This Halloween, Im Gonna Stuff Fabric Under My Shirt And Into My Underwear To Truly Feel Like A Bloated

This Halloween, I’m gonna stuff fabric under my shirt and into my underwear to truly feel like a bloated piece of bull meat, bulging hard all over. I hope the result would be realistic.

That’s certainly understandable to want to want all eyes on you, but purposely deceiving others by stuffing your shirt and underwear is certainly the wrong way to go about it. As such, I think that it’s only fair that you get a mixed bag in terms of your Halloween transformation.

So while wearing a long-sleeve compression shirt was great at having your friends believe that your bulky chest and biceps was real, it also backfired as it made you completely unaware of what was going on beneath the fabric. As such, you had no way to realize that the fabric was slowly merging into your body and leading to the formation of two glorious pecs that proudly jutted forth and demanded the attention from everyone just like you desired. On top of that, the fabric became truly strained while trying to contain those sizable biceps that you now had.

Yet while you were being blessed with an upper torso that would make any professional bodybuilder jealous, your punishment was quickly making itself apparent through your unrealistic-looking crotch. Stuffing a few pairs of rolled up socks into the crotch area of your tight leggings made it so the heft of the socks squeezing against your real manhood caused you to just feel constant pressure. As a result, you were blissfully unaware as your crotch lost all definition and shifted into a lumpy mound reminiscent of a bulky Ken doll. Of course, all of this would become quite apparent when you were able to successfully swoon a jock on the dance floor to head somewhere more private. 

While he pulled off his shirt and revealed your sizable pecs, you couldn’t help but try and play it cool about the reveal by winking and popping your pecs as if it was a mating call. Thinking the same thing occurred to the other area you padded, you felt no reservations demanding the man to pull down your leggings and get to work pleasuring you and your insatiable lust. Unfortunately though, it seemed as though you’d never find yourself reaching a much-needed climax as the man’s screams caused you to look down and discover the mound that would be your new crotch. Yet while this was certainly an unintended side effect of your Halloween costume, it wasn’t the worst possible scenario as you found yourself receiving some much-needed pleasure bottoming for said jock several times throughout the night…

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Damn, it was a good night sleep. Must have fall into a deep, heavy slumber, but something doesn’t feel so right… Hold up, why do I actually feel heavier? I can feel a heaving mass on my torso, and to be honest - it felt great. My feet are dangling off the bed and my head’s on the headboard. Am I… taller? I need to see this for myself.

I dashed towards the bathroom mirror and I feel my thick feet propelling me towards that direction faster than I ever did before. The switch is at my chest level now. Fuck, is that my pecs? They are huge. Thick and protruding forward so far out. So manly, so powerful. Wait, lights - I need the lights. With a flick of the switch, my dream has turned into reality.

I’m a fucking muscle bull.

I threw up my arms and did a double biceps. It’s so natural now, like I’m meant to do it. My mind’s racing with relentless lust for muscles. My eyes linger on my impossibly jacked body. I must be 8% body fat or lower, that would explain the 8 packs that I’m sporting right now. The chiselled V line leads down to my ever larger genitals.

My grin grew large and wide, as my massive pecs aren’t the only thing that’s protruding so far out.

I'd force TF you into a dumb Filipino bodybuilder that loves to grunt loudly and flex at every mirror in the gym

Filipino is quite specific but I'd 100% be down, transformed into a huge dumb filipino gym bro that can't stop grunting and posing in every mirror, sounds like a dream transformation.

Fucking hell! What a spectacle this man is!

The sweep on those quads is otherworldly.

His pecs so thick and engorged with muscle that his chain has been captured and forced to squeeze in between them.

Obscene mushroom cloud lats poking out, terrorising everyone who sees him from behind.

Delts and traps so juicy they scream STEROIDS

And the veins that feed every inch of him are just fucking porn.

God I want to be this man. I need to be this man.

Simon here tried a very specific blend of JockJo coffee. He started with a small cup each day, but the rush of our brews can be addictive and those cups just got bigger and more frequent as the week went on just like his body, cock, and attitude. Didn’t take long for the timid bookworm to become the cocky dumb alpha you see here. What will a cup of JockJo do for you?

Hey there, been an avid follower for your TF stories and would love to be a subject of your TF as well. I wish to be transformed into a big horny muscle bull, but I’m unaware myself. Slowly having issues with everyday clothes and addicted to eating more and lifting heavier. Not forgetting the relentless lust for more muscle too! Hope to hear from you soon!

Something odd was going on that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Over the past few weeks, you’ve been noticing that your rhythm had been thrown off the slightest bit. You worked as a fitness model-- your trimmed yet muscled frame blessed ads in magazines, with tons of adoring fans drooling over your proportional bod. You frequented the gym and made sure to watch your diet like a hawk.

Then one day, one of your photographers had made some weird offhanded comment about how you’d look hotter if you bulked up, which you’d brushed off.

That had seemed to be the catalyst for all the off happenings that you slowly began to notice.

It had started at the gym. You stuck to a strict workout regimen that was professionally designed to keep you slimmed and toned. However, there would be times when you would be performing curls in the mirror and then noticed at the end of your workout that the weights you’d been lifting had been far too heavy to achieve your desired results. What was even stranger was that they had felt lighter than your usual, like your strength was increasing dramatically.

Over the next few days, all your clothes had shrunk. It had to have happened in the wash, because whenever you looked in the mirror, you were always greeted with the slim muscleboy you were used to. However, none of your pants would fit over your legs and you could never seem to button them. Your shirts were even worse. Your sleeves would always slit apart when you yanked them on, and they always rode up your stomach, looking more like a crop top. You’d asked your assistant to go buy you some new clothes, telling him your size. However, he must’ve messed up because the clothes he’d brought you were ill-fitting as well. 

Lastly, you upped the frequency of your cheat days for your diet. You couldn’t help it. No matter how hard you tried to resist, you always strayed away from your salad and wound up ordering three large meat lovers pizzas-- devouring them entirely in one sitting. Luckily, your reflection in the mirror didn’t show any change since you still had a slender torso and a low body fat percentage.

When you went to a photoshoot run by the same photographer who’d told you to bulk up, you noticed the wide grin on his face when you walked in and stripped down to your bathing suit.

“Lookin’ real good,” the photographer smirked as he took numerous photos. “Real good.”

After the shoot, you looked at the pictures displayed on his monitor, seeing that a lot of them were of some bulky powerlifter. The man was massive. He had to have weighed well over three-hundred pounds with all that bulk he was carrying around. His musclegut protruded far out in front of him, totally obscuring any abdominals he had under them, and his cumbersome pecs were large mountains that rested atop his gut. His thick, bull neck was nearly swallowed by immense traps, creating the illusion that he was as tall as he was wide. This was only supported by his thick legs that pushed against each other, forcing the stud to adopt a wide stance. All of that manly muscle was so hot on the man, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly aroused the more you looked at the muscle mountain.

“Who’s that?” you asked the photographer, gesturing at the beefy stud on the screen.

The photographer just knowingly smiled as he ran his eyes up and down your frame. “My new star client,” he purred.