Body Modification - Tumblr Posts
A Muscle Daddy Built to Order
by Londonboy
Even a sexy bodybuilder can get lonely. Most people think we have it made, our big bodies allowing us to have any guy we’d like – at the gym or in the bar. Yeah, that’s usually true, but sometimes we want more. I get tired of going home with guys that just want me to flex and show off – you know, toss them around the room, lift them over my head with one hand, do push ups with them on my back, and all those things. Lately, I’ve been struggling to find someone that could fulfill me in a different way. It’s not that I don’t love being admired and worshipped, but I just desire something more. So the other night I sat down and made a list of all the things I’d really like to have in a partner.
Here’s what I came up with:
Handlebar mustache (mainly because I can’t grow one)
Mature man (I want him experienced and knowledgeable)
As big as me or bigger (I want to be cared for sometimes)
Cocky (At times, I want to be controlled)
Cute or handsome (To match my hotness)
Cultured (I want to learn from him)
Loving (I want him to be romantic)
I looked at the list a few times and decided I wasn’t asking for too much. I also realized it would definitely be very hard to find someone that matched all of my criteria. I was about to give up when I remembered my crazy Aunt Hildie – the one everyone said was different from the rest of the family and the one I had only met two times in my entire life. For some reason, something she had said to me ten years ago when I was a senior in high school suddenly came flying back into my head. She had told me to make sure I looked her up when I was ready to finally settle down and choose a partner for life. The word ‘partner’ had always stayed with me. I had written it off, though, as just some crazy woman talking, but now I found the invitation curious and finally decided to take her up on it. Aunt Hildie lived on an island off of the southern tip of Florida – a place no one ever visited, but she seemed to like it. I wrote her a long letter and explained that I was gay and now that I was twenty-eight years old I had decided to settle down. I sent her the list of criteria that I required in my future husband. I also forgot about the letter as soon as it was mailed. I continued to screw any cute thing that drooled over my muscles and didn’t think about my list again until a box arrived from Florida.
It was from my Aunt Hildie and there were seven vials in the box along with a note. The handwritten message was short and to the point saying, “Jason, these will help your dreams come true. Wait a couple of days between each vial. I’m happy for you. Aunt Hildie.” And that was it. The tubes were labeled with a word from each of my seven criteria. I looked at the note again and just smiled at the craziness – not believing that my aunt could actually help me create the perfect mate. Even though all logic said I was a fool, I grabbed the first vial and headed to the gym. What the hell did I have to lose?
I entered the hardcore section of my no-frills club and immediately felt the appreciative stares from half the members. I knew I had the kind of face and body that turned heads and it felt good to know that even after seven years of coming to the place – not to mention having my way with many of the members – I still inspired dicks to spring to life and furtive glances to shoot my way. I gazed around the place with no embarrassment being so blatant in my perusal of every man. I was sure almost every gay man there – and a few of the straight guys – were hoping I’d let my eyes linger approvingly on them for more than a quick glance. There weren’t many guys in the place that would have turned me down for a quickie in the steam room or, heaven allowing, some quality time back at my place. It was well known that I got off on being worshipped and had the kind of body that deserved the special attention. Everyone knew I also had the kind of horse dick that most men loved to feel rammed far up into their ass – each man expecting that the simple act of walking would be a burden for a few days after. The simple fact was that I had never had a complaint about my abilities in bed and beyond.
Today, however, I was not looking for a well-built muscle worshipping pig or a virgin ass to plow – I was looking for the right man to become my potential pet project. I still thought it was completely crazy to think the vials Aunt Hilde had sent were going to do anything, but a part of me was so gleefully turned on by the idea that I could create the perfect muscle stud partner that I took my time reviewing the clientele of the gym to make sure I landed on the right person for the task. I ruled out all the guys I had fucked before, which knocked off half the people in the place. I then ruled out the straight guys that would be no fun – I wasn’t into converting men – I wanted someone that knew he was gay and liked all the pleasure that came with that knowledge. I then ruled out the guys that were already huge, knowing that half the fun would come from bestowing on some guy the body of his dreams. It was also easy to disregard the young boys – I was looking for a guy with some gray on him. Damn, the thought of some salt and pepper haired daddy growing for me made my cock twitch wildly. After my prioritizing and weeding out of those that didn’t make the mark I finally narrowed it down to two men. Both of them were in their mid-fifties and each had been stealing glances of me in the mirror ever since I had entered the gym. One of them looked like he was experienced with weights – performing his moves with accuracy that made it clear he knew what he was doing – and the other looked as if he had just recently started coming to the gym. He was pretty timid and looked way out of place in the area with the heavy weights. I chose the latter guy – any man that was so desperate to appreciate huge muscles that he’d embarrass himself in the big-man’s area was the right one for me. I caught his eye and then walked across the floor towards him – noting how he was so shocked he couldn’t move or look away.
“I’m Jason, cute fella, what’s your name.”
My forwardness and the big hand I held out in front of him made the guy suddenly forget how to speak and he just sat there staring. I let my perfect smile beam down at him as he sat on the bench below my massive chest – I even breathed in a little harder just to make my chest expand more dramatically. It was cool to watch the little guy finally give into his urges as he chose to stare at my heaving pecs instead of my face. It was also cool to cause his mouth to drop in awe just from a quick bounce of my two massive mounds – the guy’s eyes bobbing up and down to follow my heaving meat. All of this made it quite clear I had chosen the right candidate for my experiment. He limply shook my hand and we both noticed how my paw swallowed his.
“So, pops, you gonna just stare at my chest all day or are you going to tell me your name.”
“I’m Roman.”
“Speak up there, man. What’s the matter, something cause your mouth to go all dry?”
Roman just nodded his head up and down. This made me smile even more. The guy wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was in awe of my chest – hell; he was probably in awe of all of me. I moved my big frame down on the bench beside him, making sure my body pressed up against his when we were next to each other. I sat a few inches higher than him, so he had to continue to look up to see my face. It was good, though, that he was able to finally look me in the eye again – I’m not sure he could have handled much more of my massive chest.
“You look a little lost in the midst of all these weights, Roman. I’m guessing you’re pretty new to all this gym stuff, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I just retired and finally decided to join. This is only my second visit.”
The idea of this guy being retired in his early fifties made me happy – I could tell by his haircut and clothes that Roman had lots of money. It wasn’t something I desperately needed in a potential partner, but it helped. The thought of someday doing a lot of traveling with my beefed up muscle daddy thrilled me in a special way. My enthusiasm for all that was possible if Aunt Hildie wasn’t crazy made me move straight to the point with Roman.
“Well today is your lucky day, Roman. How about I help you with your initiation into weightlifting. I promise to go easy on you and the hazing phase won’t hurt too much. I’m just kidding – there’s no need to make that panicked face! Let me help you with all this stuff, okay. I think you’ve noticed that I’ve had a little success from working out.”
“Uh huh.”
The guy was so cute! He just couldn’t get over the fact that I was chatting with him. He also couldn’t keep his eyes locked with mine for even ten seconds. He looked at every part of my body – spending a lot of time at my crotch, obviously intrigued by the bulge that pushed my shorts out in a pornographic way. I decided it was time to move in for the final trophy.
“So before we begin, Roman, why don’t you drain this bottle of water I brought.”
“I . . . uh . . . have my own.”
“Yeah, but mine is fortified with some nutrients to help you recover from the workout. I don’t want you to be in a lot of pain tomorrow, sir.”
Roman looked at me with a slightly confused face. I held up my bottle and shook it a little – to help the stuff from Aunt Hildie mix in some more. My biceps was much more interesting to Roman and he actually started to visibly shake as he stared at my bulging arm. I flexed a little to keep his mind off the bottle he was presently taking from my hand. I watched with sheer joy as he twisted off the cap and then downed the enhanced liquid quickly – making it obvious that my arm had made his mouth dry up even more. He made a disgusted face after swallowing the entire contents of the bottle – the stuff in the vial was clearly not tasty. He shook his head back and forth a few times and then quickly looked at me – his face turning red.
“Um, I’m sorry Jason, but I . . . uh . . . suddenly feel . . . I mean . . . I can’t control . . . I’ve got to go.”
Roman’s hands went quickly to his crotch. I suddenly realized that a side effect of the stuff in Aunt Hildie’s vial was an instant hard-on – one that obviously made you need instant relief. Roman was breathing hard and beads of sweat had already formed across his forehead. I placed by big hand on his shoulder, hoping to prevent him from leaving. I wanted to study the effects of the liquid up close.
“You can’t go Roman, we haven’t even started.”
“Uh . . . I’m about to . . . um, I mean . . . I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Right now.”
“Well, can we meet tomorrow at the same time?”
“Yeah, yeah . . . I’ll see you then Jason.”
Roman then slid his body off the bench and out from under my large hand. He quickly stood up and started running toward the locker room. I watched as he tried to move briskly, but clearly with a raging hard-on that was making it almost impossible. There was something in this immediate reaction to the liquid that thrilled me beyond belief. I suddenly began to think there was something real about Aunt Hildie’s concoction. I forced myself not to follow Roman – knowing that it might make him feel uncomfortable. I saw him leave about fifteen minutes later – clearly still rock hard and desperately trying to cover the humongous wet stain at the crotch of his sweats. He glanced in my direction and waved timidly as he exited. My own cock suddenly sprung to a happy place at the thought of what had happened and what was to come.
The next day Roman did not show up at the gym. I waited for three hours, but he never arrived. I was sorely disappointed and at one point I became fearful that I had caused his death. I thought about asking the gym for his home number, but I knew their policy strictly forbade it. I knew I could probably get the information out of Rex, the guy that worked the front desk at night, if I promised to fuck him senseless – something he loved – but I decided to wait. I had already begun to trust Aunt Hildie in a way that was unexplainable. I returned to the gym at the exact time for four more days and waited three hours each time, but Roman never showed. On the fifth day, however, I was taking a break from benching some heavy weights and looked up to see him walk in. What I saw caused my entire body to start quivering and my cock turned into hard stone immediately. The scrawny older man’s body looked exactly the same, but covering the lower part of his face was the thickest and manliest handlebar mustache I had ever seen in my entire life. It was dark black-brown with gorgeous flakes of gray streaking downward. It was the face of a manly biker, a studly fireman, or a muscle daddy of almost any gay man’s dreams. My entire body was on fire with excitement. It was clear the first vial had worked. I jumped up off the bench and practically ran over to Roman.
“Hey man, it’s great to see you. I thought we were going to meet four days ago. Shit, dude, what a great mustache! It looks awesome.”
“Um, hi Jason. Yeah, sorry about missing you for a few days, but it’s been because of this mustache. It’s the wildest thing. I shave twice a day, but every morning I wake up with this same look. At first it freaked me out, but now I’ve grown to like it. It means a lot that you think it’s cool. I didn’t know what you’d think. I’m ready to take you up on your offer to help me work out.”
I couldn’t stop looking at his face. I had dreamed of a man with that exact face for years. I said a silent prayer of gratitude to Aunt Hildie and then began to smile. I was in heaven – especially since I knew the second vial was in my bag over by the bench we were now walking towards. I suddenly couldn’t remember what my second criteria had been, but I didn’t care.
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Absolute favorite. A brutal story written masterfully
End of Shift
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My life is over. I’ve been playing a high stakes game, and somehow landed on one side of the odds all the time, but my luck was bound to run out sooner or later. I guess I should be happy that it turned out to be later, but it sucks no less. I got sloppy. I was looking through the items near the cashier, as always, trying to mostly use reflective surfaces to see what was going on, as always. I need to be within 15 feet or latency becomes an issue. Some old lady still using the old wallet was buying KokaKola and a pack of Ziffs. This would be easy, as always. I discreetly pressed my watch as she was ready to make the purchase, activating my EM-swiper. I wouldn’t take much, a few credits more. She probably wouldn’t notice it, or think the store stiffed her, or think she bought two packs of Ziffs and lost one. I’m not stealing to get rich, just to get by.
As the EM-swiper went off a high pitched beeping starts behind me. I barely have time to turn my head enough to see the charging police officer, before he slams me into the side of a KokaKola fridge. Shit, I hadn’t done a survey pass through the store as I always do. I could barely register what he was screaming in my ear. “Drop it,” I realize, and let go of the magazine. He must have thought I had the EM-swiper in my hand. He told me to put my hands against the wall and performed a pat-down. It’s only him, so he must be off duty or not on a real patrol. He empties my pockets on the cashier table. Nothing of value, and certainly not something incriminating. I may not have been fortunate enough to afford academy, but I’m not stupid.
“You are detained under suspicion of committing proximity fraud. Do you understand?” he asks me in that commanding yet bored tone of a laborer having to recite corporate bullshit, only in his case it is in the pretense of justice. “Yes,” I answer him. He doesn’t have anything on me or he would have arrested me right away. Probably. “Put this on to acknowledge you’ve read the Citizen Rights Act and agree to an investigation in this matter.” He hands me a pair of handcuffs to put on. I hesitate for a second. He is behind me and in the way of the store exit. I can stall for time and tell him to recite the CRA, but that immediately counts against you, as it is your duty to know it. I have no choice but to put them on. It’s the latest model. I haven’t seen any up close before. Light, thin, all metal, no key hole. Probably opened remotely or only inside a police cell or some shit. I put them on.
“Turn around, pick up your stuff, and exit the store.” I do as told, turn around and begin to pick up my stuff and put them back where he took them. It’s an older police officer. None of them young, jacked up types. Perhaps he is one of the fair ones. But then I am the criminal, so what good would that do me? There’s a small, black duffle bag by his side. So he is on his way home. Perhaps he is tired. Perhaps I can shake him. Have Leo remove the shackles and then stay low for a fucking long time. Or this just doesn’t amount to anything more than a slap on the wrist. I walk towards the door, him behind me.
“Nice watch,” he says, pointing at my wrist as I reach or the door.
He knows. Unless I can get away now my life is over. All I can think of is the monstrosities the state churn out as punishment. Equal part labor force and sadism. I open the door as little as possible and as soon as I am through I dash down the block. I don’t dare look behind me, but I don’t hear him in pursuit. Halfway down the block I swerve into the alley that cuts across the building and out on the block on the other side. If I can cross that block and then down south I’m in the park and there are plenty of places to hide there.
My hands are not on fire. This surprises me as I look down on my hands, screaming in pain. There is a high pitched sound coming out of the handcuffs, like capacitors charging, but it is continuous. The pain emanating from my hands is something unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. My legs buckle. I know I need to move, somehow, somewhere. It’s just so difficult to think of anything but my hands that are not on fire. It would probably be a good idea to not scream my lungs out, but I don’t really have a choice in that.
Just as suddenly as it started it stops. I’m still writhing in pain, but my hands are not on fire in a much more comforting way. “The payment proxy is in your watch, is it not?” the policeman asks, standing a few steps away. I’m panting, I realize when I attempt to answer him. Panting and sweaty. I can’t manage to speak. I just nod my head.
“The state vs. item RK-220553 finds the defendant guilty to breach of contract with the state, executed by judicial AI 5” he reads off his handheld screen. I’m confused to what just happened. “No trial?” I manage to wheeze out. “You entered into a cooperation contract when you put on the handcuffs, as you are aware of as you claimed to know the Citizens Rights Act. Disobedience at that point allows for immediate trial by AI as long as no forensic work is needed.” He sounded like the same bored cop as he was in the store, reciting memorized text for the thousandth time.
I struggle to get up on my feet. Not only am I shaky, but having my hands locked together makes it surprisingly difficult to get up. “You know, this is bad timing,” the cop starts. “I was on my way home and don’t have all the standard gear. It’s supposed to be a swift punishment, for deterrence, but there is really only one thing I can do.” Why is he so apologetic? He opens the bag and pulls out a fucking tactical human transformer. I’ve never even seen one in person before. He turns it on, selects something on the screen, and points the device towards me. “No, I can…”
This time I am on fire, if only so briefly. There is a blinding light, a pulse of heat, and the smell of burnt plastic. As the transient heat subsides it keeps falling colder and colder. I’m naked. All my clothes have been singed from my body. My watch is gone. My shoes are gone. Underwear gone. And, I realize, my hair is gone. The cop keeps punching in selections in the menus of the devices. I manage to get up on my feet. “Stay on the ground,” he tells me. Not so much as an order, but as an advice. I sit down again and he trains the device on me.
I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not pain exactly. There is something about rewriting the code and cellular structure of your body while your brain is engaged that makes it give up in disbelief. “This can’t be what’s actually happening,” it thinks and gives you completely nonsense sensory interpretations. But it also gives up on all other tasks. Time becomes irrelevant. Critical thinking put on hold. When the device stops you are utterly confused for seconds. Possibly by design, but it makes sense that you can’t rewire the brain in flight without some glitches.
“I want you to stand up,” the cop says in a firm voice. “Who?” I ask, still dazed, just to make sure. “You. Get up on both feet. Take this.” He throws an orange bundle to me, and I feebly grasp for it but my one arm yanks the chain to the cuff of the other arm. The bundle brushes by and lands on the ground next to me. He looks disappointed, more at himself for thinking it would work than on me for not catching it.
I look down at my hand and see something orange in my grip, but it is not the orange that interests my but the grip. My arms, thin from lack of food and nimble from grabbing P2 storage modules out of vendor racks. are enormous. Big, well defined muscles with popped veins going up and around them. They look longer than before and even the hands are larger than they used to be. I can see that not only my arms are different. My chest is all lean and strong-looking as well, the legs have these weird lines showing different groups of muscles under the skin, and I can almost bet that the ground is further down than it used to be. Orange! I’m holding something orange in my hand.
“I only have an emergency kit with me, so not very many options for you I’m afraid. If you had come with me I think they would have found some better use for you, but as I said, I didn’t have much to chose from beside himbot,” the cop said while putting some beat-up looking boots from his bag next to me. He grabs the chain between my cuffs, and both of them pop open instantly, and he folds them up and begins to place them back into the cuff holder in his belt.
There was something he said that was important. Like, really important. I feel cobwebs like I had just been awakened from a deep sleep. “Put on the jock,” he tells me, and again I am confused, but of a different kind. It’s like I urgently need to know what he means, somehow. “You’re holding them in your hand.” I again look down at my hand and see the orange piece of cloth, which obviously is what he meant. I flip it around in my hands and finds it to be an orange jockstrap with a generous pouch. Looking down I also see the reason for that, since my dick and balls are large. Much larger than I remember them to be. I don’t want to keep him waiting, so as quickly as I can manage, with my balance a bit off, I manage to place one leg in each loop and pull up the jockstrap. It neatly collects everything in front into a large orange ball.
Himbot! That’s what he had said. It’s like the government robots but human. What was the I and M now again? Wait, those are just mindless sacks of muscles roaming around doing whatever menial task is available.
“Himbot?” I ask him. “Yes, you are a himbot,” the cop answered. “Put on the shirt.”
I immediately grabbed the orange bundle from the ground I assumed to be the shirt. To my delight I was right and with just a few tries I managed to get it on me. It isn’t a real shirt, but one of those without arms, whatever they are called. Quite a lot of skin showed. The shoulders were bare, as were the sides and the nipples unless you positioned the strings just right. Stringers! It’s called a stringers, or something close to it. I feel so tired thinking of words.
“And the boots”
I grab one of the boots. There is something missing, but I’m not sure what it is. I has something to do with the small holes, I think. Well, the large hole is missing a foot, so I put one in it. Then I put the other foot in the other boot, and looked at the cop to see if he approved. He looks about the same. Good enough I hope.
“Face me and raise your hands” I comply immediately. He is pointing the large gun at me again. I don’t like it, but I must do what he says. He presses a few buttons and then there is a sharp headache.
“Who are you?” “Himbot 220553.” “What is your assignment?” “Walk along path 228-red responding to requests.” “What types of requests?” “Any type of requests.”
Let me tell you all about our Lord and Savior, the Undertaker. 🪦💀💜🖤
stretching my ears has slowly made me realize how jank the claires employee pierced them when i was 10 💀 rip
You had told them that's not how it works, you had warned them that the perfect body requires constant effort and hard work, but these people were too unhappy, too disgusted with their appearances to listen, to understand that they weren't ugly, nor overweight, nor repulsive to see that what they saw simply wasn't the truth. So, relenting, you asked them to get into the pose that would be easy to work with and took the money they had paid you to the sculptor. He examined the diagrams that had been left with the statues, the "perfect" body, and got to work, chipping away at the blocks of stone. He flattened the bellies and carved in pecs, shaped the hopeful features into those of models, carved away the extra fat that wasn't even an unhealthy amount. One woman in particular was so thin from starving herself, trying to get to an impossible weight, had arms so thin that in an attempt to sculpt them further, one fell off and had to be reattached.
The statues were shipped back at the end of the day. You brought them in to your studio and set up the usual sandwiches and water for them to eat when they broke free, but seeing how they had changed, you knew it would be better to set out a mop.
Midnight came, and as you desperately tried to sleep in your bed, the statues came to life. They were a horrible sight of mottled flesh, a patchwork of skin and muscles and bone where their very being has expertly been carved away. Their faces were ribbons, with large gashes where their cheeks had been shaved away. They cried in agony
"What have we done" "Help us" Save us"
But there was nothing to be done, as you tried to block out their tortured screams down the hall. You had warned them, but they didn't listen.
Morning came, and you awoke from the nightmares as you always did, and got to work mopping up the piles of blood and flesh that had once been people.
Everyone you touch turns into stone for a day. Recently a group of people beg you to touch them so they could be sculpted into the perfect body.
Houston's Top 5 Extreme Piercers
BLINKIE SET #59 . . . BODY MODS (PIERCINGS)
Inktober - Day 26
More wonky anatomy, oh dear. This is what happens when I draw late at night.
Since you can sometimes see them a little bit in 3-quarter angle pictures, I wanted to show what the ritual modifications the Vrega get look like. Almost all Vrega are subjected to this when they come of age, as part of their Trial. Technically the spikes can be placed anywhere, as long as they're worked into the bone, but these placements are traditional. After their Trial women are usually taught how to fight using their new arm-spikes. Men just have to get used to not being able to sleep on their backs.
Gonna get a tattoo on my 18th and I want it to be related to helpol in some way. Does anyone have any ideas? :)
It can't rain all the time
I don’t think Steve-O’s heart brand is talked about nearly as much as it should be. I love it so much honestly, idk if that’s controversial.
I love her <3
Katherine Isabelle behind the scenes as Mary Mason in American Mary (2012)
Mary Mason my queen