at Art with a smirk, “Uhhh, obviously I know my own truck ya fucker, tryin’ get me all confused like!” Art laughs it off as he begins his victory lap. The whole thing began as some karmic payback and all but fuck, if he ain’t excited at the prospect of having someone on his level to fuck around with. Though he bites his tongue as deep in his chest he desires something more meaningful than that.

Art tosses the bag to the ground and looks over at the missing tire and scoffs at the oaf, “Now Breau, surely ya don’ need my help puttin’ a tire back on yer truck?” Breau’s face reddens with embarrassment at the idea and he pushes back at the man now only slightly larger than him. His pride challenged, he quickly runs over to a workbench to grab a tire wrench, Art watches new muscle and fat bounce on the man’s body as his whole form jiggles with power, before moving to wheel over a tire. Breau stumbles running back as his mind begins to fill with the proprietary knowledge of mechanics that any handyman should have, grease stains his shorts and oil his hands as he forgets corporate boardrooms that had already fallen by the wayside.

In no time at all he’s under the truck, shooting off the flat with a haste and finding another problem to fix while he’s under there. Every word out of his mouth drips with an accent deeper than any of the Rhoades’ “I knew t’wasn’t just a tire yew ass! Mah whole strut’s fucked up!” Art watches as the man appraises and immediately sets to fixing the issues found, smirking as the man scratches his exposed pubes in between drilling and sniffs at the forest of hair in his pits that somehow overpowers the smell of metal and motor oil in the air.

Art offers a helping hand that the man in his confidence didn’t ask for and the pair quickly get the truck up and running with ease. They work like they’ve done so for at least a decade, and as sweat runs down one of them onto the other their minds shift to make it clear they have. The job said and done Breau quickly turns his mind to another car on the lot and Art shrugs as they start hammering away at another job that has long been left on the back burner. Working the day away, eventually Art has to step in and convince his new partner to throw in the towel.

The sunset’s beginning to crest over the horizon and Art gets a text from his folks asking when the pair are to make their way over to the festival. Art is uncharacteristically nervous as he looks to Breau, fearful of flubbing so close to the finish line. He clears his throat to calm his voice, lest there be a quiver, “‘S a shame yer not gonna be able to make it to the festival tonight eh Beau.” The oiled up man shakes as he hears the name, his name, who he is, shift one final time. The itch of his pubes races up his abs as he nears the virility, the power, of his partner.

The strength and muscle of the man  who forced him against the wall, ragdolled him onto the bed, hoisted him into the air, bursts into his own arms as there's the sound of a fabric tearing, bones cracking, in the air. His bulge expanding to a size that his underwear could never hide, he smirks at the idea that he’d ever wear them anyway. Always been more of a commando guy. Every muscle in his body vibrates with energy as he surges even larger, hair rapidly covers his pits before spreading beyond them as his beard curls even thicker. Sweat drips down his body, wetting his pants and sending an itch down his ass that makes it clear that no inch is spared from his new hirsute masculinity. He grunts as the idea of missing the festival fills him with a greater sadness than he’s ever felt before, “Now why’d I ever go ‘n do a thing like that there Art.”

Suddenly a devilish smirk forces itself onto Beau’s face as his mind changes from affection and back to a lust uncontrollable as his balls surge even larger and he again charges at Art. This time tinged with no existential anger as he knocks the man to the floor. Art smirks as he feels himself pinned to the ground and the two begin wrestling in the dirt, their powerful bodies in a dead heat as they frot in the middle of his lot. Their messy beards wet with spit as they engage in an even sloppier session than they had the previous night, with each thrust Art finds more power within Beau than he has felt from even the most masculine fuck he’s enjoyed previously. 

sees the look in Beau’s eyes he’s filled with confidence, and he’s splattered with cum. After hearing both their phones ring the two men call off their heated session and quickly struggle to seem like they weren’t in the middle of having marathon sex as they answer to hear both of Art’s parents. Beau doesn’t stop to realize his phone is again functioning, and also a far older generation than the one he once preferred. After all he doesn’t need all that fancy shit to get his job done anyway. The two hop in Beau’s recently repaired truck and race to the Rhoades’ residence, Art is shocked to find a full size cabin now built next door to his parent’s house before he sees Beau saunter into it with a confidence and pride that answers all of his questions.

After a moment he races to follow the man, his other half inside and is struck with his new life. He assumed he was holding all the cards but clearly that’s not the case. Looking down at his own body he finds he is not without his own changes, having similarly grown in virility he chides himself for thinking with his balls so much before he is again chided by the man stepping down the stairs. “Didja not hear yer mom on the phone Art! Get fuckin’ ready so we can get down there before yer folks blow a gasket!” 

Art takes the little moment he can to observe all the new perfections of his apparent life. He stares at Beau’s sculpted chest, the pattern of perfect hair trailing down his body like fur. Massive thighs filling jeans to their max and a bulge that tells everyone he’s a stud in between them. Art blushes as he rushes into their shared bedroom, unaware as his step grows heavier with every footfall, his own chest straining the tank that was only just hanging in there. He quickly puts on an outfit matching Beau, almost forgetting to throw back on his silicon wedding band before racing back into the living room and draping himself around his husband’s shoulders.

Beau acknowledges him with a grunt and juts his chin towards the door. The two head off towards the city center, Beau’s head filled with affection for the man to his left and for the town of folks around him. Art is blissfully unaware of the two way street that clearly dulled some of his own edges as the pair step out into the festival and begin throwing down in a line dance, as they do every year. Beau moves with precision and joy as he celebrates his favorite place and favorite people. Can of beer raised high as he shows off to a crowd adoring.

Constantly stealing glances of each other the husbands are uncaring as everyone in the town square also has their eyes on the pair, such a perfect match it’s no wonder they are the celebrities of the little town. Martha and Arthur Sr. watch blissfully, beyond overjoyed that their son has finally found a man for himself, and the city sighs as the two men take turns showing off at every turn. Beacons of Smoketree pride and Southern hospitality in only the best of ways. Ever striving to better themselves and their town and always trying to one up their other half.

The Olde Candy Shoppe

After trying some vintage candy Eddie finds himself rushing into the life of his dreams, with a the man of his dreams to boot! Sweet bearification/age progression!

Bit of a long one but I quite enjoyed writing it! Hope it's not too saccharine for y'all! As always, hope you all enjoy! -Occam

It was Eddie’s first day off in a few weeks. He doesn’t really mind the hours but working in an office has been a little less than fulfilling for him. Quite the recluse, he was originally planning on just staying in on his day off but his friend from work, Tony, encouraged him to explore town. He acquiesce, for nothing else than hopefully having something new to talk about with Tony when he’s back at work, secretly hoping that taking his friend’s advice could lead to something a little more exciting between the two of them.

Looking around the town square he’s immediately bored, seeing almost entirely places he’s already written off in the time he’s lived in the city. Eddie doesn’t want to go daydrink or buy some new clothes and he’s already kicking himself in the leg for forgetting that he hasn’t gone out in some time for a reason. Right before he calls it a day and returns home to hop on some video game he sees something new and alluring: The Olde Candy Shoppe.

It looks quite out of place, like a mom and pop shop shoved in between newer developments. Eddie stares in disbelief unsure how he could have possibly missed the anomaly before now, he’s been here before and is almost certain that it has not. Though by all appearances it seems far and away to be the oldest building in the square. He digs deep trying to recall any friends mentioning a candy shop in town and comes up blank. Sighing he decides to push no further, obviously the building is there so there’s no sense at all to go crazy about it. Beside that, the longer he spends thinking on it he realizes he could certainly do with a sugary pick-me-up.

Eddie enters  the candy shop and any edge or nerves remaining were left at the door. The atmosphere was immediately soothing and warm, sweet but not cloying. The cool white light filters through aged windows and bathes everything with the yellow warmth of perpetual twilight. Looking around the shop Eddie just feels at home, he sets to browsing the aisles when he hears a loud deep voice shout, “Welcome in lad! Glad to have ya!” Quickly removed from whatever reverie he was in, Eddie turns to find a man otherworldly. Masculine like a grandfather, the giant would seem more at home at Santa’s workshop than the city center in which his store sits. 

Eddie simply stares at the man who quickly laughs before putting a hand on his hip and walking over, “You know it’s impolite to stare young man, Hah Hah!” His whole body bounces as he laughs and Eddie closes his agape mouth, not even realizing it had fallen open. He tries to speak but stumbles over his words as he massive man comes to pat him on the back, “What can I do ya for lad?” Eddie swallows hard and finds his caught tongue, “Oh, ah well, I’m just looking around I suppose. Sorry-” The bear of a man laughs heartily once more before continuing, “Well I’m certain you’ll find exactly what yer lookin’ for. Ya just shout if ya need anythin’!” With that he goes off to organize the racks behind the counter, leaving Eddie to his own devices. 

While never on his A-Game in social situations, Eddie is absolutely gobsmacked at how off he was talking to the man. It’s almost like when someone way out his league flirts with him, but Eddie’s never been the type to go for men so, wizened. He blushes as he thinks about that man in such a light and promptly focuses his mind on the merchandise to prevent any further embarrassment. Attention drawn to the shelves Eddie finds sweets familiar and novel, something in the back of his mind tells him that anything he could ever possibly want rests somewhere in the labyrinth of crowded candy aisles. 

He wanders around for quite a while, unaware or apathetic to the passage of time, every so often picking up a treat he knows he likes only to put it down in pursuit of something better, something out there calling to him. The stairs creak as he meanders up to the equally cluttered second floor of the candy shop. Reaching the top he turns to look out across the open aisles, bereft of other customers. The square was bustling when he was wandering outside and yet he hasn’t heard the bell on the door jingle once since he’s entered. As soon as the thought enters his mind a saccharine smell overloads his senses and he shakes it off. Anxieties rational or not fade away as he turns to find some ancient candy he’s never seen before.

He grimaces seeing wafers that clearly have been extant for hundreds of years before he was born. Prepared to turn his nose up and return to the more exciting eclectic candies of today Eddie is shocked as his body takes a step towards the sure to be stodgy treat. His hand reaches out to grab a ream of them and suddenly he feels a presence behind him as the booming voice of the proprietor speaks out once more, “Mmm excellent choice Boy. Those are favorite’s from my youth. Would ya like to try one?” Eddie turns to find the man’s hand outstretched and in the center one of the small chalky discs. Unsure why he would ever want them in the first place Eddie plans to turn him down, but his body feels otherwise.

Before a second passes Eddie has already snatched the piece of candy without a thought and shoved it in his own mouth. What should be the muted flavor of a candy that has sat unpurchased on shelf for years instead explodes in his mouth. Every sense is overwhelmed as flavors of a lifetime dance on his tongue. His mind goes blank, unable to process the experience of thousands of thoughts and feelings soaring into and through him. Warmth fills every inch of his being as his mouth again lolls open, he feels every piece of fabric on his dry skin before they grow sticky with sweat as he begins to sweat from the impossible experience. Eyes glaze over as he mindlessly stares at the jolly unmoving face ahead of him. It is impossible to say how long he stands there absorbing everything there is within the small piece of candy as it dissolves on his tongue. He only breaks out of it as he feels drool spill out of his wide open mouth. 

Eddie slurps in embarrassment and mumbles an apology, barely able to will his body to do anything at all as he recovers from a state of ecstasy he couldn't possibly understand. The proceeding minutes are equally foggy, try as he might Eddie is running on fumes as he wanders back down the stairs, the old man ushering him with a gentle hand towards the door. He isn’t sure what awkward things his mouth must spurt out as he accompanies the man through the store. The only concrete recollections he can find as he exits are the man’s smiling face as he puts a small bag of the treats in Eddie’s hand and the jingling of the door bell closing behind him as he is again on the cold streets of the downtown. 

“Did I pay for these?” He mumbles to himself as he wanders towards his apartment. Eddie doesn’t quite care what the answer is as he promptly tears into the pouch of multi-colored wafers, desperate to continue whatever high they brought him before. He shoves a handful of the chalky treats into his mouth and is promptly ushered again to a state of jubilee. His feet stumble onward as his mind grows mindless once more, his face smiling wide and his eyes glassy with ecstasy he still cannot grasp. It’s more akin to discovering a new sense than a new taste as every second passing brings him more rapturous pleasure. His clothes pull on his body with every movement. Tension created between himself and the world around him brings him delight beyond measure as, beyond the heighting of every sense, he begins to feel bloated.

Holding back a burp he arrives at his front door and closes it behind him. Eddie falls to the floor, dropping the now empty bag of wafers, as he experiences release from what feels like a lifetime of heightening pent-up pleasure. Eddie tears off clothes that have been hugging him tighter with each step towards home, doing so with an ease that should certainly be a red flag. Barely aware of his actions the strength suddenly coursing through him only brings him pleasure in a manner he has until now been pushing down as he feels his package swiftly strain briefs still clinging to his rapidly bloating thighs.

Falling face down on his bed he fully and unconditionally gives into the experience, humping the bed like an animal until his cock  breaks free from his underwear. His arms grow larger as he pushes against his bed, widening palms grasping at sheets. Beneath the carnal pleasure of growth across his body he feels burning itches rise. Ever a hairless twink he begins to feel a long absent signifier of manhood begin to grace his form. While his thin arms become biceps, beneath them the thin blonde bush in his armpits darkens and begins a transformation from a garden into a jungle. The few hairs on his chest and around his nipples, in which he had but the smallest pride, stretch longer and do their best to spread, his cock growing even harder as he imagines thick untamable hair covering more of his form than he could even imagine.

Memories of shaving daily fill his mind as a mustache suddenly graces his ever-hairless face. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as his neck flexes and his vision flashes white as everything in his being cries with a desire to grow more, to be more. He scratches at his frail form as every disparate part of his body struggles to obey. 

The room fills with the scent of his sweaty body grinding against his mattress. His pert waist expands, his ass ballooning into the air as his thighs fill with power. In his crotch a thick bush of pubes scratch against his cock as it bulges larger yet. Just as he’s about to lose control, his more powerful arms shaking with both the effort of growth as well as holding up his larger body, he takes a deep breath and a dumb grin spreads on his face. Behind the powerful scent of his own musk, there is an unmistakable saccharine haze hiding. With that he moans loudly, his chest vibrating as a deeper voice bellows forth and he collapses in his own mess as his cum stains a treasure trail still inching higher on his torso.

He awakens a completely different man. He groans and scratches at stubble he never dreamed he could grow and pushes himself with arms larger than his thighs used to be. He rubs himself up and down feeling sweat stained, and otherwise crusty, hair covering all the real estate he so wished it would. Unaware of the extent of his changes he allows himself a few moments to play with the new muscle and weight on his improved form. Flexing his biceps, delighting in the soreness therein as he bounces pecs that he certainly didn’t earn, Eddie quickly wakes up to reality and jolts up. Brimming with energy, anxiety he’s always had heightens to a new degree as he jumps up to inspect himself in a mirror.

He turns and inspects every inch of his new body. Pushing and prodding at impossibly developed muscle, twisting his neck to look at his defined jawline underneath stubble, pinching himself only half-hoping to awaken from the dream and yelping as his new clumsy fingers pinch with more strength than he thought possible. “Fuck!” He clenches at his throat as the voice sounding forth is unrecognizable, as well as one that would get any man to drop his pants. He blushes before checking the time and remembering the struggles of his all-too-real reality. He can’t go to work like this.

He scratches his hair and feels that while everywhere else on his body hair has grown fruitful, before multiplying beyond even that, the hair on his head has lost some of its youthful bounce and thinned. No time to worry about that. He wipes a sobering hand across his face, feeling its rough palm scratch at itchy stubble. Eddie forces down the butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the idea before dialing his workplace’s phone number. The phone rings once before the receptionist answers, “Hello this is Chloe with Blue Willow LTD. What can I do for you today?” 

Eddie clears his throat and answers, “Hey Chlo this is Eddie I uhh, don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in today.” There is a pause as the receptionist checks a calendar before she replies, “I see, Eddie, is it? Did you have an appointment today?” This time Eddie pauses, taken aback that Chloe didn’t recognize him. Sure, his voice probably sounds a little deeper but they’ve worked together for years. 

“What? No, Chlo you know me, it’s Eddie?” She promptly replies, “I’m not seeing an Edward or Eddie on my calendar, nevertheless I am sorry you won’t be able to make our company today. If you want to set up a later date I can certainly do that for you sir.” Eddie bites his tongue as he tries to think of anything to prove his identity to Chloe and comes up blank, in fact the longer he sits there the more he has trouble even picturing her face. “Sir? Are you still there?” He grunts in surprise, “Oh! Yes I, sorry for the bother. I uhh, it must be a wrong number.” “No problem at all sir, thank you for calling and we look forward to serving you at a later date!”

There’s a click as the receptionist hangs up. Eddie sits there staring at his phone and sees that he doesn’t even have a contact for the number he just called. He scratches at his stomach as the hair there is crusted with something he can’t quite recall. Unsure of his next move he hops in the shower and cleans up, taking time to play with his wet hair as it’s covered in suds. Still filled with impossible pleasure at the novelty of having this new form he pulls at his pubes and scratches at a face that somehow already has more stubble on it. After that he raises his arms to languish in his thick pit hair and the new musk it carries. Before washing it away and throwing on deodorant that’s leagues stronger than what he usually wears, he catches a whiff of something sweet in the air and it all comes flashing back to him. The candy store, it’s got to have something to do with that.

Eddie ignores the mountain of ulterior motives that returning to the candy store provides as he throws on a button up that barely fits and races out the door and towards the shop. The place is almost exactly as he remembers it, snug in between two businesses not of note and a smell of cinnamon and other sweets wafting through the shut door. Grabbing at the door handle he finds it locked. Briefly noticing the lights off inside, a small letter falls from somewhere he can’t see into his awaiting hands. Breaking the wax seal, his eyes scour the note, “To a not so young Edward. Congratulations on your new life, check your pocket.” Unsigned. Eddie grimaces as he checks his pocket to find a key.

Unwilling to dig into the implications of the note and grumbling to himself about being referred to as not so young ,he shoves the key in the lock and turns it. The store immediately comes to life. The light pouring in through the large windows is somehow brighter than it is outside. He steps in and takes a deep breath, finding himself again overwhelmed with delight as he enjoys the overpowering smell of his, er, the store. After a few moments he shakes it off and sets out to find the old man who presumably owns it. 

Never could he know what he is to lose as he returns to the scene of his rapture however. Crossing the threshold he completely forgets about the hitherto slowly fading life of Eddie the salesman. The job he never truly enjoyed becomes the nothing it had been to him all along as he scratches his stomach mindlessly. Abs he only just received begin to bloat with a different, greater, type of strength that only years upon years of living could bring. 

Walking down the aisles he doesn’t notice as the top button of his shirt pops off and chest hair begins to grow towards his neck. Memories of stocking the aisles by hand flow through his mind as he walks through each one. His goal of finding the proprietor he met yesterday slowly shifts as he instead carefully inspects every shelf, as if he were preparing for the day ahead.

 Ever too lanky for his own good he remembers countless people telling him he needs to eat more and so he does, grabbing a treat or two as he loads shelves to their capacity. Each bite puts more pounds on his body as the hair covering him continues to thicken. Feeling various parts of his new form tighten Eddie stretches and finds his vantage is suddenly closer to the ground. There’s a crack in his back and he grumbles, his voice getting even deeper as his stomach pushes its buttons to their brim.

Suddenly the bell at the door jingles and his face alights with a smile. Setting whatever self-assigned tasks he had aside, he rushes over to help his customer find what they’re looking for. He takes no time to consider that said mission is far easier than it should be. Taking almost no time at all and as soon as it is done the bell chimes once more as a second customer arrives and after them a third. Soon enough the entire store is bustling with patrons looking for sweets and novelties that Eddie is beyond happy to offer. Each and every interaction fills him with purpose and delight as he in turn does all he can to make sure everyone walks out of his shop with a smile.

Walking around with a confidence and pride he’s never held, Eddie doesn’t even notice as he seamlessly works the store all by himself. After all, he's done it for years. Memories fly by and fill him with fulfillment as offers free samples at every opportunity, doing little magic tricks he certainly never honed, and introducing himself as Ed whenever the chance presents itself. After a long day of peddling his saccharine wares and spreading joy Ed eventually locks up and collapses into an old chair behind the counter. The chair creaks underneath him and a few more buttons pop off his shirt as he takes a load off. Wiping his brow after a day well done he takes no note of the dense hair poking through every undone button.

He scratches at his hair and feels it even thinner on his head as that on his stubbled face and chest hair have grown only thicker. Looking down at the barreled body that he would have sworn was far more lithe this morning he pats his stomach and smiles. Looking around at a store growing more familiar by the second, he remembers his apartment upstairs and gets up with a groan. The lights in the store dim without him touching a button as he makes his way to his home he made for himself above the storefront.

Looking around he finds it filled with possessions that decorated the apartment he woke up in this morning. After all where could that have been but right here. Beyond that, the domicile is chockablock full with clutter gathered in a life longer lived. Rubbing his beard in thought he is filled with a desire to explore his new sensuous form as he did the night before, though as he sits there his bones feel familiar. Same ones he’s always had after all, eh? Instead of following heady lust, he yawns with an intensity he’s never quite mustered as he sits in the bed that’s well large enough for two. Sleep comes to his eyes before he can make up his mind to do anything else and he falls back, sugar plums dancing in his dreams as potentiality rushes through him.

Ed wakes up early, as he always does. Sensing something afoot he quickly throws on clothes and makes his way downstairs into the store. Taking the briefest moment to admire how he fills out his uniform he winks at himself and throws on an apron before making his way down the stairs to see a young man standing outside the store and looking in the windows. Seeing the figure something at the back of his mind prickles that he should know who he is, the bizarre feeling compels him to let the man in before the store opens. After doing just that, the sensation only grows more prominent.

The younger man quickly makes his case, “Hi I’m so sorry for the bother I know you’re not open yet I just- Something told me I had to come by.” He pauses briefly and stares deeply at Ed as the older man scratches his beard in thought, “Eddie? Is that-” He is quickly cut off with a guffaw by the candyman. “HAH! I haven’t been called by that name in years, young man!” Despite the brash laughter, something begins eating away at Ed, and from the looks of it, it’s eating at his guest as well. Locking the door behind him lest another visitor sneak in, Ed offers a hand out, “The name’s Ed, welcome to my little slice of the world, uhm,” he pauses and waits for the visitor to offer his name, which he does, “Tony.” 

That sends an eruption of memories through Ed’s consciousness. Tony. Immediately he remembers seeing Tony shirtless and blushes, was that from an Instagram post or had he somehow seen the young man before now in a less than pure manner. He shakes it off just as soon, surely Tony would remember him in the latter case, and he certainly doesn’t have social media, hah! Even if some of his new employees are trying to get him on there. Ed finds himself adrift in his own mind, quite unable to determine what is true and what is faction. Either way the image of the young man’s body is burned into his imagination and he doesn’t understand why. He swallows hard as suddenly an idea pushes itself to the front of his mind, flowing into him as if it’s coming from the store itself.

“You know young man, why don’t you have a look around to see if your friend Edward left something here. If something’s calling out to you I’d be sure to follow it.” Tony nods wordlessly and sets off, following an unseen trail to exactly what he’s sure to be looking for. Ed clears his throat and stays back, not wanting to make the younger man uncomfortable in any way. His mind keeps going through memories foggy and otherwise in between his morning chores. Soon enough he begins to come across a few memories of Tony alongside his younger self, and then there were more. Suddenly he’s flooded with ideas, dreams, memories from his youth. In each and every one he sees the young man right by his side. He scratches at his beard in thought, as he often does, before deciding to simply relinquish his curiosity, washing his hands of his concern, confident that the situation shall work itself out soon. Things have a habit of doing so in the store.

Ed grabs a box and sets out to begin stocking, preparing for another busy day that surely awaits after he opens his doors. As soon as he turns down the first aisle his mission changes. He sees Tony paused, staring at a jawbreaker like it’s a talisman holding the answer to all of life’s mysteries. He watches as the young man reaches out for it and suddenly holds it in his hands before he turns and stares directly at Ed who simply nods. Immediately understanding, Tony tosses it in his mouth and his eyes immediately glaze over just like Eddie’s did the day before and suddenly it all makes sense to the store owner. 

He immediately sees Tony fill his tank top, muscle pouring onto his frame much faster than it did his own. His sharp jaw swiftly lines itself with a sculpted beard that any man would be proud of as his jaw expands large enough to easily hold the large piece of candy. His chest hair quickly spreads beyond the capacity of his tank, up towards his beard and quickly moving to connect with his pits. Staring at the man Ed decides it’s impolite to watch whatever fantastical changes are occurring as he instead opts to get back to work. After all, he was there for the man’s changes the first time.

Turning away, Ed is again overwhelmed with flashes of memories between himself and Tony. His mind flashes back to the large bed he slept alone in last night and is filled with comfort at the idea he will never have to do so again. While much of their lives together remained ephemeral, still to be defined as Tony’s new form the most important thing was clear. The pair were, are, and will be evermore inseparable. He remembers as if it were yesterday the day they met and from that moment on the pair were two halves of one whole. Nothing quite matters to the men besides that they are together.

Memories of Tony as a young personal trainer, or was it a handyman flitter across Ed’s psyche as the man standing in the aisle continues to mature and grow. Already taller than Ed he sprouts even higher, his thick thighs strain the shorts he had thrown on to rush to Ed’s shop and his feet swiftly outgrow his tennis shoes.

The details of their past and their lives lived together don’t quite matter at the moment as Ed stares at the love of his life growing into the man he’s always wanted to be. The ephemerality of their past together holds nothing to the flame burning in the chests of both men. With a grunt Tony grows large enough that the tank top hastily worn rips off of him and falls to the floor. Seeing his hairy body exposed as his package makes itself incredibly apparent, Ed sighs and walks over to his husband. Oft-adjusted gold bands swiftly appear on the ring fingers of both men.

“How many times do I need to tell you to buy clothes in your size Tony!” The recently younger man turns and laughs as he looks down to find himself barely clothed in the middle of their candy store. The two men kiss before Ed ushers his husband upstairs so he can keep getting the store ready for the rush right around the corner. Tony collapses on the bed with the weariness that decades of rapid aging wreaks on the body. Smiling at his sleeping husband Ed tucks him in before returning to the storefront with a cup of coffee. He smiles in serenity as he hears the bell jingle as a crew of other employees arrive and begin stocking and doing other work he has never minded doing himself. 

Colors shine even brighter than before as sun beams in through the large windows. There is a hum of something otherworldly in the air as every inch of the store buzzes with whimsy. Ed sighs with contentment as he hears his husbands snoring through the apartment walls behind him, waving at the new hires, as they rush about the morning’s preparations. Smiling as the life of his dreams has somehow fallen at his feet, he too prepares to do all he can to spread joy as his goal. Tightening his apron Ed heads downstairs to open The Olde Candy Shoppe for business, eager as ever to spread sweet delight.

Beautiful

Accelerated Bearification

Bro is aware of himself as a new bear for the rudel and thus has to proudly raise his strong, meaty arms intuitively. He enjoys the way his fat belly continues to stick out, covered in wild fur, with a satisfied grumble like a true bear. The nutrient solution in which he was soaked for a long time to greatly accelerate his bearification causes the many hair to cling close to his body, except on the head, where the exact opposite occurred with total hair loss. Now he is perfectly adapted to his brothers, who are already waiting excitedly for him getting out of the bath to greet them as one of theirs.

Pre-Homo Sapience

Devolution story at last! It's not everyone's cup of tea I imagine but I think this turned out quite well! Hair growth, mental corruption, muscle growth, and loss of self ahead!

Thanks to all who offered suggestions! Went back to a prompt from one of my older follower celebrations! This story came quite naturally, as it were, haha! Enjoy! -Occam

If they didn’t want him to touch the thing they shouldn’t have simply left it out in the open like that. Chris knows such instructions are typically a given in a museum, but staring at the cut on his hand he is indignant and wishes there was at least a sign up. Surely it should be in a case or something. Feeling the warm blood start to trickle down his palm he looks up at the artifact and almost feels it calling out for him to touch it again. He raises his non-cut hand as it is magnetically drawn to the prehistoric piece before shaking it off and going to get first aid.

Chris plays coy with the volunteers, not wanting to out himself as either a scofflaw or irresponsible dullard. His desire to prevent this from happening to another museum goer fades to the back, well behind his need to appear like a man who wouldn’t try to grab an object older than the written word. To that end he is desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn’t bizarrely drawn to the object, though as the stone shard graces his mind once more the desire to hold it in his hands returns.

After getting his cut bandaged up Chris opts to remain discrete and toss a note in their suggestion box. En route there however he passes the stone shiv and finds it encased in a glass box, one that the cut on his hand proves could not have been there minutes ago. He hand stings as he clenches it and he races up to inspect the display. There’s yet another drive by his hands to grab at the piece only to be met with a cold bump against the glass. Nearby a student eyes him suspiciously and Chris nervously laughs, embarrassment clear on his face.

He takes a picture to research the object later, hopefully to find the root to whatever weird compulsion is affecting him. As soon as he snaps the picture he feels a hot flash, his forehead suddenly  burns as he is overcome by a harsh fever. Through the sudden headache and slight delirium from his still rising temperature he stumbles out of the museum and to his car. Chris’ body goes on autopilot as he barely maintains consciousness on the drive home. Slamming the door behind him he just makes it to the couch before passing out, the last image before an empty unconsciousness being the all too alluring artifact clutched in his bleeding hand. 

Sun streams in through the windows alighting the clothes strewn about the floor having apparently been discarded while he was asleep. Chris stretches and loudly yawns as a sunbeam shifts to land on his face. Blocking the rays as he rubs his eyes and groans, he scratches at his stomach and looks down shocked to have slept in the nude. Covered in dried sweat he stumbles into the kitchen to get a glass of water, reaching for a pitcher he sees the bloody bandage on his hand and the events of yesterday afternoon come rushing back to him.

First Chris sets a thermometer going, fingers crossed he can call out. While that’s on he sets to remove the bandage, where he discovers that whatever oddities happened yesterday are not done with him yet. The cut is completely healed. Rubbing the spot where it should be he finds rougher skin, slightly darker than the rest of his pale palm. Quite the opposite of his standard experience with scars but hey he’s no doc. He grumbles to himself that he’d better not have gotten some ancient sickness from that stupid rock before starting his coffee brewing and sitting down to research said artifact before work.

Chris prides himself on the ease with which he usually scours the internet for information. Though to find anything concrete on this, by all accounts, indistinct piece of ancient detritus is a more difficult mission than he was prepared for. His eyes glaze over as he grows bored from staring at barely significant rocks and pottery sherds. He scratches at his jaw finding he could do with a shave before going to pour himself some coffee. He chews on his lip as his mind struggles to put any two thoughts together in his mind on the matter.

On the way back to the desk he takes a sip of his coffee. Chris immediately gags as the coffee tastes stronger and far more bitter than any brew he has suffered before. He can’t help but spit it onto the floor as he stands there still unclothed. It splashes onto his feet and he grunts in pain, his arms raise in rage though finding no target he limps to sit down and check his burns. His brow furrowing at how he could have messed up his coffee to such a degree. Looking back it tasted like it always has? Just stronger, more intense.

He shakes off his contemplation as he brings his coffee stained foot up into his lap. The skin is obviously red from the light burns but there seems to be no long-lasting damage. His eyes drift from his feet to his hands however as he notices something the most bizarre occurrence yet, there is hair on the back of his hands? He doesn’t know how he’s possibly missed it, there are dark brown hairs spreading out from his wrists, down his forearms and towards his long fingers. He’d almost swear his eyes are playing tricks on him as the hair on his right hand, once bandaged if not cut, looks thicker and darker than that on its pair.

Chris ponders on how unaware he must have been lately to miss the hair on his arms growing at such a prodigious rate. Muttering to himself about not doing enough self-reflection he remains unaware of more drastic changes happening across his body. Perhaps if his hands and feet were not observed at the same time he would notice as all four extremities are larger than when he fell asleep the day before. His wider palms briefly struggled to maintain grace on the keyboard earlier but the lengthened fingers found their marks with enough ease to bury the lede. His feet cover more of the floor than they ever have before and, much like his hands, hair is sneaking down from his ankles and creating a hobbit-esqe patch on the top of them, while stray hairs curl out further on each toe.

His mind is torn whether to get back to researching the artifact or to call a doctor. Before either side wins however he takes a step and promptly steps in the coffee sprayed on the floor. He grimaces in shock that he didn’t clean that earlier, it’s unlike him to make such a mess and not immediately clean it up. He groans and rubs his hands on his face, blaming his befuddlement on the fever while ignoring how his whole wider palm now matches the should-be scar. Both hands are darker and rougher on his face as they scratch against his increasingly thicker stubble and harsher brow. As soon as Chris tosses a towel down onto the mess his alarm goes off and he sees it’s time to head to work.

The man rushes for the door and almost exits before looking down to find he’s only clad in a surprisingly tight pair of briefs. He blushes, embarrassed that he almost left the house nigh-nude. The shock of it all hides how darker hairs curl up from his strained briefs as well as his package bulging out further than ever before. Throwing on whatever is easily grabable in his wardrobe with no thought spared on consistency or fashion he makes excellent time throwing on clothes. He doesn't worry about how much sloppier he looks in the mirror, it’s just stress. He pointedly ignores how his arms inch out further from his long sleeves or how his pants bunch at his ankles as they’ve never done before. He skips socks as his feet fit far too snugly in his oxfords for some reason. No time to shave stubble that even since waking up has spread further up his cheeks and down his neck as he again races to his car.

The drive seems to take longer than usual, though the clock on his dash would disagree. Not usually prone to road rage Chris finds every delay due to traffic far more irritating than usual. His brows hand thick over his eyes, casting shadows that can display nothing but contempt as it almost seems like a ridge is beginning to bulge on his forehead. He grunts and clutches at the wheel as the car in front of him hesitates to go on a green. His jaw cramps from how hard he’s clenching it as he avoids blaring on the horn. Underneath his shirt veins bulge down his forearms as hair begins to grow even thicker underneath them as they begin to put on weight and grow in strength.

He scratches at his chest as his clothes feel only increasingly itchy and tight, “God what is up with me today!” He takes a centering breath as his usually then chest pushes against his button up. With a sign he resolves to stay calm the rest of the drive. Having chilled out at all Chris realizes his hand that’s not on the wheel has strayed and is scratching at his crotch. He bites at his lip as he feels a burning itch there as his pants feel far too tight on his waist and in his crotch. He pretends not to see his cock bulging down a pant leg as he’s stopped at another light. He sighs as he maintains his composure and starts to watch passersby to help the light pass quicker.

Staring out the window Chris’ eyes are immediately drawn to a massive man jogging down the road. His mouth waters as he stares at the man’s muscular body shifts with each step, perfectly bouncing in the air. His mouth is not the only thing to water as he grunts and his cock forces into even more of a bulge as it starts to produce pre-cum in a manner it has never done before. His lust changes to envy as he imagines the freedom of the man, shirtless under the sun as his chest itches once more against his wretched garment. The car behind him honks as the light above him changes to green and Chris sees red, his arms again flex and the top button of his shirt pops open as something new burns in his chest. His foot accidently presses harder on the brake before shifting over as he speedily jets off.

Arriving at work just on time he rushes in the door, unfortunately unaware of the sweat-stains under his pits or the unmissable spot of precum in his pants were anyone to study his massive bulge. Rushing in the elevator he bumps into a coworker, Jake, who almost bursts out laughing in shock, “Hah! God Chris you look fucking awful!” He grabs at Chris’ arm lift to poke fun at his too-short sleeves, raising his arm and exposing the pit; he instead bats at the air and exhales, “Pwoh dude, you absolutely reek!?” He shifts to look at Chris’ unshaven face and sloppy hair and his expression drops slightly, concern tinting his eyes. “You are alright, right Chris?”

“Uhhh yeah. Little uh, fever.” For some reason Chris was almost struggling to keep up with his friend’s words. The speed at which he moved from observing aspects of Chris’ appearance was simply hard to follow, as soon as he put his mind to inspecting his own arm as his coworker called it out he was laughing at the next thing. Probably for the best, lest anxiety build in his chest and he cause a scene. As his arm is raised Chris smells his own body odor in a way he’s never been able to do before. The idea that you shouldn’t smell your own armpit mid-conversation does not occur to Chris as the scent briefly drives him crazy. He shoves his own head in his pit and takes a few deep sniffs.  His mouth opens as if he’s wanting to lick as his beard scratches against his tighter shirt.

His friend smiles and backs away, “Chris?” Hearing his name Chris snaps out of it, shaking his head a few times to get his bearings he sniffs the air a few times and is shocked as his sense of smell has clearly increased beyond what he would have deemed possible. He smells the cafeteria as the elevator passes it on the ascent. Less appealing than his own musk he can smell Jake’s cologne and beneath that something bizarre. Chris can smell fear coming from the man as readily as he can read it on his face. Chris’ back hunches as his shoulders grow weighter and his upper body bulges larger as he leans in to inspect Jake more closely.

Jake backs into the corner of the elevator seeing something shift in Chris’ eyes. Not so much crazed as curious. Jake’s own curiosity would be piqued were this whole situation not bizarre and nightmarish. Standing almost a foot shorter with his hunch Chris sees Jake cower and he does his best to calm his friend down. Something in his gut compels him to do a wide toothy smile, that it’s the quickest way to appeasement. He raises his arms and backs away from his scared friend and there’s a tear as his clothes rip from the sudden movement.

Jake chuckles uncomfortably and eyes the button for the elevator doors, reaching for one to allow him a quick escape. Chris nervously goes into damage control, everything in his mind screams at him to act normal but the concept of normality seems increasingly alien to him. He waves his larger arms in the air and clears his throat to try and speak, “Jake. Me- I am sick, yes?” Jake covers his mouth with a handkerchief and stops the elevator on the next floor. Talking through his kerchief he agrees, “Yeah, you should work from home today Chris. You’re clearly, um, out of sorts.” 

The doors begin to close and Chris’ eyes light on the control panel. He blinks hard a few times trying to make out which one will keep the doors open so he can talk with his friend. Just before they close he grunts and he shoves out a meaty fist, causing Jake to flinch, “Yes. I go home and work, uhh, there. Good idea. You bring-” Jake steps back and nods fervently, “Yes, yes. I’ll drop off whatever you need just, go get some rest.” 

Chris offers another toothy smile and grunts in agreement as he lets the doors close. He scratches at his head as he again looks at the panel in confusion. Distress fills his mind and anxiety his chest as he stares at the panel knowing this should be a beyond simple matter. Before he touches a button the machine begins moving down and every muscle in his body tenses. More tears shoot down the back of his shirt as he flies into the corner of the tiny room. Hair pokes out from every button in the front as he pants in fear of the sudden movement. Body tight with fear muscle continues to grow heavier on his body, undefined and powerful as he unknowingly nears the ground floor. 

Arriving at the ground floor the doors open and he rushes out falling on his hands in front of the elevator. His eyes are focused and expression clueless as he breathes through his mouth and pushes past a woman about to step into the elevator before she smells the stink inside and recoils, scoffing at the man. Eying the torn clothes she grimaces at Chris, “God are you an animal?!” Chris’ thick brow furrows and he grunts at her, “Me- I- ugh!” With that he sprints as fast as he can away from the business and to what he can only just remember as his car. He kicks off his shoes as they grow painfully tight, his harrier feet race across the concrete as his soles feel increasingly suited to stomping across matted earth.

He pauses at his car’s door for a second hesitating at the method of entry before hopping in and slamming the door behind him. Everything laid in front of him is impossibly familiar, he’s been at this wheel thousands of times. He moves his hands across the leather wheel and tries to force it to turn, grunting as it stays firm. He wrenches at it with all the might he has, sure this is how it must go. He knows how to drive after all. He’s not stupid. His brow grows even heavier over his eyes as his beard thickens with every grunt. His biceps put on the mass of a weightlifter as the wheel jolts and his car alarm begins to go off. 

His car blaring he has no recourse but to punch at the wheel as anxiety grows. His chest heaves with nervous breaths. He scratches at his chest and feels the hair beneath it thicken and curls as it spreads towards his shoulders and up towards his messy beard. His wild eyes still as he sees another man jogging down the street shirtless as he too rips off the tattered remains of his button up. Grimacing at his confined thighs he tears at his torn pants as well, fighting the urge not to bend down and gnaw them off. Hairy thighs unveiled, his hands try to reach and tear off his impossibly tight briefs as well before his chest pangs and his head wrenches back. He can’t do that. He needs to keep them. He twists in discomfort as two impulses vie to this end. His face grows red under his still thickening beard as he is barely able to retain this smallest shred of dignity.

He pushes open the door with his newfound power, only accidentally getting at the handle before down the street. The weight of his upper body, and the apparent shorter length of his legs, puts the idea in his head that his arms could well help him run faster. His heavy knuckles hang low and he barely maintains his mind as he sprints as a man does and makes a better time back than he ever could in that stupid car. He exhales in pride as he gets to the door of his house. It was thankfully left open by his thoroughly less scatterbrained morning self. This time as he worms his way in he leaves it consciously ajar.

His stomach rumbles with hunger and he sniffs to find a suitable quarry. He squints as he smells food behind cabinets, opening them he finds packages of processed snacks and containers unrecognizable as food. Chris grunts as he knocks a few of them off the shelves onto the floor, grumbling as he grows hungrier by the second. After knocking a glass bottle to the floor, the shattering sound returns awareness to Chris’ eyes, grunting out a “Wha-” 

Seeing the mess he’s apparently made he stands back in shock, looking down at his hairy body and thick arms. His cock finally outgrows his tight briefs and his heavy balls hang low underneath a bush hairier than any human should be able to grow. He searches for his cell before realizing he must have discarded it with his pants, “fuck!” he shouts, clenching at his thick throat as his voice resounds a deep bass.

Standing in his kitchen his mind slowly crawls to find any idea worth pursuing as concepts and meaning begin to fall from his mind never to return. His train of thought is interrupted before he can even realize that he doesn’t know his own name anymore. Language begins to fall by the wayside, another thing not worth knowing as his need for food continues to grow. Every groaned word grows thicker and slower in between grunts as his mind dulls and his senses continue to grow more sensitive, “Me… Hungry…” Barely understanding what a fridge is he grabs and pulls at the door and uncovers a packaged pound of raw meat. 

Chris’ mouth immediately waters as he rips into the package and begins forcing it into his mouth with a speed that would make one think he’s never eaten before. Eating is not a ritual but an act of survival. Not nearly full he continues tearing into anything that is obviously food in the fridge. Handfuls of lettuce and fruit follow a jug of milk and at last the man is sated. What was intended to be hamburgers later this week litter the floor around him as milk trails down his sweaty body. Seeing ground beef stuck under his nails and lettuce caught in his dense beard something deep inside Chris screams before it is buried beneath the powerful will of a creature who has yet to develop the ability to understand.

The ultimate task of survival currently conquered, Chris sniffs the air and sets to tackle the next challenge presenting itself. His cock bulges out and his balls pulse with the same primal hunger that rings from his stomach. He grabs at his cock and has a eureka moment more profound than when his kind discovered fire as he feels more pleasure in the moment than in his whole life preceding.

He falls to the floor and immediately begins masturbating, his balls bouncing with every movement, his hips can't help but rut the air as his brain was hard wired to do. Drool drips into his beard from his open mouth as his eyes again glaze over from the sheer pleasure invoked by his mindless pleasure seeking. After finishing he languishes in the less-than cerebral pleasure, feeling every inch of his  powerful body before his cock begins to rise again and in short order he looses another load onto his own hairy torso.

Sniffing the air he has an urge to scoop his own cum into his mouth. Thankfully, for whatever mute anemic shred of Chris’ humanity remains, he is interrupted. His laptop left open from his flight early this morning chimes and his attention is firmly drawn to the mysterious object. The screen displays mysterious characters that he couldn’t hope to read ‘From: Jake omw.’ beside the enigmatic symbols his attention is drawn to the centerpiece of the screen, finally something he can recognize. Smack dab in the middle of the laptop is the stone shiv from the Natural History Museum. Chris’ exhales with interest and fury as he knows beyond a doubt that the artifact is his. 

Chris’ dull eyes shift as he struggles to make even the most rudimentary plan towards retrieving his shiv. He grunts in irritation as he finds the gears of his mind turning impossibly slowly, at the edges of whatever consciousness is to him he suddenly remembers that he saw it yesterday. He knows where it is, he just needs to go get it. His chest burns with excitement and he is filled with the desire to beat at his chest and cheer. He looks around for any tools that could help in his foolhardy mission before impatiently grunting and turning towards the door.

Outside Jake is approaching, blissfully unaware of what impossible horrors await inside besides an unusually slovenly and sick Chris. Seeing the entrance ajar he hastens and drops the paperwork he brought as concern trumps whatever busywork he brought his friend. “Oh Fuck! Chris!? Are you okay!?” Crossing the threshold his nose wrinkles as he smells odors that men have not produced for hundreds of thousands of years. The scene almost stuns him as he sees a creature that has barely a similarity with the man who woke up on the couch this morning. The fridge door lies on its hinges next to a pile of food waste. There are globs of inhuman cum staining the walls as what was once Chris beats his chest now opposed to Jake. 

The office worker can’t use the one advantage he has over the behemoth. Freezing up as his mind goes blank Jake whispers, “God, you look like a fucking caveman.” Jake stands in the door frame, scared and unsure of what could possibly be going on. Chris quickly jumps down to meet him, sniffing him to find a familiar, if not friendly, scent; he attempts to push him gently out of the way. Unaware of the frailty of modern man he instead bowls him over and sprints off into the distance, unconcerned with the man he’s barrelled past or any of the other weird submissive beings covered in mysterious cloth just as he was. He’s got a mission and more than anything he needs to feel his shiv in his hands once more.

Lightly concussed Jake later awakens to find his clothes stained with Chris’ bountiful dinner and, worse than that, his seed. He grimaces and takes off his button up then in there before heading inside to inspect his friend's domicile. Each step within sharpens his senses and dulls caution as his friends' pheromones draw him further in. while initially beyond repulsive it becomes more alluring by the second. Why should Jake be concerned by the sudden itchiness rising across his form. The rising pressure in his crotch as he takes deep breaths is far more compelling. Clothes feeling uncomfortable and constricting, he rips them off and pays no mind to hair darkening and spreading wide, his mind too dull to recognize how he too is changing like Chris. 

Wandering out of the house he smells a fading trail of Chris’ pheromones going off towards the museum, his cock bobs larger in his pants as it  takes everything in his mind to stop from sprinting after him then and there. Shaking off the lust, sensibility returns to Jake’s mind as the breeze cools his almost entirely nude body. He writes off his phone and clothes, sure that reentering would spell his doom he instead sprints for his car. Before any further action though the wind delivers the beyond pleasurable smell of Chris’ approaching. 

What was once Chris barrels down a field ambling between charging on his legs and all fours, slightly scratched from breaking glass with a stone shiv in hand. Having regained his artifact his body has grown in every possible manner. Jake can’t help but lustfully stare as the massive man approaches and his decaying mind has no ability to prevent him from following his desires. He discards whatever remains of his plan to fly and instead bounds towards the brute, with each step his body devolves. Growing hairier as his mind prioritizes only survival and the seeking of sexual pleasure. His cock surging as he nears his friend, his superior, nothing ever to grace his conscious again besides the desire to fuck and be fucked.

Can I get a large triple shot hazelnut latte with extra cream?

Personal favorite of mine! Funnily enough my old body was allergic to hazelnuts. Now I'm not allergic to any nuts.

Extra cream is easy.

I produce enough thick pre to give you that extra cream and then some. And yeah a little bit of cum burps out. I can't help it. These nuts produce so much! I put a lid on it and give you a straw.

You know my favorite thing about running this place is seeing people's reactions when they first walk in.

Like you!

You look like you're on your way to the gym. Muscle tee and shorts. When you first walk in, you get that signature blast of pure musk. And my pit is showing so that makes it even stronger. You blink a few times and try to regain your bearings. Your cock is hard and straining. It's like the whole place is filled with the scent of a jockstrap.

You take big, deep, gulping breaths as you grab your drink. Good timing! You're here during a slow period so it's just you and me handsome. I rub my cock in full view of you, under the counter, just massaging it through my underwear. As you drink your coffee - well chugging it really - I see the first drops of sweet sweat form on your brow. Darken the straps of your shirt.

You've only chugged about half of it. You let go of the straw and moan. Deep and guttural. Your lips fattening up and a beard sprouts around your jaw. You moan again, and this time, I can see pure horniness and testosterone hit you like a truck because you take your drink and sheepishly walk over to one of the tables, your cock sticking straight up and throbbing.

It looks so needy. The Coffee has hit your cock first.

And I can see it stretch bigger. Your average cock - a good five inches and thick - is starting to stretch forward. What's it feel like? To have all that muscle and skin and tendons just expand in every direction? Your sensitive cock head brushing against your soaking wet underwear. You're sweating so much there's gonna be a stain when you leave. You hit six and a half inches and your balls suddenly rumble, dropping slowly and inflating. They feel hot and full, like they're going to burst. Your moans are not silenced by the straw in your mouth, which you take as far as you can, hunched forward at the table and moaning desperately. The thing about cock growth is that it edges you beyond belief. It's like two expert invisible hands are just stretching and stroking that sensitive organ, all the while fondling your still growing balls. Your cock stops growing at about 8 and a half inches and I hear the first tears forming in your underwear.

You hear it too and look down.

That's when you notice that hey, wait a minute? You're definitely not white anymore. All the while you were chugging your drink, your body was pleasantly tingling and warm like the sun was beaming right down on you. That tingling intensives across your flat chest and stomach as dark, thick body hair begins growing from your pores, sending pure sex up into your hormone addled brain.

You suck in nothing but air as the deep tan settles over your formerly white skin and turns you Persian. Your beautiful like this. Your hair becoming curly and dark, the beard you'd started growing becoming denser and thicker. Your neck widening and that Adam's apple pops out like a cork. Your huge, musky, sweaty cock darkens as well as your balls, and the already sensitive organs become even more sensitive. Your pubic hair grows thick, dense and unruly, connecting with your torso hair and growing into a pelt of a happy trail.

Your dark, gorgeous brown eyes cross as your cock jolts one final time and stops at 9 inches. You think you're about to cum then but nope. Your cock just continues throbbing and spitting out pre like a broken pipe. The pleasure is so intense your legs are shaking. It's unbelievable really how something can feel so good. As the tan color descends down your legs, they too grow hairy, and then the tan disappears into your shoes. You keep sucking up empty air from the cup until your feet start growing. Then the straw flies out of your mouth and you lean against the seat, legs spread wide, moaning like crazy, grinding against the hard seat.

Your feet - size 7, right? - are just now becoming size 9s. Your toes pop through the buckling fabric of your sneakers. The shoelaces pop off and explode everywhere. Your soles are wide and meaty, hair sprouts between your toes and all over the tops of your feet and ankles. They're massive size 12s. And the smell of them is quite strong. I take a good whiff of it from behind the counter and grinding against the counter.

"Please. I need something."

You don't register your new Persian accent nor do you notice the gruff, deepness to it.

I know what you need.

As I walk from behind the counter, your back arches as your formerly flat chest has started expanding. I massage the dense muscles that's forming in your slowly growing pecs as I place my mouth around that sensitive, hard cock, through your shorts. Your cock is pulling the waistband away from your crotch and I get a whallop of your musk as I take the entirety of your cock through the sweaty fabric. You start gyrating your hips, fucking my mouth as your dark nipples expand and widen, becoming hard and spilling out the side of your tee. The little fat in your stomach slides upwards to your chest and makes them even larger, supple, the muscle defined as they hang off your chest. So large they'll cast their own shadow over your now expanding abs. You had abs before because you were skinny, but now you've got abs because they're punching through to the skin, strengthen as your waist tapers and you get cum gutters pointing right to your hard cock. Your poor briefs break apart as your cock jumps from the feeling of your bigger, rougher thumb on your nipple.

I pull off your shorts. Your briefs. Your cock springs free and whacks me in the face with pre, the head of it slapping my chin. I take it all the way down to the base. You're moaning like an animal in heat. Holding my head to your cock so I can take all of it. I can feel your biceps expanding because of your increasing strength. The veins pop against the skin, filled with hormone rich blood. Your shoulders and traps and back become linebacker quality. You flex and when I look up, I see the dense tangle of wet pit hair that spills out. Your own musk turns you on even more.

I reach underneath your balls and feel your flat ass tighten and expand. You didn't have a lot of fat on you, so your ass won't be as plush as some others, but it'll still sit high on your lower body, huge and bubbly and muscular. You don't skip leg day. You blast your ass with squats and all sorts of exercises. Your asshole turns dark brown and begins twitching. It takes my finger easily. You raise your expanding legs in the air, letting me smell your delicious hairy hole, your huge cock still in my mouth and spitting even thicker globs of pre. Your thighs bloat with pure, dense muscle as I go down and begin eating your ass. They lenghten, pushing you taller. 5'6" no more! How's 5'11'' sound?

Your moans have become nearly silent. You're completely naked, your tits bouncing up and down and jiggling like two heavy concrete slabs as you shake. You've never been this close to cumming before and still the orgasm is being denied.

No worries. Once your calves stop expanding - wow those are some hamhocks! - you'll be able to cum. For now, I'll just keep eating your ass until then.

3......

2.....

1.....

You fire volleys of cum. All over your hairy torso and pecs. All over your face. All over the window, just coating it with your thick, smelly seed. I take a handful of it to get a taste of it. Damn. Nice and thick. Tastes a little like hazelnut too.

Out of breath, you stand. Feels weird to have all that extra, heavy weight. You stretch. Shake your legs. Grab and squeeze and play with your ass. Your cock is still hard and drippy. You comb through the dense hair and grab the still fat shaft. Your muscles are so defined and it's gonna take some getting used to having everything brushing up against something else.

I give you a pair of briefs, which, yeah they're already becoming soaked with your sweat and pre but hey, better than getting in trouble for walking out of here naked.

As for the wardrobe....sorry but you're not gonna fit much of anything but your stretchiest outfits. But hey, I've got a bunch of clothes here you can take home with you.

You catch your breath on the counter as I hand you the bag of clothes.

Your head feels numb? Yeah that happens. You're not a total dumbass but you're gonna have trouble with basic directions, and when you're horny, like right now, rubbing your cock against the countertop, you're not gonna be able to think of anything other than how, where, and when you're going to get off.

Funny story, but I have the answer to all three of them right here.

hey, I'm a geeky chubby type of guy and want to get in shape. I've always dreamed of the Olympics or even a bodybuilding competiton. The only problem is that I can't seem to ever gain muscle at all. I've tried for years.

Aw I'm sorry to hear that! You know it's all about getting the right mindset.

I didn't look like this all my life. It's a recent development (hey I used that word correctly! I think) in my life.

So let me help you by first putting on this chain for you. Yeah it's a little big right now BUT don't you worry. It won't be too big for long.

Now let me take you to the gym!

Yeah what you're wearing is totally okay! T-shirt and loose fitting shorts is like the ideal outfit. Sometimes I just go in my underwear to let my cock and body breathe. Oh don't worry I'm hard most of the time.

So anyway at the gym I'm just gonna go through some basic workouts with you.

You're hard? Not surprising. I mean do you smell the musk of this place. I produce a lot of it naturally and it's like I'm just adding to the hot musky stink of this place. Oh yeah, this is my private gym. All the guys here I've personally trained, like you hot stuff.

You can rub your cock, moan if you want to. This is a safe space lol. You're pitching quite a huge tent in those shorts. It's damp at the tip. Your leaking pre like a broken faucet. Let's go to the bench press. That way you can lift and I can rub your cock, alleviate some of that pressure and horniness. It's hard to think when you're that horny. I should know.

Lay down on the bench just like that. You're hot? Yeah you are. But yeah you're also sweating a lot. That's okay, that's normal as well. Your musk is also starting to get stronger because your balls are bloating. You can feel it can't you? That slow, gradual inflation. More cum means more testosterone. Look at that beard growing in, dense and hairy. With how hard you're moaning you can definitely hear how deep your voice is getting, how swollen your Adam's apple is becoming.

Grip onto the bar. Damn your pits are hairy. Woof. And so musky. Your cock jolts in my grip and spits out a flood of pre into my hand, soaking through those shorts and definitely whatever underwear you're wearing. Your balls are making an obvious imprint on the fabric. My own cock is hard and leaking and I haven't even touched it yet. Power of your musk I guess.

Anyway, grab onto the bar. Your hands crack and expand. Your fingers lengthening. Palms inflating and becoming mildly calloused from years of weightlifting experience. You moan as you get a better grip onto the bar with your massive hand. Your cock is about average size, but it's a little thin. Here let me add some girth to it while you bench press. I'm not sure what you're saying but I think you feel good right? Your cock is thick and fat and just oozing pre.

The best part about transforming people is edging them. Letting all those old worries and thoughts leak right out of you. See I didn't use to be a Himbo (am I using that right?) but now that I am, I think everyone should know just how good it feels to not really think too hard about anything and be horny like 24/7.

You're pretty tall actually so here's what we're going to do since I don't want to overwork you. Before you do that first bench press I'm going to shrink you. Make you about 5'8". You look chubbier now but don't worry, you're gonna be huge. And all that excess mass is gonna flood that ass of yours. You buck upwards like a bull into my hand as your ass bloats underneath you, fatty and huge and muscular. It hangs off your ass like a shelf. I can see it jiggling and rolling around underneath there. You've definitely ripped through your underwear now so let's get rid of that. I reach under your shorts and pull the tattered remains of your underwear out and drop it on the floor. Damn you're leaking a lot of pre.

Your face is red and desperate. Let's make your face even more handsome. And also, because I'm nice, I'm gonna let you cum just a little bit. It's a taste of the orgasm you're going to experience, just enough to take the edge off so you can do the bench presses. You moan and groan, and sometimes it sounds like you're in pain but I know it's because the pleasure is so intense. Your real handsome now. Love the beard. The shaved hair on the sides and the curly mop at the top. You know how to make yourself look like the hot piece of ass you know you are. You finish cumming as your nose pops into place and you pant, out of breath, soaked with sweat, a tan deepening your pale skin.

Your glasses? Oh they broke off a while ago. And besides, look at that 20/20 vision! You don't even need them. Now just relax. I'm down here massaging your cock and balls, maybe rubbing a little bit of that fat taint of yours and worshipping your ass. Your sneakers groan and start snapping apart, the laces splitting and your fat, muscular toes popping through the front. You were a size what? 8? Now you're a twelve. Feet widening and fattening, becoming veiny and musky, hair growing between your thick toes. Your heels destroy the rest of your shoes and you cum.

Again not all of it or as hard as you're gonna cum when I'm done. Now, finally, just relax, do those bench presses. Don't worry, that looks like a lot of weight but that's nothing for you.

The first rep your nipples harden, poking right through that sweat absorbent shirt. But it seems like you're sweating right through that lol. Your nipples expand even more, widening and fattening, shrinking a little as some of the fat that's in your chubby chest floats down to your ass, fattening it up even more and loosening your asshole. We need more true vers men in my opinion. Your biceps start bulging, veins popping in your forearms as they thicken. Your wrists and everything just getting wider and bigger to support the body you're gonna get.

The second rep and your big muscle tits start growing. You can feel the excess fat tighten, bloat, and explode into muscle. The skin stretching. Nipples feeling like lightning rods straight to your still hard cock.

"Oh my god," you say.

Your gut implodes. Whatever fat has been leftover from your ass expansion goes straight to your pecs, fattening them even further and stretching your areolas. Your pecs rip straight through your shirt. Your waist expands to make room for the massive abs you're gaining. They're not really all that defined, a four pack at most, but you can feel the power radiating from them as your stomach tightens with pleasure as your shoulders and traps expand. God it's like you've shoved diamonds under there. They're huge. Tearing through your shirt which now hangs open and lets me see your still hairless, massive pecs. Heaving with pleasure.

You've stopped doing the bench presses but that's okay, just ride the pleasure. Wouldn't want you to drop that on your growing, thickening neck. Remember that chain that was too small? Well it fits you perfectly now. That really was how big I was gonna grow you. All your fat burns and you sweat and turns it into pure, solid muscle. Your biceps are huge footballs, and you flex them involuntarily and they rip through your sleeves. Your pits are hairy and soaked with sweat. Your musk is staggeringly powerful and so deeply erotic I think I'm gonna cum just from smelling you dude.

One last workout.

Well for me anyway.

It's sucking you off. I pull down your shorts and take your thick cock in my mouth. You're moaning and groaning, bucking desperately into my throat and fucking me. You hold my head, comb through my hair. I grab onto your thighs and feel them expand with muscle. See, like the old me, the good thing about being chubby is that all those fat deposits turn into muscle real quick. And the burning is so pleasurable. Even better they squeeze your balls and press my head even further down on your engorged, thick, fat cock. I give you about an inch and a half extra in length and I can feel it stretching across my tongue to a girthy 6 and a half. Coke can cock. Thick and unwieldy. Always so sensitive. Balls always ready to pump your load into something.

"I can't....I can't...I can't hold it. I can't take it!"

So I let you let loose. Right down my throat. I sense your calves expanding beneath me to support the monstrous weight of your upper body. You don't "lose" weight, if anything all that weight gets replaced with pure, impenetrable, solid muscle. Your pores explode with hair across your chest. I open my eyes to see you rubbing your chest and pulling on your nipples. I pull off your cock as you keep cumming. For like a minute or two. And I jerk you off right through it because I want to milk it dry.

You fire blanks for two intense pulses. Your thick musky pubes are covered in your cum. The bench slick with your sweat.

And cum.

Now stand up.

Look in the mirror. You're so fucking hot. Flex. Feel the rolling power of your body. Pop those pecs, flex those quads. I'll worship that dump truck of yours anyway. Touch that hard cock of yours.

Clothes? Well, see, I don't think I'm smart enough or advanced enough to alter reality like that so you're gonna have to buy some new clothes because nothing will fit you.

Your head feels numb? That's the dumbing down part. You still know what 2+2 is right? Okay good. See you're not that dumb. But you are still flexing everything while talking to me because that's really all you're focused on right now, because each flex and pop of your muscles feels like you're getting fucked.

Why's your cock still hard? Well, see, most people do this thing where cumming once makes it permanent or stops it or whatever. But see, I'm not like that. I guess when I got these powers, my horniness really seeped into it. You've got to cum, like, twice before it really settles and you can think about more than just getting off.

Worried about gaining muscle no more! If you were at the competition, I'd give you a ten.

Oh don't worry I'll take you home.

And maybe you can fuck me.

Maybe we can help each other out.

I place my hand on those massive, sensitive pecs and you groan. Wrap your big arm around me.

Genetics (twink to bear tf)

"Urgh, you know what I fucking hate? Fat men. Like, bears, you know? It's just so gross. I can't believe they don't take care of their bodies"

I fucking hate twinks like this. Just because he's skinny, smooth, pretty, he thinks he's so special? It's just genetics! It's not anyone else's fault their DNA has made them a real man, not like him.

If he thinks it's so fucking easy to be them, why doesn't he try walking a mile in their shoes?

Hmm...

SNAP - a nice, big, pair of work boots (don't mind the smell). Their last owner has soaked then nice and deep in sweat, and the traces of DNA left in them will be just what this twink needs to remodel his life.

I leave them in his bedroom. When he finds them, his curiosity will get the better of him, and as he slips them on his cells will start to squirm and wriggle and edit their genetic code into the perfect pig. His balls swell, pumping more and more testosterone around his body. His muscles thicken and bulge, and a layer of fat coats his stomach. He tries to yelp, but a low, rumbling growl comes out of the new, thick Adam's apple instead. When he clutches it, he feels that his hands are thicker, meatier.

A real man should have thick, sweaty armpit hair too. All that extra testosterone makes you stink, you know? It's intoxicating, and he reaches down and grabs his new, thick cock.

Fuuck, he smells great. At least, he thinks so ;)

But damn bros, I dunno, do you think it's enough? That's not a bear, that's a cub at best

Cuz like, while his old twink genetics had kept his body hair to zero, in a real man, those follicles get turned on everywhere. His back, his hands, especially his ass. He should have after wave of dark hair creeping all over him, up over his shoulders, deep into his crack...

And no one keeps up a gym routine forever. Eventually he'll start skipping, taking cheat days, and those things have consequences, ya know: big consequences. With all this new appetite his body starts to bulge, stretching out at the waist, each can of beer going straight into his new gut. His brain cells rewire - from now on, he's gonna be always hungry, always just wanting to sit on the couch, scratch his balls, and stuff his face like a pig

There, bros, don't you think he's perfect? Of course when he snaps out of it, he's gonna scream, sob, and whinge about his new body, but I'm sure he'll come round eventually. He'll understand how much better it is to have a body like this, to have a set of genetics blessed by the god of pigs

But if not, hey, he can just lose some weight, right? It's so easy

[I hope this one is good! Remember, asks and dms are always open for tf requests or roleplay. Maybe tell me what you'd do to me, or request a visit from the god of pigs]

Unspoken.

Artist to Athlete

Theo had arrived home for thanksgiving after his first few months of college. He was excited to see family but at the same time dreading some of those interactions. Namely with his father, Nathan, who had been against him going to art school from the very beginning. Theo had always had a bit of a tenuous relationship with his dad, but this had been the final straw. Nathan was previously the football coach at a state school, and had wanted for his son to follow in his footsteps there. Theo was expecting some serious judgment once he walked through the door, especially once he started talking about his work.

He opened the door and announced his presence. His mom came running with tears in her eyes before hugging her darling boy. She was already talking up a storm with him, how much she missed him, everything that he’d missed, etc. After pulling himself away for a moment he lugged his suitcase upstairs to his old room, still exactly as he left it. He took a few minutes to lay out his stuff before heading back down. Nathan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Nice to see you again, son,” he said in his typical gruff tone.

“You too, dad,” Theo responded, trying to at least put some warmth out there on his part. His father smiled and pulled out a baseball cap, one from his alma mater. 

“I found this while cleaning out a few weeks back,” he said, handing it to Theo. “Thought that if you’re gonna follow your path I’ll at least give you a little piece of mine.” It was honestly a rather nice gesture. Theo didn’t love baseball caps but it felt like this was his olive branch, and he accepted the gift and put it on. His father smiled and went in for a hug, unusual for the normally macho man, but Theo wasn’t complaining here. Nathan released him from his iron grip and retreated back to the den where the game was on. Theo sighed with relief as the worst case scenario had already been avoided, and went to the kitchen to help his mother with dinner. 

Once out of sight, a devilish grin emerged on Nathan’s grizzled face. That hat had been worn by one of his best players while he was still coaching. Soaked with years of sweat, testosterone, and who knows what else. He hoped that it would change his son for the better, make him into more of a real man that he could be proud of. And Theo had taken it, no questions asked, it was perfect. He settled down into his recliner, the noise of the football game on the tv washing over him.

The rest of the night was uneventful, a small family dinner where Theo got to talk about his semester and classes. Nathan sat opposite his son, trying not to stare at the cap still adorning Theo’s head. It was only a matter of time, he thought to himself. Theo was just relieved the house was civil, and he could actually relax during his break. He’d spent all day driving and was exhausted, so he called it an early night after dinner and headed upstairs. He took off the cap and hung it up, not noticing the layer of sweat it’d left on his head. 

Despite it being November, Theo’s room felt unbearably hot. He tossed and turned underneath his comforter before casting it off and laying exposed on his bed. He was sweating up a storm, soaking the sheet beneath him as he tried to stay cool. Unbeknownst to him, his body was working in overdrive thanks to the cap. His thin frame slowly began to grow, bony limbs plumping up with the slightest bit of muscle. Theo rolled the other way as sweat dripped down his chest, soaking into the skin. 

Before long, thin wispy hairs started to poke out of the center of his chest. At first it was just a few, light delicate things barely visible, but they began to spread. The hairs pushed out of his chest, growing darker and longer as they climbed up towards his collarbone, leaving him with a smattering of chest hair. His pits itched as the same long brown hairs broke through the bare skin he’d always known, growing and gathering into a thick tuft. He was starting to look like some guy you’d see in a high school locker room, but his body wasn’t done yet. The testosterone levels inside Theo slowly crept upwards, his balls swelling just a tad. His cock twitched under his boxers as hairs began rearing their heads across his groin, his sparse bush growing rapidly into something respectable. The hairs spread like weeds, covering his groin and spreading up towards his navel, thick brown hairs pushing out and tangling together. His thickening bush and pit hairs began to catch some of that sweat, giving Theo a hint of real body odor for the first time in his life. The peach fuzz on his face thickened, darkening as the follicles were doused in hormones. Soon enough it looked like dirt had been smeared over his upper lip and chin, with some sparse hairs emerging on the sides of his face. He rolled over again, letting the sweat drip through all his new growth.

Theo woke the next morning with a blistering headache. He instinctively reached over to his side table, grasping for the baseball cap that he’d hung up in the closet the night before. He rolled out of bed with a grunt before grabbing it. As soon as the cap was on, his headache subsided. Theo headed into the bathroom to piss, not noticing the changes to his body in the mirror. In just a baseball cap and boxers his mildly hairy chest and pits were on full display as he mindlessly scratched at one of his pits. Without a further thought he tossed on some clothes and headed downstairs.

His mom had made a full breakfast, and Nathan was at the table waiting for him.

“Rise and shine, son! It’s only what… 11 already?” he joked. Theo rubbed his eyes, he’d slept in that late? 

“It’s my vacation, give me a break,” he retorted, before sitting down. Theo demolished the food in front of him. He usually was never too hungry but he just couldn’t get enough of it today. After scarfing everything down he let out a belch, at which his father cracked a grin. Nathan could see the dark smear on his son’s face. The hat was working.

The rest of the day was fairly unremarkable; Theo hung out with his mom and showed her some of his recent works, though he felt like he was forgetting some of the details he liked to tell about them. His clothes felt a little tight as well, his shirt was constantly riding up, and he was strangely itchy. Every time he thought more than a second about that though his brain would fog up, and Theo would lose his train of thought, only scratching at the cap on his head.

Nathan was in the den in his recliner, watching football for most of the day. Every time Theo walked past his curiosity was piqued, and by the third or fourth time he stepped in to ask about the game. Nathan could barely hide his excitement, and eagerly chatted with his son about the team, their plays, and some statistics. Theo’s eyes glazed over for a few minutes before he snapped out of it and excused himself from the room, mindlessly scratching at the stubble growing thicker on his face.

By the time Theo was headed to bed his body had put on some serious mass. He could barely get his tight t-shirt off at this point. He finally pulled it off as seams tore in spades, revealing his newly muscular body. What had been just barely above scrawny was now packed with size, his pecs defined above his defined abs. His traps, shoulders, and biceps were all swelling with size as well, veins engorging as his body continued to grow. As he stared in the mirror his thoughts drifted back to the football game his dad was watching, oblivious to the thick hairs erupting across his pecs. The mild scattering from the night before was spreading, hairs popping up like weeds across the growing expanse of his chest. The hairs darkened and thickened as they wove together into a furry rug, spreading up over his collarbone and shooting down his abs, his stomach hair conquering more and more of his torso. Over the course of the day a dark shadow had spread across Theo’s face, and that shadow was now blossoming into a short but thick beard. Stubble pushed out across his upper lip and cheeks, darkening as gaps filled in with more and more hair. He grunted as he scratched the growing beard, before heading back to his room and climbing into bed. His feet now nearly hung over the edge of the bed frame. Theo took off the baseball cap and set it on his nightstand before promptly passing out.

Theo's eyes slowly opened as sunlight poured into his room, illuminating his large furry form. The bed creaked in strain as he rolled out of it, before grabbing the cap from the nightstand. As soon as he put it on he felt less tired, more alert, and ravenously hungry. Before he could head downstairs he checked his closet for something to wear for the day. For some reason, nothing in there would fit over his broad shoulders. He heard a knock at the door and spun around. There, standing in the doorframe was his father.

“Thought you might need some new clothes, son, think of it as an early Christmas gift,” he said, holding a tank top and gym shorts in his hands. Theo didn’t question why his dad was prepared for this moment, rather he graciously accepted the gift and threw on a black low cut tank. His new muscular form was clearly evident in his new clothes, shorts tight against his thick thighs and his lats protruding out from the tank. Nathan looked up and down at his son, a wildly different man from the one who arrived home days before. But he also knew the cap wasn’t done with him, and he grinned as they both walked downstairs.

Theo scarfed down yet another meal, feeling his stomach press against the tank top. He wanted to talk more with his mother, but he was having trouble remembering what about. His college work seemed so uninteresting to him now. After some awkward chit chat he found his father as normal in the den with more football on. Theo stepped in to join him, plopping down on the sofa as knowledge about player stats began welling up in his head. He eagerly began talking with Nathan, the conversation flowing smoother than it ever had in the past as they laughed over plays on the tv. 

As minutes and then hours passed, Theo felt the air grow warm and stuffy in the den. His body began sweating profusely, nearly gluing him to the leather sofa. He unwittingly scratched at his pits, where sweat had created a rank atmosphere with the small tuft of hair. As he scratched, the hairs began to spread, pushing out of the damp skin. The hairs grew thick and wiry, tangling together as the tuft grew into a bush, filling his pit and bursting out the sides and even connecting to the pelt on his chest. His pecs and biceps seemed to swell but the hair outpaced both, making itself known regardless. The stench wafting from his pits grew intense as the forest of hair trapped more sweat and pheromones. Nathan noticed the change and looked over, only to catch his son scratching his pit and then sniffing the hand after.

Theo’s body continued to drip with sweat as he adjusted himself to try and get comfortable. There was a growing sensation coming from beneath his shorts, his groin tingling as his balls steadily began to inflate. They grew to two, three times their original size, pumping Theo’s body full of testosterone. From there things began to accelerate; his small flaccid cock perked up to attention, pressing against the cloth of his shorts as it pushed out longer and thicker. The silhouette continued to grow reaching nine inches, creating a wet spot in his shorts from precum leaking out the tip. Theo scratched at his groin, trying to relieve the discomfort as his moderately sized bush came to life, tendrils of thick curly hair erupting across his groin, swallowing up bare skin as they tangled into a forest. The hairs continued to spread far and wide, a tidal wave of fur coating his balls and racing back across his taint. His hole itched as thick hairs wormed out before spreading across his ass in a dense rug. The hairs continued their march down over his massive thighs, like dark weeds sprouting and tangling together. Hair continued to multiply, covering his legs and across the tops of his feet. Theo grunted as they pushed against his tight shoes, growing several sizes larger into the feet of a real athlete, complete with tufts of hair sprouting on his toes.

Theo’s body swelled even further, muscle packing on more and more before softening as he took on the form of a beefy linebacker. Sweat leaked from beneath the baseball cap as the fur coating across his body thickened, hairs sprouting between old ones. His mind felt foggy as the last remnants of his skill and interest in the arts was replaced by knowledge of football plays, hours of practice flooding in. His conversation with his father slowed slightly, as it took longer for him to think of solid arguments, vocabulary and eloquence dissolving in real time. He didn’t like to analyze other people’s games, he just wanted to get back on the field himself. 

In a newly deepened voice he complained, “Dad, I don’t give a crap about their commentary, let’s just get back to practicing.”

Nathan smiled, taking in the sight of his bulky, masculine son. “Call me coach, Theo. It’s important to learn these plays down to the smallest details so you can keep up that win streak.”

“I thought I told you, coach, it’s Ted, not Theo,” he grumbled in return. “But fine, let’s at least go out to the field and try them out.”

“Deal, son.”

December faces

Daddied: based on true events

“Come on bro! Why are you being so weird?” Lee mocked standing in next to the bathtub with a bottle of alcohol. “I mean you got the perfect body and what not I think but I’m really just not into guys”. Lee laughed at Nathan. Lee knew that Nathan has a crush on him. People even claimed that they had a bromance going on with how much time spent together but after all the months of Lee casually flirting, Nathan finally made a move. Only for Lee to laugh in his place.

Nathan walked out of the bathroom while Lee could be heard laughing at him. Nathan was heart broken. The first man that he actually felt a connection to. The one he grew to love. Just laughing at him. Rubbing the tears from his eyes Nathan laid in his apartment. In bed bundled up trying to find the courage to face the world again. He couldn’t continue on with this “bromance” any longer after being lead on for so long. He could feel his chest hurting. His heart breaking while he sobbed. He played back memories he had with Lee. Fun nights of playing games. Even the night when Lee told him that he better get his ass to class and get his degree. Lee was actually the reason he graduated college because he wanted to make Lee proud. He was the only one that pushed him to do. He even reminisced on the nights they would drink together. The deep conversations they had. The more Nathan thought. The more he got angry. He wanted Lee to pay for wasting his time. For breaking his heart. He didn’t want to feel this pain again. There was one memory that Nathan was playing back in his mind. And suddenly he shot up in bed. A dark smile creeped across his face.

—————————————————————-

Lee woke up the next morning with a hangover. “Ohh god how much did I drink?” He moaned to himself. His phone was buzzing. It was the chick he was flirting with at the very last night. “We need to talk was all the txt said”. Why would be need to talk? She was just a random chick he was flirting with. Dismissing the txt he swaggered to the bathroom. In the mirror flexing his muscles. And giving himself that perfect smile that got him out of so much trouble. His phone began to ring. He answered it not thinking about it only to hear the screeching of some chick. After a bit he said “oh yeah I remember you …. Wait… what are you saying!? WHAT!!” He dropped the phone. Apparently one of his hookups from a month ago was pregnant. He sat down on the edge of tub. Head in his hands trying to figure out what he was going to do. His stomach grumbled telling him it was time for breakfast but he wasn’t in any mood to eat. He walked back to his bedroom. Putting on some clean clothes. Not even noticed as he passed the mirror that his muscles had lost some definition.

He made it to the bistro next door, ordered some breakfast and took a seat trying to take in the news that he was going to be a Father. His phone rang again. This time the girl from last night. Reluctantly he picked up the phone. “THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE” he screamed and slammed his phone down. She was claiming to be pregnant with his child too! And they didn’t even sleep together ! Lee picked his sandwich up to take a bite of his food when his hands caught him off guard. Dropping to the food he stared at them. Seeing dark hairs creeping out the back of them and traveling up his arms. Hurrying home he ran to the bathroom and took his shirt off only to see the dark hairs poking out of skin. His chest and abs has a dark sheen on then and turning sideways he could see his back had the same peach fuzz hairs that were growing. “WHAT IS GOING ON!”

Grabbing the razor he began to shave off all the hair that seemed to being growing like wild fire across his body. And only the. Did he see it. His muscles seemed to be deflating. It was starting to look like he skipped a few gym sessions. “What happening !!” He screamed.

His phone rang and he dreaded seeing who it was. Nathan. “I’ve decided to distance myself from you. Yesterday really hurt and I need this for me”. Lee sat on the bed. Head in hands sobbing. The one person he needed right now more than ever and he pushed him away. Lee didn’t know what was happening. He still felt hungry but all he wanted to do was sleep. It’s all he wanted to do with all the uncertain changes happening.

———————————

Waking up Lee felt more groggy than ever. He didn’t want to get out bed. Staring at the ceiling he didn’t know what to do. He can’t be a father of 1 kid let alone 2! His stomach churned and he knew he needed to eat something. Sitting up in bed he screamed. “WHT THE FUCK IS THIS!” Running to the bathroom he was horror struck. Hair was everywhere.

A thick beard coated his face. His muscle definition was gone. And his stomach was poking out as if he drank beer all the time ! Look down he see. Thicker legs that lead down to some meaty sweaty feet. That had the beginnings of dark hair coating them. He began to swap from all the changes. He was fucked. He didn’t know what was happening. And …and…was he SHORTER!! Judging his height from the bathroom sink he had to be at least 4 inches shorter!!

————————————————

A week last Nathan went to Lee’s apartment. The door was unlocked. Walking into the space the living area was completely disheveled. As if someone was tearing the place apart. On the couch was a large circled wrapped in a sheet. Water dripping from the opening where a face would be as the hunched over figure appeared to be crying. “Hello?” Lee’s could be heard. “GO AWAY!” Deep and raspy. Nathan sat down beside him. Asking what’s wrong? Lee responded that he was a freak. The exposed flesh that Nathan could see was a pair of large hairy feet that he could smell. Leading up to some tree trunk legs coated in the thickest hair he had ever seen on a man. He heard Lee’s stomach growling. “Do you need me to make you something to eat ?”

Whipping the sheet back Lee screamed “does it look like I need something to eat!?”

Nathan jumped back. Shocked at how large Lee had gotten. “I can’t even leave this apartment anymore without people calling Jaimie. Jaimie!!! I’m not my damn father ! I’m not!!” Lee’s phone wrong. “Oh no not again!!” As if on command his body immediately responded. His stomach swelling larger. His hair growing thicker and his body becoming smellier. The dark smile crept across Nathan’s face. Lee caught a glimpse of it. “You did this! You and your spells! What did you do!?” Nathan stood up and laughed at him. “Well. You always said you would never follow in the foot steps of your father. After the other day, I decided to make you do exactly that”. Le was becoming his worst nightmare. His own father and a father to many as well.

fuck 🥵🥵 it’s everything I want to be

Could you make me grow into the hairiest guy you’ve ever seen? Absolutely coated in thick fur, sweaty and smelly to match 🥵

Hair begins to grow in thick across your body. The backs of your hands were the first to become coated in this thick greasy hairs. Knuckles yo match. All traveling up with arms and connecting with check and stomach. Your shoulders grow a thick pelt that connect with your back at it runs down your backside. Coating your butt in thick dark curls. Wrapping your legs all the down to your feet. You’re one of the hairiest men to walk. Even devolved looking from all the extra hair that sprouts from your skin. Shaving? Forget about it. And the smell. Water and soap have no effect on your newly modified body. You smell of sweat. Of Bo. Your bloody glistens from all the sweaty pumping out of your pours and tangling in your hair making you smellier than before. Dark patches appear on all your clothes and you have to change socks multiple times a day because they get soaked in sweat so fast. You belch constantly to add to your stinky nature. How’s that ?

A Sweaty Semester

Dean let out a heavy breath as he wiped the sweat from his face. His phone said it was 98 degrees out but it felt like 112. He’d been dreading moving in August for this very reason, but at least the worst was over now, he thought. Surrounded by boxes he slumped onto his new bed, his soaked shirt cold against his back. Dean had just moved into his dorm room in central Texas, a full week early because his mom said he should “get to know the town”. The building was old and the air conditioning was barely functioning, leading to a miserable couple hours of moving boxes in oppressive heat. After a long drive and the unloading ordeal, he was exhausted, the heat lulling him to sleep as he laid on his bare bed. 

That was until the door to his room flew open, banging against the wall and startling Dean out of his nap. He heard shuffling and grunting outside in the hall as a stench began to leak into the room. It was almost more nauseating than the heat, a pungent mix of sweat, body odor, and who knows what else. Dean’s eyes watered as a figure holding several boxes stepped into the room before dropping them onto the opposing bed. He turned around revealing himself to Dean. He was at least six feet tall, broad and pretty built, his large frame only partially covered by a sweat soaked tank top. His face was covered in a thick beard, and the tank revealed a substantially hairy chest and shoulders. Now that he was in Dean’s face, the stench was ten times as bad, he could practically taste the sweat on the guy’s body in the air. He grinned and stuck out a hand towards Dean, “The name’s Hunter.”

Dean stared at him for a few seconds too long before stretching out his own, “Dean.” Hunter’s grin turned into a full on smile. 

“Well nice to meet ya dude!” he said with a vigorous handshake. Dean was still staring at him, there was no way Hunter was a college freshman, he looked years older than himself at the very least. His daze was broken when Hunter raised an arm to scratch the side of his head, letting a fresh wave of musky stench out directly into Dean’s face. He nearly doubled over from the intensity; how on Earth was he going to live with someone who stunk like this?

“It’s a real roaster out there today huh? I’ve got some more boxes out in my truck that I’m gonna go get, but first let’s get some air flowing in here.” Hunter proceeded to open the dorm window letting a gust of blistering air inside. “It may still be hot but at least it’s some circulation,” he chuckled before walking back into the hall and leaving Dean alone. He was stunned. The outside air helped marginally with the lingering scent but made the heat even worse, and in minutes he was back to sweating buckets. Dean’s mind was racing with thoughts trying to cope with how the next year of living with this guy would be. He could barely think straight when Hunter was in the room with that eye watering aroma of his. While he was still alone Dean stripped off his sopping wet shirt and threw on a fresh one to try and maintain some level of comfort, before beginning the arduous task of unpacking all of his boxes.

A few minutes later Hunter returned with another huge stack of boxes, his sweat-drenched form glistening in the afternoon light. “Alright I think that’s most of it, guess I’ll join ya here in putting it all away!” he laughed. Dean managed to put on a smile but internally he was really going through it, and that was before Hunter pulled out a speaker and put on some music that sounded like something Dean’s father would listen to. Dean gulped, and they both got to work unpacking box after box. Even though he’d just changed, Dean’s shirt was soaked almost immediately. He had to pull out his bath towel just to wipe the sweat from his face. He knew it was hot but this was getting ridiculous, and on top of that he could barely breathe with Hunter’s noxious fumes filling the room. After a while of hanging clothes and dripping sweat all over the room, Dean backed out into the hall to use the bathroom. Miraculously, it was significantly cooler out there. Maybe the open window was doing more harm than anything, he thought. Upon returning to the room a few minutes later he was greeted with a blast of late afternoon heat, the intense smell of a sweaty body, and Hunter lounging on his haphazardly made bed, exposing his ripe pits to the air. 

Dean paused in the doorway, unknowingly staring at Hunter’s pits. They were covered with thick tufts of brown hair, matted down by sweat. He could practically see the stench wafting from them. Hunter looked up from his phone, catching Dean staring. He smirked before reaching with one hand to tousle the hairs, even pulling his hand up to his nose after to sniff it. Dean’s trance was broken by his gut reaction to gag at such a sight. Why had he been staring at those disgusting pits in the first place? He put those thoughts out of his mind and got back to shoving stuff under his bed. Sweat dripped from his hair onto everything in front of him; it was so hot in the room, and the smell of sweat permeated everything. Dean couldn’t get the sight of Hunter’s hairy sweaty body out of his mind for some reason, no matter how much he tried to focus on what he was doing. He even caught his dick pressing hard against his shorts at one point. What the hell was going on?

That night Dean laid out on his bed, tossing and turning from the heat. It had cooled down but Hunter insisted they keep the window open; at least it helped with the smell a bit. He could feel the top sheet beneath him was fully soaked through, his sweat was inescapable. He could see the drops on him shining from the streetlight outside. It was near impossible to get any rest like this, with Hunter snoring across the room stinking up the place. He’d taken off everything but his underwear just to try and cool down, exposing all of him to the heat. His thin pale body dripped sweat in the stagnant night air, drops sliding down his hairless skin. As Dean laid there, the sweat coating his body slowly began to soak into his skin. Thin, wispy hairs began to push out around his nipples, nearly invisible if not for the streetlight catching them. Following those, more hairs poked out in the center of his chest, these slightly darker and spreading over a wider area. They were short and laid flat against his skin as his chest became slightly less bony with a thin layer of muscle and fat gracing his rib cage. His forearms were dusted with a light coating of thin hairs, growing thicker near his wrists. His thighs expanded slightly in size before hairs began sprouting across their expanse, growing slightly thicker and darker than the others. His face itched as peach fuzz across his upper lip darkened a tad, with some more fuzz appearing around his chin. Dean groaned softly in his sleep as his dick pushed harder against his tight underwear, exposing his small amount of hair above. As the sweat soaked in, hairs began to multiply, short dark hairs pushing out from his bush, spreading upwards towards his stomach. As he rolled and twisted on the bed he exposed his bare armpits, and under the soft light from the lamppost thin wispy hairs began to sprout. The hairs grew longer, not too visible at a distance but enough to begin catching some sweat and scents of his own.

Hunter was awake as soon as the sunlight began to light up the room. He looked over at Dean, who was still out cold. He grinned upon seeing the light dusting of hairs that now adorned Dean’s chest and pits, before scratching at his own. He threw on some clothes and left to go jog and hit the gym. By the time Dean finally woke up all that was left was the faint remnant of Hunter’s smell. He rolled out of bed and hit the shower, too tired to notice any changes until he looked in the mirror after. His blood ran cold. What the hell was this? He had hair on his chest. Not much, but more than he’d ever had before. And his legs! They were nearly smooth yesterday! He raised his hands to his head and saw a dark spot under his arms. Pit hair?! Dean was really starting to freak out now, but for some reason he lowered his nose down and sniffed at one of his pits. Despite having just washed them, they already smelled fairly strongly of sweat and body odor; the scent was almost… familiar. Despite his mind screaming in anguish, the smell calmed him slightly. 

Dean tried to put the shower behind him as he got dressed and left the building. He had some shopping to get done before classes started and he wanted to get familiar with the area. An hour later he was walking down aisle after aisle of home goods and furniture, but his mind was somewhere else. He kept thinking about the hair growing on his chest, about Hunter’s strong odor, about how he couldn’t look away from Hunter’s rancid pits yesterday. He didn’t know what to think anymore, what was happening to him.

When he finally got back to the dorm he could already tell Hunter was inside, his smell leaking from under the door into the hall. It seemed slightly less putrid than before, but still an affront to his nose. WIth a deep breath, he opened the door. It was hot and smelly in the room, the afternoon sun blazing through the open window. Hunter was again laid out on his bed, this time entirely shirtless. His broad and toned torso was completely covered in thick hair, and drenched with sweat on top of that. He looked up at Dean and smiled.

“Hey champ! Where’ve you been?” he asked cheerfully. The question barely registered in Dean’s head as he was staring at the rug on Hunter’s chest. After a delay he responded.

“Oh, uh, just had some things I needed to pick up before school gets going,” he said. Hunter sat up and stretched his arms over his head, revealing both his sweaty pits. Dean was blasted by a fresh wave of the odor coming from them, but he didn’t recoil this time, or even gag.

“Ah yea, I should do that too probably,” Hunter laughed. He scratched at his pit, making eye contact with Dean while doing so. He noticed the bulge in Dean’s pants from across the room, before smiling devilishly. “I noticed this morning you’ve got a little more hair on you than I expected! Have to give you some credit,” he said with a smirk. Dean’s face went bright red.

“Did you do this? Are you the one fucking with my head? This isn’t me… It’s been in my head all day… How could you even…” Dean trailed off. Hunter stood up from the bed and walked over to Dean, his large size dwarfing the boy. At point blank the smell coming from Hunter was intoxicating, and Dean was internally torn. Part of him, the original Dean, was disgusted, the lack of cleanliness was an affront. But the other part of him had grown to love the scent, to think about it and Hunter all day, to crave it more and more. Hunter looked down at him with a cunning grin, before raising one of his arms and exposing that damp, rank, hairy pit. In that moment, the new Dean won. He stuck his face deep into Hunter’s dank armpit and breathed in, taking in the most intense smell yet. Hunter laughed and then grabbed the back of Dean's head and pushed it in even farther. Sweat dripped from Hunter’s pit hairs onto Dean’s face, his body soaked already from the thick summer heat.

As the sweat dripped down his face, Dean could feel something itching. The soft peach fuzz that had grown the night before was thickening. Light wisps grew into thick dark hairs, spreading from his upper lip and chin across his jaw and down his neck. The hairs pushed out quickly, filling in into a dense beard that scratched against Hunter’s pit. Hairs climbed up his cheeks, giving him a thick coating across his whole face, able to trap even more of the sweat dripping on him.

The sweat continued to drip down Dean’s neck and onto his chest as he breathed in more of Hunter’s thick scent. His flat chest began pushing outward, muscle piling onto his frame as two sturdy pecs made themselves known. The light coating of hairs he had grown was quickly overwhelmed as a carpet of thick dark curly hairs erupted across his chest. The sweat fertilized the open expanse as hairs wormed out all over his pecs, engulfing his nipples and tangling together. They reached up over his collarbone and even started growing in on his neck. The dense rug grew even thicker between his growing pecs, hairs multiplying until they looked like fur, hiding any skin. Dean pulled back from Hunter’s pit, gasping for fresh air as he rubbed his hands through the newly grown hair.

Dean felt almost high from taking in so much of Hunter’s pit stench. He wobbled back against his bed and continued to rub his hands through his new chest hair. He groaned as he felt his body continue to expand. His shoulders grew larger and rounder, biceps exploding with size, and his torso grew muscled and took on a V shape. He stripped off his sweat drenched shirt only to see the thick hairs from his stomach spreading downward. His tight stomach was buried beneath a dense mat of dark hairs as they raced south towards his groin. It was then that he finally noticed the massive bulge in his pants, his cock having grown at least a few inches and pushing his shorts to their limit. Hunter stepped over and ripped both his shorts and underwear clean off, letting Dean’s still growing cock bob free. Hunter grabbed it with one hand and before Dean could finish moaning he shoved his face back into his sweaty armpit. Dean’s open mouth was filled with sweaty hair, Hunter’s pungent sweat now dripping down his throat. Dean continued to moan from inside the pit, the pitch growing steadily deeper as his Adam’s apple pushed out.

Hunter took his hand off Dean’s cock, wiped it across his furry chest to get it nice and sweaty, then returned it and began stroking slowly up and down. Dean’s body shuddered with pleasure as pre immediately shot out of his cock. As Hunter slowly moved his hand he watched as the thin bush of hair around the base of the cock began to thicken up. Thick hairs began sprouting up like weeds, dark and curly they wove together into a monstrous bush that kept expanding. The hairs crawled all across his groin, up onto his stomach, and out onto his thighs, the bush only growing denser as more hairs sprouted between old ones. Within minutes Hunter could smell Dean’s growing scent as sweat gathered in the thick bush. Dean groaned as his balls swelled in size and hung lower, the sack becoming engulfed in the same thick fur as it raced from his groin to his ass. His hole was quickly surrounded by dark wiry hairs that sprouted densely in his crack, before blossoming out across his tight ass in a dense fur.

Dean kept moaning from within Hunter’s hairy pit, letting more sweat down his throat. His body continued to grow, muscles popping out across his arms and legs and his frame steadily bulking up. He was even growing taller as a result, Hunter had to push him back against the bed to keep his face locked in. The more Hunter stroked Dean’s cock the more hair continued to spread across his body. His thigh’s already dense coating only grew darker and thicker before moving on to his calves and feet. His shoulders began growing their own coat with thick hairs popping out across the broad expanse, with his arms following suit. His forearms grew dark with a thick rug stretching onto the backs of his hands.

Hunter released Dean’s face before reaching down into his newly grown bush. He got his hand nice and damp before raising Dean’s arms, exposing his paltry amount of hair, and starting rubbing the groin sweat in. Within seconds he could feel his hand rubbing through more hair than before, as new thicker hairs started to shoot up. Dark wiry hairs exploded from Dean’s armpits, forming into a thick tuft of hair that stuck out in every direction, even connecting to the rug on his chest. Hunter grinned as he began to smell Dean’s own scent coming from the pits, growing stronger as more and more hairs pushed out. The hairs kept spreading, giving Dean the thickest forest of pit hair Hunter had ever seen. Dean’s sweat stuck in the jungle, giving it a ripe scent almost immediately. Hunter released Dean from his grip, and his instincts commanded him to sniff his own ripe pits. Dean groaned as he smelled the sweaty odorous pits, scratching his fingers through the thick fur.

Dean then went to stroking his massive cock that Hunter had been edging for a while now. He moaned as each pump coursed through his body, adding more muscle and fur to his frame. His beard pushed out more from his face, even his back began to grow coated with fur. The room was thick with the mixed scents of Hunter and Dean now, and every breath was intoxicating. His breaths grew ragged as he neared climax, and with a roar his cock erupted with the biggest load of Dean’s life. Blast after blast of thick cum shot out, landing all over his hairy body, with some even flying onto Hunter, who laughed. Dean’s cock continued to drizzle the last bits of his load as he collapsed onto his bed, soaked in sweat and cum stuck in his thick body hair. He slowly rubbed his hands across his massive body, feeling how much he’d grown. He’d become a giant to match Hunter, muscled, hairy, and incredibly sweaty and smelly. The stench of both their sweaty bodies was too much for almost anyone, but all Dean craved was more.

Thank you all for 1,000 followers! What an insane milestone. Hope you enjoy this one!