Just Ignore It - 1

Just ignore it - 1

David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class. Largely because everyone's butt looks too good to believe.

2 (Next)

(btw this is inspired by one of my favorite TF stories)

“Now the point of these journals is to start recognizing energetic and temporal anomalies, better attuning yourselves to…”

I paused mid-sentence, feeling that something was off, taking a beat before I continued with the lecture. I was hoping to have some time to settle into the Fall semester before having to deal with an inevitable minor metaphysical crisis, but a reality warper a few weeks in was not what I saw coming.

Having a job that includes resolving paranormal wrinkles in spacetime seems exciting until you realize that somehow they’ve found a way to turn it into yet another 9 to 5. People often expect some sort of imposing mansion or gothic structure whenever they hear “Center of Supernatural Sciences,” but it’s actually a squat concrete block cobbled together by a regional college in the 70s. The scariest thing for visitors is figuring out how to connect to the WiFi, though if you’re rude to Seema at the front desk, she will put a hex on you and that’s just your own fault. It’s been a mainstay on this campus for decades, but for how much longer was unclear, as administration has been defunding us relentlessly for as long as I’ve been here. The university doesn’t see our value in light of its own investments in mass surveillance technology and a more ‘hard science’ study of spookiness, but the work we do is still important. Supernatural phenomena are much more common than a lot of people realize–it’s just a matter of actually paying attention–and our work is split between teaching, research, and service, addressing issues locally and regionally as they arise.

And no, we’re not magic cops. We’re not out to punish or control, fist bumping each other as we shoot silver bullets first and ask questions later. That’s archaic. We investigate, mitigate, and remediate, stepping in whenever the fabric of reality gets a little too bunched or frayed and mending as best we can.

I teach a class called “Investigating Supernatural Threats” almost every semester, which is a title that I absolutely despise–I think it’s an insult to our more than human neighbors–but the department is worried that if we change it we’ll end up losing funding to the criminal justice program, and it’s a hill I’m only willing to get bruised on. But it’s a survey of identifying and responding to paranormal, metaphysical, and magical shenanigans, so it tends to get all kinds. It’s usually a relatively small group, a smattering of grad students from occult history to crypto-zoology, museum curators and archivists needing a refresher on what to be cautious of, and often–which I’m personally delighted by–new forest rangers sent by the state’s Department of Natural Resources who are doing overnights for the first time.

But back to the issue at hand. It’s my job to stay observant across multiple temporal and dimensional planes, so I’m known for picking up on minor phenomena and patterns that at first glance may not seem significant. So around week 3, I couldn’t help but notice that most, if not all, of the men in the class had near perfect, juicy butts, yet all unique in their own ways. I was used to commanding attention with a round booty sitting pretty on my 6’1” frame, looking downright disproportionate against my lean swimmer’s build–a blessing and a curse, really–but some of them were giving me a run for my money. Which isn’t really an issue, squats are en vogue and there are plenty of male leg day enthusiasts thanks to social media trends, not that I’m complaining, but in week 4, I picked up on the fact that all of their pants fit so well. Too well. Like not just fitted but custom made for each of their unique and sizeable proportions, as if carefully crafted to emphasize and display their bubble butts. A telltale sign.

During class, I kept my extrasensory eyes and ears open, seeing if I could pick up on any novel energetic shifts. And I felt something odd. Something deep and subsonic, pressing tentatively against the borders of our reality, like a sperm whale floating up to a kayak without making a sound. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something building to some sort of threshold, before, with a submerged *pop* that I could ‘hear’ elsewhere, it was gone. It was like nothing had happened. In fact, nothing had happened. I turned to the board to continue writing something that I had forgotten, only realizing after class had ended that I had been writing about two inches above where I had left off. I did a somatic check, quickly scanning my body from toes to head to fingertips. I felt fine, had all ten fingers, only two eyes, an ass that could stop traffic, still a strapping 6’3”. But had that been true an hour ago? Doubt was setting in.

As someone who teaches the detection and mitigation of magical fuckery, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a potential situation like this. You’d be surprised how often some horny gay warlock has a little too much fun and needs to be reined in, or someone’s chaos magic manifests without them realizing–even worse, with them fully realizing. If you’ve ever had to neutralize an entire college dorm (and a frat house to boot) you would understand why we need more funding and support in magical education, but this isn’t the time for my soap box. A mystery’s afoot.

My most important piece of advice: Just ignore it. The thing is, a reality warper is a serious matter. If you call someone out, you better come correct and prepared for anything. Even just them knowing that you know–or that you’re on the hunt–can get real messy real fast. So you have to act casual. Don’t let them know you’re on to them, and don’t let them know that you know that something is seriously off. This is why I always introduce an extended project around tracking anomalies in the fabric of spacetime, having my students keep journals of anything weird, unusual, or metaphysically wobbly. Don’t react in real time, just on paper and in private, keeping a record of things as they happen. But it seemed like whoever this was was influencing the passage of time in very subtle ways and everyone’s memories, for the most part, were adjusting accordingly. Which is why no one in class has batted an eye at the fact that the asses in this room look like they were expertly morphed to near-comical proportions. After all, what else is new? So I took a different strategy and laid a trap.

The donk on my 6’4” frame (Hmm…) was a sight to behold. All muscle with a healthy layer of padding ballooning out from my otherwise lithe form. It was leaps and bounds my best feature, had been for as long as I could remember. I was used to men staring dumbfounded in public as my cheeks swished back and forth, including my own students whenever I turned to the blackboard, pushing it out ever so slightly as I leaned forward to write, the globes of my ass encased in one of many perfectly tailored pairs of tweed slacks. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, seeing as any pants off the rack would either be way to loose in the waist or way too tight in the glutes, risking catastrophic failure. So I got my pants carefully fitted, but the thing was, so did everyone else. All the men in the class, from muscle butts to perky, round ones, to jiggly booties and wide hips, always had expertly fitted pants without fail. So we know what the focus of the shifts was, but it seemed like it was an expert reworking of time, and with that, memory. The phenomenon of unusually juicy asses in class pinged on my paranormal radar, but mine had always been this way. Right?

The thing is, the fit of everyone’s pants wasn’t just good, it was too good. Perfect, even. Yes, I had memories of having all my slacks tailored but they fit like they had been hand sewn on a lifelike model of my bulbous glutes with millimeter scale precision, not too little and not too much. So I found a pair that I didn’t much care for and took a razor to the back seam to weaken it just so. I squeezed into my form fitting pants and made my way to campus, careful not to stress the stitches too much and too fast, waddling into the room early and looking forward to this ordeal being over. Before anyone showed up, I cast a spell of detection around the space. Not detection of magical activities, which would’ve risked tripping any alarms that my possible warper may have already had in place, not to mention the possibility of interfering chaotically with their own spell whose function I was still unsure of. It was more of an emotional and energetic heat map, tipping me off to any sudden shifts in people’s auras.

Class began like normal as I offered some further thoughts inspired by the previous week’s discussion of AI programs as a potential tool of revealing and visualizing temporal anomalies. The discipline, in order to stay relevant, had been getting into the implications of digital technologies and new media for magical phenomena, so I figured we should spend a little more time on the topic. Also I was genuinely interested in hearing people’s thoughts, albeit distracted by the ticking time bomb of my basketball buns putting catastrophic pressure on my pants as I sometimes too excitedly paced across the front of the room. 

Per usual, I could feel the crescendo of strange, unfamiliar power rubbing almost playfully along the barrier between worlds, but everyone’s auras seemed fine. There was no corresponding wave of connected energy from any one person, beyond the general simmer of erotic activation (i.e. horniness) that spiked every time I turned my back to the class. I had become familiar with the exact threshold that this power would hit before it seemingly reset everything to a new, slightly more enhanced normal, and I was counting on the regularity of that threshold with the timing of this next move.

The previous, and now continuing discussion of new media had led me to realize that the enhanced asses in the room really did look like expertly done morphs and the perfect fit of every pair of pants, no matter the material, was simply improbable. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was operating along the edges of possibility, letting fantasy seep into what we generally regard as the real (or what we think is the real). So I figured, why not use one of my favorite tropes and see what happens.

My tweed slacks were impeccable but not indestructible and as the energetic threshold was reached I just happened to drop my chalk, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The spike in erotic attention from the view of my ballooning backside paled in comparison to what followed, as the seam of my pants finally gave way, my cheeks spilling into view along with a pair of pink and purple polka dotted bikini briefs that did nothing to cover the shelf of my ass.

I played it off with my expert acting skills (this wasn’t the first time I had to feign surprise from some magical mishap), performing a practiced mixture of embarrassment and humor that I assumed the reality-shifter would expect. From the men in class was a mix of nodding in understanding and whispers of It’s even bigger than I thought and How did those pants even fit. I felt a wave of erotic energy move through the room, but there was a spike of something else in the back corner. Something sharper, a tendril of fantastical power peeking into our dimension, concentrated around Logan, who I found staring directly at me with a look of surprise and mild confusion.

I knew of Logan, he was an archivist based in the college’s paranormal artifacts collection, and I think he had signed up for my class as a refresher for methods and safety when investigating and collecting potentially powerful and chaotic objects. He was skinny all around, topping out at no more than 5’7”, his thick, hexagonal rimmed glasses sitting below a mop of bouncy curls with an undercut. He usually came in wearing a pair of loose, flowy drop crotch pants, a surprisingly bohemian look with his otherwise reserved demeanor and sensible button downs. He was demur and unassuming, not seeming like the kind of person to cause this kind of trouble. But at this point he was the only dude in class that didn’t have an absolute dump truck.

The following week, I wondered why I had even hatched that plan in the first place, seeing as I always wear a skirt over tasteful leggings. I had given up on wearing pants years ago because it was just too much of a hassle, opting instead to let the globes of my ass bounce back and forth with more freeform bottomwear. Slacks were constricting enough in the back, but I was also tired of my donkey dick being suffocated in the crotch. A blessing and a curse. It looked like a couple of the guys in class had followed suit, perched on their round glutes as they let some thick bulges snake down leggings or compression shorts.

No wonder those pants ripped, I thought. I probably haven’t worn those in–

Ah ha. Another bread crumb. And an added wrinkle. Time hadn’t been totally rewritten and my memory hadn’t been totally wiped, just altered in the most efficient way in that moment. In fact, I was still mentally very much on the case and making progress. It wasn’t the sort of loose thread that a reality warper this competent would leave, and by now they must realize that I of all people would be on to them. I began to surmise that Logan wasn’t the one pulling the strings, but was actually some sort of conduit. Maybe for a bored trickster god playing an erotic prank–which, frankly, happens much more often than you’d think.

That week, through irony or serendipity, we actually were discussing strategies for navigating the psychological and emotional games that tricksters love to play, but as the supernatural energy began building on schedule, that previous playfulness had hints of… irritation? The power was a little discordant and I could feel it somatically in a way that I hadn’t before; it seemed everyone else could too. We continued on like normal as my leggings felt fuller and tighter in the glutes, my shoes feeling uncomfortably snug as more of my ankles revealed themselves, my dick inexorably snaking its way towards my hip while staying totally soft.

This was new.  And potentially a game changer. But I, along with my students, followed the central mantra of my profession: Note it. Track it. But until you have a plan in place, just ignore it.

Cursed Pigs

Content Warning: Incest, Weigh Gain, Homophobia, Misogyny

Mason was about to go on a date with his girlfriend, he sent a snap to his story to show off his body. Mason was a sophomore in college, he loved to workout, he’s the type of man who could easily steal your girlfriend.

Mason was an arrogant asshole who didn’t care who he was mean to, he was as homophobic as it gets, genuinely being disgusted by gay men. If any girl he dated had a gay best friend he’d force her to drop him, and they’d always listen because he was extremely good in bed. He hated fat people the most, found fat women to be disgusting and fat men to be pathetic. He learned all of this from his father of course, who he was on his way to visit for Labor Day weekend. His father was a muscular daddy type, if Mason had been in his 40s they could be twins.

He couldn’t wait to meet his dad for Labor Day, he and his father and they were planning on going camping. Mason had gotten home and called out for his dad. “

“Dad! I’m home!” Mason walked into the living room where the tv was on and his dad was in his cushioned arm chair, but his dad looked different. His dad had become fat, his once muscular body had been covered in blubber. There was a thick musk in the room, and he was just in underwear that had been clearly stained with cum and piss.

“Dad what the fuck happened to you, when did you become a fatass?!” Masons dad said nothing, instead he let out a rank fart. Frrrrrbbbbttt. “Oh god dad that reeks!” Mason didn’t realize what was on the tv, it was playing a weird sound and as Mason looked closer there were fat fags feeding each other with junk food. “Dad what the fuck are you watching?? What’s wrong with you!” As Mason yelled his minds started to feel numb, he started watching the TV and taking his shirt off.

A drip of drool started to fall from Mason mouth as he watched the fat men stiff each other with doughnuts, cake and burgers. He watched as the fat men started getting fatter, he was feeling hungry. “D-dad… what’s happening?” His dad continued to stay silent as he rubs his stinky crotch. Masons body started to soften, all of the hard work he had put into his muscles was being wasted.

The softening of his body continued, a feeling that was foreign to Mason. “You’re started to look good, boy” Masons father finally said something, his voice had gained a southern twang, which made no sense since they were from Jersey. Mason had a hard time getting his words out, he tried really hard to protest, but his cock was starting to stiffen.

“Da- daddy please… what’s happening?” Mason’s belly started to hang over his waistband, his chest was quickly becoming plump moobs. His v-line has become a u-line. “I-I’m getting fat… daddy why am I talking l-like a fag-got…” Mason grabbed his fattening belly, causing him to moan.

Masons body began to become covered in body hair, where he use to shave regularly, now he looks like he’s never seen a razor. A piercing formed into his nipple, his dad got up and tugged on it. “Smell my musk, boy” Mason’s daddy groped his moobs and played his with sons growing belly. “Mmmm your cock is getting covered in fat, boy. Fat boys don’t get big cocks, you know that piggy.”

Mason reached down and felt that his once 8.5in cock shrunken down to a 3in nub. Fat was swallowing his body and Mason fought with the urge to run and the urge to worship his daddy’s smelly cock. Mason was starting to get smellier and smellier, BO and musk emanating from his body.

Masons transformation was almost over, as his daddy played with his fat belly his brain was becoming foggier and foggier. His cock a useless nub that he can’t use to fuck bitches anymore. The misogynistic muscle head was gone and was replaced by a slobby, stinky fat pig.

What Mason didn’t know was that his father had pissed off a fatass on twitter, and she cursed him and his jock son to be fatass faggots. Because of her, Mason and his daddy were closer than ever before… and they could no longer spew ignorance because they were too busy shoving food into their mouths.

Out To Pasteurize

Calvin learns the side effects of Bro-science first hand after accidentally drinking some Raw Milk.

Read some real mind numbing takes about drinking unpasteurized milk and here we are! Hope you enjoy, in other news I’m going to throw up the post announcing the Viral Transformation participants soon! -Occam

Having been priced out by rising rent at his old place Calvin was in quite the pickle. Fate smiles upon him however as his sister’s ex, Derrick, is in sudden need of a new roommate. They run in quite different circles, Calvin the sort to stay in and read while Derrick probably has more hours at the gym than some people spend awake. Though as he’s lacking any other options Calvin is more than happy to move in with the jock. Time spent working out is time out of the apartment and Calvin has always enjoyed as much personal space as he could get.

As hoped, the living situation is not too bad at all. Derrick stays out of Calvin’s hair and he has more than enough time and space to work from home. There are few better relationships between two diametrically opposed people than one with only incidental interaction. Their lives together are not to continue without a hitch however as one unfortunate morning Calvin runs out of coffee creamer and rather than just drinking it black he decides to sneak some of Derrick’s unlabelled milk.

He shrugs as he’s sure his roommate wouldn’t mind, they’re quite amiable and Derrick’s always offering him protein powder and trying to get him into the gym, spotting him some milk is surely equivalent. Hearing his roommate’s bedroom door open he quickly pours a bit more than he meant to into his cup in a rush to get the bottle back into the fridge surreptitiously. Sure, Derrick wouldn’t mind but Calvin would prefer to not have any interaction on the matter if possible. He stirs in the milk and grimaces as it brightens his coffee to a far lighter shade than he typically prefers.

Derrick wanders into the living room, still halfway pulling up his shorts before stretching as he prepares for his favorite only pastime. Calvin smirks behind his mug at pulling off the pettiest larceny one can imagine before he takes a large gulp of his coffee. As soon as it hits his tongue Calvin is struck with a taste incredibly vile, and yet one that demands he drink more. As such he is torn between spitting up and forcing it down. In the end he’s just able to swallow it before the aftertaste of milk sour and spoiled spreads through his mouth. Regretting his decision he begins gagging. Seeing this Derrick quickly runs over shouting in concern.

“Yo bro! You good!? Do you, uhh, should I call for help!?” He stands behind and puts his massive arms around Calvin’s torso, preparing to do whatever he thinks the heimlich maneuver is. Feeling the warm body behind him as steam rises off his smooth, slowly swirling, mug of coffee Calvin pauses as he realizes in the commotion the taste is gone from his mouth. He feels the hot coffee settle in his stomach and at just that moment he is overwhelmed with a creamy sweetness unimaginable. Inches away from breaking one of the smaller man’s ribs Derrick feels his body stop struggling and go limp with a small groan, “Uhhh ye- yeah? I’m okay. I’m good.” His hands go to his head as he feels the tinges of a headache begin to come on, involuntarily he licks his lips and his eyes dart back to the mug.

Derrick backs away and returns to the other side of their kitchen island, his eyes still painted with concern and adrenaline making his hands slightly shaky, “Promise you’re good bro?” Calvin nods as he far too quickly convinces himself that that rotten taste must have been in his head. He just wasn’t expecting the milk to make his coffee taste so good, yeah. That’s it. He takes a second sip and lets it sit in his mouth, as he tries to make out the taste. It almost seems thicker than heavy cream he thinks, coating his teeth in a thin film as he swishes it around before swallowing. Calvin pauses and bites his lip before deciding to just level and ask what kind of milk it is as the desire to use it again later begins to stew. “Hey I, uh, hope you don’t mind Derrick but I used your milk for creamer.” 

Concern immediately vacates his roommate’s eyes as they grow wide in shock, he opens his mouth to respond but clearly the slow-turning gears in his head can’t quite decide what to say. Not even an Uhh spills out as he stands there. Seeing this Calvin speaks up to try and keep it light, “sorry if that was an overstep, um, dude. Though it’s some of the best I’ve ever had! If you wouldn’t mind telling me what kind it is I’d love to get some myself! Is it like heavy cream? No way it’s a non-dairy!” Calvin takes another sip and lets it again dance on his tongue, he can barely taste the coffee underneath as the milk’s creamy taste grows more prominent by the second.

There is another pause. Derrick’s eyes follow the cup and he grimaces before swallowing hard and bucking up. “For sure for sure lil’ bro. Uhhh, promise you won’t be mad though.” Calvin tilts his head and Derrick responds before he has a chance to swallow and respond, “It’s from my guy at the gym. It’s um, raw milk.” Calvin’s brow furrows quicker than a heartbeat as he hears this. His mind races with memories of the brain-rotted arguments he’s read from the most barbarous gym bros about drinking the bacteria ridden garbage, for quite literally no good reason. After that, memories flash of health reports that followed soon after, detailing the bird flu outbreaks in the community. Despite this, and despite himself, he doesn’t immediately spit take. Try as he might his lips open slower than his throat as he swallows yet another mouthful of what he now knows to be unpasteurized poison.

“What the fuck?” He says quietly, staring daggers into his roommate who is shaking his hands and head quickly. “Nonono bro bro just chill! My trainer fuckin’ swears by this stuff and he’s completely fine! If you saw the results you’d be- Uh? Dude?” Derrick pauses as he sees Calvin start to raise the cup to his lips again, he had just intended to inspect it bit. Give it a sniff or something, but it’s like his body’s on auto pilot. His hand tilts the mug and his mouth falls ajar. His throat similarly opens unnaturally as the whole of his cup, only just cool enough to drink, pours straight down his throat. His eyes widen in fear as the desire to drink overpowers every rational thought crying out for him to stop immediately. 

Slamming the mug down after essentially shotgunning his surely pathogen filled cup of joe, Calvin finds himself frozen in place. Clutching his mouth he’s lost in thought as everything in him begins to accelerate. Chugging his coffee seems to have filled him with even more energy than usual as his mind races even faster than his accelerating heartbeat. He struggles to focus on any meaningful course of action, and couldn’t possibly come to the idea to induce vomiting to eliminate the source of whatever this hysteria is. Instead, he’s struck with a deep rooted need to move, to sweat, to work hard. He is immediately twitchy as every individual muscle in his body has an urge to stretch, to burn, to grow.

This desperate need is clear on his face and when he looks up to see his hitherto antsy roommate Derrick, he simply smiles wide, wordlessly understanding what is about to happen. Calvin can’t hear whatever he says over the buzzing in his head, but as Derrick brings out his smallest gym clothes he’s able to put two and two together. Filled with impulse alien and energy unbecoming, still clearly driven by whatever strange autopilot that brought the raw milked coffee to his lips, Calvin finds himself getting ready for a horrible gym session with his roommate.

Concern at just how bizarre this situation is falls by the wayside as he feels the soothing burn of stretching. Thoughts and worries of being sick vacate immediately as he instead focuses on whatever’s going on in his body. Mumbling to himself about needing to stretch more, he allays the discomfort in his stomach as he sees just how excited Derrick is about finally getting him to go to the gym together. “Bro let’s go! Your first pump is gonna be killer! Especially after having some of my trainer’s special stuff!” He adds on, slamming his massive hand into the back of Calvin’s shoulder with enough force that should send the typically meek man sprawling.

Instead Calvin simply stumbles forward a single step, grunting as he rolls his shoulder and flexes his arm. The burn from the smack swiftly transitions to the burning soreness of exercise, before even lifting a weight lactic acid sears through his arm and veins bulge down his bicep. Calvin turns with a cocky smirk, arm raised in a bicep flex and Derrick stands beside himself with excitement, he shakes Calvin by his shoulders, “Brooo! Let’s run! We gotta make the most of your first dose!” While his body races with energy his mind slows and his eyes glaze over, not quite able to understand whatever Derrick’s implying. At any rate the two men race out the door. Calvin trails quite far behind at the start but with each surging step forward he feels himself picking up speed as his legs begin to bulge larger.

Once inside Derrick immediately sends the newbie through the wringer. Mind clouded, he’s putty in the expert’s hands as he’s ushered into machines and through techniques he should be struggling to complete. Instead every lift, every push, every pump, sends pleasure immeasurable through him. His body burns. His body grows. Gritting his teeth as his biceps fill the sleeves of his shirt and for the first time muscle begins to amass on his flat chest. Derrick’s mouth may as well be watering as he sees Calvin’s insane gains. His own pulse accelerates as he pushes Calvin well past what his breaking point should be.

“Fuck bro, you look fucking killer!? No way this is your first time at the gym.” Derrick says through a smirk as he positions Calvin at a mirror so they can take some thirst traps. Awkwardly posing as he begins to feel a comedown from both his workout and whatever concoction he unfortunately enjoyed, Calvin feels some sort of sense begin to return to his mind. Seeing himself shirtless in public he feels his lungs take brief panting breaths as he begins to hyperventilate. Inspecting his reflection he’s thrown off course, he does look killer. That’s impossible!? That’s not how working out works right? He leans in close to see pecs have somehow bulged onto his chest. Traps above and arms that could lift more weight than he could previously dream at their side. He balks as he sees his body has somehow become something beyond admirable.

He typically prides himself on his rationality, but as he sees these impossible changes he knows there can only be one cause. He gulps as he looks at his first workout partner wandering off into the gym, feeling an emptiness in his stomach that there is now a desperate need to resolve. He needs more. Calvin’s eyes continue tracing every new powerful curve of his body while he waits for his roommate to return. Somehow two steps ahead of the usually astute Calvin, Derrick returns hiding something behind his back, “Guess what I got bro!” Calvin’s breath catches in his chest as he stares at his roommate with hunger newfound.

Derrick tosses him a bottle with a smug smirk at having totally convinced the man on raw milk. Catching it, Calvin doesn’t hear the recommendations offered or see the look of shock on the jock’s face as he opts to down a good chunk of the quart then and there. “Woah bro?” Wiping milk off his face with a sweaty arm he releases a burp louder and deeper than he would ever have allowed himself to do this morning. Derrick pats him on the back once more with a laugh. Excited at having another bro to workout with, he doesn’t spend a second questioning the changes in his roommate as his stomach bloats and his pecs almost seem to grow weightier immediately. 

Returning to their apartment Derrick talks Calvin’s ear off about macros and strategies that Calvin agrees to without even half-listening. Feeling the not quite cold jug of milk in his hand he knows he has everything he needs already. While it filled him with energy inhuman this morning, drinking it after a workout has unearthed new sensations. Under his new bloated abs he feels his cock begin to stir in his pants, only now realizing that he’s wearing borrowed compression shorts he notices that he is already chubbed up. Feeling his dick stretch against the nylon fabric he bites his lip as his balls pulse beneath it. Seeing him adjust his gait Derrick fully looks down to see the man’s package suddenly bulging through his shorts.

He laughs loudly as he addresses the not-quite elephant in the room. Eyes glazed over even more now that his growing balls have arrived on the scene, he doesn’t quite hear Derrick explain the broscience behind NoFap. Converted already on drinking raw milk he continues nodding along as his balls do their best to demand his attention and immediate release. 

Crossing the threshold into their apartment Calvin feels himself tempted to already throw in the towel and enjoy the fruits of his new labor. He’s heard that masturbating after working out is a heady delight, or perhaps it was the other way around. He puts his head in his hands, groaning as there’s a drive in him to stay strong. Sitting on his bed he realizes a lifeline in self-control that sleep presents and simply lies back. Whatever happens while he’s unconscious is out of his hands he thinks with a smirk as sleep finds him quicker than it has in years.

His new changes continue their advance while he rests in dreamless sleep. Calvin squirms as his new chest immediately begins to strain the tank he threw on before hopping into bed. His pecs grow at a rate quicker than anywhere else on his body, nipples growing from the pinpricks they’ve always been into half-dollars that will rarely be hidden behind a single layer of fabric. 

Well, his pillowy pecs aren’t outpacing every part of his body. Hidden in musky compression shorts he didn’t have a chance to change out of, his balls swell to produce hormones for a man twice his size. Hair prickles up from his pubes, creating a dusty treasure trail, and out from his pits, to one day connect with a forest on his chest, as testosterone production soars higher than that of lumberjacks and the most macho military men. Morning wood pushes against his shorts and he moans and rolls over onto his stomach and clenches at the sheets.

His unconscious form moves with a ferality as he humps his bed with power that continues to grow greater by the second. In his own bedroom reading workout guides, Derrick looks to the wall in shock as he hears his roommate’s bed frame creak. Feeling his own package cry for attention he decides he’s earned a break as he treats himself to his own petit mort, imagining his twink of a roommate bulking up over time, he begins jacking off to his fantasies. Totally unaware as the man’s body in reality is already exceeding his dreamed expectations. 

As Calvin finds release, moaning loud enough for Derrick to hear his voice deepening, stubble begins to stain his face. Likely to never leave for long at all. His cock had jumped out of his waist band during his mattress humping session, leaving cum stains smattered across his new treasure trail. After this release his balls return to overdrive and begin to churn once more, filling him with desire and drive that will get him through his next workout, milk or no milk. Though given his apparent addiction to the stuff it is clear which way he would prefer.

Calvin isn’t quite sure what time he went to bed or what time it is now that he’s woken up. His morning routine of drinking coffee and getting straight to work abdicates to be replaced by his chugging whatever of Derrick’s miracle milk he can find. Seeing it still dark outside he isn’t deterred as he downs a glass of raw milk before pouring a thermos of the ambrosia for the road. Raring to go, he grabs his roommate’s workout bag and beats feet to get another steamy session in at the gym. 

Something within Calvin tries to speak up in existential fear of what has happened to him, what he is becoming. Slowing his jog he is struck with a migraine. Grunting as he picks back up speed, he feels his balls pulse and his bloated torso flex as every step towards the gym brings him closer to pleasure and fulfillment he’s never neared knowing before now. The voice in the back of his mind grows quieter and rapidly feels itself losing ground, after all hasn’t he always wanted to be this kind of guy? Who wouldn’t. His pecs bounce with every step, his new larger nipples scratching against his tight shirt as his chest aches to grow larger. 

He sneers at the early morning receptionist as she tries to check him in and she rolls her eyes, muttering something about asshole bros before returning to her cellphone. Hearing that as he continues striding forward, massive chest raised, the final meek part of him remaining grasps at its last strands. He’s not a bro. He's just a normal guy. So what he’s started to hit the gym, it’s not like he’s some dumb oaf, right? He struggles to hold this should be truth as he sees a shirt he should be drowning in hang off his chest, exposing his lowest row of abs and a treasure trail he’s never come close to having before. He avoids looking at his defined jaw underneath a beard that should have taken him years to grow. All the while he desperately fights against the mind-numbing urges issuing forth from his growing cock and bulging balls.

Making it to the locker room he immediately loses his shirt and looks at his reflection in full. Seeing his milk-bloated stomach he flexes his muscles and just as soon pauses thinking about who he is, who he is supposed to be to instead watch as every part of him bulges larger. Hungrily staring at himself his thoughts slow to a crawl, befores stopping altogether as he methodically stretches and flaunts every muscle group in turn. He hasn’t even touched a weight this morning, and yet at every movement his body seems to expand and bulge larger. Biceps peaking higher with every flex, thighs strain his pants and his calves burst larger with every raise and stretch. He licks his lips as he sees individual strands of muscle on his pecs cramp and grow larger, doing so he tastes the nectar that delivered him this deific form. 

The voice of his past self goes completely mute as his mind slows to such a crawl he’ll be lucky to ever perform actions with more than three steps again. The idea of excess certainly doesn’t cross his mind as he tears into Derrick’s gym bag looking for the packed flask of his potation. Can’t have too much of a good thing, he thinks without thinking as he immediately brings the flask to his mouth and chokes down as much as he can stand. Raw milk trickles down his face as he truly becomes the type of man he has always loathed. Unconcerned with hygiene or social moors, unwashed and apathetic to anyone around him. Why should they matter anyway he thinks as his pecs bulge larger as milk trails a path in between thickening hairs.

His stomach bulges larger as he consumes more milk than anyone should have in a week. He groans as his throat bulges with the haste at which he’s downing his miracle elixir. Thankfully he’s already torn off his shirt to ogle himself or it would have burst clean off as his stomach expands. His heavy pecs bloat even larger as they rest on his new gut. Clouded spit drips down his chin as he sits down and blankly stares ahead, saliva mixing with sweat that is increasingly covering his body from the exertion of putting on mass. The locker room bench creaks underneath him as weight it should take a lifetime to produce just pours onto his body as the last dregs of his mind, his true self, slip away. 

His swollen stomach swiftly bursts the waist of his pants as fat and muscle struggle for real estate on his new form. Veins bulge down his meaty arms as his biceps rival the size of his head, now supported on a neck the size of a tree trunk, framed by weighty traps on either side. He guffaws as he sees his cock fully exposed in the locker room and goes to cover it with one of his massive mitts, struggling to do so just as any pair of pants would from now on. There's the sound of fabric exploding and he looks down to see his feet already more than eclipsing the now torn soles of his tennis shoes. He scratches his thickening beard as he tries to figure out what to do. Slow as he may be he’s pretty sure the gym will kick him out if he wanders around the gym nude.

Digging through the pile of Derrick’s clothes he realizes all the clothes within were dirty laundry. Shrugging as that’s no longer a concern for him he finds a pair of sweat-stained shorts and throws them on, smirking at the feeling of his cock freeballing in the tight cotton shorts. No chance he’ll find a shirt large enough to cover his godly torso he doesn't even try. Why would he want to cover his pride and joy anyway. Scratching at his chest as the hair across his torso thickens into a pelt he smirks before switching to fondle his package and flex at his own reflection. 

Calvin feels pre drip down his leg as he immediately grows hard and swears he can see himself pumping larger with every heartbeat. He isn’t sure how long he stands there getting off to his own power before his roommate arrives to the locker room shouting, “Brooo! I was wondering where my gym bag went huhuh!” He runs over and gives his bro a bear hug  before trying to lift him, neck bulging as he fails to get the now behemoth even an inch off the ground. Calvin laughs loud enough for the eyes-rolling receptionist to hear as he moves to easily heave his now less massive roommate in the air. 

Derrick blushes airborne before smirking and playfully squeezing the titan as hard as he can, similarly apathetic to the filth covering his roommate’s hairy body. After the man holding him high stops laughing Derrick speaks up, “See I told you that milk was the stuff huhuh!” Moments pass while Calvin stands with mouth ajar, as he will for a few seconds anytime his slowchugging mind deigns to try and speak. His voice is a rumble as the dull words fall from his slack-jawed mouth, “Uhhhh whatever bro. I’ve uhhh, always been about drinking that shit.” Punctuating it with a rather bullish nose exhalation as he sets the man down and pouts.

His roommate rolls his eyes and ruffles his short sweaty hair as he knows when to let the big guy win an argument. “Sure sure bro. You wanna head in there and get even fuckin’ bigger?” Derrick sees Cal’s cock bob in his shorts like a dog’s wagging tail at the idea of a workout. He grunts in the affirmative and Derrick pats him on the back to usher him forward. The two men then set off to the races, Calvin now taking point. Never to be the bright one again, nothing remains in his mind to question why he knows all he does about working out. 

Rarely would any adrift shred of his past self stumble through the dense thick fog of his mind. If they ever do they’ll find themselves part of the new Cal soon enough anyway. It’s of no matter who he was before he was king of this gym. He doesn’t even need bro science anymore as he continues to grow larger au naturale. The two men become icons at their gym, every day showing the ropes to men who dream to be a fraction of what they already are, and every night returning back to their apartment for some steamy well-earned cardio.

So over things right now. Turn me into a dumb horny jock please.

FML: Urged

I think this was the photo that got me in. Of course I get the appeal now. But at the time I thought I was just messaging some other random torso on the apps. I was supposed to just be in and out, no strings attached. After all, he wasn’t my usual type. Looked like a roided out gym rat: bit of a gut; dark, wiry hair; and thick muscles. But muscles weren’t the thickest thing about him, and who was I to pass up a good time?

So I went over to his place. I wasn’t surprised when it was a loft above a small gym. Seemed like the ideal spot for the kind of guy. What I was not expecting was the apartment itself to be so…nice? Normal? I was prepared to get fucked on a twin-sized mattress on the floor, no frame, with sweaty clothes rotting around me. But the apartment had some character. He even offered me something to drink before we got started, in an actual glass. Maybe I needed to raise my standards. We chatted, flirted a bit as I finished my water and let things get hot from there. We kissed in the kitchen, made out in the living room, and worked our way back to his bedroom as sweatshirts, belts, shirts, pants, and straps trailed behind us.

As I positioned a pillow under myself, he took off his wife beater, the last barrier between us. The shirtless torso that seduced me was on full display as I rubbed his chest. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt engulfed by this bear of a man, skin electric where I felt his hair ticking my bare chest. My senses felt heightened as I tasted cheap beer on his breath and smelled a deep musk of sweat, cum, and Old Spice, more in line with what I had expected from him. He ran his calloused hands over my chest and abs before finally taking up position over my trembling body. I wanted him in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teen. Normally I would want to talk a bit more, at least give a safe word. But as he surrounded me and I felt his presence, my brain flipped a switch as my body instinctively relaxed for him. There were no thoughts to be had as my mind was consumed by his rich scent, the pleasure of his cock slowly stretching out my ass, and his intense gaze set on my fluttering eyes. At last I felt his bush pressed against my clenching ass. He lingered for just a moment, every throb of his member sending shivers through my body. He leaned in and whispered, “You feeling good, baby?”

I could only moan a bit in response. Feeling his weight bear down on me and his cock in my ass left no room for words. He shoved his pit in my face and I instinctively took a deep huff. Any resistance and tension left in my body released. I felt filled by him, just a vessel for his use. I was about to stick out my tongue when he pulled back and repositioned himself. He held my shoulders as he began moving his hips.

As he slowly began to fuck me, I felt him reach new depths within myself.

“There you go, much better. Let yourself just float”

I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to. His cock methodically jackhammering my hole had my body riding wave after wave of pleasure. Then, I felt him tense up a bit as his cock swelled just a bit more telling me what was to come. He buried it deep as a pressure built within myself. A few more thrust from him and I shot my load over his furry chest. My mind could no longer handle it. I slipped off into a void of pure bliss, as this stranger collapsed on top of me, feeling his damp fur against my body and filling my senses once again with his musk.

I woke up the next day back in my own bedroom. No one else around. No signs of trouble. No clue how I got back. If the whole experience hadn’t been so vivid, I would have thought I dreamt the whole thing. But as I rolled myself out of bed and into the bathroom, one change became very clear.

Seemingly overnight I had lost my smooth skin and dirty blonde curls. In its place was hair. Thick, dark, course hair. It covered my chest, my arms, my back, even my crotch. I was shocked but, also, something else began to tickle at my brain. I took off my tank to get a better look at the forest. I flexed my muscles and admired the way it coated my chest and seemed to exaggerate its size. I hit a double bicep pose and smelled a familiar scent. The scent of sweat and heat and masculinity. My mind flooded with images of that night as my cock stood at attention. I shoved my face into my own pit as I bagan jacking off in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. It felt strange but satisfying, watching this stranger in the mirror mimic my every move as I lusted for him. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until I saw the stream hitting the mirror. It was hot, but something still didn’t feel right. As I cleaned up the restroom, I picked up my razor and considered cleaning myself up a bit. But as I lifted it to my face, I noticed my newly hairy pits. Exposing them, the scent of last night invaded my mind again and I couldn’t follow through. I finished getting dressed and I left for the day. With a busy schedule, maybe I could get some answers tomorrow. I think that was the last chance I had to do something, divert from the path laid out for me. But looking back, I don’t know if I would have changed a thing.

No day was as sharp a change as the first, but each morning as I looked myself in the mirror, something was a bit different. Maybe it was the sharpness of my jaw. Or were my pecs always this swoll? One week I swore my feet were growing larger. There is no way that they always slapped the ground like that. But my shoes always fit perfectly. Heck I may even need a new pair soon. My joggers were beat up as hell and reeked when I took them off after my Saturday runs. But soon it was the days that I couldn’t find anything that looked different that began to worry me most. Had I always thought so much about the bodies of the men around me? Did people always talk so fast? But as life slipped back into routine. Soon I began to question myself. Why had I worried so much about any changes? Things never actually seemed out of place, and I worked out hard to get these gains. I had been going to the gym for years and had spent years perfecting my splits. After about two months, I stopped worrying at all. Until finally, one day I woke up and looked myself in the mirror, I saw the same man who greeted me for years.

I was a sweaty gym rat. Always had been. Always would be. I took a deep huff of my own funk, and rubbed my muscles. But everything fell into place, something felt missing. I shouldn’t have to keep this godly body and musk to myself. For the first time in a while, I hopped onto the apps and started scanning through. God, all these old matches were terrible. Why did I used to have such a thing for those muscled-up college boys? They couldn’t grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Besides, I think I wanted someone a little more…submissive. Scrolling through, my eyes caught on this young 20-something twink. Something about him reminded me of someone…someone I used to know. His lithe body, tight curls, and skimpy clothes told me he was a bottom before I clicked on his profile. A few messages back and forth, and he was on his way.

He walked in the door and it was all I could do to contain myself. Something deep within me wanted my seed deep in his ass. I needed him to worship me. I wanted him to become just like me. I had no patience as my body acted on instinct. I stripped my shirt and calmly approached, placing my hand against the wall behind him. As my masculinity and musk washed over the twink, I watched as his eyes fluttered a bit and knew his mind was submitting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked plainly.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

I grinned as I understood fully now just what had happened to me, and the power I held. But watching this twink practically trembling in front of me, maybe I was even better than my captor had been.

I gave him a quick kiss as I lead him to my bedroom. I couldn’t wait to make another man in my image.