Aware Wolf

Aware Wolf

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

“You’re a fucking fascist,” the subRedditor from 4chan said to me. I could picture his nattering little voice in my head. “Can’t anyone take a joke anymore?” I tried to argue back. “I was being ironic.” “Well, ContraPoints said in her video on the alt-right that ironic usage often leads to actual fascism, which is why it’s this sort of material is not acceptable to use, and why it needs to be stomped out. Before he transitioned to female, he noted that he was just ironically dressing as transgender, and look what happened, now he’s a she.”

These lefties were so paranoid, so crazy, so outright delusional. I took a swig of Fireball. I didn’t see myself as a leftie, more of a centrist. I voted for Obama, and held my nose and voted for Hillary, but I did thing the right-wingers had some points and were good Americans, too. Now even I’m the fascist? I took another swig.

“What if there is truth to that?” I started to wonder. “What if I’m really turning alt-right and just ironically mocking them because it really is the path I’m headed down? I did know that sometimes, when I pretended to get all Fight Club, or when I interacted with right-wing ideas, even to mock them, it did get me kind of hard. It did get me kind of turned on. It was weird to admit. It wasn’t the ideas themselves, really. It was the barechested, testosterone-infused masculinity of it all. Most lefties were the sort of wet noodle who made itself hard to be attracted to, always calling me daddy, always insisting I pay for dinner, even though they were the ones with rich parents who still contributed to their bank accounts and fixed problems for them. They had nothing to offer. It was so frustrating, man. I’m a good person. Why does the world have to be so fucked up right now?

I slammed down the bottle on my desk. Sometimes just acting like a pissed off man felt good to me. I didn’t really act like that, but just would act so for myself – for effect – when nobody’s around. I took one more swig. Just because this had been such a crazy day and they were being such. little. bitches. online… I took a swig. I seriously feel like I could punch through the particle board of the basement door right now just for effect. Just to see what punching through a board feels like. I wonder if it would hurt my hand. The door was probably weak enough… it needed to be replaced anyhow due to a hinge not fitting the frame right….

POW it goes. I hit it as it splinters.

That was the trigger, I realised three months later. The trigger online that caused the change, that helped me find my true nature, the trigger that brought me to my true identity. That was the moment I decisively answered the call of my own destiny and fought back.

I searched out scientists. I found my injections, which helped me find the muscle and body hair my body had previously been lacking in. My cock started leaking more pre, and I had to cum at least twice a day now most days, not once, because my sex drive was just so much naturally higher now, in part from all the active activity instead of online activity. I took up weight training, folkstyle wrestling, and Taekwondo. I started reading about the symbology, from the wolfsangel – I sometimes now refer to myself as a wolf trap – to the black sun – love that song, black hole sun by Soundgarden – to the Labrys, anything a lot of guys use to wash away the pain caused by these folks trying to push their degradations on the world.

There’s fur on these forearms now, fur that wasn’t there before. It just makes me feel hot, like I’ve wolfed out, like I’ve freed this beast that they had caged so long.

It’s on my chest, too, crawls up above the collarbone even. Guys love it. Nothing like a furry chest rubbing against another furry chest, the feel of the hair entwining, the feel of your lover’s masculinity, the musk of his scent getting tangled up in your own fur, too.

My armpit goes from this smooth, shaved, clean place I used to hide under t-shirts to thicker and wilder by the day. The scant hair, week by week, was filling in, getting bushy, brambly, wild and thick, and with such a scent, man, sometimes I just flex and my own scent fills these nostrils and I feel like such a man. Such a fucking beast. A werebeast of sort, born of the hate and control mechanisms sent my way, and nothing gets me harder than the idea of utterly destroying the American left. Socialist Europe is too full of wimps, and the Eastern Bloc has seen a lot of masculine revival, which it never really lost hold of, it being a part of the culture for so long, so much depth there, man. Communism tried to kill the beast there, but it couldn’t. It’s different than our sissified nation. And these lefties, they love a guy like me, loathe as they are to admit it. Gets em so hard. So wet and leaking at the tip. I love to choke em and hurt their ass in bed, fuck knows they don’t have any skills so might as well make the experience violent. They don’t know how to be sensual and make a partner feel good, so why should I have to know it? Only I do know it, man, and I do make them feel good, but at the same time I know how to cunt them hard and make em scream. Just think how much hotter, how much more vain and sensual, how much more full of fucking sex and hot passion the world would be without them all…

I used to never show off this body in public now, but now I do. Love trying to catch guys catch a glimpse of this sweaty, ever-denser, increasingly-wiry pit fur and act like they aren’t trying to look. Act like they aren’t noticing… but I can see a lot. Call it the electric eye of a truly woke wolfman. Makes em hard. And I got an injection to get tonight, man, and just watch as a week or two from now, it’s gonna be even hairier, thicker and wolfier… there’s no other word for it, man, wolfier, I feel like a fuckin’ wolf now… and it feels soooo got when I got a tongue in there, even better a real man’s tongue, a man with the same values, same code signals, same highly sexual sensibility. You know what I mean about real men, dude. And if you want to know more, well… I highly encourage you find out. It started with just a little irony out of me, but look at me now.

Unknown Title 3

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

It had started off as just a funny flirty prank between him and his friend Michelle. On a long weekend before exams, they were going to take a study break (procrastinate, really...) and go to the local mall. Michelle's roommate Tricia tagged along as well, probably so it didn't feel like a date. Justin had been friends with Michelle since their freshman year. He had a crush on her from time to time, but had never acted on it. He sensed that he was always going to be in the "friend zone" and had learned to just enjoy that privilege instead of pushing his luck. Maybe things would turn around some day.

Michelle and Tricia were trying on sunglasses inside one of the stores, giggling madly. Justin was shyly killing time while they laughed about which glasses looked cool and which looked stupid. "How about these?" said Michelle, "for Justin!" she added as she walked over. They were a pair of shaded aviator-style glasses. "Try 'em on, Justin," said Tricia. Justin shook his head. "Oh, come on!" they both pleaded. "Please..."

"No, I don't want to try them on," Justin protested, a little too loudly and aggressively. "Geesh, you don't have to be an asshole about it!" said Tricia.

"I think they would make you look cool," said Michelle. He couldn't read whether this was sarcasm or not, but decided to yield and put on the stupid glasses. When he put them on, Tricia stifled a giggle and Michelle tried to look supportive. But one look in the mirror made Justin blush. He felt stupid and ashamed, nothing like the cool and unattached man he would expect to wear something like these.

He slammed them back on the rack. "They make me look like a douche bag."

"Well, you sort of are a douche bag," Tricia replied. Michelle was looking away, letting Tricia have her moment.

"What?!" Justin replied.

"You don't even know, do you? You come out to the mall with us to have fun and do nothing but pout. We are trying to have a good time and you are just a downer all the time. And, you're oblivious to it?"

Justin tried to get Michelle to bail him out, but she was still looking away.

"And you've got so many damn opinions! And you always think you're right, all the time!"

"Wow. I don't have to stand here and listen to this," he said walking towards the doors back into the mall.

"Exactly, my point, asshole!" Tricia shouted after him.

When he got to his car, he saw that his phone had a message on it -- a text from Michelle: "Sorry. You're not an asshole."

He texted back: "Thanks. I'm going back to my room. Have a good night."

Back on campus, he swung by the library to print off a study guide his professor had sent to his class. And he bought a burger and fries at the campus grill. He felt stupid for making a scene at the mall. He hoped that Michelle didn't think he was judgmental or opinionated. He thought the night was going fine, even if Tricia was there. Maybe he was oblivious!

When he got back to his dorm, his roommate Kyle was sprawled out on the couch playing video games in his boxers.

"Dude! Where've you been?" he asked.

"No where...studying," he answered.

"Studying is for losers," he laughed back. "Oh ... Michelle stopped by looking for you. Were you going to meet her tonight?"

"Yeah, we went to the mall hours ago. Geez, Kyle, have you been playing this game all day!"

"Who gives a fuck what you think, Justin!" he answered angrily. In his head, Justin replayed what Tricia had shouted earlier that evening.

On his desk, he saw a note and what looked like a sun glasses case.

"For my favorite asshole! ~ Michelle"

"Fuck!" he whispered under his breath as slammed his hand on the desk. He was angry, but new that Michelle was just trying to take pity on him. That made him even angrier!

Kyle's character took a bullet through the head and he shouted obscenely. Justin looked over at him and asked loudly, "When did Michelle drop these off!"

"I don't know, 20 minutes ago?"

"Was Tricia with her."

"Tricia? Oh, that's her name! Hate that chick! Yeah, they were trying not to laugh."

"That bitch!"

"Easy dude. What's wrong."

Justin held up the pair of sunglasses and then put them on. Kyle started laughing uncontrollably.

"Did you pick those out? I mean, dude, you could never pull those off."

"Why not?" Justin asked.

"You don't have the balls. I mean, you're way to insecure."

"Insecure? Wow, didn't think you even knew that word, Kyle."

The look on Kyle's face changed instantly. "Fuck off! You know, maybe you should wear them. Only a total dick would wear 'em anyways!" On the screen of Kyle's game he saw his friends chatting, clearly upset that he hadn't spawned again to help out. He switched on his headset and told his team.

"Guys, sorry. My roommate's being a dick. I'm headed over to Nick's place. It'll only be a minute." He switched off the game, ignoring their protests. Kyle grabbed a pair of smelly gym shorts, a t-shirt with holes in it, and his flip flops and walked down the hall to his friend's room. Justin was used to this. He actually cared about getting good grades, so Kyle's gaming habit led to a lot of frustration. Usually, the solution was for Kyle to join his friends in another room. Justin took off the stupid glasses and sat down on his computer. He tried studying for a few minutes, but then started randomly browsing the internet. It started as general searches about upcoming movies, video games, things going on around campus, but somehow, it turned into looking at pictures of guys wearing sunglasses. He typed into the search bar: "Do sunglasses make you look like an asshole?" There were pictures of sexy men with sunglasses and comments about whether or not it made them attractive or unattractive. This led him to type another stupid question into the search bar: "Am I an asshole?"

There were a few results, most of them dumb quizzes on line. He clicked on one from a website called "Insecurities.com" with the title "Watch this video to find out if you're an asshole?" As soon as he clicked on the link, he felt something change in the room. It was like all the lights had dimmed and the sound faded away. The video lit up the screen and he heard a drone-like sound coming from his speakers. Over top of the sound was a calm and soothing voice.

"Listen closely and relax. You are watching this video because you have questions. But I want you to stop thinking about the questions and start listening for the answers. Just relax and let my voice become your thoughts. All you need to do is listen and you will know the answer. You have chosen to listen. And you have chosen to hear the answer."

Justin's focus on the computer continued to increase. He couldn't look away. He couldn't move. All he could do was listen and stare blankly into the white-blue screen. The video showed hypnotic fractals and swirls, which were drawing him in deeper and deeper. The voice seemed to drift off, making him have to listen more and more carefully.

"You are listening for the answer. Listen closer. The answer is here. Listen closer. Listen. Listen."

He thought he heard a distant voice. A voice that was inside his head, not in the computer. It was the smallest whisper.

"You are an asshole," said the voice. "You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You don't care what others think. You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You like the way you look. You look confident and you are confident. What other people look like or think like doesn't matter. You are an asshole. You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want and you go out and get it. You are an asshole. If someone criticizes you or your choices, you don't care. If someone confronts you about something, you ignore them. Everyone you know already knows the answer. You are an asshole. They know it. You know it. If they treat you differently, it is because you are an asshole. And you don't care. When this video stops, you will wake up. You will not remember this video. But, you will know the answer. You are an asshole."

The video stopped and Justin felt the room brighten and return to normal. At least, Justin felt like it was normal. He picked up his phone and saw that he must have texted Michelle and she had replied.

"A party tonight? Isn't it kind of late. This isn't like you."

"Whatever. I'm going. Meet you there," he texted back. He never used to be so short with Michelle, but he was tired of being pushed around and felt a confidence growing inside him. For a second, he had a fleeting thought that he should apologize at the party, but heard a voice say inside of his head, "Whatever." At the sound of this voice, he felt a warm sensation in his chest, like his shirt was sweaty and tight. He walked over to his dresser and pulled off his shirt. "What the fuck!?" he said aloud. He was startled that he had said the f-word, because he rarely swore. What was even more surprising was what he saw in the mirror. His chest was glistening with sweat, showing his tight pecs and chiseled abs. He flexed his arms a little and gave himself the "sexy" stare. It was like he was a completely different person -- completely unrecognizable. He stared into his own eyes and saw his old self -- insecure, worried, second-guessing, weak. He heard a voice in his head saying, "You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want..." He grabbed the pair of glasses off his desk and put them on. A haze seemed to wash through his mind now that he couldn't make eye contact with his old, vulnerable self. He stole some of his roommates product and gelled his hair. He took one of his jackets and ripped the sleeves off. He felt invigorated by this new identity. He felt like he could do anything.

--

The party was a block from campus at a friend's apartment. When he showed up, all eyes were on him, but instead of laughter, most people just stared in shock, jealousy, or flirtation. At least three girls gave him "the look" before he found Michelle and Tricia at the back of the party.

"Justin ... you look ... I mean ..." fumbled Michelle. She looked concerned.

Tricia was giggling to herself and Justin looked at her. "You have something to say?"

"No, it's just ... it's just a new side of you."

"Get used to it."

That was the last night he ever spoke to Michelle. Something had changed between them, but he didn't care. Tricia tried to hit on him when she got drunk. He called her a "fucking whore," the last thing he ever said to her. He took Miranda, a girl older than him back to his room. He told Kyle to "fuck off," then had sex in his bed out of spite. It felt glorious. Within a month, he was kicked out of college, which was for the best, since his grades were plummeting anyway. He spent most of his time at a local gym and a college bar, where he picked up chicks, most of them from a different college in town. He wasn't sure if he was happy, but he sure as hell was having more fun. And if anyone suggested that he was a terrible person, he owned it and didn't care. If you're an asshole, you just blow them off!

Listen Up: All-American

--- Originally posted on 2021-04-07 by newyoutf ---

Oliver was stressed. The rent on his cramped London studio was a lot, and he couldn’t work enough to cover his costs while completing his studies. His work toward a law degree produced enough mental anguish on its own.

He’d seen the mindfulness CD atop a pile of various used items at an odd store - which seemed to stock all manner of things new, used and downright weird.

For obvious reasons, the record was alluring to Oliver. Anything that might lower the mental burden was an option worth trying. So when the handsome proprietor offered him the disc for less than a quid he couldn’t say no.

The drive buzzed on his desk as the contents were ripped to his computer after a late, stressful night of study. Oliver sat back in his desk chair placed the wireless headphones over his mousy brown hair and opened the resulting file that appeared on his desktop.

“Welcome. This audio program is custom designed. Just for you…”, a deep, manly voice read. Custom designed? The words made Oliver raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “What a load of bullshit", he thought.

“Ensure you are in a comfortable, private place. You will not want to be disturbed… You feel calm. Tranquility and stillness.”

The deep, commanding - and almost erotic voice - continued onward. Suddenly, Oliver felt awash with relaxation.

“Relax, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Focus your concentration on your top of your head, moving down slowly down the tips of your toes. Take in your body.”

Oliver unwittingly obeyed. His eyes shut and, taking a deep breath, he focused on the position of his body in space.

“This… actually isn’t too bad”, he admitted to himself.

“Empty your mind. Focus on the tingling across your skin. A pleasant warmth filling you up.”

Oliver was less impressed about the direction this was going now, was this going to turn into some erotic thing? But, suddenly, he did fill awash with warmth and tingling. Like a hot bath. He was surprised, no calmness app or anything similar had ever achieved this effect with him.

“Focus harder on that warmth and tingle. Make it stronger.”

Oliver sighed, feeling the pleasant sensations fill him up entirely.

“Stronger. Stronger. Stronger.”

The sensations intensified more and more; and although he felt good all over, in his head he began to panic. And so, he fumbled to stop the playback.

*“Keep listening, Oliver. I guarantee you’ll like what you’re going to *hear.”

Oliver’s eyes widened in fear, did the voice just use his name? Was it aware he tried to stop the playback? Surely this was just a co-incidence in the script?

But Oliver realized it was no coincidence when he became unable to click pause, his finger repelling like a magnet from the trackpad.

“You’re gonna to become a real man, Oliver. Like you’ve always wanted. And you’re gonna enjoy it.”

“Ungh… What the f- fuck?!”, Oliver whimpered. The unbearable heat and tingling sensations intensified. Whimpers turned to loud moans as pleasure and testosterone flooded his body, his cock filled with blood and hardened in his tight jeans.

“A real man has huge, muscular arms. Much like you do, Oliver.”

Oliver let out a groan as his upper arms began to match the spoken words and expand. His slim t-shirt’s sleeves strained as muscles began to appear under the skinny arms. They throbbed and wriggled, expanding larger and larger, thicker and thicker.

“Your arms are fucking huge. Every part of them.”

Oliver bit his lip and whimpered as he flexed. The thin twigs that were his upper arms surged and tore the sleeves of the shirt. Individual muscles squirmed and bulged as they reformed large and powerful. His forearms pulsed and ached as they too inflated with muscle. Veins protruded and snaked across the swelling muscle. These arms were huge, muscular machines designed for the gym.

“You’re tall…”

Energy rushed through his body in response to the words, but technically Oliver had always been a relatively tall and lanky 6′0″. So, nothing happened. It was if the recording was teasing him.

“P- please… more…”, Oliver begged. Resisting was never an option to begin with, but Oliver needed no orders to desire what was happening to him. His new arms were a taste of the masculinity he’d always desired, and it felt better than he could have imagined.

“...Really tall…”

“Oh fuuuuuuck yeeeeaaah!”, Oliver yelled. His cock throbbed in his denim while his entire body seared with the bliss of growth. His back pushed up higher and his legs stretched longer out from the chair. The muscular arms elongated as well to keep up, more muscle packing in order to to maintain their size.

“How do you manage to type on this thing with those massive paws?”

“Ahhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”, cracks and pops filled the air as Oliver held out his aching, pulsating hands. His skinny fingers twitched vigorously as they pushed longer and thicker. His palms were being tugged in all directions, stretching further and further outward. The ends of his fingers creaked as they reshaped, the chewed nails regrowing, broadening and elongating. These were indeed a real man’s hands.

“Your chest is fucking ripped. Powerful pecs. Bulging abs. Manly hair.”

Oliver bit down hard. But as his chest and shoulders swelled in every direction, he couldn’t hold it and let out a long whine. Muscle wrapped around the widening shoulders connecting with the stunning biceps. Growth flowed downward, forcing two huge slabs of muscle to grow out of his flat, bony chest. The tightest abs Oliver had ever seen exploded out from below his thick, tight pecs. His cock pulsed as he rubbed the rippling abs. He could feel a treasure trail forming and hair flourishing across the beautiful pecs. His cock tingled as his waist pulsed. Tight cum gutters formed below the glistening abs, leading down to his aching erection.

“Don’t forget your back.”

Oliver hunched forward as the muscle growth swept from his massive shoulders and chest across his back. His bony back rippled and bulged as sinew and muscle swelled.

“Everything about your legs screams power and masculinity. With an ass to match.”

Oliver’s kicked and twisted his legs feeling his thighs balloon with new and growing muscle. The skinny jeans began tearing and splitting at the seams as more and more muscle forced its way outward. His calves did the same, stuffing themselves with more and more power, stretching the fabric to breaking to point. Every muscle in his legs contracted as it swelled and grew. Oliver flexed the legs causing a final burst of growth and shredded the tattered jeans and underwear from his body. His flat ass, now free from its confines, began to inflate dramatically, pushing him upward in his seat.

*“Size 13s must be hard to find…”**

He clenched his mouth shut, muffling a cry as snaps and crackles emanated from the socked feet. His fairly average UK size 9s burned with pressure as the socks began to stretch in an attempt to contain the growing feet. Oliver pressed his feet hard into the floor feeling the soles soaring across the carpet. The toes curled and gripped further and further, lengthening and thickening into 10s, then 11s, 12s… The sound of a tear was met with a moan as unbelievably long, thick, masculine toes jutted through the ends of the socks leaving him with UK size 13s.

“You’re such a looker, Olly.”

Oliver knew what this meant and trembled as he opened the webcam app on his laptop, watching in shock and pure desire at the image of his face moving and shifting. His neck bulged and swelled, the grunts coming from his throat deepening.

His narrow, oval face stretched and snapped wider and longer, enlarging to fit the upper body he now possessed. Oliver rubbed his hard cock as his face began to look more and more masculine. A wide, thick jaw formed where before there was barely one at all. His lips inflated, his nose enlarged and his brow deepened. His hair darkened as it grew out, straightened and flopped messily across the headphones.

“I look… ungh… like a jock!”, Oliver gawked, turned on by his unbelievably hot new visage.

As he muttered those words he gasped repeatedly. Insatiable lust overtook him at watching his gorgeous, masculine face moan. His rigid erection ached and drooled at the sight.

“That cock is just like the rest of you. Oversized.”

Oliver stumbled upright and planted his hands on the desk and began to thrust across the table top as the 5 inch cock commenced its expansion. The continuous ecstasy that had been tearing through him since this started concentrated into his swelling dick.

Oliver’s screams of delight could have woken the dead. He bucked and thrust violently, shaking the desk as the rock hard rod swelled with girth and pushed outward longer and longer.

“You’re a real fuckin’ man. That cock’s designed for topping.”

Thoughts of working out, sports and fucking tight jock asses overwrote the introverted bottom’s personality.

“Not just a real man. You’re an all-American jock.”

Oliver spluttered as his British accent shifted to a distinctly American one. Memories of coming to London for exchange replaced his own. With a blinding flash of ecstasy, his foreskin merged with the now 7 inch shaft, giving Oliver the big, cut, all-American cock he’d always admired.

“Mmmmmphhh… Fuck, yeah dude! I’m… arrruuughh… a fuckin’ jock!”

The shaft surged longer and wider. The head of the oozing cock fattened, expanded and flared outward. A massive, drooling mushroom head formed at the end of the 8 inch dick.

The sweating, horny jock was but a second away from release, worshiping his own body and tightly, furiously stroking his cock. But the audio interrupted…

“I bet those 10 inches are popular online.”

Oliver howled as his encroaching orgasm was prevented. The blissful build up rushed back into his cock as it shot forward in seconds to an enormous, veiny 10 inches. He recalled making good money selling pictures and videos of his hot body and huge dick.

The stud gripped his thick python tight in his meaty hand and stroked fast. The voice on the audio track began to tease Oliver even more than it had been.

“You’re a real man.”

“Huhhh… unnnghhh.. yeah… I am!”

“You’re a fucking alpha.”

“Hnnnnggghh, fuck yeah!”

“Cum, stud.”

With a delightful roar, the beautiful, cut pole shot cum like a hose across his the desk, the wall and over the floor. Then again. And again. And after what felt like an eternity, the muscle stud’s orgasms slowed.

“Remember to share this recording with your friends…”

And on that command, the track ended. Oliver grabbed his phone, his huge hands dwarfing the device as he snapped a photo of his cock and incredible body to post later for his adoring online fans.

Now all the jockified Oliver needed was bros - and with the audiobook he knew exactly how to get them. But who to share it with first? Old friends, a few dedicated online fans maybe...

The Witch's Transformation (part 1)

Happy Friday the 13th

Alex, an out-of-shape nerd, receives an unexpected invitation to a party that leads him to the lair of an evil witch. After pleading for mercy, he undergoes a shocking transformation that turns him into a muscular and handsome giant, ready to serve her every whim. With his new physique and confidence, Alex embraces his role.

Alex was often alone in the small town he lived in, spending most of his time studying and playing video games.

Despite his usual routine, Alex was excited when he received an invitation to a party. He was eager to socialize and make friends.

Upon reaching the address, Alex found himself standing in front of an old, creepy house. He was confused but decided to check inside.

Inside, he was met with an old woman, who was the only person in the house. To his surprise, the woman was a witch and she was not happy with his intrusion. Ripping his clothes off.

Alex begged for his life. The witch, however, had an idea. She decided to transform Alex, as a punishment and also to serve her needs.

The witch cast a spell and Alex's body started to grow. His muscles bulged, and he grew taller. He had transformed into a huge, muscular man.

Alex was surprised but also happy with his new size. He felt powerful and was sill growing strong to serve the witch.

The witch handed Alex a tight Speedo to wear, his new uniform. It showed off his new physique well. He was now the witch's servant.

The witch used her magic to make herself young and beautiful. She was now a stunning woman that would have her way with Alex.

Alex was happy to serve. He lived with the witch, serving her and living a life he never thought he would.

Listen Up: Swimmer

--- Originally posted on 2021-04-21 by newyoutf ---

Jon twisted back and forth under the showerhead, singing along to the music blasting from his phone on the counter.

The music lowered in volume for a second, making way for two loud dings. Jon reached out from the stream of water and fumbled with the screen in his wet hands. It was a message from Oliver, his best friend, “Hey bro, got something you should listen to.”

“Bro?” Jon wondered. Since when did Oliver say “bro”? Jon blinked, struggling to think for a moment. Oliver talked like that all the time, he was American after all... wasn’t he?

Attached to the message was an audio file. Jon figured it must have been a new song by one of the pair’s favorite pop divas, perhaps a new leaked track. Jon hit the play button, placed the phone back down, and returned to the hot water.

A harsh static buzz and what sounded like garbled speech boomed from the phone, taking Jon by surprise. The corrupted audio cleared up after a moment and a deep, male voice started.

“Welcome. This audio program is custom designed. Just for you. Ensure you are in a comfortable, private place. You will not want to be disturbed.”

“Oliver,” Jon rolled his eyes, thinking that surely something starting this ridiculous would be some sort of joke or meme. After all, Oliver had always been a dumb joker. “Wait,” Jon felt confused, he could have sworn Oliver was a quiet, twinky lad like himself?

Jon realized couldn’t form a solid impression of his friend in his mind. They met at their university in London and became best friends, bonding over their mutual love of pop music and ogling the campus jocks. But now it was like that reality had been shattered. Those memories gave way for ones of meeting each other at the campus gym shortly after Oliver arrived from the US. Oliver was his best, hot, American friend, right? Jon’s cock twitched at the new image of his friend as he placed his face under the stream of hot water in an attempt to clear his head.

“Relax. Take a deep breath, in and out.”

Jon unwittingly followed the instructions. The frown fell from his face and his body relaxed, taking in the warmth of the water.

“You’re Oliver's best friend. Makes sense, given you’re a total alpha too.”

“Both wha- ah! Ah!”, Jon planted his hands against the wet, tiled wall as the words sent pleasure rippling through his body. He looked down feeling a strong warmth against his leg but it wasn’t the hot water. His semi-hard cock had blasted a rope of cum against his leg. “What the fuck?” Jon mumbled.

“What a coincidence that you’re both six-foot-four. It serves him well in the gym, the same way it serves you well in the water.”

Jon howled in ecstasy, spluttering and moaning, as his five-foot-nine body stretched higher. His soft cock drooled hot cum as it rapidly began to rise. His arms pushed against the wall, lengthening for better performance in the pool. He stepped backward as his head struck the showerhead and rose even higher. Hot water poured down the front of his much longer torso and legs.

“Your shoulders are so broad. Typical of you swimming jocks.”

Unable to resist the command, Jon's shoulders crunched and throbbed, thrusting out larger and bulging with muscle. “God! W- What the fuck i- is... ugh... happening?!” he roared, terrified not just by the growth gripping his body, but the incredible pleasure it wrought on him.

“Those are some long, meaty fucking arms, Jon.”

“F- fuck!” Jon roared, spraying a massive load up the back of the shower feeling his narrow arms explode with thick mounds of muscle, rippling across his biceps and triceps. The growth spread down his arms, his forearms bloating with tight, lean muscle. His wrists cracked as they thickened.

“Hands that big must be useful for pushing through the water.”

Stifled screams rumbled from Jon’s tightly clenched mouth. His hands were pressed against the back of the shower, clicking and twitching as they began to swell across the tiles. The fingers accelerated longer and longer. His palms spread monstrously broad. He flexed his hands, in total awe of their disproportionate size; perfect for pushing through the water.

The experience was like nothing Jon ever felt. A sexual eruption taking place across every cell as the words rewrote his body. “Can’t... resist... so g- good,” Jon grunted, gasping for air.

“You clearly work out for the aesthetics as well, not just the pool. Your shredded chest is proof of that.”

Jon couldn’t even attempt to fight anymore, but nor did he want to. His chest puffed and bulged, distorting the path of the water running across it. The previously non-existent pecs pushed outward from his widening chest. His cock trembled as the changes took hold in his abdomen, causing his flat stomach to erupt with tight, thick abs. Jon gripped his ass, feeling it swell into his huge hands while he erupted cum across the tiles once more.

*“That’s the spirit, Jon. You’re a *stud.”

Jon felt those words echo in his ears and rumble down his throat. Grunts and pants became deeper and deeper as his thickened and voice morphed. His head groaned as it enlarged to fit his frame. Hair began to flourish out of his cheeks and across his upper lip while the mop of medium-length hair on his head retreated, leaving a short, handsome cut in its place. He stroked his cock with one hand and clasped his face with the other feeling his jawline refine and the angles of his face sharpen. He turned to the mirror cabinet, seeing just a sliver of his improved visage. Jon gasped at the sight and immediately ejected another load of cum.

He didn’t just look like a swole swimming jock. He felt like one too. He rejoiced in his mind being filled with thoughts of the pool, weightlifting, spotting his bros at the gym, and fucking them afterward.

“Good to see the bottom half matches the top.”

Jon’s legs trembled. He clutched the slippery tiles harder to hold himself up, the pleasure reverberating through his legs almost too much to bear. Muscles spasmed in his calves, swelling with every little twitch. Muscle wasn’t all that was gracing his legs. Dark hair grew forth from the skin, coating his powerful legs in a layer of fur. Jon swore under his breath, impressed by the hair spreading up and down his legs. He thought about how he refused to shave like other swimmers, he liked the hair, and regardless his superior form needed no extra boost. His body responded to the suggestion, triggering a fine layer of hair to sprout from his forearms, between his pecs, in a trail over his abs and across the tops of his feet.

Memories of the pool, the beach, and victories across university swimming tournaments swarmed his brain. Trophies and medals materialized in the bedroom just next to where he was showering.

“Damn, it’s no surprise you outperform everyone in the water with feet that massive. And you know what they say about that, Jon.”

Every one of the toes on Jon’s size eight feet surged with pleasure. He moaned loudly as they began to push across the floor of the shower while his soles stretched to catch up. He recalled new memories of having large feet, how they propelled him to victory in the pool, and the comments people would make: “Bigfoot”, “You know what they say...”, “Where can you even buy size sixteens?”

“Sixteen?!” he repeated in his mind. The brief shock turned to anticipation as he felt his soles continue to march forward longer and wider, his toes twitching while they reshaped long and meaty. Jon growled aloud as he expelled another load, “God, yeah... so f- fucking... big.”

The jock trembled under the stream of hot water, desperate for sexual release. He looked down as the expanding feet settled into excessively large size sixteens, curling his long toes as his six-inch cock began to quiver in its desperation to grow larger as well. It felt as though it were perpetually hardening, only to then push longer and girthier instead. Jon grasped his wet cock and thrust into his grip hard and repeatedly. He relished in the sensation of the veins bulging and the shaft thickening.

*“I guess what they say really is true, isn’t *it?”

The audio toyed with him, pushing his cock just that little bit longer and pumping it ever so slightly thicker. It pulsed and twitched, gradually and slowly with every breath. His uncut, British foreskin slid further backward, as a larger, blunter head swelled outward. Jon smirked as he groaned and growled, stroking faster and faster, enthralled by the beautiful nine-inch weapon he now possessed.

“Cum.”

“Oh yeah! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jon made three final long, hard tugs on his thick pole before roaring in delight as unspeakable ecstasy filled him. Cum rocketed upward against the water rushing from the showerhead, ejecting what remained of Jon’s old genetic material while orgasm after orgasm pounded his body.

Exhausted and dripping wet, he stepped slowly out of the tub, unsteady on his new legs and feet.

*“Remember to share this recording with your friends*.”

And with that, the playback stopped. Jon looked at himself in the mirror, still shocked, but enraptured with his new body and looks. He grabbed his phone and wiped the water from the screen, struggling to unlock it with his longer fingers. He typed out a reply to Oliver, “That shit was fucking lit mate!”

A few miles away, a sweaty Oliver was busy lifting weights, waiting for his friend to give him some indication that something had happened. He had to place the weight down slowly as his mind blurred for a moment. He saw the images and memories that he had of his friend change and shift. Gone were the images of a quiet little twink, replaced by those of a loud, masculine swimming jock. Oliver smiled cockily realizing what had just happened. Then, as if on cue, his phone vibrated with Jon’s reply. Following was a photo of a huge, semi-hard cock swinging above two gargantuan feet. Oliver felt his own cock stiffen slightly at the image.

“Hell yeah, bro! You should be selling these pics like I do,” Oliver sent in response, getting a deep chuckle out of Jon.

Both men now looked at their phones, horny and pondering who next to share the mysterious audio file with.

Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.