I Gotta Get My Hands On Some Of These Black Market Texts.

I gotta get my hands on some of these black market texts.

Insta-Slut

Society is a sick and twisted construct, it makes you feel inadequate if you are not successful, or rich, or just naturally gifted in the genetic lottery. Inferiority and imposter syndromes plague us like some sort of epidemic. You can scroll and scroll through pages of attractive men, wishing, hoping, or even attempt to do things magically, but usually it fails. This is the cycle the TF community seems to live in, and it is sad. That is exactly the cycle Josh was stuck in, masturbating to the idea of being someone else. He was doing anything and everything to wake up and not be himself, gooning with poppers, hypnosis, ancient occult rituals, you name it. He was stuck only able to get hard if he played these fantasies through his head, intimacy made him feel unworthy and disgusted with himself.

Josh Idolized the fit men of Instagram, the athletic sexy types and he followed them on twitter and only fans because the idea of being sexually liberated or “a slut,” turned him on so much. Josh was a desperate man with seemingly impossible desires, but it did not stop him. He spent more money than he had on ancient texts, a vast collection surrounded him, but none held the key to his problem. His bedroom, or now his library smelled of musty books and faintly of ozone which emanated from the books. Occasionally they would faintly flash with eldritch power, but Josh was too absorbed in his quest to even notice.

His most recent acquisition was the original Pseudomonarchia Daemonu, which he procured off the black market. He had hoped to use it to summon infernal powers to reshape him into what he desired. Josh set up his ritual, during an eclipse in retrograde, trying to harness the most chaotic energies he could. As the clock struck midnight, he began his incantation, carefully making sure he had his list of traits and qualities, because he did not want to end up as some airheaded narcissist, no he had his idealized image in his head and written down. Each step of the ritual was planned to the second as he tried calling forth to the powers of chaos and madness. Nothing happened once he finished, so again he cleaned up the ritual, put the book on the shelf next to the rest, and went to grindr just to jerkoff to a few local hotties, wishing he was them.

Before Josh new it, the books surrounding him lit up in an electrical eldritch glow. He tried to get out of bed to investigate but could not seem to move. The energy crackled and glowed and began to shoot across the room akin to a tesla coil. Josh’s heart was racing, scared out of his mind but still immobile in his bed witch his 4-inch cock hardening more than it ever had before. The electricity became more violent as it began striking objects in his room, finally striking his phone with full force. The final strike seemed to release him of whatever bound him, and he leapt out of bed, afraid for his life. Everything had become quiet again, no sign of the magical energies that had plagued him a few moments ago. Josh ran out of his room and headed half naked to the front door, ready to make a quick escape. He was in such a hurry, he did not notice the man on the otherside of the front door standing there, waiting for him. Josh ran straight into the man and fell backward. The man had to be 6’6, in perfect athletic shape, a wet dream for Josh. Josh wasn’t short by any means at 6’3, but he felt tiny in the man’s presence.

“Hey there guy, what’s the hurry,” the stranger asked. Before josh could even answer the man said, “I’m Evan, I’m your escort for the evening, you must be Josh.” Poor Josh was so confused, he just took the hand of the stranger as Evan pulled him up. Josh felt a slight shock, but he was so rattled it did not even register. Evan immediately kissed Josh, something sensual, magical, and fierce and Josh felt like putty in Evans hands.

“But, but I didn’t order an escort,” Josh said, almost whimpering. “Sure, you did guy, how else would I be here?” retorted Evan. Josh tried to think about it, but it felt hard to make that logical connection… “Yeah, that does make sense,” replied Josh. Evan grabbed josh by the wrist and lead him to the bedroom. Upon arriving in the bedroom/library, Evan commanded Josh to strip, which he did, almost like he was on autopilot. Evan knew had Josh and decided it was time for the big reveal.

“Now Josh, I know what you want, what makes you tick, what makes you, you. I see the brilliant potential you have in that old soul of yours, how you will transcend the dimensions and the power you could wield. See, I am here to relieve you of this burden and thanks to your vast collection of power here, I can now give you what you want.”

Josh stood there powerless, seemingly petrified, unable to talk, looking horrified. He did not ever think anything like this would work, it was a fantasy, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be…he thought.

Evan put his hand on Josh’s chest, as it started to glow the same color as the electricity form early, it felt like Evan was pulling his very essence out of him. The power came to the surface and integrated into Josh’s body, where it settled. Josh felt even more powerless, he felt kind of empty almost.

“Good, now where to start,” Evan pondered out loud. Evan quickly moved behind Josh and began giving him the most sensual and amazing massage ever. Along with waves of euphoria, josh felt some kind of vertigo, he didn’t realize he was losing centimeters of height.

“I like a shorter guy,” laughed Evan as he continued to rob the height from Evan. Inch by inch Josh’s perception came closer to the floor, as he shrunk to 6 feet, 5’11,5’10, and so on, settling at 5’8 and a half. The vertigo stopped finally, leaving Josh looking at Evan’s diaphragm instead of his upper chest.

“What do you think,” Sneered Evan.

Josh’s tongue was released, and he proceeded to beg Evan to stop, “No, please, don’t do this, what about my life?”

Evan continued to sneer, “Some life gooner boy, don’t worry you won’t have to worry about wasting that potential once I am done with you.” With that Evan shoved Josh onto his bed, taking Josh’s hard four inches in his mouth. Josh could feel something strange as it felt like his balls were shifting, almost growing and he could feel his cock expanding and swelling. He wanted to protest but the pleasure was too much, and his thoughts were all jumbled and foggy. Before Josh could come, Evan abruptly stopped, taking his tongue all over Josh’s hairless body. Josh could feel an itchy sensation everywhere Evan’s tongue had been, his abs, chest, and pits were filling out with thick, but well-defined hair.

“now for my favorite part,” smiled Evan. He lifted Josh’s legs into the air, spit on his own godly dick and impaled Josh.

Evan fucked Josh slowly and carefully, each pump fill Evan with warm euphoria, something you can’t experience on this earth. “Listen closely, I want you to remember your life, remember it as clear as day, and as you hear my voice you will understand that those memories are false and never happened.”

Josh was filled with horror and fear, but the warmth of the ecstasy had him conflicted.

“Josh, you have always needed attention, which wasn’t hard because you just won the genetic lottery. It never felt like enough, so at the age of 13 you began working out. It consumed all of your time, your focus was never on band or theatre, no, you needed to be more like the athletes you admired.”

Josh’s lean from began to swell and grow, defining itself from years of hard work. His arms exploded as his abs tightened, traps, delts, legs, thighs all grew to utter societal perfection.

“DO you remember playing baseball, basketball, and competing in weightlifting? You should because they kept your focus far more than schoolwork. I bet you can remember a few head injuries too, it really helped empty out some of that excess thinking, letting you focus on what was important, your body.”

Josh could feel his mind slow down to a hazy speed, one that did not make him the dumbest guy ever, but nothing more than slightly below average.

“Thankfully everybody wanted you, you let it go to your head, didn’t you Clayton?” said Evan with an evil look in his eyes. Josh was confused, he was Clayton, why was this guy calling him Clayton?

“With a body and face like this and a sex drive that is borderline uncontrollable, it makes sense you started an only fans as soon as it was legal. The money poured in, and it just allowed you to focus more on your social media, your body, and the sex that fills that gaping hole where that potential used to be.”

Everything poured into Clay’s head, like a flash flood, shoving everything else out. “You know, you are quite the switch hitter, but I know you like to be fucked and face fucked the most. Men’s cum is like ambrosia to you, which is probably why you whore yourself out in bathrooms, bathhouses, and public parks.” As the words echoed and Evan fucked the truth into Clay’s ass, Clay could vividly remember how many men he had let fuck him, which did not feel like enough especially for the 34-year-old slut.

“Now a few final touches,” said Evan. How old are you, Clay? “

“I umm, I’m 34,” he replied between pants and grunts.

“Ahh good, I thought you looked about 22, I am glad I was right,” replied Evan.

Clay could feel the age fall away, and it made more sense he had only been with as many men as had had so far. His sex drive was increasing as his precum production became almost constant.

Evan leaned down as he fucked Clay and kissed him deep, shoving his tongue down his throat. “Tell me again how old you are,” cackled Evan.

Clay went to speak but his voice cracked violently down about 3 octaves and his vocabulary to basic bro level, “I UMMmm aM 22 bro.”

Evan came torrents inside of Clay, filling the missing potential with his demon seed, cementing Clay in this new form.

“Clay, I want you to remember, you are a social media slut who needs sex almost daily, you need external validation for your body and looks. You love to be dominated and fucked, being fucked gives you a sense of worth and purpose. You obsess over your grooming and the gym, there is nothing else about you that makes you interesting.”

With that, Evan sucked off Clay one last time ripping anything left that could allow Clay to redeem what he lost.

Clay woke up in his tiny studio apartment with a raging hard on and need for sex and the gym. There was one less light in the world and one more basic bro to fill that space.

Wouldn't It Be Funny?

Back again with a longer military tf, Hope you enjoy! - Occam

Curtis and Joseph were bored out of their minds. After growing disenchanted with university life the two were well into a gap year and have been finding progressively less stimulating ways to waste away their time. Without assignments piling up and biweekly mandatory lectures they were firmly adrift as the days of the week blur together. Curtis continues scrolling on his phone while Joseph, phone ever-so-recently dead, tries to think of anything to do while it charges back up.

“Wait! I think my brother left a stash of beer last time he visited!” Curtis looks up and squints at his friend, “the best thing you think we could be doing right now is day drinking alcohol your brother left here months ago?” Joseph makes a motion inviting Curtis to produce a better idea which goes unanswered as he rolls his eyes and gets up to accompany Joseph on this ignoble quest.

Joseph leads Curtis to the hall closet where he had apparently thrown everything his brother, Nick, had left after staying over for a couple weeks. There is some deodorant and other toiletries scattered about although the floor, first and foremost however, what catches Curtis’ eye is an army uniform laying in a heap, in the corner of the closet. There is just something about it. Any time he starts to move his attention away from it another question pops into his mind requiring a deeper inspection of the jacket. He wonders how durable the uniform actually is? It looks as if it's never been worn though he knows that Nick has certainly done some training in it. He simply must have a closer look.

Before he could act on that, the jacket he so craved was chucked at him as Joseph found his bottled quarry underneath. “Score! It’s almost full too, we can have two each and rock, paper, scissors over the last one.” Joseph heads to the kitchen well on his way to some palatable lukewarm beers as he continues to chat busily at Curtis. His roommate doesn’t hear him however as the only thing on his mind is the scratchy jacket in his arms. 

He almost blushes looking down and feeling it in his arms, quite a bit heavier than he thought it would be. Surely he should toss it back with the rest of Nick’s things but it’s such a nice jacket. Quite a shame it's gone so long just sitting in their unworn. Maybe he’d just toss it on as a prank. Yeah Joseph would love that, seeing his friend in this massive jacket. His body acts quicker than his mind though, swiftly putting it on, pulling the hem down to straighten it out and pulling the sleeves up so you can just see his hands out the end.

Curtis hears his friend opening bottles in the kitchen and grins as he pictures the look on Joseph’s face as he sees him wearing this. He zips it up and struggles to get wrinkles out of the pockets before the grand reveal. No reason to not try and look legit. For it to really be funny it needs to look good. As soon as the thought that this would be funny enters his mind however he has a sharp headache and groans. No longer able to recall the incongruity of the situation as he steps out to see his friend.

Rounding the corner Curtis quickly starts what is meant to be a comedically poor salute but instead executes one with the precision of a machine. This only heightens the comedy of it all from where Joseph is standing however, halfway through a bottle of beer he chokes and spits up the beer all over the counter. He takes a moment to recover from this waste of beer before looking up once more and laughing so hard he can’t stand up straight.

Curtis in turn clenches his fist hard enough to pop a joint as he feels aggressively defensive. Why is his friend laughing at him. His back tenses with more effort than he has sustained in months, and more strength then he has wielded in a lifetime, as he cannot let this slight go unreciprocated. “What’s so funny, Kid.” Joseph looks up to see Curtis with an expression of rage more genuine than any emotion he had seen of his friend in months. It is immediately met with a flinch and a recoil as Joseph can’t bring himself to his friends’ burning gaze, “Jesus Curtis is everything alright? I thought you were doing a joke?”

A Joke? Curtis’ neck spasms breaking him out of his statuesque posture and upon rubbing a neck more muscular than he thought possible, he remembers, of course he was doing a joke! Why else would he be wearing Nick's Jacket! Smiling as he remembers how good it landed, he heads over to his friend, “Sweet you already opened a bottle for me! What’s the move now, did you want to game?” 

Joseph, shell-shocked by this return to spirits, assumes that the whole thing was now some shit joke, hands his friend a beer and heads to set up his PS5, “sure whatever dude, can you get the lights?” Which Curtis quickly does, not noticing his arms definitively stretching much further out of the jacket than they should. Waiting for his friend to finish the setup Curtis paces behind the couch, each step louder than the last as he grows less careful of his footing and he continues to ever so slightly grow into this jacket.

“Can you chill dude?” 

“Oh! Sorry did-”  

“And why are you still wearing my brother’s jacket!”

“Your brothers-” Curtis pauses to look at the name stitched onto his chest and is also shocked that he’s wearing Nick’s jacket though decidedly not for the same reason that Joseph assumed. “Woah sorry kid? I guess I was cold? Do you want me to throw it back in the closet?”

“Just take it off dude! And stop calling me kid,” puffing as he sits back on the couch and starts to play some game Curtis feels like he should recognize before taking off the jacket and heading to put it in the closet. He scratches at his chin as he tries to work out what feels so off right now. Hanging up Nick’s jacket, sure not to leave any creases, he remembers that he’ll probably need to shave soon so he doesn’t get a mark at the next inspection, his rougher hands feeling around his sharper jaw to check the damage.

Returning to the living room he trips over what he assumes is his own feet but is embarrassed to find; Ah! It’s his jacket! Thank god he let his discipline slack here and not back at base. He picks it up as Joseph turns around hearing the stumble and begins to hurry him back before instead asking, “did you do something with your hair?” To which Curtis tilts his head like a dog before Joseph shouts once more, “Dude! Are you wearing my brother’s socks!?”

“No of course not they would never fit.” He says looking down to see the same army green socks he always wears, not Nick’s. “Well my feet do seem larger than I thought they were.” continuing as he bends down to inspect his feet, Joseph scrambles over to do similarly, though neither notices as they slowly inch even larger across the carpet. Instead Joseph is immediately thrown for a loop hearing a loud groan from his friend as he stands back up. Now almost a head taller than he was before bending down.

“Fuck dude you’re so tall!” Joseph reaches up to put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. Curtis was always taller, a fact Joseph was already none too pleased with, but this was ridiculous. He almost has to strain and as he does finally get his arms up he immediately finds thick traps under his friend’s strained shirt, “Asshole! Have you been working out without me!?” 

“Of course not. When would I? Or who would I even-”

“I mean, with recruiters right?” Joseph offers forth without the thought even consciously entering his mind. It made no sense to him but it was true. Suddenly it's as if some form of static fills the minds of both the men, a warm static buzzes through Curtis’ mind and body as he starts to unconsciously put the newly reclaimed uniform back on himself. Joseph experiences something far harsher in his own mind, the static is unbearably cold and punishing. He claws at his head, no longer able to hold two ideas of who Curtis is in his mind. And it is clear which reality is prevailing as Curtis slides his thicker arms into the jacket, flexing to make sure his uniform is fitting just right.

As he begins to zip up the jacket his pecs begin to make themselves well more than apparent. His decidedly larger nipples poking out as the apparently nylon shirt hugs his defined chest and he struggles to get the zipper closed without being uncomfortably tight on his pecs before deciding to just leave it unzipped for now. “Why would I be working with recruiters, lil’ dude?” He looks confused at his friend, or his friend’s little brother? Before smirking and seizing the chance, “If anything you’re the one who should be working with them, gotta be bigger than that to join up with us!”  He puts a hand on Joseph’s head messing with his hair, jolting Joseph back to this new reality.

“Curtis! Do you not think something weird is happening here!”

“Oh? Did your brother not tell you I go by Curt?”

“My brother? Fuck dude! It’s his jacket! You’re wearing his jacket again!”

“Ah no lil’ dude this one here is mine, check it!”

Joseph looks at the clear name tag on his chest clear as day with Curt’s last name on it, not noticing as he seamlessly uses Curt’s apparent preferred name. Instead he stares at a symbol over the center of Curt’s chest clearly also different than the one on his brother’s uniform. Curt smirks as he points to it himself, “Impressed kid? I’m already a Private First Class, not too hard to outpace Nick though. I mean love the guy but come on! Show some hustle! We enlisted together for a reason dude!”

Suddenly Joseph feels that this statement was a bridge too far. He feels a pit in his chest as he feels he has just lost something greater than he can understand going to slap the exemplar of a man in front of him, “Snap out of it!” Before even nearing a strike however his wrist is snatched out of the air and held fast above his head. Curt stares daggers into Joseph at this sign of aggression, this challenge. His eyes darken as his stubble grows out even more. Joseph feels Curt’s grip grow even darker watching as the hair on his arms darkens spreading out from the sleeves. He brings in Nick’s little bro closer to his face as his warm, heaving breaths distract Joseph from the pain in his upheld wrist before he lets go and guffaws, “You’ve gotta be quicker than that kid if you want to enlist with us! Where is your brother anyway? ‘S why I came over right?”

Joseph is perplexed as Curt lets him go, also unsure as to why this mammoth of a man is in his living room. They are quickly assuaged as Curt gets a text from Nick. “Oh you need a ride did ya kid? No problem! He just wants you to bring over the jacket he left over here and we’ll head on out.” Curt struggles to shove his feet in his combat shoes before finding himself distracted as the shoes push out to fit his ever larger feet.

Joseph’s mind remains a battlefield but it is clear which side is soon to rout as he heads to the closet where he just wanted to grab some beer. Inside he finds not only his brother's jacket, expertly hung, but a second one that looks almost supernaturally comfortable. He pauses before reaching out, feeling an existential aversion to the jacket hanging in his closet. before there’s a brisk breeze through the house and he shivers. Joseph quickly grabs his brothers and slides into the latter jacket, a tad too big but the world around him feels much warmer now that he has it on.

After suiting up Joseph quickly rushes back to his brother’s friend, quite wanting to make a good impression on the private first class. As he rushes his footsteps quickly grow in volume as his tennis shoes thicken into pristine combat shoes and grow far wider as his feet race to keep up, filling their increased space. Barely avoiding tripping over his now massive feet, he sees that Curt is of course not a private at all but his Corporal, as he freezes and salutes. His biceps straining his sleeves as his stained white shirt begins to slowly make room for the soldier’s expanding muscle. “At ease Joe, Let’s go ahead and head on out.”

Curt leads Joe out to his lifted truck and has him get in before loading a few more things into the bed of his truck. There is a load of clearly dirty towels in the back seat as Curt clearly has an issue bringing in laundry after his workouts. Although he doesn’t make it a habit of driving recruits so it’s not usually an issue. Sitting in the musky cabin does immediately cause issues for Joe however, as he puts the seatbelt on he feels his body start to expand in every direction it can. His pecs push against both his shirt and the seatbelt. He pulls his tight shirt down, straining it to the brim as he feels a sudden itch in his crotch. His hand already down there and finding it impossible to bring his attention anywhere else he sees his bulge push out, almost doubling in size as he scratches his increasingly overgrown pubes. He struggles to cover the impossible to miss bulge forcing his brother’s jacket over his crotch, the added pressure and warmth overwhelms him as Curt notices from outside

Curt watches as his new recruit’s shoulders broaden and his jaw widens. He slightly shifts in his seat, almost gyrating, running the hand not shoved in his pants through his hair, leaving behind a respectable high and tight demanded of any respectable recruit.

Curt slowly opens the door giving the recruit the briefest of chances to at least perform decency. Immediately wrenching the hand from his pants to salute, shouting “Sir!” towards his Corporal, eyes growing deathly serious as he touches a visibly sweat covered hand to his brow. Curt’s eyes glint as he notices the action flung Nick’s jacket off and exposed Joe’s still expanding bulge and unzipped pants. The two feel a hunger starting to grow in their chests as Curt hops into the driver's seat. Adjusting his rear view as he juts up once more in height, his jacket making it apparent to all he is now a sergeant, Curt begins to drive off towards the base. 

Curt puts his hand on Joe’s inner thigh, overstimulating the private who roughly clenches his jaw trying to keep it together. He feels pre start to soak through Joe’s fatigues as he starts to rub his thigh. Grunting as he too feels a powerful stirring in his crotch, his cock forcing itself further down his leg. “Wouldn’t want to stop at my place first, would ya’ Joe?” Joe stares at the sergeant ahead of him with a lust deeper than the can understand, and a hunger to grow even larger. Curt chuckles, “gotta release some of this energy before we break the new to Nick anyway.” He turns his car and begins to race towards his apartment on the base. 

As the heat in the car begins to fog up the windows the two men could not remember anything besides who they were since joining the army. After an anything but quick fuck, they would get back to work on the base. Curt distracts himself as he commands his troops and Joe gets ready for his promotion ceremony, ready to rub it in his brother’s face that he was already going to be higher ranked. The two follow orders flawlessly as they always have, performing their duties with rigor. The only thing more present on their minds than dedication to their fellow soldiers being the excitement for the next time they are to fuck.

I see this as a win, personally. From a nobody into a somebody.

Henry had felt hazy ever since going into the locker room at the gym. The blonde twink never had the urge to try and take a shower there before, he was too shy and timid amongst the crowd of burly masculine men, nervous about his lithe figure being judged or his feminine manners being laughed at. But he had really worked up a sweat today, and he hated feeling gross and sticky. As soon as he pushed open the doors and strolled in, he was assaulted by the pungent odor of protein farts, fetid and spicy and reeking of digested tacos. It shot up his nose, made his head start to ache, and he couldn’t help but assume the two large, bulging Latino fuck boys chatting off to the side were the source of the stench.

He plugged his nose as he sat his items down and started to undress, ignoring the muscled men as they laughed and called out to him, their language lost on him. But he understands the word gringo, white boy, and that causes his pasty skin to flush with embarrassment.

As quickly as he could, he jumped into the shower, closing the curtain behind him, washing and lathering until the banter of the bros finally stopped and faded into silence. He sighed in relief, running his thin fingers through his pale hair. When the coast was clear, he stepped out from behind the curtain, and he gasped in shock.

His old gym outfit and his fresh change of clothes had been stolen from his bag! He made sure all his other belongings were still in tact, and then he gazed to the side to see… an entirely different outfit laid out. A douchey get up of gym clothes, reeking of that same spicy, musky aroma, sweat stains around the pits. He couldn’t just walk out of here in a towel! Panicking and embarrassed and just wanting to go home, Henry squirmed into the outfit, hating the feeling of the damp sweaty fabric touching his clean skin. He pulled on the oversized tank top, the baggy black shorts, even slipped on the ball cap because it was available and maybe he could use it to hide his face.

And then, quickly and quietly, he rushed home.

He was so embarrassed and flustered that on the drive home he didn’t realize his hand switched the station over to some Hispanic tunes. He only lived fifteen minutes away after all, and the last thing he cared about was jamming out. The underwear he had put on felt warm and slick against his tiny, bubbly ass, wedging between his cheeks, making him wince in disgust from the sensation. The smell seemed to be flooding his entire car, and he was sure the ball cap was making his hair stink, too. He would shower again when he was home, throw these clothes away, and… he felt so itchy!

He rubbed his jaw, mind hazy and foggy as he felt the rough bristle of hairs breaking through the harder, more chiseled skin. The more he rubbed the scruff, the more his initial fear turned into pride. Wouldn’t he have always rocked a beard if his genetics allowed it? Why would he be afraid right now? He licked his upper lip, the burn of peach fuzz scraping his fattening tongue, a black bushy chinstrap completing its hold around his lower face. His cock twitched inside the sweaty underwear, engorging and pulsing against the damp fabric, shaft sliding up and down against the filth.

He felt more itching and stinging across his chest, but a glance down at his body revealed he was still smooth and neatly shaven. He glanced up too early to notice the douchey Roman numerals etching themselves across his chest. Each intake of air, of that fetid aroma, seemed to make his pecs grow wider and fatter and thicker with muscle. His traps pulled at the straps of the tank top, pulling the sweaty strip of fabric taut around his torso. The hands gripping the steering wheel had become veiny and large, fat sausage fingers gripping the plastic, holding it firmly. He let go with one hand, running it down his torso and his chiseled abs as he felt his biceps blowing up with muscle, so thick and juicy his skin chaffed and rubbed against itself. If he looked in the mirror, he would see beautiful chocolate brown eyes clouded in lust, sun kissed skin taking over his pale complexion.

The bushy chinstrap and caterpillar eyebrows on his face were now thick and pitch dark, and his blonde bangs had pulled up under his sweaty cap and turned the same black shade as his forest of body hair. He bounced his pecs, a large meaty hand reaching into his damp shorts and pulling out his cock, a cross necklace manifesting around his neck and bouncing between his jiggling mounds of muscle tits. His fat cock- wait wasn’t it less than aver- his leaking horse cock was standing at attention, pre dripping down his thick fingers, veins pulsing against his calloused palm. He ignored the itch of thick, dark, sweaty pubes scratching his hand, wasting no time running his large hand up and down the bloated shaft. His waist stretched the band of his shorts as it widened, his thighs and legs bloating with muscle and fat, bones cracking as he grew taller and taller until the top of his head lightly touched the roof of his car. As he stroked, Henry had one final moment of brief panic. Was he really jacking off? What if he came all over himself and his car? Wasn’t he just anxious because he already felt so dirty?

He could feel his fat, muscled ass blossoming beneath him, wiry hairs itching between his crack, his once pink hole now brown and rank and tightly sealed, trapped between the jiggling, juicy globes of jock meat. His outfit was freshly drenched from the gym, proof of his hard effort. He was a man’s man, sculpted to perfection, every Latina mama’s dream guy to take care of her daughter. Or breed her, at the very least.

He was thinking about sexy Latina tits and pussy when his fat cock finally spewed its seed, blasting out the remains of the former Henry with it. The twink's last cry for help was drowned under the man's low, satisfied moan. Enrique panted in ecstasy, shoving his still wet cock into his already ruined underwear. Now his car smelled like cum and sweat, but he didn’t give a shit. That was the musk of a proud Mexican man, and he had no shame. He was only rushing home so he could text one of his bimbo bitches to come over and be bred by him. His hand had nothing on slick pussy.

Leaning to one side, about to pull into his driveway, Enrique wasted no time adding one more foul smell to the car. He rocketed a loud protein fart out of his fuzzy Latino ass, the final traces of Henry’s fears and confusion sputtering out with it. PRFFFFFFFFT!

He couldn’t wait to hang with his bros at the gym and make fun of gringos together again tomorrow.

Someday I want to rewrite this whole story with a detailed transformation. That AI image is yew!

Hello, is this support? I’ve been trying to find your contact info for the longest time now. My name is Chris, I’m not the owner of your product, my best friend Mason is. He and I got into our first huge fight a few days ago. I’ve been pretty down lately and he was trying to encourage me, but nothing he was saying was really working. So he got fed up, pulled out your Chronivac product, and used it on me! I didn’t feel or notice anything at first, but now that a few days have gone by I’ve noticed that I’ve been getting taller, my skin has been darkening to this golden tan, and my facial features look more and more Japanese rather than Mexican. I… I think he’s turning me into him! I showed up at his house earlier today to confront him about it, but when he answered the door his muscles were huge! His clothes barely fit him! And he’s gotta be taller now too! I felt a tingle in my chest and watched in real time as my pecs expanded right before our eyes and he just looked at me with lustful excitement, saying something about how I’m “turning out to be such a hot twin.” Surely this is an abuse of your product and goes against your Terms of Service! He can’t just turn me into his twin and grow us for his pleasure!

Now… First of all… I'm afraid… I'm probably too late to intervene. Pedro and Miguel Watanabe. Fitness bloggers, personal trainers, and models. Whether you wanted it or not… Fate isn't so terrible now, is it?

As for your actual question about the legal situation, it's actually a bit tricky… Your brother took out a family license when you were not yet brothers. It can only be used by family members. So before the transformation was completed, his actions were actually illegal. He transformed you against your will, but then cured it legally.

If you don't want to shake up the world of influencers as a super hot Blasian, please contact us again. I am sure our legal department will come up with a solution. But seriously, is this really what you want?

Working my usual white collar job, I sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if I were someone - or something - different. A firefighter, for instance! I could imagine being a hunky and hairy, manly and musky, daring and dirty firefighter who doesn't need to think so much all the time. Or, even a pair of underwear or a uniform for such a guy. But that's just daydreaming of course. Back to my job, I guess.

snap

I got you, bro. Strip down for me. Your life is about to change dramatically. Yes, take off your underwear too. I need a blank slate. I’m about to create a masterpiece.

Let’s start with your legs. Big, massive trunks of muscle. You could snap the head off of someone with those things. A thin, and chiselled chest, topped with a deep six pack. Look at that thing. It’s a fucking temple, man.

Broad shoulders and huge fucking arms. But these things aren’t for show man, you’re lifting things for real. Trust me, when you’re crawling around on the floor in the dark, smoke everywhere, a massive air tank on your shoulders, you’re going to thank me for giving you arms that big.

Okay now relax. Your life is simple. You wake up, jerk off, work out and you never buy drinks anymore. As soon as you tell someone you’re a firefighter, guys and girls line up to buy you a drink.

Here’s your bunker gear man. Jump into those boots and pull up the pants to your waist. The suspenders go over your shoulders. Ooh fuck man! You’re sexy already. And now put your coat on and there you go. Ready for anything.

Chronivac Twins

The moment I saw this AI image, I knew I had to write something. Probably one of the hottest things I have ever seen.

Special thanks to @octuscle for the image inspiration. Here is a link to their original story.

- - - - - - - -

Empty beer cans filled the table in front of the two men. The room was silent, the TV showing the console home screen, and darkness was creeping in from the night. The night was winding down, and the two friends were enjoying peaceful moment before the night truly wrapped up.

Mason breathed a heavy sigh, comfortable in his current state. He was clearly drunk, but happily drunk. He fished around in his pockets, feeling for the recent purchase he had received that day: a brand new Chronivac tablet. He pulled it out of his pocket, powering it on for the first time, watching the screen suddenly brighten, flashing the Chronivac logo. 

“Check it out!” Mason suddenly exclaimed, surprising even himself with his boldness. “I got this new Chronivac in the mail.”

Beside him sat Chris, Mason’s best friend since grade school. Chris was drunker than Mason was, with his eyes closed and his body still, but he too was in happy state of intoxication. 

“Oh yeah? What is that?” Chris slurred from the other end of the coach. The back of Mason’s head was resting on the top of the sofa, leaned back in an almost unnatural position. A massive drunken grin was plastered on his face, highlighting the comfortable state he was currently in.

Mason held up the sleek tablet to an oblivious Chris. A loading screen flashed again as the system booted up. 

“Yeah, it’s a tool that lets me change a part of my body. Actually it will change a part of both of us. They had a deal on the twins package.”

“Cool…” Chris breathed.

“Yeah. I know you have been feeling down lately, so I thought it would be nice to spice things up for you. Plus, you know you’re my bro. We’ve been buds since we were five years old. I figured it was time we made it official.”

Mason began tapping at the screen, swiping at different sliders and dials. There were dozens of different settings with labels like “Hair”, “Muscle Levels”, “Race/Nationality”… Mason balked at the overwhelming choices and options, but forced himself to stay focussed; this was a change he had wanted for a while.

“So I was thinking of doing some kind of mixed race. Hmm. Japanese and Mexican? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. I bet that would look hot. With jacked muscles, like body builders. And since we’re gonna be twins, you’ll get it too. Sound good to you Chris?”

Chris only smiled and laughed to himself, the way drunk people often do. It was clear he was not fully present in the moment. Mason took Chris’ drunken laughter as a sign of agreement and continued with the settings page. He slid up the muscle slider to the max, added jock personalities and details such as personal trainer and fitness influencer. He double checked the ‘Race’ tab, making sure that Japanese and Mexican were both checked off. Pleased with his work, he continued on to the last section, “Target Selection” and “Transform”. He allowed the device a few moments to calibrate before confirming the two bodies in the room. He double checked that the “Twins” button was selected and hovered over the Transform button.

“All right bro. This is it. See you on the other side!”

And with that he tapped the button. The screen went blank for a moment, creating a quick sense of panic in Mason’s heart, but reappeared with a white, animated progress bar.

Mason looked down at his hands and arms. “I don’t feel any different,” he said. 

He checked the screen again. The progress bar had moved up by one pixel and showed a time remaining of 1440 minutes. 

“Oh shoot! I set the transformation duration to be 24 hours. Well that’s okay. When we wake up tomorrow, we’ll definitely see some changes! Next time you see me Chris I’ll be be a huge muscled-out bro. And a completely different race. And so will you! We’ll be twins. Pedro and Miguel. We’re gonna be so fucking hot.”

A gentle and rhythmic breathing came from the other end of the couch. Mason turned his head and grinned at Chris who had passed out on the couch. 

“See you in the morning, Miguel,” he whispered. 

-

Bright sunlight was pouring into the apartment. The morning was late, but the day was still young. Chris stirred on the sofa; he was now lying horizontally on the couch, shirtless and in his underwear. He blinked his eyes in the sunlight, rubbing his eyelids with a balled up fist, and stretching against the soft cushions of the sofa. His broad feet pushed against the far armrest, and his arms stretched off behind him. He sat up, and noticed his first change.

Looking down at his chest, Chris saw his pectoral muscles had ballooned out in front of him to a God-like proportion. He cupped his chest, making note of how his nipple had slipped down below his eye line, and squeezed the new muscle. 

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed. “Why do I have tits?” 

Mason launched himself off the sofa and dove into the bathroom. The flickering fluorescent light clicked on, revealing the extent of Mason’s initial changes. Below his chest were the unmistakeable beginnings of 6-pack abs. Mason ran his fingers over top of his stomach, remembering the slight beer gut that had been there the night before. 

He leaned in closer to the mirror and begin poking and prodding his face. His nose seemed wider and his eyes were narrower. His lips were plumping as well, into two thick pillows. He ran his meatier fingers through his darkening hair; it seemed thicker, curlier and shorter than it had before. He pulled a strand and watched it bounce back into place on his scalp. 

The sound of a door slamming brought Chris out of his trance. He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main room.

“Bro!” Mason called from the entry-way. “Are you up?”

“Yeah! What the fuck is happening to me?” Chris replied in anguish.

Mason came around the corner and Chris immediately became aware that the changes he was going through were also happening to Mason. Mason appeared to be several inches shorter, and Chris noticed that he was roughly eye-level to himself now. His chest and abs were similarly large and muscled as Chris’ were, except Mason’s shoulders and arms were much wider. Veins pulsed across Mason’ skin and over his bulging biceps. His nose and eye shape seemed strangely familiar, as did the plumpness of his lips. Mason noticed that Chris’ hair was shorter on top with a shaved, faded appearance on the side.

“Mason, what the fuck is happening? I pass out drunk and wake up all top heavy like this! And then you waltz in looking like that! What the fuck?”

“Chill out bro,” Pedro said. “And my name isn’t Mason anymore. It’s Pedro. And your name isn’t Chris, it’s Miguel. You’re turning out to be such a hot twin.”

Chris/Miguel was unable to get anymore words out as sharp pains coursed through his arms and legs. He hunched over, wrapping his growing limbs around his torso. In front of his eyes he saw the muscles in his arms and legs double, triple and quadruple in size, into massive slabs of muscle. His trap muscles ached and burned as the fibres inside re-stitched themselves, growing to match the mass of his arms and chest. Across the room Pedro grinned in anticipation, as his adonis belt thinned out, becoming lean and chiselled, into his tight pelvis and butt. 

“Miguel, we’re going to be so hot!” Pedro’s voice was deeper and more coastal sounding. His jock-instincts were bubbling in his brain, overwriting whatever personality he had before.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Miguel. I mean Chris.” Chris stammered. “How did you even do this?”

“Bro, it was the Chronivac. I told you last night. Just embrace it. I paid good money for this twins package.”

“I need to call them. There has to be a way to reverse this.” 

With a wide stride, Chris/Miguel walked over to where his phone was, but doubled over as a burning pain seared through his stomach. He squeezed with his hands, feeling the muscles underneath swell and grow under his touch. Before his eyes his abs went from flat and empty to being completely ripped. His waist got tighter as his adonis belt and hip muscles also tensed and flexed, just like Pedro’s had.

“Bro, I have a six pack!” Chris exclaimed, his voice cracking as it matched the timbre of Pedro’s.  

“They match mine, bro!” Pedro said.

Chris shook his head. If he could just call the company and explain what the problem was, then he figured he could stop the changes. He found his phone and brought it to his face, waiting for Face ID to unlock. The phone vibrated in his dark and meaty hand, refusing to unlock. In the black mirror of his phone, he saw a completely different face than the one he was used to. His nose was wider, and his jaw was leaner. His eyes had narrowed into Asian-like features and his hair was shorter and darker than before. His face was looking identical to Pedro’s, right down to the plump lips.

In a panic, Chris typed in his passcode and Googled the number for Chronivac. The phone began ringing.

“Hello?” said a voice on the other end.

“Hello, is this support? My name is Miguel, I mean Chris. My name is Chris. I don’t own your product, but my brother Pedro — I mean my best friend Mason does. He used the Chronivac on me last night and I woke up with big muscles and my face is looking Japanese and Mexican? And the same thing is happening to him! He says we’re becoming twins. This has to be against your Terms of Service! I didn’t agree to this.”

A dark skin spot formed on the back of Chris’ hand, spreading across his skin and up his bulging arms. His skin was darkening, to match his new ethnicity. 

“It sounds to me like it might be too late to intervene. Our records show Pedro and Miguel Watanabe.”

“That’s right,” Miguel interjected. He was Miguel, not Chris.

“Yeah,” the agent continued. “So your brother got the Twins Package, and since you are legally twins now, there’s nothing that can be done to change back the transformation. But it’s going to be great being a pair of super hot Latino-Asian influencers, right?”

“Yeah,” Miguel replied absent-mindedly, and in a voice that was deepening. “Thanks anyway. Peace.” 

He hung up and tossed the phone aside. Pedro wandered over and wrapped his hand around his twin brother’s shoulder. 

“It’s at ninety-nine percent,” Pedro said, indicating the transformation process on the Chronivac. 

Miguel felt another spasm in his thighs and legs and saw his skin was now completely browned and tanned now. His legs were thick and bulging, and so was the rest of his body. A wave of emotions came feelings rolled over his brain, and Miguel stood silently in place as his brain and personality adjusted to match his new physique. Pedro stood still for a moment too, as the twenty-two year old twins realized they could speak English, apanese and Spanish and had a long history of lifting weights and posting work-out videos on TikTok. The transformation progress bar clicked up one last pixel to one-hundred percent, snapping the twins out of their daze. 

“Bro,” Pedro said. “You wanna get a workout in?”

“You know it!” Miguel said, high-fiving his twin brother with a grin.