Elevator Malfunction

Elevator Malfunction

Greg was walking along the corridor. He had just finished his last lecture for the day and was ready to leave the campus and go get something to eat. He got to the staircase but decided he didn't feel like walking down all these stairs, so he pushed a button for an elevator instead.

As he waited for it to come to the floor he was currently on someone walked up to the elevator and stood next to him, also wanting to give their legs a break. Greg looked to his left, then quickly moved his head back. That was Brad Petrović, one of the stars of their university's soccer team.

One look at the jock was enough for Greg to feel his cock hardening in his pants. He felt he was turning red and he hoped no one would see him getting a boner. From his perspective Brad was a perfect male specimen, and exactly Greg's type - clearly muscular but not bulky, tall with a masculine jaw, short hair, thick thighs, that permament arrogant smirk on his face, a constant aura of sweat and musk. Greg, a closeted gay man and an obvious nerd, knew that the chances of getting a guy like that in bed with him were very slim, but he could always dream.

He took another quick glance at Brad. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, which allowed Greg to just barely see his hairy armpit and chest. He was now sure his boner would not disappear for as long as he was in close proximity with the soccer bro.

The elevator had finally arrived and the doors opened. Brad went in first, followed by Greg who constantly made sure there was distance between them. And he made sure his shirt was hiding the bulge in his pants. The jock then pushed the "ground floor" button and the eevator began slowly moving down.

Greg turned his eyes for a split second and saw a few beads of sweat run down Brad's arm. Fuck, he was hot. He wanted to look again, but the more rational side of his brain prevented him from doing that, aftaid the athlete would notice, call him a perv or maybe beat him up.

They were around halfway down when the elevator wobbled. Both guys looked around but saw nothing that would suggest something was wrong. But then the lights flickered and the elevator suddenly stopped. Greg, who wasn't expecting this sudden change in velocity didn't have the time to grab anything, so he lost balance, fell down on the ground, bumping into Brad and then crashing his head against the floor, loosing consciousness for a moment.

A few moments later Greg opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the light shining from the elevator's ceiling. He blinked a few times and put his hand over his face, trying to shield his sensitive eyeballs from the bright lamp above him. He slowly dragged his body off the floor and sat down, already feeling pain radiating from the back of his head.

He turned his head and-- he blinked quickly a few times, because he couldn't believe what he saw. He saw himself, his very own body standing up and looking towards him. Greg was sure he also saw confision on his-- his body's face, but it was quickly replaced by concern.

"Brad, you're alright? Oh my god, I'm so sorry I bumped into you. Are you okay?"

Brad? He wasn't Brad, he was-- Holy fuck! Greg looked down and saw the jersey Brad was wearing on his torso. He almost jumped and turned towards the mirror on the back wall of the elevator. A confused Brad Petrović looked back at him.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" he asked aloud, then flincked, surprised by the deep voice that he was apparently in control of.

"I... I don't know" He heard his own voice behind him and turned around to see... No, he was certain he was looking at himself. This must have been a result of a concussion. He's never experienced soemthing like this but this was the most logical explanation. Yes, this would end in a moment. "I think the elevator stopped suddenly for some reason and I lost balance, and then... then I fell onto you, and then we both... Are you sure you're okay?"

"No" Greg muttered under his breath.

"Oh god, you have a concussion? Crap, we need a doctor to have a look at you" his body stood next to him. This was a reasonable suggestion. But Greg was not really thinking straight right now.

"No!" he barked a little louder than he wanted to. "I... I need to get home."

"Oh, uhm... of course, of course" The other Greg quickly took a few steps back. Then they heard a ding and the doors of the elevator slowly opened. Greg watched as his very own body walked out of the elevator and was gone in justa few seconds. The real Greg, now seemingly occupying the body of a soccer jock bro, stood still, failing to comprehend what was happening around him.

The doors started to close and Greg quickly jumped out of the elevator. He took a few deep breaths and thought about what should he do. He had now convinced himself that all this was the result of him injuring his head during the fall and it would all go away in a few minutes. Maybe hours. Hopefully not days. Oh god, he wanted to go home so bad. He quickly left the building and made his way to his dorm on the other side of the campus.

As he walked he realized his dick had been hard this entire time. And since he seemed to be wearing gym shorts it was way more visible. Greg looked around, hoping there weren't many people who would witness him with a hard on in public. Thankfully the area was not very busy.

He got to his room, unlocked the door and-- wait a minute! This wasn't his room. He took a step inside and instead of his small and tidy space, he saw a fairly large room that almost certainly belonged to a jock. A bunch of posters of various athletes hanging on walls, dirty gym gear laying everywhere, the table covered with empty beers, boxes of protein powder, a few condoms even, and of course the smell of sweat. This was Brad's dorm room. How did he get here?

A thought appeared in his head. It was muscle memory that took him here. Brad's muscle memory. This was not a concussion. Greg's mind was currently occupying Brad Petrović's body. He closed the door behind him and looked around, then grabbed his head with both hands. This couldn't be happening, this was just a dream!

He slowly went further into the room, then stopped as he felt he stepped onto something. Greg looked down and picked up a pair of boxers, with clearly visible sweat and cum stains. The smell was intoxicating. He suddenly thought about smelling, maybe even licking the underwear that was clearly used by the real Brad fairly recently. His cock reacted positively to this possibility, but Greg wouldn't allow himself to use his terrible position like this.

Although... would it be that wrong? It would get rid of his boner, allowing him to think more clearly. No one would have to know, he was all alone in this room.

Greg sat down on the couch standing in the middle of the room and took off his shorts and briefs in one, brief motion, freeing his hard cock. He then put the dirty boxers up to his nose and breathed in loudly. It felt like getting high, the manly smells filling up his nostrils. His hand gravitated to his dick and started stroking it as he imagined worshiping this body, all of its hard muscles, the armpits, the thighs, the crotch.

He sped up his hand movements and moand loudly, still pushing the underwear against his face. He started licking the material and another wave of lust came over him. He was overwhelmed with what he was feeling, his brain overridden by his horny instincts. He thought he could taste the cum and it got him even more excited, if it was even possible.

As he continued stroking though, something happened. The images he had in his head of Brad's flexed arms that revealed two sweaty armpits turned into a topless woman waving her boobs in front of him.

This would be enough to raise concerns, but for the moment Greg was fully controlled by the horny part of his brain, which didn't allow any critical thoughts to arise. He just continued jerking off, not realizing that his dick got even harder the moment the images in his head changed.

It didn't stop there. Next came a memory (wait, a memory?) of Brad eating pussy of some random chick. Greg continued stroking and licking the cum off of the boxers while his head became filled with images of Brad Petrović having sex with a bunch of women. No alarms went off in his head, he seemed to get more horny the longer he played with his dick.

A certain scene got stuck in Greg's head - Brad fucking a blond haired girl, letting his primal instincts control him. As he leaned in to touch one of the girl's breasts Greg finally got over the edge. He came harder than ever before, his jizz landing on his hand, jersey and the couch.

Brad cleaned his hand with the boxers he was holding for some reason, then threw then on the floor and immediately forgot about them. Instead he thought about that blond chick - Beth. Fuck, he needed to find her again. He heard his phone ringing. Oh fuck, he was supposed to meet with Garrett and Trevor at the gym! He quickly stood up and ran out of his room with only his phone in his hand. It was time to get jacked, then find some pussy later. Shit, Brad loved his jock life.

Random question

Does anyone know of TF stories that involve a character turning into an mindless NPC, completely controlled by its programming?

Asking for a bro

Not In The Exhibit Brochure

It was a hot summer day and the city was filled with people coming to be a part of one of the biggest fantasy conventions in the country. Video games, board games, tabletop RPGs, LARP, movies, TV shows, theater shows, even musicals. If one fancied themselves a fan of a franchise that existed in any of these forms, they could be found spending a sunny August weekend in the convention center.

Mark meandered between countless people in the Second Pavilion, getting tired having spent the last five hours walking around the convention area, being asked for pictures and catching up with his friends. This year he came wearing a full cosplay of one of the characters from his favorite first person shooter. He put on a tactical vest, helmet with a full headset, a tactical belt with a bunch of accessories and camo pants. In his hands he was bearing a perfect replica of the most famous gun from the game.

He spent a long time perfecting the costume, both by searching for just the right gear and by spending hours in the gym. Now his broad and thick shoulders, football-sized biceps and veiny forearms were visible for all attendees, which garnered Mark a lot of attention, which he enjoyed.

It was exhausting, however. The temperature inside the convention center got uncomfortably high at times, so he decided to take a break. He fold the few friends who joined him during the day that he was leaving for a while to take in some relatively fresh air, then pushed his way through the crowds until he got to the exit.

Thanks to the fact that the center was basically in the middle of the city he didn't have to go far to get to a park and relax, then find a place to eat and just take a walk through the city.

Mark was aware that many businesses and institutions had various perks for the convention ticket holders, to keep the attendees in the city for longer and spread the economic effects of the convention. He was reminded of this fact just as he was walking by the giant building of the art museum. His curiosity was piqued and he checked if he would get a discount of a ticket. It turned out he could walk in for free, the only requirement was to show his pass at the entrance.

What Mark saw after getting through a quick but awkward security check truly amazed him. He slowly walked from one part of the building to the next, taking his time to watch every piece, all displayed in a well air-conditioned space, which was a nice bonus. The museum had a bunch of different special exhibits currently open to the public and they were all pretty stunning, each in its own way.

Finally, Mark made his way to a part of the museum furthest away from the entrance where he saw a recent collection of sculptures from a local artist. Each statue was an extremely realistic depiction of a person, and they were supposed to collectively represent modern society. There were athletes mid-run, businessmen in the middle of walking in between offices, chefs tasting their newest creations, it was all incredible to watch, every sculpture most likely taking weeks or months to complete. Mark stood in the middle of the room as he looked around and every time he managed to find a new detail in one of the statues. While his eyes were jumping from one piece to another, inspecting every curve and small detail, he was unaware of just how much time has passed since he entered this space.

And then he tried to move.

Mark heard his phone buzz loudly in his pocket. It was probably one of his friends wanting to check up on him. He tried to move his hand to take the phone and answer the call, but it wouldn't move. Neither would his head. Or any part of his body. He was immediately alarmed. Mark tried as hard as he could to get any element within his human form to move even an inch, but it didn't work. His whole body was suddenly completely stationary and he could not control its movements, because he couldn't cause any movements. He started to panic and hoped someone would notice that he wasn't well. There were a lot of people at the museum so it would be just a matter of time before one of them came to this room and noticed a guy in a military cosplay was standing weirdly still.

Except this did not happen. Visitors just passed by him with no interest in the person standing frozen in the middle of the room. As Mark looked with his unmovable eyes at the tourists wandering around the space right in front of him he felt like he was losing the track of time. Was it a minute ago that he realized he couldn't move? No it mus have been almost an hour by then. Nah, it couldn't be.

Then Mark realized something horrifying. Not only was no one coming up to help him, they began to stop in front of him and just look at him, as if he was just another...

Did he turn into a fucking statue?! That terrifying thought seeped deep into his mind wreaking havoc along the way. How could this have happened? Magic? But magic wasn't real! That was impossible, this was a dream, for sure! He tried to move his body even a little bit, but again he failed every time. He desperately tried to force his hand to move so that he could pinch himself and wake up from this terrifying nightmare. But no part of his arm changed position, not even an inch.

A larger group of tourists, mostly retirees, led by a young woman slowly moved through the exhibition space and passed by Mark, who continued to struggle and try to move.

"Huh, the guide didn't say anything about this one. Did that lovely lady talk about this soldier, Harold?" An elderly couple stopped in front of Mark and they stood there and admired him for a moment.

"No, Mary, I'm pretty sure I'd remember" The man, Harold, took a step closer towards the statue.

"Harold!" The woman shouted at him. "You can't walk up too close to the sculptures dear."

"Oh, calm down" Harold responded, slightly annoyed at his wife's comment. "I'm in an art museum so don't tell me to not look at the art." The older man stood just a few steps away from Mark. "There's no plaque or rope or anything, this is a free country, Mary!" He was a few inches shorter than Mark, so he couldn't clearly see everything but it seemed he was just looking at Mark's gear.

"Look. The artist — that Gary what's-his-name — knew what he was doing with this one. I recognize all that gear this man is wearing. Nice work." Harold's tone of voice suggested he was weirdly pleased with the statue that used to be Mark. "This is what a real man's supposed to look like. Not some sissy sitting behind the desk all day."

"Of course Harold, of course" The woman walked up to her husband and put her arm around him, then started gently pushing him towards the other statues.

Mark's brain struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had really turned into a statue! People thought he was a part of the exhibit! How could this have happened? He couldn't come up with any even remotely plausible explanation for what he was experiencing. He then thought that his only hope would be his friends - they knew he was downtown, maybe some would guess that he used the opportunity to get into the art museum for free, which would lead them to the place where Mark was currently stranded.

The group of retirees came back, walked next to Mark and was about to leave the room when the tour guide looked at him and murmured to herself.

"This statue was not a part of the exhibit. How did it get here?" She grabbed her phone and quickly led her group towards the rest of the museum.

Mark again realized he couldn't tell how much time had passed since any of the recent events. It was as if his internal clock had stopped working, ran out of batteries. This whole experience was so confusing that he had issues fully registering everything. He tried counting in his head, but got lost after 20, maybe? The only thing he was sure of, for now, was that the day had not yet ended, but he could not tell what part of the day it was, as the whole museum was constantly lit with this slightly weird diffused lighting.

Three people suddenly came into view and stood some distance away from Mark, clearly looking at him. He couldn't hear the conversation they were having because of the noise from surrounding visitors, but he could clearly see that they were all agitated, talking over each other and aggressively pointing at themselves and Mark. As he looked closer he realized they were all museum employees, meaning they were probably debating what to do with a statue which has suddenly appeared within the premises of the musem they worked for, a rather uncommon occurrence.

Not long after they left Mark's view and he was once again stuck in this feeling ot timelessness. Tourists stopped in front of him every now and then, looked at him for a moment and moved on, while he stood still, holding the gun in his hands as if ready to fight, and yet incapable of it because of some indescribable force.

The employees from before came back, one of them holding in their hands a metal stand of come kind. It had something written on it at the top, but Mark couldn't see what it was. What he could see was the employee putting the stand in front of him and them all looking at it.

"That will have to do for now" One of them said. This time they were standing closer and Mark was able to hear what they were saying.

"Yeah, I won't be able to make a proper one until tomorrow."

"Okay, but it has to be there by Monday afternoon, otherwise we're fucked. Jesus Christ, still'can't believe this happened."

"No time for moaning, Jacob. We have work to do." Another one replied. They all nodded their heads, took one last look at the stand and quickly left the scene.

Mark thought about what he had just witnessed, and it took him a moment to understand - this was a stand with information about the statue, which meant him. It was the same kind as dozens more throughout the museum that visitors could look at for further information that was meant to enrich their experiences. This was meant to hide the fact that he was not here just mere hours, or minutes, or days, or-- he was certainly not here when the exhibition was opened. That fact was probably what had made them so angry and confused before - from their perspective a random statue of a soldier randomly appeared in the museum.

His mind immediately asked one question - I wonder what did they write on there? What was his title, his author, his artistic description or statement? Wait, his author? That was a strange line of thought, Mark realized.

I am Uncontrolled Power.

Wait, what was that? Who said that? Where was that deep voice coming from?

I was created by Greg Duchaime Arreman.

Was there someone standing behind him?

I am meant to represent unchecked aggression and power of the Military Industrial Complex.

Wait a second, what this voice inside his head?

I am the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity and bravado.

Holy fuck, this was a voice inside his head. Was this... what they had written about him on this stand?

Fuck yeah, I'm an alpha who follows orders and crushes any sign of disloyalty.

The voice was talking to Mark. Shit, the voice was talking to him! What the fuck?

You scum, get ready to experience the primal, animalistic force of a toxic man! I'm gonna crush you!

Mark wanted to sigh loudly, but of course he couldn't. Great, the museum employees with their great art wisdom made him a stereotypical aggressive soldier. Obedient muscle. The armored tool of American imperialism. And this soldier character seemed to have appeared inside his head.

I am here to blindly follow orders, enforce them and show everyone what masculinity really means!

If Mark could have rolled his eyes, he would. He was stuck, like an NPC frozen mid-frame, standing in the middle of an art museum, possibly forever. And from now on he would represent toxic masculinity, aggression and military prowess.

Whoever stands in my way will be violently crushed with the power of the American Military and my primal force! Toxic and proud, that's who I am!

Give this bro some love and attention

Geared Up

---

Second original story! Hope you all enjoy it.

Thanks to @mrrharper for providing nice images to use and proofreading!

---

Aaron was never type that would ever consider applying at a security company, much less applying to be someone's personal muscle.

However, the pandemic had struck Aaron quite hard. He was now living on what little he had left in his savings. Needing to pay rent he had already sought out any opportunity to work, but never had any luck. Thanks to the coming of A.I. it seemed his graphic design degree had become nothing more than a literal paperweight now.

In order to make ends meet Aaron he turned the next best option, working at Geared Security Inc.

Geared Security was a new company in town. They were actively looking for new employees meaning he could start quickly if he got through the interview.

Upon second consideration Aaron realized it wasn't a bad deal after all. The pay seemed good, no prior job experience was required, and he would even get a say in how his hours were scheduled.

Aaron decided he needed to take action as soon as possible and rung up the place, scheduling a interview for tomorrow.

---

The following morning Aaron had made his way to the industrial park where Geared was located. The building was a old hangar which seemed to have been renovated recently. It proudly showcased "Geared Security Inc." on large banner plastered on front. As Aaron entered the building, he was surprised to see no one inside. He looked around seeing the brown leather chairs lined up side-by-side in front of the wooden reception desk. Looking at his phone he realized he got there a tad early, still having about 15 minutes before his interview would start.

Despite the amount of job openings the company had he was surprised to see the absence of applicants.

"Better chances for me" Aaron thought to himself.

"I'll be right with you" a baritone voice boomed from the back.

"Ah.. Alright" Aaron replied taken aback by the deepness of the man's voice.

Moments later a large man appeared from the back.

Aaron could not help but notice his massive arms. What's more, the man's traps and neck were equally as developed, visible through any layer of clothing he would be wearing.

"Aaron, am I right?" the absolute unit of a man asked.

"Ah... uh... Yes, sir." Aaron replied, snapping back to reality.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Dan" he said, offering his handshake

As Dan shook hands with Aaron, his biceps could be seen straining against his uniform.

At the same time Aaron, still mesmerized by the hunk in front of him, felt a little zap as they firmly shook hands.

"Alright Aaron, please follow me to the interview room" Dan said, making his way towards to the room located left of the reception.

The layout of the room was simple. A large table accompanied by two chairs placed opposite of each other. Aside from the table, the only other notable thing was the carpet floor and the black door on the right.

"Please, take a seat" Dan said, looking directly Aaron.

As intimidated as Aaron felt by Dan, he also admired the level of confidence he exuded. He always stood tall and proud whenever he interacted with Aaron.

"You're here to apply for security guard, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir." he replied.

Dan scanned Aaron from top to bottom with a stern look as he grabbed the file in front of him and started skimming through Aaron's personal details.

"23 years old... City local... College degree..." Dan murmured to himself as he read more about Aaron.

He sat nervously, unable to read into whatever his interviewer was thinking.

"So Aaron, what made you want to take this job?" He asked.

Aaron realized he might not be the best guy suited for the job since he wasn't a literal wall of muscle unlike most security guards. He was however quite fit always making sure to keep up his running habit even after finishing high school.

"I've always had a knack for justice, plus I'm quite a fast runner since I've done track and field ever since I was in high school." Aaron replied, highlighting his skills.

"Good" Dan replied, nodding in approval of Aaron's athleticism.

The interview continued. As Aaron kept answering Dan's questions, he felt more at ease. He was getting more confident in passing the interview.

"You're hired."

Aaron was ecstatic.

"Before you're formally employed we will have to go over the employee conduct policy and sign some legal papers, okay?" Dan told Aaron.

"Yes, of course, I understand." Aaron answered, relieved at the idea of finally having an income stream again.

Dan shuffled through his stack of papers, finding one filled to the brim with text and bullet points.

He walked around the table, reaching over Aaron's shoulder and placing it in front of him.

Instead of sitting back in his seat, Dan now stood at the door behind Aaron whilst he waited for him to sign it.

In the meanwhile, Dan took the opportunity to read conduct policy out loud.

"As personal muscle employed from Geared Security Inc.," he started.

"You only care about lifting and gaining as much muscle as possible"

"You will be dumb and obedient. You will do anything your employer asks you to"

These requirements caught Aaron by Aaron by surprise. In just one moment he became extremely unsure as to what he was getting himself into.

"Actually, Dan I think I might need a bit more time to think this over..." Aaron started, trying to backpedal on the job offer.

Dan remained quiet as he stood in front of the door they had both used to enter.

Aaron, did not the trust the situation. In a quick judgement he ran towards to the only door that was left unguarded, hoping it would lead him to a possible exit.

He thought it was his best option given that he would not be able to get past the boulder that was Dan.

As Aaron got the door and turned the knob, he once again felt a zap as the turned the handle.

Unlike what he hoped the room wasn't anything close to an exit. Instead, the room in front of him was a small storage closet that was filled with clothes and firearms.

Aaron turned back around, expecting that Dan would've chased after him. However, he just stood there, like a statue, waiting idly.

Then, out of a sudden, vertigo hit Aaron. His vision got shaky, as the ground seem to be coming closer.

"What's-" he tried to say. However, the only words that came out were an unintelligible mess.

In a single moment Aaron had forgotten the situation he was just in.

In fact, he had forgotten it all.

The more he tried to remember, the more he forgot.

When he tried to who he was, or why he was here it became hard to think. His mind felt fogged up.

Any attempt at thinking was hard.

Maybe it was best that he didn't think at all.

Maybe, he should just let the thinking be done for him.

Whilst he tried his earnest to remember, the heat proceeded to only grow stronger.

Aaron felt his normally loose fitting clothes start to heavily strain at its confines. Where a once flat chest was, was now two pair of muscular slabs that started to were pushing his dress shirt to its max.

"Let me help you" a voice called out.

As he looked towards the origin of the sound he was met a sense of calmness.

It felt good to listen to the man.

Aaron just stood there as the man's burly hands made quick work of his dress shirt, ripping it apart.

"At ease, guard" Dan commanded as he moved onto removing Aaron's belt.

"Guard..? Who-" Aaron asked, still struck by confusion.

"Yes, that's you. You're a Geared Security employee, did you forget?" Dan stated.

"Ah.. yes.. I'm a Geared Security guard... Yeah, that's right.." Aaron confirmed, slowly gaining back a sense of his self.

Whilst Aaron was slowly puzzling everything together, Dan had finished undressing him. Much like his dress shirt, his pants had also met a similar fate. In mere moments, Aaron's legs had grown heavily, no longer looking the slim muscular legs meant for running. Instead, legs as wide as tree trunks remained, perfect for subjugating any possible suspects.

"Do you know who you are?" Dan asked.

"Yes of course... My name is... Aaron" he replied pausing in between due to his uncertainty.

"That's not correct is it?" Dan quizzed.

Aaron wasn't sure anymore. What the man said made sense. He knew the man was right.

"Yeah, it isn't..."

"Your name is James. You will be referred to by your designation A501"

A501 realized the man was correct, his superiors always are.

There is no Aaron. There never was.

"You were just getting to work and getting changed right?"

Of course, how could he forget. Like many of his colleagues A501 wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Luckily he never had to think much. The only thing he had to care about was lifting weights and gaining muscle. His superiors would do the thinking for him.

Not wanting to embarrass his superior any further, A501 quickly went to the storage closet and starting picking out new clothes.

He put on his large size 12 boots. Followed up by a pair of brown cargo pants which he had to stretch outward to be able to get over his large manhood. Next was the belt containing various tools needed for his job like hand cuffs and his company-issued firearm.

A501 finished putting on the rest of his uniform.

His new clothes fit snuggly, highlighting his large biceps and strong legs.

Revitalized with purpose and a sense of self the fog in his mind started to clear.

"A501, time to work" Dan commanded.

"Sir Yes Sir!"

A501 was now a geared up guard, ready for duty.

Empty Eyes, Pumped Bis

You can support me on ko-fi.com/mrrharper

tw: slurs

inspired by @user211201

It started with his boyfriend suggesting he join a gym. So he did.

It went okay, he wasn't doing great, which was very annoying.

But slowly he started gaining some muscle mass.

Then he met JT.

He was a disgustingly straight gym bro. And yet he wanted to hang out with him. And it seemed to have an effect.

He suddenly started noticing gains. Big gains.

And JT turned out to be a cool dude. A real bro, but it just kinda felt good to be around him at the gym.

Other meatheads started commenting about the bromance he had going with JT, and he... actually enjoyed that thought. Yeah, JT is his bro.

Maybe even his best bro.

Huhuhuh, hell yeah JT's his best bruh. No one's better than his bro.

Wait, what? There's this guy... his boy... boyfriend? Nah man, can't be right, cause Jt's been talkin' about what real bros do. And he's a real bro...

duuuuuuuuuude huhuhuhuhuhuh

He felt his asshole tighten after a killer set on the bench. JT said real bros have their holes closed in and barely used, cause real bros don't get fucked. They do the fucking. A bro can't be anything but a top.

Wait, what's a top? A bro can only be one way, filling a hole. No other option. So he felt pride in his body conforming to the standards of a real bro. A hole programmed to not accept anything.

A guy came to the gym, some queer has been looking for him. JT got rid of the guy immediately.

He only needs JT, his best bro. They spend every hours liftin' and gettin' pumped and sweaty. Like real bros should.

Nothin' else matters.

Brain empty, just lift. Like JT says.

A sick pump on these guns is muuuuuuuch more important bruh.

huhuhuhuhuhuhuh fuck yeah dude

Waking Up Huge and Jocked

You can support me on ko-fi.com/mrrharper

story reposed with a few minor changes, previous ver. were too "explicit"

Trevor slowly woke up, sitting on his bed and opening his eyes. He immediately felt that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He slowly walked up to the bathroom, where the only mirror in his apartment was located. Every step felt weird, his body didn't feel normal.

When he finally got to the mirror his mouth opened in shock. Then memories from the day prior flooded his mind.

Trevor joined a gym. A fairly new one that opened in his neighborhood. He decided to do that to capitalize on the gym's heavy discounts that were meant to attract new clients. And it wasn't the end - right after entering the building and registering, he was gifted with a bunch of free stuff.

Included was a few pieces of gym gear, which was very handy to Trevor, who has not worked out regularly before and did not have stuff like that.

After he came back home in the evening, Trevor decided to try out the clothes he got. Included in these was a pair of Under Armour boxer briefs that he put on alongside shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He looked a bit funny, at least according to himself, but the vibe he was giving off was actually... cool. He looked like a proper gym bro, and that gave him a... warm feeling. Wait, he was getting hot after wearing all that gear just for a few minutes, which seemed unusual.

And suddenly, it began.

As the warmth spread across his body from his lower abdominal area he clearly saw his body slowly expand. His stomach muscles became visible, his pectorals now pushing against the shirt. Shoulders expanded, biceps growing closer in size to a football. Legs now the size of tree trunks, each muscle clearly visible.

Trevor just looked, in shock and horror, as his body transformed into that of a real gym bro. He desperately tried to take off the gym gear, and while he succeeded with the shirt and shorts, the UA boxers just stayed glued to his skin the whole time. Wait a minute, was his dick getting larger as well? Shit, were these tattoos on his body? Fuckin' hell!

As the transformation came to an end Trevor was hit with a sudden and powerful feeling of tiredness. He took a few steps towards his bedroom, then collapsed on his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

And this is how he ended up here, standing in front of a mirror the next day, still with the body of a jock. After the initial shock of this not having been a dream Trevor quickly thought about the benefits of the change and started flexing his new, huge muscles.

A huge grin appeared on his face as he lifted his arms, putting them in a double biceps pose, and took in the view. He also got quite aroused by the whole experience and his now bigger bulge was clearly visible, straining against his Under Armour boxers.

He eagerly grabbed his member and started massaging it through the fabric. Afterwards he decided to go back to the gym right away. Maybe he would learn something more, maybe he would grow even more.

He quickly put on the clothes, his shorts going over the cum-stained boxers, and made his way to the gym. He didn't know what to expect, but he felt anticipation rise inside him with every step. Finally Trevor reached the building and entered the place that was the cause of his changes.

The moment he went through the door his brain slowed down to a halt. A thick, dense fog covered his mind, no thoughts now coming in or out. A dumb grin appeared on his face, and drool appeared on the corner of his mouth.

The gym's Owner walked up to Trevor, standing still in the middle of the reception area.

"Next one, great." He grinned slightly and looked into Trevor's eyes.

"State your position, meathead." The owner gave the order, but the newly created gym bro did nothing. The older man in turn rolled his eyes. "Of course, you're a rookie." He put his hand in his pocket and took out a pair of dog tags, which he dangled in front of Trevor's face for a moment. Trevor's eyes started following the tags almost instantly.

"You will come with me, meathead." The Owner said, and started walking towards his office, Trevor following behind him. When they reached the room, the Owner ordered the new meathead to sit down in front of his desk. He then turned the monitor towards Trevor and pushed a button on the keyboard.

A video showing both muscular dudes pumpin' iron and a hypnotic spiral started playing and the Owner started talking.

"You are a dumb meathead. The only thing you do is lift and train others to lift. You are as masculine as can get... oh, also... you're gay?"

"Yeah..." Trevor drawled. Droll was flowing down from his mouth.

"Nope, you're as straight as a guy can get." The Owner stated strongly. Trevor felt tingling around his butt, as his hole tightened and closed in, making sure nothing would enter it and that he would never think about his ass in terms of pleasure again.

"You do not think of anything not related to working out. Your life is the gym. You are my employee and obey my every order." The Owner stood in front of Trevor, between him and the screen. "You are Brute. You are 32AZ, you are a dumb meathead." He then took a step to the side, allowing Brute to watch the video to the end.

"State your position, meathead." Brute heard Boss say.

"Personal trainer bruh, liftin' and pushin' guys to become men bro"

"Correct, meathead."

"Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh, yeah sir, huhuhuhuhuh" He did a mock salute, a dumb chuckle escaping his mouth.

"Now go, complete Routine 12, then come to the Reception to receive your schedule."

"Yes sir... bro huhuhuhuh."

"Good meathead. Now go."