Some Days You Just Want To Switch Off.

Some days you just want to switch off.

Ever just wanna "turn it off?"

I'm always so in my head all the time, so anxious and thinking about my future and my past. I really wish there was an easy way to let go of all of that and be impulsive and in the moment. Gain some monster muscles and maybe learn a new language to go with it? Even better. I'm tired of me. Maybe you can help me turn off all the noise and turn into someone else?

You want to be a creature of impulse and live in the moment? Sure. I understand. You feel the genie’s steps shake the ground as he approaches your car. He’s huge, shirtless to show off his bouncy pecs and sexy gut. The passenger door unlocks as he grabs the handle, and he slides into the seat next to you.

Just being in close proximity to his masculinity, his massive, leaking cock and his big sweaty muscles has your higher brain functions switching off. You feel a bit of drool leak out the corner of your mouth as the genie slaps a snapback cap on your head.

All your worries and shit melt away as the magical cap dissolves your previous self. English vanishes from your mind, replaced quickly by Spanish. Even then, most of the words you know are dumb slang. You don’t need to be a poet to get on your knees.

A dark tan flows across your face from the edges of the cap, and your features grow, becoming masculine and handsome. A thick black moustache and beard grow to cover your lantern jaw. As the darker skin flows over your body, you bulk up with muscle and fat, just like the genie. The car settles a bit as your bouncy new muscle ass grinds into the seat. Your slutty holes are so hungry.

When the transformation is done, you lunge across the dashboard to latch onto the genie’s big, hard nipple. From now on, you always act to make sure that you get off as soon as possible. No second thoughts when your leaky Latino cock is making all the decisions.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for

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.

whens the next of the 30 days coming out?

Thanks for asking.

It will come out. I haven't started writing it, but it will. I have been collecting pictures of potential TFs for months. As soon as I am inspired, I am sure it will pour out of me.

I'm sorry for the delay.

So hot.

Hey there! I'm having a debate with my roommate and wondering if you can help settle it. He says that if you gave someone the body of a jock, without any mental changes, they'll eventually start acting like a jock anyway. I don't think that's true. Just because you have muscles and look like a jock doesn't mean you'll start acting like one, right? We were thinking of trying to set up an experiment for our honor's thesis and wanted your input, thanks!

Are you really sure you want to go through with it? We are happy to do it. I'll create a preset for you that only changes your body. But really. 1.90 m tall. 140 kg of pure muscle mass. But everything else stays the same. To be honest, you don't look like you're ready for it. But it's up to you. I can only recommend that you are in a safe and, above all, unobserved place when you activate the preset.

You take a deep breath. You stand naked in the middle of your room. Next to you, you have laid out a pair of tracksuit bottoms, a tank top, a jockstrap, a pair of socks and a pair of sneakers. You can only hope that the clothes will fit your new self. 3. 2. 1. enter!

Wow! Holy shit! Now that was quick and without a transition. You look down at the floor from a slightly greater height. And when you look down, all you see are pecs. Fucking huge pecs. You need a mirror. Phew! Very slowly! The new body works a little differently than the old one… Your center of gravity is much higher up. You stand in front of the mirror. This no longer has anything to do with you. It's more Greek demigod than human. Your cock is getting hard. A huge cock that fits this huge body. You never wank. Especially not in the middle of your room. But now you have to. Not for long. And a huge load lands on the mirror and the floor. Yes, I've changed a few details apart from the height and muscle mass. You've already noticed one thing. You'll notice the others too.

You're convinced that the new body won't change anything. So you act as you always have. First of all, you clean up the mess. You are manically clean and tidy. Then you put on your clothes. The shoes are a bit tight, but otherwise everything fits pretty well. So off you go to the library. After all, your honors thesis isn't going to write itself.

Iris and Rita at the information desk didn't recognize you when you greeted them. They looked at you as if you were an alien when you wished them a good morning. You sat down at your regular place in the library. You like routines. You started working on your thesis outline when Vincent came over. Vincent always sits three tables behind you. Nice guy, similarly obsessive as you. He clears his throat and says that you can't sit here, the seat is taken. Actually, you should have said something along the lines of "Vincent, don't you recognize me, it's me!". But somehow you can't help it. You have to try it out. You cross your muscular arms behind your head, look deep into his eyes and just ask who cares. Vincent retreats like a beaten dog. Three minutes later, you have a WhatsApp message: "There's some stupid musclehead sitting in your seat!" You reply that it's okay, you're not on campus for a few days for empirical studies anyway.

But you're not as productive as usual. Your new body is keeping you busier than you thought. It feels so good to tense your muscles. Your hard cock is constantly leaking precum and is always half stiff. Shit, after an hour you have to jerk off. Fuck, you make quite a mess in the toilet. You try to clean everything up with toilet paper. When you come out of the stall, a student is standing at the urinal, looking at you and wanking. Get out of here quickly, you think to yourself.

The incident is definitely worth recording. After all, you've never experienced this before. But it was hot. As you type out your thoughts, your stomach begins to growl. So loud that Vicent hisses "Pssst". It's actually too early for lunch. But the canteen is about to open. So you're one of the first in the queue. You can hardly wait. And you heap heaps of food onto your tray. You're so hungry.

The weather is good, you sit down at a table in the sun and, ignoring all the table manners, you wolf down your food. Suddenly you hear a voice shouting "Hey, guys, there are empty seats here with the big boy!" You look up. A couple of idiots from the football team are standing at your table. "Dude, okay if we join you?" asks one of the guys, who seems to be some kind of leader. "Sure thing," you say with your mouth full, spitting a bit of your chicken across the table. "Cool," he replies, giving you a fist bump, which you return somewhat hesitantly and also a little awkwardly. And before you know it, you're sitting in a cloud of sweat, testosterone and stupid comments.

You start talking to the boys more for scientific reasons. They ask if you're Fresman because they've never seen you before. You say that you're actually studying somewhere else, but you're here to work on your Honor's thesis. The leader spits his Coke across the table. "Fuck, dude! You already have a degree? In what? Lifting iron?" Everyone laughs. Very loudly. You too. It's actually really funny with the boys…

The boys go to the gym after lunch. I wonder if you're coming too. You don't even think about it. You just say that you haven't got anything to change into. Everyone laughs and asks if anyone is interested. So you go along. It's a field study, you think to yourself. You're observing everything very closely. You don't want to attract negative attention. The processes seem very simple. You copy what you see the boys doing. You even enjoy it. You work up a sweat. You forget the time. The others are gone at some point. You're still here. You look in the mirror. Your long, sweaty hair falls across your forehead. Your friends all have much shorter hair. It's also more practical when working out. You look at your watch. Shit!!!!! You have to get your stuff from the library before it closes. Trevor, sitting at the information desk, doesn't recognize you either. It's already very empty when you pack up your things. Vincent is still there, mumbling something about how antisocial it is to occupy a space you're not using. You don't know why you're doing this now. But you go to him very slowly. You press his face into your armpit. And say that you had more important things to do. Shit, Vincent is seriously licking the sweat out of your armpit hair now? Pathetic little fucker, your new friends would say now. You're far too surprised. By you. By him. Slightly disturbed, you go home. You throw yourself on your bed and think about your first day as a jock. You fall asleep.

You are actually a person who is always well prepared. But you are amazed at how little you have prepared for this experiment. You have a combination to wear. It's still sweaty after yesterday's workout. But you don't have anything else. So this morning you're not going to the library, but to the paint shop. Shopping. A pair of sweatshorts, a few tank tops, socks and jockstraps, sneakers. A bit of compression gear for training. You pass a barbershop. There are a couple of guys inside who are obviously no strangers to the gym either. Fuck it, you think. Down with the long hair!

You haven't been in the library this late in a long time. Vincent has blocked your seat for you. With a few protein bars. Cute! He winks at you when you come in. You raise your arm and smell your armpit. Shit, you haven't showered! Fuck… Well, maybe the little prick will like that even more…

By lunchtime with the boys, you at least want to have logged yesterday and this morning. And you're looking for some literature on the connection between mind and body. Most of it is ancient. Nothing has been published on the subject for a long time. And if there is, it's more about the effect of the state of mind on the body. Less often on the effect of the body on the state of mind. That's obvious, because normally a genius like you doesn't acquire a body overnight…

The lunch break with the boys was cool. The guys are just very chilled, you like that. No highbrow topics. Just sport, fucking and partying. Unfortunately, a lot of football too. You have no idea about that. After lunch, the boys want to throw some balls on the lawn. You have to go to a colloquium later. And Luke said that you should finally replace those nerdy glasses with contact lenses. The visit to the optician was a good excuse not to embarrass yourself at football.

A whole day without going to the gym sucks! That's why you got up early today. You didn't do your thesis assignments yesterday, nor did you get your muscles burning. That has to change. Shit, you're still struggling with your contact lenses. But it looks a thousand times better. You're screaming alpha with every trained muscle fiber. And that's great! You almost feel at home in the gym. And nobody questions your position. In the library, Vincent provides you with everything you need. He fetches books for you and takes them away again. He has also already offered to help you with your work. What a loser! You don't need to order anything in the canteen after just two days. Your extra large portion of extra protein-rich food is prepared especially for you. Twice. You come once when the canteen opens. And once just before it closes. Your body is a machine. And this machine needs fuel. Lots of fuel.

You sit in the library and document the developments of the last few days. It really is only a few days. Reading through the last few lines almost makes you nauseous. Has your body replaced your mind so quickly? You need to get a grip on yourself. You did your Master's with distinction. You're working on your honor's thesis. You have a chance of getting a professorship at your old college. And you suddenly prefer to spend more time in the gym or with the airheads on the football team? You make a plan. Two hours of gym in the morning, two hours break with the bros at lunchtime, two hours of gym in the evening. And in between, focus on your thesis and your studies. It shouldn't be that difficult. You're an intelligent and disciplined man. So let's get going!

You have made every effort. And you actually come to the conclusion in your thesis that the body of a jock does not automatically lead to the mind of a stupid, arrogant and superficial jock. You have fun with both. Training in the gym and hanging out with the bros. And working scientifically and researching the human psyche. But in a lecture you realize that it's not you who changes, it's your environment that changes you. Since you got this body three weeks ago, no one has spoken to you about your studies. Vincent, who you thought was intellectual through and through, just wants you to let him lick your armpits in the evening. Your bros didn't even ask you what you were studying. And then the day comes when you attend your doctoral supervisor's lecture. Since your transformation, you've only spoken or written on the phone. You sit in the front row. You appreciate your doctoral supervisor for his liberal political views, his rhetorical skills and his incredible knowledge. At the end of his lecture, he looks at you. And asks if the young man, who unfortunately was unable to dress appropriately, understood a word of what he had just said. He assumes you were mistaken in the lecture hall. But if you invest your energy in your biceps and not your brain, that's to be expected.

First you think about whether you are saying anything particularly intelligent. To express your indignation at his insolence. To justify yourself. But then you think about what has been really fun in the last few weeks. And who you really had fun with. And you answer "Nah, professor dude! Dat wuz alot of words n stff u sed. I dnt thnk I need all dat for my degree as a personal trainer. wdut, bro?" You make your pecs dance. The lecture hall laughs. You stand up. Fuck the honor's thesis!

You started studying sports economics again. You also work as a trainer in a fitness studio. And you have a pretty successful YouTube fitness channel. You recently received a call from your old doctoral supervisor. He read through the draft of your honor's thesis again. It was all very promising. Why did you drop out? You say that you obviously have to choose between brains and brawn at some point. And you're grateful to him for helping you decide. And with that you hang up.

Spanish Shortcuts

Heyo, Here’s a Latino cultural/racial change, also my first foray into a possession transformation! Lessons to be learned about clicking dodgy links and letting spirits walk all over you!

¡Espero que lo disfrutes Atajos en Espanol! -Occam

The foreign language requirements of any American high school are guaranteed to be lackluster. It is no wonder that a nation so fixed on instilling American and English supremacy was so wont to neglect the study of foreign languages and culture. For his part Claude had just about forgotten all the Spanish that he learned not too many years ago. At the present moment he is browsing the web looking for some way to reclaim and improve on his meager knowledge. Despite his desire however, he is shockingly unwilling to do much at all to pursue this end.

Rather than the tried and true method of studying each day Claude is instead looking for not only the easy way, but an instantaneous way to regain his lost knowledge. This is obviously a beyond foolish endeavor, though having long heard tales of people waking up speaking in languages they hadn’t learned he was deep in rabbit holes online scouring for a ticket to bilingualism. Unwilling to admit that they were just old wives’ tales or shitposts he clicks link after link sure the next one will lead to some fruition.

Deep in websites he certainly should not be visiting without a firewall he actually stumbles on a thread in Spanish. Hastily translating the page through Google it promises the fluency of a native speaker through a single click. Claude scratches his cheek wondering whether or not to go through with it, could be malware, probably just a link to a meme or the like. He looks at the link in blue text, it’s just a name: Carlos Herrero. With little further ado Claude decides fuck it what’s the worst that could happen and clicks the name in blue.

The lights in his room flicker as his hand holding his mouse is promptly shocked. He pushes away from his desk shaking his hand in pain as suddenly there is a chill in the air. He shivers as he hears a voice, deep and unknown, whispering in his ear. “Hola hola hola mi perrito.” Claude shakes his head feeling the tickle of a beard on his cheek and swats at the air. “Ay! Lo siento, ah- ¿cuál es su nombre? Claude ¿Verdad? ¿Me entiendes?” (Ah! Sorry, uh- What is your name? Claude, is it? Can you understand me?) 

Claude looks around his room in shock at this mysterious voice, immediately assuming he’s lost his mind. He shakes his head trying to wake up or come to his senses, after a few shakes he feels a cold powerful hand grasp his jaw. He hears the voice continue to speak in words he couldn’t understand and did his best not to process lest it worsen the state of his mind. His eyes widen in shock as he stares into the space, feeling the skin on his face contort in response to a hand that is not there. He feels the grip tighten and his breathing  accelerates as he starts to hyperventilate.

As if in response to his fear the hand disappears from his face and he feels a heavy arm around his shoulder. “¿No querías saber español?” (Do you not want to know Spanish?) Claude’s ears pick up as he hears Spanish he can just about recall. In doing so his brain immediately reprocessed the preceding events in order to maintain any semblance of sanity. The link must have worked! This is just a dream or something that will end with him knowing Spanish, just like a video game. He just needs to play along until he wakes up. Neglecting how real everything clearly is he addresses the voice, willing himself to believe whatever it is that it’s not malevolent. “Okay, uh I’m down for whatever, thanks for your help, uh, ghost?”

“De Nada, Claudio.” With this Claude’s visions flicker as the chill in the air fills him. He gasps and sees his breath condensate as every inch of his body is ice cold. Claude falls out of his chair and scratches at himself, instinctively trying to claw something out of his body. He rolls onto his hands and convulses, retching as if trying to throw something up. As the seconds pass he feels his body rapidly warm from the bitter freeze, unsure if this is a mirage of heat like the comfort one feels in the throes of hypothermia he paws at his chest.

Before finding confirmation in any way Claude hears the alluring whispers once more, though this time not tickling his ear. Rather it is now a voice within his own head. “Testing testing, ah would you look at that. Now I’m speaking a language you can understand huh? Hahah!” Claude’s brow furrows as he wipes spit from his mouth. This was not the easy nap and wake up anew process that he was promised. As if it had access to his thoughts the voice responds to this. “Ah sorry if I misled you little guy, this is going to be a bit of work. Trust though! It will certainly be easier and quicker than wasting your time studying!” Claude rolls his eyes before remembering since this is probably a dream that at the very least in reality this will be over briefly. 

Claude then tilts his head and asks out loud to the voice in his head, “Why are you speaking in English now?” It sounds just like the one he heard earlier, if not a little more playful as it responds, “Ahh language processors, something or other- Don’t worry your little head about it, in time we both will be thinking in Espanol ya? In the meantime why not jumpstart it!” Claude purses his lips trying to find the inscrutable voice’s intentions as he does so the heat in his body begins to convert to energy.

He suddenly feels as if he’s had enough caffeine to power a body three times his size. He feels every muscle in his body demand attention and exercise as his hands start to shake. “Oh would you look at that! If it’s any help any time I used to get excited or stressed I’d always hit the gym, ya dig?” Already motioning to get changed for the gym to blow off some of this energy Claude pauses to once more try and understand the implications of the voice’s statement. “Sorry, what do you mean you used to?” 

There is then a jarring silence in his mind. Claude stands, gym clothes in hand, without a thought in his mind before the voice replies trying its best to disarm him despite its deep gruff tone, “Ah well, you know how these things go, it’s just dream logic right? This is all lucid dream, the quicker you stop questioning the sooner you’ll be a pro.” He feels a vein of chill air dash through his mind once more and he nods in agreement. His eyes lose their sharpness as he decides to just listen, throwing on some clothes and heading out.

Heeding the voice he endeavors not to question his circumstances. He gets in his car and does not wonder why, if he is truly dreaming, that he did not just poof over. Feeling his heart start to beat quickly in his chest, in response to anxiety in his chest or to the energy only continuing to course through his veins he is not sure. He looks in his rearview mirror to calm himself and sees the same reflection he always has. Claude smiles at himself seeing at least his appearance is static in this dreadful dream and heads in to get this over with, the voice in his cheering him on as he makes his way in. Increasing in fervor and volume with each step towards the door.

Once inside he Claude is shocked as the voice suddenly drops out of his head leaving him once more with the harsh silence of but his own thoughts. After having such a loud visitor in his mind he is almost uncomfortable with the feeling. Stepping up to the counter to check in he greets the receptionist, “Heyo! It’s Claudio hermano!” The receptionist tilts his head as for a second it’s almost like two voices came from the man in front of him. Claude looks down at himself and clears his throat before trying again, “Lo, Urgh, Sorry about that, Um It’s Claude Smith.”

The receptionist checks him in and Claude goes off to stretch. He doesn’t usually spend much time at the gym, just enough to stay thin. But something inside him tells him that today will be different. Something inside him. His head twitches to the side as the idea washes across his mind. Looking around the room to ensure he’s alone he tries talking to the voice, doing so he does not notice that his pitch has lowered, “Hey uh, I know you told me not to ask questions. But did you make me call myself Claudio earlier?” Having paused his stretches he feels a burning in his arms and legs demanding they keep moving. Obeying the pain, his lips quiver as if he’s about to speak and the voice responds, “Ay ¿Crees? (You think so?)Es just a slip of the tongue ya?”

Claude continues stretching carefully, taking deep breaths to assuage the anxiety building in his chest. He is facing away from the wall of mirrors, unintentionally or through some subtle manipulation. Otherwise he may notice as his hair slowly begins to darken to a deep shade of brown. The blonde locks he has always been proud of maintain their length as they darken unnaturally. The thought pops into his head that he would look good with brown hair si? He shakes it away as soon as it appears though, biting his lip to avoid voicing his concern at how much power this “voice” has over him.

Trying to center himself he closes his eyes as he continues to stretch. The companion in his mind is thankfully quiet as he pushes away the discomfort at the silence and instead appreciates the freedom. Little does he know the presence is simply acting on him in other avenues as he stretches. Claude smiles as he feels the burning relief of his stretches, grunting quietly enough that he notices not how his voice has continued to deepen, inching closer to the voice that is not his own. 

The pleasant burn of his legs as he stretches them becomes almost intoxicating as he leans against the mirrored wall. Were his eyes open he would see his calves begin to grow beyond those that he wakes up to every morning. They begin to bulge larger and longer as he extends them. Muscle the size of a baseball forces its way onto them as he stands smiling dumbly. His thighs then stain larger to match pace as they expand to hold the weight of someone a foot taller than he. The soothing burn of stretching hides the soreness that should be apparent and Claude begins to sweat as if he has been heartily working out for some time now.

Not to be outdone there is a whisper in his head that he should stretch his arms as well. Without a further thought, almost without his mind even sending the order to do so, his arms are out in front of him. Each second his arms lie extended they stretch further out from his torso. Claude motions to stretch his shoulders, wrapping one arm around the other, his biceps rub against each other as he squeezes his arm tight to his chest. His arms begin to show a bulge of muscle as he stands there biting his lip at the pleasure being wrought upon him through simple stretching.

Finally he raises his arms above his head to stretch his meager chest, struggling to do so as his larger muscles have begun to impede his dexterity. With his arms in the air and his pits exposed he notices that something has begun to stink up the locker room he’s been stretching in. Claude opens his eyes looking for the assailant, to no avail. He turns his head to the side thoughtlessly putting his nose in his pit, finding the scent closer he takes a deep breath before finding himself starting to chub at the scent. The voice in his head laughs, “¡Jajaja! ¡Nice brazos (arms) perrito! ¿A ti también te gusta mi olor, eh?” (You like my smell as well huh?)

Despite his best efforts at centering himself during his stretches, he is once more consumed with anxiety. He looks down at his body that he knows should be petite but instead finds one that does not go two days without hitting el gimnasio. He flinches as his mind automatically went for the word in Spanish. Wait, did the voice in his head just say his smell!? He sniffs the air and a thought forces itself to the front of his mind, Well this is what I wanted wasn’t it? His ears ring as he is not sure if those are his thoughts or ones implanted by whatever monster is doing this to him.

Claude feels an itch on his hand and he looks down to see the hand that clicked that link some time ago as it begins to darken. He sees a rich tan begin to spread up his suddenly muscular arm as veins throb down it aiming to increase the mass. “Q- What es, happening!?” Claude turns to look in the mirror and finds the tan racing across his body. He sees the patches of his unmistakably white skin tone become naturally sunkissed as his eyes widen in shock. He freezes up and the voice in his head takes advantage and tries to seize control outright, flexing his arm and revealing the thin patch of blonde hair in his pit as it grows dark as the hair on his head and thickens beyond the pale. The voice speaks in his mind deeper and stronger than ever as he begins to outright vie for control, “Tranquilo Claudio. (Chill out Claudio.) Let us see what I can do jaja!”

It takes a bit of concerted effort but the voice, who outs himself unsurprisingly as Carlos himself, step by step forces Claude’s body across the room in his catatonia. Claude feels a smirk on his face as Carlos positions him at the bench press. He clumsily lays back on the bench before checking the weights. Looks like some cabrón left his weights on the bar, though actually it's fortunate as Carlos doubts he has the ability to do such complex motor functions as he feels Claude start to wake from his stupor.

Carlos feels an itch on Claude’s face and he begins to smirk as he feels facial hair begin to grow, “Ay he might have cojones yet jaja!” Claude feels his mouth move of its own accord and finally notices that his voice has lowered considerably and he feels his body struggle as he tries to gasp as hears it develop a deep accent.

Before Claude can wrestle control back Carlos grabs for the bar and starts to do a rep. He grunts as he realizes this body is simply not strong enough at the moment to manage the weight that was left on the rack. As the pole is just about to pin him however Claude senses the peril and both minds in the body force the bar up. “¡Bien Claudio! Let’s see what we can do juntamente si?” (together yes?) Claude tries to grunt out a protestation but is suddenly racked with pain as his body must grow larger to force the bar up.

Both men feel as weight begins to pile onto the twink’s only recently muscled body. Claude feels as pecs develop on his chest, totally ripping the tank top that had grown tight while stretching. Carlos feels as his biceps surge larger than the thighs this weak body had not two hours ago. The expression on his face flickers between ecstasy and concern as he lies on the bench doing repetitions as his core strengthens and puts on mass.

After his chest and arms grow large enough to send existential fear into Claude’s mind and a hungry lust for more into Carlos’ balls, Claude stumbles off the bench and falls to the floor, letting the weights crash next to him. He feels pin pricks as tattoos begin to stain his tanned skin and he cries out in his changed voice, “No! Este es- This isn’t right!” with each word his voice cracks deeper and the English words become a tad more difficult to maneuver his mouth around. Without a beat, Carlos immediately takes control of his mouth and responds as his voice finishes changing to match the one in his head. “Ah, ahí estás equivocado amigo. Esto es perfección.” (Ah, there you are wrong friend. This is perfection)

Claude stands to stare in the mirror watching sweat trail down his body and ink rise in his skin. He looks at his chin as a beard begins to shadow his face. He sees his eyes as they flicker and begin to darken to a deep cacao brown. His lip quivers as if he is about to cry before without any input from him it turns to a sneer as he feels Carlos chastise him without words. Claude feels a pit in his chest as not only does he not need to hear them, he begins to feel the disdain himself. As if the will of Carlos was starting to become his own.

This causes a surge in his crotch as he feels in that regard Carlos has already wrestled full control. He feels his balls that are not his begin to grow and demand attention. They feel full and needy as pre begins to leak out of his growing erection. That happens anytime he goes to the gym si? As his eyes shift down to see his bulge make itself known his facial hair expands and his pubes begin to crest above his waistline. The small bush of pit hair begins to grow into a jungle as his balls work overtime to produce testosterone to power his poderoso body.

Feeling the hormones from Carlos’ balls pump through his veins Claude realizes what a losing battle he faces. He feels his thoughts begin to mingle with the man he foolishly allowed into his body as he begins to feel himself overwhelmed with the pressure and lust issuing forth from his crotch. He feels his fluency in English begin to wane as Carlos begins to overpower every aspect of his personality. Claude continues to stare at his reflection in the mirror and the anxiety and fear rapidly dissipate as he enjoys the power that he wields. “¡Dios estoy tan chacondo!” (God I’m so Horny) The two men voice as one, his voice reverberating through his chest as he feels power continue to surge through him.

Claude watches as his body flexes itself in the mirror without a single thought or any input from him. Not that he minds, it’s doing exactly what he would be doing anyway si? He smirks seeing his cock bob up and down as he struts across the gym floor. Every thought in his head is in fluent Spanish as he feels his identity fully mingle with Carlos’ as they truly become one. Despite this originally being Claude’s body he feels himself shrink and mold as he becomes an aspect of Carlos’ personality. Every action, every word, every movement will be crafted by the two of them. Though altogether Claude will just about always find himself thinking just as Carlos does, and both minds will more often than not be ruled by the powerful hormones coming from below.

“Debería haber preguntado sobre los términos y condiciones, Hermano.” (Should’ve asked for the terms and conditions bro.) He thinks to himself as he makes his way to the gym’s showers to pump one out. Over time even Carlos would forget that this has not always been his body. Each day he would continue to make it his own, increasing his mass and power. Outgrowing a wardrobe of clothes he would never be caught dead wearing. It did not take long at all to establish his supremacy as Carlos Herrero. Though there was some inherent difficulty navigating this land only knowing Spanish, Carlos managed well enough, confident that if needed he could perhaps let his passenger breathe enough to regain some English. At this point however it’s hard to say if any remnants of Claude remain, and moreover if he would even desire to emerge back into his own mind, it is of course much easier to simply indulge in the ceaseless pleasure he has found for himself within Carlos’ mind.

Any chance could u make me be a short guy but with some big muscles and also could u make me a boyfriend who is super tall with muscle?

snap

Oh Honey, you’ve been waiting a long time for this change. Well let me make it up to you.

I can make you shorter for sure. I love short kings. The world is rushing up and away from you as you shrink down to five foot five. You’ll need that tall boyfriend to get things from the top shelf.

Broad shoulders? You got them! They’re wide and you’ve got a big, broad chest to go with it. Mind if I squeeze your tits a little bit? I love Mexican milk. Your skin is darkening, your eyes are getting narrower and your hair is getting darker. You need a moustache too. Not a big one, just a slight bit of hair above your lip.

Back that ass over here a second! Mm, mm, mm! We’ll thicken up your mid-second and stomach so there’s more of you to love. Hell yeah bro. Looking fine as hell. You’re short and broad but you’re hot as fuck. Step into that thong too. Actually, before you do I’m gonna thicken up your penis. But say goodbye to your foreskin first. Love the dark colour of the skin too. Okay, that thong is gonna make your whole package stand out. It’s going to drive the people wild!