Heyy Can You Makes A Story About A Rebellious- Streetwear Straight Boy Who Has No Choice But To Find

Heyy can you makes a story about a rebellious- streetwear straight boy who has no choice but to find a job, so then he neds up in a very rich preppy company, where at first he tries to fight his boss (who is the vivid image of the company) but ends up being dominated, undergoing a transformation becoming his good bottom preppy suited boy? Hope you like the idea even if you don’t end up writing it and ty ;)

[TW: Coercion/domination]

Levi would have preferred to be anywhere but the office waiting room, but he only had pennies to his name and this was the only interview the defiant twenty-one-year-old had been offered. As workers walked past they made double-takes at the inappropriately-dressed young man. After all, he stood out amongst the suits and ties in his puffer jacket and Nikes. The street was his stomping ground, not some corporate HQ.

He stared at the floor, attempting to ignore the bustle around him, only looking up when a pair of large, shiny, black shoes entered his field of view. “Levi, am I correct?” a deep voice asked. A very tall, broad, and handsome man stood over him with an eyebrow raised.

“If you’d like to come with me,” the man continued. He towered over Levi, who wasn’t exactly short himself at five-foot-ten. The man was the very model of an attractive businessman. Thirty-something, broad, handsome, lantern-jawed, and well-groomed. “I’m Mark, the CEO,” the man continued.

Levi felt his heart skip a beat, he wasn't usually nervous, but he couldn't help but dread interviewing with the head of the company.

Mark offered Levi a seat at a large, expensive-looking desk. “So you’re here to interview to be my assistant?” he asked, surprising Levi. He didn’t realize the job would be for the assistant to the CEO, the advertisement never made that clear. He wondered how he’d even made it to the interview for such a job.

“Uh, so I thought this was an entry-level thing...” Levi grumbled in his signature mumble.

“It is,” Mark stated affirmatively, “And by the looks of you I'm guessing you need the work. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Levi muttered, angry with the businessman's judgment of him.

“Well then, the job’s yours,” Mark continued with a smirk. “As long you can guarantee that you do everything, and I mean everything, that I ask of you. Do you think you can do that?” he asked, leaning back into his chair.

Levi didn’t want this job. Or any job, really. But, he needed money, and quick. “Y-yeah I can do that,” he mumbled, unenthused.

“Sign there and we’ll… get you dressed up… so you can start immediately,” Mark said, pushing a contract and pen across the desk as he scanned Levi’s ratty streetwear with a look of disgust.

The young man groaned internally, he wanted to tell Mark to fuck off for his sneering, but that wasn’t going to pay the rent. Reluctantly, Levi signed the paper and pushed it back over the tabletop while Mark reached under the desk and pulled out a large black box. The words “New You Formalwear” embossed the top in gold print.

Levi lifted the lid, revealing a neatly stacked suit jacket, shirt, tie, and shoes. The thought of having to wear clothes so formal made him sick. Besides, they were clearly clothes for a man slightly taller and slimmer than himself. "I don't think these are going to fit," Levi mumbled, "I don't think I even gave anyone my sizes." He turned back up toward Mark, expecting a congratulatory handshake or a reply to his comment but instead watched as the man laughed and snapped his fingers.

On Mark's command, the shirt sprung out from the box and wrapped itself around Levi, as if the man were magnetic. “What the fuck?!” he yelped, powerless to stop the shirt attempting to slide over his shoulders and up his arms. The sleeves struggled for a moment until his jacket and t-shirt began to dissolve away, making way for the possessed shirt. Levi stopped struggling, astounded by his clothing rapidly disintegrating into the air. The shirt took advantage of this moment, slinging its sleeves up both his arms.

The moment the shirt settled the young man stumbled, unable to stand up as he glared at the cocky CEO in front of him. He felt dizzy, his mind blurred. He couldn’t help but notice Mark’s features as he blinked slowly. That face, those eyes, those muscles… Levi shook his head with a groan, “What t-the hell, you fucking… you… y…”

“You, what? Levi?” Mark said mockingly.

Levi struggled to speak, his whole upper body felt like it was pushed and pulled from the inside and out. He growled as his back began to slide up the back of the seat and his arms stretched longer to fit the sleeves. “What have you done to me… urgh!” Levi clutched at his chest, the tattoos that adorned his neckline faded from his paler skin. 

“I prefer my assistants to look a certain way,” Mark responded, “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Levi’s shoulders and chest pulled inward, narrowing his body while taut striations of muscle rippled down his arms. Two small, lean pecs formed in his chest, followed by a tight six-pack pressing out of his stomach. This was the upper body of someone who worked out explicitly to stay thin and lean.

The young man panted and looked up at Mark, fury in his eyes. “Now, now. You can’t be too mad, it looks to me like you’re enjoying yourself,” Mark said derisively, referring to the full erection tenting in Levi’s tracksuit pants. Levi gritted his teeth, ready to snarl at Mark only to feel his hands that were clenching the armrests cramp up. He thrashed his head back into the seat with a moan feeling his fingers curl longer around the arms of the chair, slimming down as they grew. He could feel them reshape; going from dirty, unkempt, and stubby to clean, manicured, and long.

Mark clicked his fingers again. The pants in the box heeded the order, rocketing along the floor and forcing their way over Levi’s legs. His own clothing turned to dust underneath, destroyed by the slacks. “No, no… ah! Augh!” Levi roared as the slacks forced his legs to stretch longer, allowing him to reach the six-foot height the clothes were designed for. The legs were slimmer, having been pulled longer, but quickly began to rumble. Levi wailed feeling his stretched legs pack on lean bulk, not a shred of fat remaining. The partially-dressed man let out a sound he’d never made before feeling his ass swell into the back of the pants. A terrifying urge consumed him as his prostate burned with ecstasy; it needed to be stroked, touched, pounded. “No… I’m not…” Levi mumbled, looking up to Mark. The suited stud looked overwhelmingly enticing to him now. He could feel the desire for this man to ravish him. “I-I’m not fucking gay!” Levi yelled at Mark. The CEO could see the rage on his face, the anger mixed in with the searing pleasure of his changes. The young man’s cock was practically crying out for release, but none would come, not yet.

“If you ask nicely I might be inclined to let you release a bit of that tension,” Mark whispered, leaning down into Levi’s ear.

Levi could feel himself wishing Mark got just a little closer. His overexcited cock twinged at Mark’s hot breath and deep voice hitting his ear. “Mmph… f… fuck you,” Levi groaned with the last remnants of resistance.

“Have it your way, it’ll make for better fireworks at the end,” Mark said, snapping his fingers again.

The shoes in the box slapped to the ground while Levi felt his pants manipulate his legs like a puppet, forcing him to kick his Nikes off his feet. He could see the number eleven printed on the insoles of the polished leather shoes just before his feet pushed themselves into them, struggling against the narrow width. A loud groan billowed out of him as he felt his feet reshape. His soles slimmed down as they pushed outward into the longer shoes. He could feel his toes remolding thinner and longer, sliding along the insole and stretching his socks before they regenerated into longer, classier sheers.

It was all too much by this stage. “P-Please…” Levi murmured.

“Please?” Mark replied, “Please more?” The studly CEO snapped his fingers again with a sneer. The tie that sat in the box flung outward and coiled itself around Levi’s collar. His neck tensed as the tie sent the transformation roaring up towards his head. His wide jaw pulled inward, slimmer and narrower while a small cleft formed on his chin. The scruff that adorned his face shrank away, leaving him smooth and clean-cut. His short, dark hair swept out longer while his features shrank softer and cuter.

Distracted by his changing face, Levi failed to notice the belt encircling his waist, completing the set of clothing. As the buckle closed, Levi’s cock surged with sensation, forcing him to hunch forward and yell with a smoother, slightly higher-pitched voice.

Mark looked at the handsome, lean twink and the desperate eyes he was giving him. He strutted toward the groaning man, seeing the cock pressed hard against his pants. He smirked as he began to undo his fly. A huge, hard, and beautiful eight inches unfurled from his pants. Levi fell to his knees from the chair and took the CEO's cock into his mouth. He moaned onto Mark's rod, feeling his own member crying out for release. His body was still swirling with sensations, his changes still incomplete.

Mark grunted, impressed with Levi's newfound skills. He pulled the young man to his feet and turned him around, bent him over his desk, and pulled the slim slacks down. He rubbed his hands into the transformed twink's firm, round ass and pressed his cock against the cheeks and hole. Levi whispered, begging for Mark to pound him before the CEO granted his wish and pushed into him.

Levi screamed in pleasure as Mark thrust into him fast, hard, and repeatedly. The gorgeous, manly CEO growled as his orgasm approached, his thrusts becoming hard and slow. Mark reached around and gripped his massive hand around Levi's throbbing cock.

The tall, muscular stud breathed into Levi's ear, "Cum for me." Levi screamed as the floodgates on the unbearable sexual tension were opened. Ropes began to shoot across the desk. "Did I mention I like a hung bottom?" Mark growled before unloading into Levi with a deep moan. Levi howled in pleasure as his cock obeyed Mark’s command, stretching forward in length to seven inches as it sprayed cum.

"Augh! T-thank you, sir..." Levi moaned desperately, his orgasms slowing along with Mark’s thrusts. He pushed himself off the desk and turned to look at his boss. He felt nothing but lust and reverence for the muscular businessman.

Mark placed his hand on the back of Levi's head, feeling the neater, softer hair, running them across the skinny abs and narrow waist. He gripped the slender twink's large, perfect ass and pulled him forward, whispering, "I think you're going to like working for me."

Levi couldn't have agreed more...

To the mysterious anon that requested a story- I hope you enjoy

Moving to a new town is always hard. Put aside the expenses, the stress, and the uncertainty, and it’s still a horrible experience. Or, at least, that was what you were thinking as you carted box after box into your new place. To some extent, you were a little bit excited. New job, new house, new life. You can start over, and that means really crafting who you are from the ground up. Much like a New Year’s resolution, you promised yourself you’d hit the gym, update your closet, work on your attitude, and finally go out every once in a while.

It was no secret that you were a little on the thin side, and athletically challenged. So, as you hauled each piece of furniture from the UHaul into your modest New Orleans shotgun house, you got progressively more and more exhausted. Right when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, a clap of lightning thundered from beyond the palm trees. Like the turn of a faucet, rain poured from the rather suddenly cloudy skies. Damn tropical rain.

It was as you were carrying the heaviest box, filled with books from your library, you slipped on a pebble. Both you and the box came tumbling down, landing in one of the notoriously questionable puddles that New Orleans was littered with. In fact, puddle is an understatement. This was like a pothole-turned-pool. As you picked yourself out of the filthy pothole, you heard a door open. 

“Yo, you okay out there?” You turn to your neighbor, the other half of your shotgun house, standing on his porch. My god, was he beautiful. He was an Arabian Prince, built like a stallion and sexy as hell. What surprised you, however, was his lack of clothing. In fact, he donned only a pair of skin-clinging Armani underwear, an eggplant-sized bulge protruding from behind the thin fabric.

“Yeah, my books are ruined, but I’m fine.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his. Even from a few yards away, his dark brown eyes exuded an exotic lust that swept your every inhibition away. He motioned for you to come inside, and walked back into his house. Like an elephant running from a mouse, you booked it to his door, brown water dripping from your soaked clothes. 

His side of the house was rather barren, but very cluttered with clothes, beer cans, and dumbbells strewn about the floor. A ratty old leather couch sat against the wall, facing an impressive flat screen tv, flanked on either side with gaming systems galore. A puff of smoke came from behind an open door, leading into the bedroom. You gingerly walked into the bedroom, and saw your studly Arab neighbor lounging on his bed, smoking a hookah. The room was stuffy, with the heavy and thick smell of dirty socks & underwear, mixed with the smell of the mint and basil shisha tobacco.

“The name’s Karim. Sit down, dude, take a load off.” You obliged, sitting on the edge of the unkempt bed, quietly introducing yourself. “Aww, shit, man. You’re making the sheets wet. Here, just toss those threads over there.” His laid back, nonchalant demeanor betrayed the suggestive rhetoric. Yet, as you slowly and uncomfortably stripped your sopping wet clothes, you felt his piercing gaze watching you like a hawk from behind the clouds of smoke. As you stood there in your cheap white underwear; hookah in mouth, he cocked his head to the right, motioning for you to toss the still dripping underwear. 

In any other circumstance, you’d get the hell out of there, yet, as you stared into those big, brown eyes, you couldn’t help but obey. The underwear came off, was thrown to the wall, and you stood there in the bare in front of him. Completely unperturbed, he leaned to the edge of the bed, rummaging underneath. He tossed you random items of his clothing, clearly not washed for an undisclosed amount of time. 

“Get warm, dude. And take a hit. Let’s get to know eachother.” You eagerly looked down at the clothes he tossed you. The socks had his footprint beautifully outlined in brown sweat stains. The underwear had clear cumstains, with a pungent, strong musk pouring from it. A black tee shirt with pit stains, still warm from use; and a pair of well worn, trashed black Nikes. Perhaps unbeknownst to him, your jock fetish had you giddy as a kid to slip on his filthy gear. With each article, you savoured the idea of his exotic essence seeping into you from the mere touch of his worn cotton. The clothes fitting surprisingly well considering your size difference, you plopped down on the bed next to him, trying to conceal the raging boner pressing against his crusty underwear.

You quickly pull up a pair of old, grey sweats. He hands you the pipe, and you take an instinctive deep breath. Expecting a slow, burning pain, you were surprised to experience the feeling of weightless bliss.

“Yeah, just let that smoke in, dude. Feels good, doesn’t it?” You nod, taking a second breath from the hookah pipe. With each inhalation, the world becomes fuzzier, and sounds echo in the cavernous space in your head. “Yeah, feels good to be all warm in comfortable clothes. Feels good to be relaxed.” Almost as if on cue, the clothes adorning your increasingly limp body begin to heat up, reminiscent of a sauna. “Yeah, it feels good to relax after a long workout, right Amir? I mean, after a hard, sweaty, lifting sesh it’s amazing to smoke the cool, minty hookah.” You knod, looking down at your strong, built muscles bulging out from underneath your clothes. “Damn, Amir. Did you get even tanner? Shit. You fuckin’ Moroccans are so damn good lookin.” You grab your chiseled jawline, flashing a cocky smoulder hotter than the Sahara. Your glistening caramel skin is something you’re super proud of, he’s right to be jealous.

“Fuck, is that another tattoo, Amir?” Karim grabs your gym shirt, lifting it slightly, exposing your chiseled abs and a big Arabic tattoo across your groin. You slap his hand, and playfully push him. He’s your best friend after all, your bromance is filled with groping, spanking, and after-gym musk sniffing. “Dude, as much as I love your stank, we gotta hit the bar in like, an hour. Shower up.” You cuss him out in suave Arabic, and walk across the trashed apartment. As you enter the bathroom, you look into the mirror, admiring your sexy, hard earned body. You were the sexiest Hookah Lounge owner in New Orleans, and you knew it. Amir al-Youssef, your resolution has finally come to fruition.

Don’t Forget Your Costume…

Overdue Halloween special + 2000 follower special

I flick my cigarette onto the empty driveway and squish it beneath my foot. Pulsing coloured lights from within the house briefly light up the slender garden, creating a multicoloured path to the front door. The music sounds muffled, but its definitely audible. It wouldn’t surprise me if neighbours complain. This is a culdesac after all. Police might even show up. Wouldn’t be a Stefan Party without that, would it?

I knock on the thick wooden door and wait. No answer. I can hear people inside. Chattering. Can see them through the garden windows too. I knock again, this time harder than before.

“Miles?!” A voice yells from behind me, laughing. “You’re late too! Thank God.”

It’s Wyatt. The only other person I know at this party, apart form Stefan anyway. Me, Wyatt and Stefan go way back. Well, five years back, but that’s relatively long considering. I mean, I’ve only lived in Brooktane for five years. I don’t know many people apart from those in our course. That’s where I met these two idiots. We both study business at Brooktane University. We sat beside each other the first day of college. Then, boom. Here we are.

“I texted you before I got here. Where were you?” I call as he makes his way down the garden trail.

“I had to run and go get a stupid costume from that Halloween pop-up shop beside Archie’s Pizzeria. You know the one.” He walks past me and smacks the door loudly, never breaking eye contact.

“You ran all the way downtown for a costume?” I laugh. “I didn’t even bother bringing one.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Wyatt looks me up and down. “Stefan said it was a costume party. He said we have to wear costumes.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I dismiss my best friend. “What’d you end up going for?”

“It was slim pickens down there, dude.” He acts like he’s about to profess something bad. “Turns out looking for a costume on Halloween isn’t going to give you the best choices”

‘So…” I smile, ready for the big reveal.

Wyatt takes out a plastic packet with neatly folded clothes in it.

“ARABIAN PRINCE” it read.

I laugh and clap my hands.

“Shut up.” He laughs and smacks my shoulder. “It was the only one they had left.”

“A white boy dressing as an Arabian Prince…” I take the packet from his hands, laughing at the costume up close. “It’s a bit problematic, I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’ll make sure not to be in any photos.” He snatches the costume back. He smiles. “This could be a career ruining party for me.”

“Cut to you in ten years being cancelled.” I grin, turning towards the door. “You’ll be forced to live off the grid as a farmer or some shit.”

The chattering from inside grows infinitely louder as the door swings open. We’re both met with a grinning drunk Stefan.

“Wyatt! Miles!” Stefan throws his arms open, spilling his half empty beer on the floor. “Make yourself at-“

Stefan stops mid sentence and stares at us, as if it had taken this long for his brain to catch up to his sight.

“No costumes?” Stefan furrows his brow angrily. “What part of costume party do you not understand?”

“I got a costume, dude. I just bought it. It’s still in this thing.” Wyatt holds up the plastic packaging with the career ruining clothing inside.

“Ah, that’s my man. Never let the Stefan down. You ain’t gonna like letting me down, lemme tell you.” Stefan slurs. “You can use the bathroom under the stairs to put it on. Or just strip naked in front of everyone, I’m sure someone in that crowd would enjoy it.”

Wyatt makes his way past Stefan and slips into the overcrowded hallway full of every type of costume you could imagine. Vampires. Genies. Werewolves. And you’d expect, a lot of superheroes. Though, one by the window is particularly bad, which does arouse some amusement. It’s mostly what you’d expect from a halloween costume party. “You got one too then?” Stefan gestures towards me.

I shrug. “Sorry man. Was busy. Didn’t have time to get one.”

“No dude. That’s not okay. You gotta be wearin’ one by midnight, man. It’s already 11.30.” He throws his head back in frustration. “Listen. Come with me. I’ll get you sorted out. You owe me.”

“Nah, man. That’s alright-“

“Come with me.” Stefan grabs me by the arm, taking me into the overly Halloweeny decorated house. Too decorated for a college student in his mid-20s. He must have a real hard on for Halloween, cause this is a lot. Fake cobwebs. An old smoke machine, coughing out whatever air it could muster up. Pumpkins taking up valuable space where people could be sitting.

He drags me past a blue genie and a caveman downing shots together. We hop up the stairs and into a secluded bedroom. I stare at Stefan, who is now arms deep in his closet, sifting through piles of dirty clothing which had clumped up on the closet floor.

“Here we go.” He holds what could barely even be considered costumes. He lays the three of them on the bed. “Always gotta keep spares. Since people always seem to forget…” He glares at me.

I stare at the costumes. Half in amusement. Half in dread. Am I actually going to have to wear one of these? I consider my options:

(1) A cowboy. That doesn’t sound too bad, right? But you’re wrong. Not just any cowboy. A slutty cowboy. Ah yes, Stefan couldn’t just lend a nice costume with lots of coverage. He needed to embarrass the people who forget their costumes, or like me, didn’t bother to get one. I feel like he’s enjoying this. The outfit is barely even an outfit. An outfit implies there’s actual clothing. Not this costume. Oh boy, it’s just a cowboy hat, a handkerchief, cowboy boots and a fringe thong. Could it get any worse than this?

(2) Apparently yes. This one is a dog. A god damn leather dog. Completed with a dog mask, a thick leather collar, skimpy pants with a zip in the ass area and a tail (which I’m pretty sure is a butt plug). This one is objectively more embarrassing, I’ll give him that. And it’s on that note than I rule this costume out. Begone leather pup.

(3) The final costume (if you can even call it that) was a maid costume. Yep, that’s right. A slutty maid costume. Like the ones you’d see for women… but in this case, I was expected to adorn a cropped skirt and a cleavage line which extenuates my chest. This ranks pretty high on the embarrassment scale. Is it leather pup high, no. But it’s no lower than a sexy cowboy.

I stare at the ‘costumes’ blankly. Stefan must be into some weird shit. Though, if I’m gonna be immortalised in people’s Instagram posts tonight, I sure as hell ain’t getting pictured in a maid costume or a pup… thing. I swallow my pride and point to the slutty cowboy.

“Ah, the cowboy. Yeah that’s a good one, man.” He gathers the pup and the maid and throws them back in his closet. “You’re gonna be popular tonight, my dude.”

I space out, still attempting to accept my fate as a half dressed cowboy. Stefan dances to the muffled music downstairs, as he heads towards the door. “It’s ten minutes until midnight, so I’ll let you get that costume on, man.”

“I’ll go check on our white Arabian prince downstairs.” He giggles. “Am I the only one who finds that a bit problematic?” I stare at him in resentment for making me wear this thing.

“No? Okay” He closes the door behind him.

I slip on the outfit. It barely fits. The thong is made for someone twice my size. It slips down my thighs every chance it gets. The cowboy boots are a size 13. Five sizes bigger than my feet. I feel like a son trying on his dad’s boots. At least the handkerchief fits… right? My completely average body is on full display for everyone to see. I don’t look like a sexy cowboy. Just one that had its clothes stolen. I look at the clock

11.59

Wow. Midnight already. I should go find Wyatt. See how he’s getting one. His Arabian prince outfit might be stupid, but at least it probably fits. I’ll even hazard a guess and say he looks ten times less ridiculous than I do- AGHHHH.

12.00

What the fuck was that? A green flash? The entire room… it just flashed green. As if a green thunder bolt had shot through the house. It felt like my entire body was just… zapped. I feel all tingly and shit. Like a fuzziness all over my skin. I repeatedly tap my fingers together, my skin feeling particularly soft. I hear a cacophony of unintelligible sounds erupt downstairs. So they saw it too? At least I’m not going crazy. I don’t think…

“Fuck! What’s happening to us, man?!” A man shouts downstairs. His voice sticking out among the frantic yelling. “I can’t think… I can’t… I can… I CAN SAVE YOU HELPLESS CITIZEN!”

What is going on down there? And what the fuck is that guy on? His voice… it changed from high pitched terror to unwavering confidence in a matter of seconds. It’s… disturbing. I know I should check it out… but it doesn’t sound good. Part of me is afraid. A large part, in fact. First a green flash. Then screaming. Now, this man. His voice.

I stand alone in Stefan’s room, listening to the chaos downstairs. It suddenly dawns on me that, while all this is going down, I am standing up here in a cowboy costume which barely covers me. Speaking of the outfit, it feels uncomfortable. I don’t remember it feeling this bad when I put it on. It feels like its squeezing me. In fact… I’m not holding up my thong anymore… actually… it feels really tight.

I feel an itchiness fill my bum cheek. I absentmindedly reach down to scratch my ass, but as I do… my hand… it sinks into a soft round cheek. My hand recoils in shock. I crane my neck over my shoulder and let out a terror-filled scream. My ass… it’s massive! So big that it filled in the XL costume’s thong. I look at myself in Stefan’s bedroom mirror.

“Holy shit…” I mutter.

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. There’s no way. My ass… I look like I have two wobbling beach balls for ass cheeks. I take a step closer, my ass cheeks bounce. They feel so restricted. It’s like my ass is being held captive by my skimpy thong. It feels like it’s gonna burst open, displaying my new fuckable hole to the world. This is the kind of ass you’d see in porns. Porns where the guy can’t step outside his house without some guy ripping his pants open and slipping his cock between the bouncy cheeks. My costume doesn’t cover my new curvaceous figure at all.

Now that I’m looking at myself, my muscles seem huge. It’s not just my ass cheeks which grew, it was all of me. These biceps are as big as footballs. They’re the kind of biceps you’d see on a high school jock. Not me. I don’t even go to the gym. My veins are pronounced, drawing attention to my new arms. My neck looks strange too. It’s almost thicker than my head. I look so different. Sharp jawline. Thick brow. I can’t stop breathing through my mouth either. I look like a fucking meathead.

My legs are also bigger. Proportionately big, but that doesn’t say much. I mean, my ass cheeks look like they came from a guy who had gotten ass implants or some shit. Though they’re proportionate, they’re still huge. Speaking of huge, my chest underwent some changes too. And by some, I mean a lot. My pecs used to be non-existent. But now, they jut out from my body. I’m built like a shelf. These pecs have a mind of their own too. Jiggling at every movement. Bouncing with every step. They feel remarkably soft. My hand just sinks into them, fat seeping through my fingers. My nipples look larger too, like pegs. God, this is embarrassing. Imagine what people will say about these big boys. Imagine what Wyatt would say… Wyatt. Where is he? I should go find him. See if he’s okay.

I tear my eyes away from my new self. I don’t see how it could get much worse than this. And if everything appears like it sounds, I don’t think I’m the only one whose undergone changes. I stumble to the door, adjusting to my new size. I put my new large hand on the door’s handle and throw the door open. Not used to this new strength. I breath in deeply. This is gonna be humiliating… but here we go. I take my first step down the stairs.

The crowds of people in the hall and living room remain. Though, it’s noticeably more hectic. It’s definitely clear I wasn’t the only one who changed. The superhero I saw earlier was no longer in a corny spandex costume, but rather, he now adorned the kind of thick superhero suit you’d see in a Marvel movie. The genie looks like he’s changed too. His skin altered to a crystal blue. It shimmered beneath the flashing dance floor lights. He had lost the entire bottom half of his body. It was now just smoke, trailing from a golden lamp on the ground. People surrounded him. I’m guessing for wishes. This is so bizarre.

I step down the hallway, heading towards the kitchen. I glance at the transformations. A man, who must have been dressed as a stripper, is now humping the stairs I came down. I think I recognise him from college too… pretty sure he was a straight dude. God, that’s humiliating. I walk further down the hallway, passing every kind of costume you can imagine. A caveman. Wizards. Witches. Vampires. A clown. A strongman.

I continue my journey down the crowded hallway, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Suddenly, my journey is stopped by a massive brute blocking my way. He faces away from me. I stare at his back, contemplating my options. What even is he dressed as? I can’t tell from behind. All I can tell is, he’s massive. My new body must be around 6’0 and even he’s two heads taller than me. His width must be the same as the door. I mean, it’s the same as this damn hallway. I hesitantly reach up and tap him on the shoulder.

“Can ah git by ya thair, partner?” I cover my mouth, humiliated by my own voice. I sound insane. Like a cowboy. A cartoon cowboy. No one fucking talks like this. God dammit, this night just keeps getting worse and worse.

The hulking figure slowly turns around, his massive feet stomping on the wooden floor. He faces me and peers down at me.

He looks familiar. I can’t quite place my finger on it. He’s of Arab descent, I’d say. His skin is dark and tanned. His nose is wide, taking up a good portion of his face. His brow is striking too. It’s thick and pronounced. He looks like one of those cavemen you’d see in a cartoon. His forehead sticks out, giving him a brutish appearance. He does like familiar. In a weird way. Actually, he kinds reminds me of Wyatt. Well, if Wyatt was a 6’5 giant Arab beast… hold on… what was Wyatt dressed up as again… fuck dude. Not Wyatt.

“Wyatt? Is that you?” My voice sounds exaggeratedly southern and it sounds even more ridiculous coming out of a cowboy with this huge body of mine “What ‘appened to ya, partner?”

The white boy turned Arabian hunk growls. It’s weird seeing Wyatt so hairy. Well, seeing Wyatt regress into a primitive Arab man is weird too. The whole situation is weird. I’m barely even used to my new body. So, I think it’s gonna take a while to get used to seeing Wyatt like this. I see his a thick bush of hair sprout from underneath his armpit. It plasters to his skin, completely soaked in sweat. I scrunch my nose as Arab Wyatt’s sweat invades my nostrils. It’s a hot foul stench. The kind which stings the eyes.

“Who is you?” The Arab beast looks me up and down. “You cow… you man cow.”

His speech is broken. Doesn’t sound much like Wyatt, but then, why would it? The curse must have taken away his voice, same as it did mine. Though while I got a ridiculously exaggerated southern drawl, he got broken English. It sounds like English isn’t his first language anymore.

“It’s me, Partner!” I plead to my old friend. I can see he doesn’t recognise me. His stare is blank, but pitiless. As if there is nothing in that brain of his. No complex thought. No worries. Just power and domination.

“In my country, cow is very good.” He huffs through his nose. “You are money. Property. I trade you.”

“I’m no cow, partner.” I clarify again. I don’t think he’s getting it. It’s the language barrier, I think. I don’t think he’s getting it. “Iah am a cowboy. Not a cow.”

“Udders… cow’s udders need milking.” He grunts, his gaze fixed on my pecs. I look down. My pecs seemed substantially bigger than before. I assume the transformation hasn’t stopped yet. Though, they do feel especially heavy. They’re weighing me down more than before. It’s weird. But I’ve learned to stop questioning things tonight.

“Nah, partner.” I deny. “Ma chest iss just big.”

“Milk…” He grunts, licking his new Arab lips. His gaze remains on my chest. He reaches out and cups his meaty paw around my pec. He squeezes and a pleasureful moan escapes my mouth. His grasp makes my chest tingle with pleasure. Like an orgasm around my nipple.

“See…” He exhales hot breath from his nose in amusement. “Nothing more than cow.”

I look down to see a shocking sight. As the Arab beast squeezes my pec, a drop of white liquid leaks from my nipple. It’s a sight I didn’t think I’d see today. Me. My pecs. Leaking, what I assume is milk. Like the beast said…

“You walk around me, pretend you man. But you nothing more than property.” He growls and squeezes my pec, causing a stream of milk to shoot down my chest. “No cow be without owner. You need be claimed.”

“No, Wyatt!” I moan through the pleasure of his meaty hand on my nipple. “I’m a man. A cowboy. Not a… cow!”

“Name is Amaad! No disrespect Arab prince, cow.” He slaps my breast, causing them both to jiggle in pleasure.

“No… no Amaad!” I stare down, watching my nipples leak milk all over the floor. “I’m… I’m a person!”

“Cow has dream of being man.” Amaad laughs deeply, causing the walls to shake. “But he never be man. He always be object for me to stick brown cock. He always be object for friends to milk day long.”

I take a step backwards, attempting an escape. But the hulk grabs me.

“I claim you” He grunts, grabbing both of my tits and squeezing them. Milk drips down my body as I scream in pleasure. “I MILKING COW, ISN’T THAT RIGHT? I MILKING MY COW?”

I scream in pleasure. I know people are watching us. I know I’m being humiliated in front of everyone. I know they’re looking at a man becoming a cow. But I don’t care. The pleasure is too powerful. It’s all consuming.

“Amaad!” My moans fill the halls. “St- stop Ahmaad!”

“SAY YOU ARE NOTHING BUT DUMB COW!” Ahmaad yells at me, milking me more intensely. Pulling on my nipples in a rhythmic motion.

“Amaad! I- I shouldn’t. I’m a man! I’m a-!” I scream.

“SAY IT YOU DUMB FUCKABLE MINDLESS MILK SLUT!” Ahmaad bends down and latches his lips around my nipple. Sucking the milk out of me. I feel my brains slip down into my chest and become milk. Milk that master Amaad drinks. Milk that master owns.

“I… I…” I hesitate, my whole body filling with intense pleasure. It’s impossible to think. What’s happening.

Ahmaad unlatches himself from my wet peg nipples and yells. “SAY IT YOU DUMB FUCKABLE MINDLESS COW!”

“I AM A COW!” I scream in unbearable pleasure. “I AM NOTHING BUT A COW. PROPERTY TO BE OWNED AND TRADED. I AM THE DUMBEST MOST EMPTY HEADED COW. AND YOU OWN ME!”

My cock is on the verge of cumming everywhere. I can’t hold it back. I haven’t even touched it. But I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum all over my owner.

“Say my name…” Ahmaad grabs hold of my nipples one last time.

“AHMAA-” I yell as master begins to pull on my nipple. “AHMA-“

“Say it…” He whispers.

“AHM… AHM” I scream.

Ahmaad gives one last tug, my nipple encased in his meaty paw. My udders get pulled by master and my cock shoots everywhere. Without thought, I try scream his name, cumming out all my brains… but only one thing emerges.

“Ah… Ah… MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

————————————

And so, Stefan’s Halloween costume party is going just as planned.

The warlock always knew how to throw a good Halloween party. Turn people into their costumes. It was a cliche among the Brooktane warlock community, but it was a classic. It seems like everyone is enjoying themselves.

Although Stefan doesn’t realise it yet, the spell he cursed the house with is permanent. How is he going to explain all these these superheroes, monsters and stereotypes running around Brooktane’s streets tomorrow morning.

Stefan is going to have a lot of explaining to do. Especially when students start asking what happened to his classmates, Marcus and Wyatt. Will he tell them the truth? That Ahmaad booked a flight back to his home country in the Middle East. And as for Marcus… well… Marcus is now just a mindless cow on Ahmaad’s farm… do you think he will tell them?

Nah, neither do I…

For @musclelover4826, Sorry about the lateness. Moving hassles.

Timmy sat eagerly for Ms. Raymond’s class to begin. It was his favourite: Trigonometry & Statistics. For nearly everyone else in the class, the boring old lady droning on at the chalkboard was not anywhere near the highlight of their day, yet Timmy was not like nearly everyone else. Timmy was the classmate that would sit tall, pulled forward and always paying attention. He was the one with the thick glasses and braces with a heavy lisp. He was the one that got excited for Chess Club and Foam Weapon Fighting. He was a nerd, through and through… and not the cute kind.

It’s for this reason that he rubbed a majority of his classmates the wrong way, and tended to annoy his teachers. His ‘enthusiasm’ for schoolwork was unparalleled, as was his pretentious ego. He had finally got on Ms. Raymond’s last nerve, correcting her every talking point. She called off that Wednesday morning, and asked Coach Halvorson if he’d teach the class, with particular attention given to young Timmy Schnurblich. The football coach, in his usual intense demeanor of course agreed.

So when Coach Halvorson burst through the classroom door, most of the class broke out in applause. Despite his stern and stoic demeanor, he was immensely popular with students for two reasons. He was sarcastic and generally a lot of fun, but mostly they just loved to stare and admire his hunky body. He walked to the chalkboard, and turned around. Timmy’s distraught face was evident to the Coach, bringing a sly grin to his face. He had no idea what plans the school had for him. 

“Alright class. Ms. Raymond is out today, probably getting her dentures realigned or something so in the meantime it’s time to turn in your homework… But I’ll give you the rest of the period to finish it.” The class breathed a sigh of relief, whipping out their half-finished, five page packet of equations. Timmy’s hand shot up into the air, just as Coach Halvorson leaned back in his seat, putting in his Airpods. 

“But sir, what if we already finished the homework, like we were supposed to!” Coach put his second Airpod into his ear and motioned for Timmy to approach the desk. He eagerly bolted to the front of the classroom, taking a seat across from the coach. He handed over the hefty packet, as Coach took a look. 

“Right off the bat, son, we have a problem. This first equation you multiplied instead of added… So all the following ones are wrong.” Timmy rolled his eyes at the coach. What did he know? He was just a grown meathead jock, dumber than a box of rocks.

“Just correct it, it’s one problem out of 100. I know I’m not wrong.” The Coach smiled at Timmy. Out came the red pen, and the coach immediately made a slash mark.

“Question One is wrong, kid.” One swipe of the pen across the problem and Timmy felt an immediate rush of adrenaline. This was the first question he’d ever gotten wrong on any homework assignment. For some reason, this sparked a bizarre reaction in the aspiring genius: excitement. Timmy did his best to put on a disappointed facade, but deep down, his heart was racing with anticipation. As Coach Halvorson’s pen swiped another red mark across his paper, Timmy’s levels of testosterone skyrocketed. He felt exhilaration like he’d never experienced before. It was fun to get the homework wrong. It was… arousing.

“Question Three… C’mon kid. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Swipe. Another question is thrown to the wolves. Timmy felt a stirring in his groin, as his normally inadequate member grew to it’s normal 4 inches. Yet, for the first time, it didn’t stop growing. Inch by inch it continued. 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… until it landed at a heavy handful at 10 inches. The outline of his throbbing third leg pressed comically against the confines of his corduroy pants. 

“Uh, Coach? Could we hurry this up? I uh… need to be somewhere… another class… I think…” Timmy stumbled through his words, a conundrum the Debate Team’s star would never have. The Coach raised a playfully sly eyebrow and continued. Swish. Question Four was yet again, incorrect. In the back of his mind, he knew something was off, but the intense heat that began to emanate from his body; pulsating and flowing with unknown power was too pleasurable to ignore. He could feel the weight of those years of Chick-Fil-A and Burger King drain from the abdomen, to the groin, landing with a plop into his balls. They hung like cantaloupes from his erect cock, exhibiting the same titillating pulsations that wrought his cock and muscles. 

“Maybe if you spent your time studying instead of wasting your time at the Tattoo Parlor, you’d not have this problem, Trey.” The coach’s words stung like needles. What tattoo… What was he… Well he must have been talking about his arm tatt. Well, Steve the quarterback dared him to get it, and he didn’t wanna look like a pussy. His confusion increased as Question Five came and went. Incorrect. He felt his muscles inflate. As if tight balloons were expanding beneath his tanning and inked skin. Twiggy arms became bulbous biceps and triceps. His flabby belly became chiseled and firm. The ass which he was so insecure about became two perfectly round mounds, crowning the two meaty legs and massive feet beneath them. 

“Coach. I’m sorry, I was balls deep in Taylor’s ass last night, and he didn’t want me to go!” The Coach scoffed and swiped Question Six, as his formerly pudgy, round face seemingly deflated. Stubble protruded from his squared jawline, and his greasy, curly hair fell to the ground in clumps; revealing a neatly trimmed buzzcut beneath. Trey sighed as the final question loomed. What did it matter. Why was he worried? Coach was gonna take care of it all anyways. Who gives a shit about Trig and Stats when you’re gonna have a football scholarship, right? The coach finally swiped Question 7.

The tattered remains of Trey’s former clothes evaporated into thin air, as his typical muscle tank, black athletic shorts, signature grey headband, and lucky pair of scuffed, white and red Air Jordans now graced his body. Coach handed the homework back, zero out of seven correct. Trey leaned passively against the chair, his gigantic feet kicked up on the desk, ear buds in, blasting the latest hip hop hits. Coach Halvorson pulled the earbuds out of Trey’s ear.

“Well Trey. You flunked the homework again. I’m gonna have to talk to Principal Howser to convince him to over look this for what, the eighth time?” Trey looked at his feet like a sad child, who had disappointed their grandma. “Jesus, kid. Don’t worry. Just focus on practice today. I’ll take care of it. Now go put some damn deodorant on. You fucking reek, did you even take a shower after morning lifting?” The dopey jock smiled blankly at the command, jumped up, and ran down to the locker room. Of course he forgot his deodorant at home, as he always did. Who cares. He was Trey Williams. Best Runningback in the Conference! He had to keep his eyes on the prize, as long as he could remember to do so.

If you liked this story, be sure to check out my PATREON to keep this blog a runnin’! Thanks!

Hey! I'm exhausted from medical school, and the holidays have been no break either. I hear the party scene is good in Hong Kong and I've never been - can you send me on a trip there?

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations! Get ready for a taste of the Hong Kong nightlife!

You wake up with your face pillowed in something that smells delicious, like musk and salt all in one. You lick your lips and taste fresh sweat. With a happy murmur, you start tongue-washing the big set of lightly furred balls you slept next to all day.

As tan, muscular men start to shift around you, you remember flashes of the wild party last night. A tongue tentatively licks over your ass and you arch your back, grinding your bubble butt back into the handsome face of the man who fell asleep rimming you.

“Fuck,” grunts a bearded guy in thickly accented Cantonese, “we need to be dancing in 20.”

You drop the balls you’ve been sucking from your mouth. “I really wanna cum!” you whine, and dive back in, hearing a horny moan from the hottie you’re servicing.

“Hold it until the big spenders tip you,” the head gogo boy barks, and tosses a mesh shirt at you.

20 minutes later, the club opens and the patrons start coming in. You’re dancing on a table, your erection perfectly obvious in your slutty tights. Maybe if you dance sexily enough, you’ll be the first gogo boy to get a tip big enough to get a private room. Fuck, you love partying all night, every night.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Drop me an ask!

Season 2

Stuck in the Game - Mortal Kombat

Kacey had always been frustrated by her boyfriend's obsession with video games. Ever since they started dating, it seemed like all he ever did was play games on his console. She longed for his attention, to have meaningful conversations and spend quality time together, but it seemed like his virtual world was more important to him.

One evening, as Kacey sat alone in her apartment, she couldn't help but feel annoyed and neglected. She wished her boyfriend would pay more attention to her, instead of constantly immersing himself in his games. Little did she know, her wish was about to come true in a way she could never have imagined.

Suddenly, without warning, Kacey found herself being teleported into one of her boyfriend's favorite video games. She could feel her body changing and growing, becoming more muscular and powerful. The room around her was no longer her own apartment, but a training dojo.

Panic set in as Kacey tried to make sense of what was happening to her. Before she could even comprehend the situation, a bandana was wrapped tightly around her eyes, blinding her. She could feel her body continue to swell and grow, her hands and feet becoming larger and more calloused.

To her horror, Kacey realized that she was transforming into a male character from the game - Kenshi Takahashi from Mortal Kombat. Her face shifted and changed, taking on his distinct Asian features. Her mind was being warped and reset, and soon she no longer had any memory of her old life. All she knew now was that she was Kenshi and her purpose was to fight.

With newfound knowledge of swordsmanship, Kacey took her sword and prepared for the next fight. Her opponents were skilled and ruthless, but Kenshi's instincts and abilities were unmatched. Using his telekinetic powers, he was able to defeat them all with ease.

Kenshi continued to fight, forgetting about his old life and the person he used to be. He had become a warrior in this virtual world, and it was all he knew now. Kacey's identity was lost, and she was replaced by the confident and skilled Kenshi.