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Protocol 69

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Originally posted on 2023-06-24 by dumb-and-jocked. (Thanks again for dumb-and-jocked for all your stories!)

This story was nuked quite quickly last time, I recall. So, please reblog in effort to keep multiple copies alive.

Last thing: I am sorry this post does not have any italics/bold! I had some issues properly saving it back then. If anyone cares I'll try recover the formatting.

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“I’m sorry Officer, but did I do something wrong?”

After a 10 hour drive with tumultuous traffic, I’d expected to get some rest in the hotel room my company had paid for when they’d sent me to Texas for a business conference. I wasn’t too far out of the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but apparently far enough for some forms of homophobia to proudly exist. When I had pulled in, I immediately noticed the front desk glare at the pride sticker on my back window. When they’d picked up the phone right after, I’d assumed the two events were unrelated. But the cop standing calmly in front of his vehicle parked beside mine told me differently.

“Nothin’ we can’t fix,” the officer replied ominously in that classic drawl.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I started politely. “But I’m very exhausted, and I’ve got some important meetings to attend first thing tomorrow. If you don’t have anything to arrest me for, then I’m going to respectfully leave.”

“Yer kind ain’t welcome in these parts.” The officer’s response was calculated. “Just cause I can’t arrest ya doesn’t mean I can’t still bring ya in.”

“Is that so?” I questioned, becoming a little agitated.

“They’re called ‘correctional facilities’ for a reason,” he added.

“So you’re gonna jail me for being gay?”

“For threatening this town’s good traditional values and lifestyle?” the officer manipulated. “Then yes, yes I sure will.”

The officer then approached me with a pair of handcuffs. I wanted to fight back, and it took everything in me not too, but I was familiar with how these things could go down. He stood fairly tall and was well-built; a classic All-American family man. I was a college runner who clocked in a few inches under 6 feet, so running could have been an option if I wanted to engage. But I’d wait it out, play the little game until my future lawsuit kicked this homophobe and his whole department to hell.

But something in the back of my mind was still flicking the panic button. All of this seemed too easy for the officer, too habitual. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he’d done this many times before. As if this wasn’t the first time this had happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

— —

The last thing I could remember was sitting down in the back of that officer’s vehicle with my hands behind my back. He opened the door for me and I followed instructions, but I couldn’t place what happened after he’d started the car. In fact, I had no idea of how I had gotten into my current situation. The old interrogation room was empty, besides the entire back wall that was lit by a projector. My clothes were gone, leaving me completely naked. And my penis was placed in some kind of tube. I tried to yank it out, but the device was not going to give it up.

“Hello!” I shouted angrily. “You can’t do this!”

There was no reply, but the projector screen did light up. Letters began to appear along the bricks, spelling out what I prayed to anyone above was not actually possible: “Protocol 69: Conversion Operationalization Activated.”

“Hey!” Desperation was beginning to show in my voice. “No, please don’t! I don’t know what is happening but don’t do this! I’ll do whatever it is you want, please!”

My cries for help were meaningless however. No one appeared to hear me or respond. Instead, the words flashed before disappearing. Something new began to boot up on the screen, an introduction video of sorts.

“Welcome to Benbrook,” a cheery male voice began as an old cartoon began to play. It looked like some educational video from the Reagan Era. “This growing Texan city welcomes you to all the finer things in the American life.”

Suddenly, the tube my dick was currently stuck in began to move. As if awakening from a great slumber, a portion of the device groggily creaked before swiveling itself around my cock. All 5 inches were rapidly on display as the tube proceeded to jack me off, twisting and pulling and turning and releasing as it gave me the most sensual action of my life. I was no virgin, but I had never felt anything like this before.

“However, if you are currently watching this video, that means you’ve come to tarnish and harm the great opportunities Benbrook can provide you with.” The cartoon placed a word across the screen that flashed as if it was a warning alarm. The “H” in “Homosexual” appeared particularly loud. “We hope you understand that the upcoming process you’re about to undergo is meant to not only protect our safety and way of life, but to enhance your own as well.”

I was trying so hard to find a way to escape, but the dazzling colors of the projector and the edging experience down below were hindering my focus. Instead of fighting back, I simply moaned as my dick underwent its electronically-sensual torture and watched as a dingy spiral came into view. My eyes centered in on the old-timey display that swirled around in circles. I couldn’t tell if the fluttering of my eyelids were due to the sexual action below or what my eyes were now hypnotized by above.

While the spiral and the tube instrument performed their jobs, I began to feel something squirting out of my cock. It wasn’t semen, precum, or even piss for that matter. Although I wasn’t able to completely look down, I could see a glittery, luminescent stream now flowing through the tube. Something was being drained out of me, but I was too distracted by the spiral and too turned on by the mechanical sucking to care. It just felt so good to give in to the spiral and not worry about anything else but being pleased. The machines were doing me a favor really. I didn’t have to think; all I had to do was watch while I was given pleasure.

The glittery flow continued out of my body, causing my breathing to hurry a bit as the progression towards ecstasy continued. Grabbing the tube to steady myself, I didn’t notice my grip expand and solidify harder across the machine. My digits expanded, my feet following suit as they too bloated across the cold metal floor. After a while, my meaty fingers were able to surround the entirety of the tube. My feet–although I didn’t bother looking at them–were now able to grasp me firmly to the ground; their Size 14 nature containing the strength meant to hold the weight of a real man.

With the spiral and pump still working their magic, I couldn’t be bothered with watching how my legs and arms were changed next. As the homosexual energy was removed from my body, my ligaments were allowed to expand. Biceps and triceps that had never existed before blew up like balloons. Calves inflated in certain areas while shrinking in others, creating legs meant less for long distance running and more for shorter sprints. The quads swelled too, now able to do so being that they were no longer needed for any track. They were now created for sports played by alphas: football, basketball, and baseball. None of that cross country or tennis pansy crap.

After the shoulders had finished broadening with an incredible lengthening to my deltoids, the glitter was able to leave my torso next. My pits filled in with curly bushes of tangled hair, matted with sweat and stinking to the high Heaven. And even with the plump pecs and removal of body fat that was happening to my expanding frame, the forests would never be able to be completely hidden. By suctioning out the energy, my abs were showcased in a more elite form. Each abdominal was now hard across my stomach, all eight leading down to a perfect treasure trail that had never been able to grow before now. My height had been extended too, now putting me well over the 6 feet I’d never reached before.

The stream was flowing steadily now, extracting my homosexuality from what I assumed had to be the most concentrated areas: my head and my cock. Being that they were the only two parts of my real self left unscathed, this next part of the process would probably be gruesome. My buttocks were first to change, clenching hard as their luxurious fat was eliminated to create muscled pillows similar to my pecs. My hole closed in on itself almost immediately after, its purpose now reduced to duties only regarding objects exiting the body. My balls ripened and plumped into a generous sack, and my hard dick sputtered an extra few inches forward. The tube was still able to manage the added girth however, all 8 inches fitting into an even tighter squeeze than before.

With a grunt and dazed gaze at the projector screen, I watched lazily as words began to flutter across the screen. Although I was in no state of mind to focus–and I certainly should have been doing it towards literally anything else–I used all of my remaining willpower to try and decipher the letters that flashed upon the screen. While doing so, the tube continued to suck out the remaining substance of my homosexuality. My chin widened into a shape so square and masculine it was almost comical. My brow popped out to create a more Neanderthal-look, pursing my eyebrows and lips basically permanently. My hair was shaped into something more typical and douche-like. I couldn’t see it, but I knew I had been created into a breeding machine.

“Boobs” was the first word I was able to decipher from the projector. I grunted and began feeding my monster cock to the tube as if I was in charge. “Pussy” came next, followed by “Clit” and “Cunt”. The tube began to let up around my dick, but I didn’t care anymore. I was so hard, so horny, and for some reason it was for the words that flashed across the brick wall. With the help of “Vagina” and the simple “Woman”, I asserted my dominance and proceeded to thrust into the machine myself, my throbbing penis shooting in and out.

The tube had stopped moving, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I had only one thing on my mind. “Impregnate” the screen suddenly read, adding to the list of words already revolving around the screen. “Propagate” wasn’t too far behind, and neither was “Seed.” Suddenly, my horny fantasies didn’t just revolve around women. I realized I wanted to fill them, get my babies to coat their entire inner bodies. I wanted to…I wanted to… “Breed.” Yes, I wanted to breed. I wanted to multiply, make an entire generation of me. Identical to me. Same looks, same goals, same ideologies.

And before I knew it, even more words had been tossed into the mix. “Homophobia” arrived with a sting, a certain loathsome tingle erupting out around my body. “Alpha” was preceded by “Dominant,” and “Superior” was proceeded by “Traditionality.” All of these words sunk into my brain, accepting the new mindset as my ideals connected with my sexuality.

The programming gradually flickered faster, each new pulse sending a tiny bit more pressure to my dick. My thrusting grew more aggressive in response. I grabbed onto the tube with a renewed sense of strength and felt my gaze leave the projector’s trance for the first time. Allowing my eyes to roll back into my head, I released a dumb groan as the glittery stream dried up.

With one final thrust, a massive shot of my own cum was sent down the tube. The projector had finally stopped, displaying only “Thanks for watching!” in cutesy, bouncing letters before shutting off. The room went dark after that, but I blacked out before I even realized it.

— —

“Oh yeah,” I groaned as she sat on my lap, my massive schlong shoved up her tight pussy. “Ain’t that just right.”

Without saying a word, I got to work and felt my cock immediately getting ready to fire. When it came down to business, I could get my babymaker spewing fast. And being that I still had at least two other girls in town that needed to get rid of their flat stomachs before I went to work in an hour, I had to fertilize these chicks FAST!

“That’s right babygirl,” I was able to say between grunts. However, my cock immediately deflated when I noticed a sedan pull up across the street. The sedan itself was a crime–only trucks should be driven in Texas after all–but the “LGBTQIA+” sticker on the back nauseated me beyond belief. Visible disgust came over my face quickly, causing as my current conquest to ask me what was wrong. I grabbed my phone and explained I had to make a quick call to her dad. It wouldn’t take more than a minute I promised.

“Benbrook Police Department,” a sturdy, masculine voice answered.

“Yo brochacho, I’d like to report in a Protocol 69.”

“Hmm,” the other side mumbled disapprovingly. “Location of the illegitimate?”

“’The Real Man’s Tools’.” I followed my answer with a dumb chuckle. I always forgot how clever the hardware store’s motto was: “…besides a woman that is!”

“Car make and model?”

“You’ll know it, bro.”

“Not American-made?”

The babe still riding my cock shoved a finger in my mouth, signaling she wanted to continue.

“Are they…evuh?” The words were barely able to escape my mouth. The officer laughed in response on the other end as she began sliding up and down my dick slowly, getting us back to where we had left off.

“Thanks for the report,” the officer replied. “Please continue yer civil duties.”

“Will do, dude.”

The line hung up on itself, which was probably for the best with my hands already being wrapped back around my current score. I felt my load tense up as it began to prepare itself for semination. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see an officer’s cruiser pull up alongside the homo’s vehicle. Looks like we were both about to bring a straight, Texan, alpha male into the world.

Red Wave

--- Originally posted on 2023-01-05 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Ethan rushed home as fast as he could, excited to finally be able to play the most popular video game on the market. At $25, Red Wave certainly wasn’t one of the most expensive games out there, but it had still been out of Ethan’s price range when it had dropped a few weeks ago. Since then, the game had blown up all over the internet and had even been promoted in the news. Well, Fox News (they had thought the title “Red Wave” was associated with the prophesied Republican rebound), but still news nonetheless. 

People were obsessed with it, and it was pretty obvious why. Although Ethan hadn’t actually played the game yet, he already knew how it worked. Red Wave was an alternative survival game, one of those campaign-style strategies where the player tries to live as long as possible under growing amounts of enemies. It was paintball, blue versus red. As the game progressed, the player was able to buy upgrades and unlock new parts of the map, but every round a new “red wave” would descend upon them. 

What made the game unique however was that if the player was hit by a red paintball, they could not earn health back. They would be stuck with that health throughout the rest of the game until it was slowly lowered down to 0. Not only that, but Red Wave could only be played once through. Somehow, the company behind the game had been able to put an uninstaller agent deeply rooted inside the game. This meant that once the player died, the game deleted itself permanently from the console’s system and became completely inaccessible. Since Red Wave had launched, nobody had been able to figure out how to reinstall the game back on its original console.

Unlocking his apartment’s front door, Ethan quickly shut it behind him and kicked off his loafers. He then loosened his tie and threw his argyle socks towards the hamper. Usually, Ethan would have been a less careless when he got home, but the 5'7 gaymer was way too excited to dive into Red Wave. Within moments, he had his console booting up and then the game purchased and downloaded. 

While he waited, Ethan strolled to the mirror underneath his pride flag to unbutton his shirt a little, noting that it was a bit tight near the bottom. It seemed like the fast-food lunches he’d recently been treating himself to were taking a toll, the small paunch alerting him that he didn’t have an athlete’s metabolism. Not only that, but the fat gathering up around his cheeks was certainly not to be blamed on by his youth. The curly, black locks paired with the chubby face did make him look boyish however.

“Maybe I should start dieting…” Ethan mumbled as he heard a ding from across the room. Instantly, he rushed over to his chair and grabbed the controller. Red Wave was displayed broadly on the monitor. Flashes of red blotched themselves on the screen, and without hesitating Ethan pressed play. He was then presented with the initial agreement and warning, stating that the player would only be able to engage in the game once and when started would not be able to stop. Besides money, that was also why Ethan had waited so long to play the game–he wanted to see how long he could make it without stopping. With the whole weekend ahead of him, he was sure he’d get himself an impressive, braggable score.

The game was pretty simple at first. Ethan was equipped with a basic paintball gun, and his blue paintballs would knock out the red opponents before they even had a chance to fight back. Ethan was a pretty invested gaymer, but video games were always second to the real world for him. As a founding member of his university’s branch of the Gender-Sexuality Alliance and the president of the Business Casual Club along with the work of his graduate studies, Ethan was almost always focused on reality. However, when he did have time to escape to a virtual world, Ethan would always be found with a controller between his gentle hands. And he had become good at shooter games because of it.

A couple of hours had passed by and Ethan had already unlocked a third of the map, upgraded his paintball gun to fire more rounds at once, and had unlocked a variety of paint bombs. Currently, he was saving up for a bowling ball explosive–a giant blue paintball that would roll down the enemy team and explode after a few seconds. Ethan did notice that each new wave was getting a little more difficult though. The enemies were always a little bit faster, a little bit more competent, and had recently begun spawning themselves in numbers that Ethan couldn’t take out all at once. He wasn’t alarmed however; he still had too many things to unlock and plenty of time left.

When he got hit by a red paintball the first time, Ethan was literally shocked. As in physically shocked. His controller sent out a tiny pulse that sparked across Ethan’s bloodstream, causing him to twitch as the red paint stained itself on his blue player. It was harsh, but Ethan owed it to Red Wave having impressive haptics. In the top left corner of his screen, he watched as his blue health bar lowered just barely. It tainted itself a little too, becoming a darker hue. The concentrated smile that Ethan had been wearing faltered slightly, but in moments he had regained himself and the round was over. He quickly reloaded his gun and moved around the map to purchase some more items.

While Ethan prepared for the next round, he didn’t notice that his body had stretched along his gaming chair. Once at an average height, his torso and legs had elongated after the initial shock that had emitted from his controller. Inch by inch, his bones lengthened and brought flesh and tissue along with it. By the time the round had finished, Ethan would now stand at a well-reaching 6’1. But due to him sitting down, Ethan didn’t register that his head was now almost completely above his gaming chair, or that he was now leaning back slightly in order to give his legs more room.

Ethan continued on, racking up additional points as he became more invested in the game. As time ticked by, Ethan gained stronger power-ups. By four hours in, he was able to run faster across the map, now granting himself access to half of the rooms available. Just a little while later, his paintball gun was upgraded to having two barrels, allowing him to shoot more than one blue-splattering bullet at a time. He gained access to more explosives and traps, and was soon covering the map in different devices to explode any red enemies before they even reached him.

A second shock emitted from his controller after he was hit by a sniper, a new character that had emerged only a few waves earlier. Grunting, Ethan instantly shot back and killed the enemy, yet the damage had already been done. His health bar depleted a little further, shifting into something akin to indigo. Ethan however continued playing, defending himself well against the waves of red that descended upon him. As he did, his legs slowly firmed up underneath his pressed khakis. They grew thinner and more muscular at the same time, gaining strength as they became sharpened from years of running rather than sitting. Ethan’s quads too gained bulk, solidifying as a soft coat of hair descended upon his thighs and calves.

Ethan released a small sigh as he defeated the last enemy, the blue-stained character melting downwards and dissolving into the ground. He quickly did what he had done countless times before: purchased a few traps, stored some more explosives, and browsed across the upgrades he should be saving up for. As soon as he was finished, the round number flashed on the screen and he was back in the game.

The next shock came a little bit quicker than Ethan had thought it would, and a little harder too. It had only been a few rounds since the last hit, but this time he had been caught by a sentry. The robotic cannon had landed its target on Ethan’s blue character before he had had time to react, blasting a red laser right through the player. It took a little bit more health off of him then the other hits had. Ethan blamed this on the game’s length however. The longer the game went on, then probably the harder each “red wave” would hit. The bar in the top left shifted accordingly while also brightening up a tad.

Ethan pushed forward through the round. In his chair, his straight back slowly bubbled along the surface as it filled in with muscle. His shoulders broadened outwards, but as the changes descended lower, his proportions shrunk inwards. Ethan’s growing moobs hardened and pulled back into sturdy pectorals. The expanded stomach he noted earlier imploded into itself, leaving behind defined abs. It suctioned all the way back to the iliac crest to allow for a defined Adonis belt to emerge at the bottom of Ethan’s chest. A dusting of hair also accumulated around his belly button and slowly tread its way downwards.

Ethan made it through another hour before being greeted by a fourth shock from a grenade. Luckily, he hadn’t been hit full-on, but his health did alter into a classic purple. He ran his character away from the scene to protect himself. Ethan then decided to carefully stroll through hallways to eliminate the remaining enemies in smaller groups rather than the wave all at once. Unbeknownst to him, his arms began bulking up underneath his sleeves. Although they were rather average before, they now became a little larger and toned. Nothing too dramatic, but still defined enough to garner a reaction from any stranger when displayed. His forearms also slimmed enough to display veins while a generous helping of fur coated both tops and fluffed out his armpits. Finally, his tender hands became beefy mitts as his fingers grew thick and his palms became calloused.

The next shock came rather quickly, angering Ethan slightly as he noticed he’d missed a simple guard that had spawned near a door. It took him a little longer than he thought it would to take care of the matter, but he did destroy both the guard and the rest of the wave. His health bar had now lightened into a more magenta-like shade. He further upgraded his gun and placed a few more traps, including one specifically in front of the door he’d just been caught at. He’d opened up almost all of the map and had already gotten the majority of the weapons enhancements. Now he just had to save up and survive.

Ethan may have finished the round containing the loathed guard, but not without its consequences. The spark of electricity had coursed its way up its neck, pushing the flesh outwards to make room for expanding vocal chords. His Adam’s apple became more pronounced, dropping his voice a few octaves and erasing any vocal notes of intelligence and character. His jaw was next, the chubbier cheeks sinking in as his bones cracked and restructured into a squarer, more masculine lantern cut. His nose made a gruesome crunch as it popped out and adorned a new previously-broken shape. The ears grew and studded themselves, the brow ridge jutted out a little further, and the forehead became more prominent to give Ethan a macho, yet devolved look. His hair was the last touch, straightening out and diminishing into a regular dark brown as it was pulled back and fluffed outwards at the end, as if it had been trained to permanently cushion a backwards cap.

With less than 10 upgrades yet to purchase and one room yet to unlock, Ethan cursed when he was hit by a barrage of mini shocks from a machine gun. Each shot didn’t take off too much health, but put together they brought the bar in the top left corner into a definite, murkier pink zone. It took Ethan a while to rebound back, but after a grueling back and forth, he eventually eliminated both the gunner and a good portion of the rest of the wave. He retreated back into emptier parts of the map to reuse the same strategy he had successfully conceived earlier: taking down small groups at a time.

Ethan carefully perused each room and hallway, his blue paintballs coating the red enemies before they had even spotted him. While pushing on, his attire and room shifted accordingly. The buttons on his shirt popped off one by one as the fabric was pulled together into something less starchy. The dyes darkened to black and a hood bloomed out of the collar, changing the button-up into a simpler hoodie. His khaki’s were hit next, softening and becoming cuffed at the bottom as they too blackened into ordinary sweats. Underneath, his briefs expanded into faded, well-used checkered boxers, and upon his head arrived the black baseball cap his hair had been anxiously waiting for. 

The changes around Ethan’s room also faced various levels of simplification. His attire became copies of what he was wearing, and the articles themselves were now tossed on the floor and dirty rather than hung in the closet and clean. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, a layer of dust and grime laid itself carefully around the apartment, and a bulk supply of pregnancy tests appeared underneath the desk. Behind Ethan, the pride flag above his mirror shifted too. The rainbow stripes faded into a deep navy as bolded, white letters displayed themselves upon the fabric to proclaim a different form of pride.

It had taken Ethan awhile, but he eventually purchased the last of the upgrades for his paintball gun. All he had left was the final room to completely unlock the map. It was extremely expensive, but he assumed it was for a good reason. He didn’t know what happened when he would open that last room (Did it complete the game, or would he have to keep going until he died?), but he assumed it had to be glorious. Ethan would have to play it extra safe however, because before he realized it another sniper had once again hit him and brought his health to a strawberry hue.

Propping his feet up on the desk holding his monitor, Ethan leaned further back into his chair as he dedicated his entire focus to Red Wave. Because of this, he didn’t see his feet slowly bloating upwards and outward even though they were right in front of him. Each tiny, miniscule bone cracked and stretched as his toes plumped out and grew like tiny stalks upwards. His soles plumped as tiny hairs raced across the tops of the growing landscapes. As a cherry on top, a soft, yet potent smell began to emerge from the new wide and heavy Size 13 feet. Yet their larger, cushiony nature was yet to be observed by Ethan who was completely concentrated on unlocking that last room.

After some careful, patient grinding, Ethan had finally earned enough money to expand into the final part of the map. He didn’t know what would come next, or how long he would continue fighting on, but he was ready. He had completely lost track of time, and by now the round numbers were just a blur when they passed by. It had become too bothersome to interpret the Roman numerals, so Ethan had just started to ignore them. Licking his lips anxiously, he finished the current round and instantly ran his character over to the final room. Ethan was feeling less excited and more determined at this point to open the room, the game having transformed into a mission. But he was still excited nonetheless. In seconds, Ethan had the room unlocked and opened the door.

Immediately, the entire monitor flashed red as a nuke went off in his character’s face. The last room had been a trap; it was impossible for any player to continue on at that point. Seconds later, the remaining portion of Ethan’s health bar disappeared, replacing itself with the same red that the enemy team wore. Ethan didn’t mind however. In fact, he didn’t even comprehend what had happened. That final hit had sent another shock like the ones he’d felt before, but this time it had paralyzed him completely. It was almost like Ethan had been paused in time.

At least, mentally paused in time. The shock still brought along its physical effects, this time to Ethan’s pouch. His modest 4 inch softie instantly hardened to its full erect glory, but in moments it was throbbing. It pulsed as if someone was blowing up a balloon, each throb pumping it a little larger until it was an enhanced 8.5 inches. Ethan’s balls experienced a similar inflation, descending with weight as they covered themselves in a wiry forest of pubes. Across the perineum, his butthole shrunk and tightened while his glutes became larger and solidified, no longer serving the purpose they once dutifully fulfilled for previous boyfriends and in nightclub restrooms.

With his character dead, Red Wave finished out what it was intended to do. Just like what had been discussed all over media, the game began to uninstall itself from Ethan’s console and delete any history of its existence. However, unlike what had been discussed all over media (except ironically by Fox News, who for once spoke the truth), Red Wave began to uninstall and delete any history of Ethan’s existence. The game’s true purpose was to enact the long predicted Republican return: transforming every player by the end of the game into a fully-devoted, heterosexual, God-and-gay-fearing conservative. Players were expected to die about midway through the game, but the final room was placed as a fail-safe to ensnare every last participant.

So, as Red Wave destroyed itself and any evidence of its presence, it also deteriorated Ethan’s existence. His personality was dragged down into his churning balls, along with his organized nature, preppy values, and crafty intelligence. His kind, bright attitude was ripped away, leaving room for a more cocky, aggressive being. His views and morals were simplified and tied back to tradition, no longer swayed by the repulsive, modern “progress” of today. Ethan’s homosexuality too was torn away, each piece of his gay identity plucked in order to reveal a shallower, more malevolent shell. Ethan felt each shift go through him like a shock. One moment, he was bisexual, the next a straight ally. But eventually he embraced his final form–a homophobic breeder.

The entire uninstalling process itself seemed like it had taken hours, but it was truly only a few minutes. As Red Wave approached its final seconds on Ethan’s console, his dick began to tremble like a great volcano. Inside his boxers, his two drooping testicles were churning the remains of Ethan, deleting his entirety as it was being prepared for its own uninstallation. Still under the magnetic pause of the game, Ethan’s dull eyes watched as Red Wave’s uninstallation completed, sending forth one final shock. The spark raced across Ethan’s system and instantly triggered his hefty cock to eject the massive load, removing any remnants of his former life and blasting them all across his already-stained boxer shorts.

“Huh wha…” Eric awoke from his sudden stupor. “Ahhh dude...!”

The vocal fry was apparent as Eric took one of his hands off the controller and investigated his sweats, which now had a wet, growing splotch emerging from his pouch. He hated wasting a load when it totally could’ve gone in some chick. In Eric’s eyes, nutting alone was basically a crime against his babymaker.

Although his crotch was sticky and would later become stained, Eric didn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t some faggy liberal after all–he was a real man who did real manly things. If he had a massive dick and was constantly pumping stomachs, then he had a right to show that off. He wasn’t gonna let some blue-lovin’, cock-suckin’, atheist freak take away his rights! 

And Eric knew he would always win in the battle of red versus blue. Faggots were always lining up to do anything for their superiors. They’d pay him tons of cash for a used sock. Clean the apartment thoroughly before some bimbo came over to be filled that night just to get the privilege of massaging his massive feet for a half an hour. Plus, Eric had now realized that if he led them on enough, they’d go to the polls and vote red, even if the candidate was campaigning to remove gay rights. Despite having just blown a load seconds earlier, his girthy dick was responding to the thought of knowing how many fags were waiting to serve him.

“Gotta find some slut to dump this all into,” Eric huffed as he adjusted his package. The thought of bouncing tits and wet pussy only riled him further, but with the console already booted up he decided to play a few rounds of some shooter game first. Before he did however, he noticed his juicy feet propped up in front of his monitor, uncared for and needing attention. With his sticky hand, he snatched his phone and texted one of his go-to fairies. Instantly, the boy replied back and said he was on his way to service him. Content, Eric tossed the phone onto his unmade bed and opened up a game while he waited for the fag. The Red Wave was coming, whether the libs wanted to admit it or not. 

Bro-Job

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-04 by dumb-and-jocked ---

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

3TH93USA

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-09 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Encouraged and spurred on by @mrrharper

The building in front of Nathan was nothing more than a gray warehouse. It was absolutely massive, stretching to either end of the block. Nathan had no idea how far back it went, and with no windows he had no concept of floors either. Nathan considered that it may have been a poor idea to apply after all. The job had been looking for candidates with highly flexible hours and at least 10 years of experience. But Nathan, a desperately-underfunded college student in his final year, was badly in need of some quick cash. Holding his head high, he strolled towards the building's entrance.

Nathan had received a notice of a job opportunity through his email. At first, he had assumed it was some kind of spam, but after reading a bit more discovered it was indeed a legit company. Falcon Security, somewhere Nathan would have never placed himself to be applying for, had not only sent a rather dull email, but had a dull interior. Everything with this company was informative and straightforward, apparently details and color did not matter.

In the open, almost liminal space, Nathan felt as if a spotlight were on him. He had not dressed too flamboyantly, a floral-patterned dress shirt with blue slacks. But he definitely felt out of place in such a starkly-monotone place. Not only that, but he knew he did not fit in. Just under six foot, red hair with freckles, lanky enough to be considered paper-thin, Nathan had to remind himself this job was not based on looks. Falcon Security meant IT, and all he had to say was he looked younger than his actual age. In a few months, he could be gone, the company nothing more than a blip on his resume.

The orientation process was a lot easier than Nathan had expected. After navigating through a few empty halls, he eventually found himself in a large room with a plethora of other men. None of them matched each other, all presumably in desperate situations like Nathan. After a bit of waiting, the presentation began on the huge screen projected opposite of the door.

It was nothing Nathan had not seen before, a male AI voice narrating the company’s background and history. When they began listing some of the more famous companies Falcon Security had aided in the past, Nathan was surprised at how many he recognized. Many names were politically-affiliated, all right-leaning but nothing concerning Nathan. Business was business, and he would be working IT anyway, so he would not inherently be supporting anything he stood against. The one anti-LGBT organization startled him a bit, although he did not show it. As a gay man, he would simply avoid any tasks related to that client. Money had influenced his standards a lot, but not to the point of changing his morals.

Once the presentation had finished, all the men received a text to their personal devices for their next station. Nathan pulled out his phone and after looking around, began to follow the other men out of the room. They herded down the hallway, passing by the different facilities available in the building. A cafeteria, restrooms, a huge gym with a few people the size of bodybuilders already hard at work. Nathan was beginning to think this was some kind of complex. Once they ventured past the sleeping quarters with bunk beds galore, questions formed as to how hard the company would be working him.

Eventually, each of the men began diverging off into different directions, finding their corresponding rooms. Nathan tried to remain optimistic of the situation, following along the instructions from his phone. Third floor, hallway T, room H93. It took a little strength to open the door, Nathan assumed it had to have been made of some metal. He entered his room and heard the door click shut behind him. Room H93 was small, with nothing in it but a chair facing away from the exit. Once Nathan took a seat, the projector lit up.

“Welcome to Falcon Security,” the male AI voice announced. “The following education supplement is broken into three segments.”

Nathan peered around the room once more, finding it strange as to why he was separated from the other men for this portion of the orientation.

“Cerebral Manipulation activated, engaging Cleanse.”

Suddenly, Nathan was bombarded with a combination of blinding visuals and piercing audios. The projector was strobing violently, quickly flashing colors back and forth and scorching his eyes. The speakers out of Nathan's sight were blasting discordant notes, the high pitches scrambling his neurological pathways. He immediately shut his eyes and went to cover his ears, trying to tune it all out, but the damage had already been instituted. Overwhelmed by the stimuli, his brain carried out the emergency function, shutting itself off completely. Nathan’s hands dropped to his sides as his mouth hung open, staring lifelessly at the paralyzing screen before him.

“Cleanse complete, Cerebral Manipulation disengaged.”

Nathan made no movement as multiple ceiling tiles lifted up, revealing vents. He continued to stare ahead, no thought forming in his emptied mind.

“Physical Manipulation activated, engaging Vapor.”

Slowly, a hiss began to sound out from the vents opened within the ceiling. A reddish gas softly descended from the ceiling, filling up Nathan’s room in a minute. Before long the air had completely left the room, leaving Nathan’s mindless husk to breathe in the pure red fumes.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics,” the AI rattled off. Through the red haze, the projector booted up a loading screen with an array of fields.

HEIGHT - 75 Units

WEIGHT - 200 Units

ADIPOSE TISSUE - 12%

MUSCULATURE - 85%

FEET - 13 Units

PHALLUS - 9 Units

LIBIDO - 80%

HAIR (B) - 67%

HAIR (C) - 1B0C05

EYE (C) - 200C05

Although Nathan could not recognize it, these inputs were standardized by the company.

“Vapor engaged, activating Reactor.”

A relaxer began to escape, mixing thoroughly with the red fumes already present in the room. Carefully slinking down, it eventually slithered up Nathan’s nostrils and tickled his brain. Triggered, Nathan began taking larger, deeper breaths, thoroughly absorbing the red gas.

The effects of the vapor rapidly assimilated into Nathan’s system. His bones began to crack, his tendons and ligaments shifting and expanding. The edges of his tight outfit grew taut, threatening to rip before a laser quickly scanned the room, erasing every article of clothing. Now naked, Nathan’s body was free to grow in any direction it needed. And it did, stretching out across the chair as Nathan evolved. With each filtrating breath, Nathan pumped himself larger and larger, eventually reaching a height of 6’3.

Nathan's muscles continued to bloat as the vapor was continually absorbed into his systems. His once lanky body was broadening: longer legs, longer torso, longer shoulders. His calves and upper arms swelled with power, thickening and plumping with strength and testosterone. His quads widened, now along with his new eight abdominals bolstering immense durability. Nathan’s backside curved outwards, better filling in his seat while his hardware up front enlarged into a thick 9 inches. Although not in a conscious state, Nathan separated his legs to accommodate for his new, massive bundle, his toes inching forward as his feet puffed out into a sturdy Size 13.

Nathan’s head arched back to allow the remainder of red gas to be consumed. His neck distended to accommodate for the emerging Adam’s apple, his vocal chords thickening to create a deeper tone. His jaw and cheekbones jutted forward, stretching his nose and accentuating his brow. In a flash, Nathan’s roots and eyes darkened into a steep brown, tainting his hair as it pulled into a tight crew cut. The rest of his body adapted accordingly, his skin tone tanning slightly before being washed over with dark hair through the pits, down the sternum, across his crotch, and throughout his arms and legs.

The last of the red fumes disappeared down Nathan’s nasal passages, coating his more masculine jaw with a well-maintained beard. The AI voice confirmed this completion.

“Vapor installed, engaging Auxiliary Supplements: 3TH93USA.”

AGE - 29 Units

When Nathan had applied, he had not met the company’s standards of employment. This forced Falcon Security to take the necessary action of moving him to meet the minimum experience requirement. A small tube appeared from one of the open vents directly above Nathan. With his head in position and mouth lazily ajar, the pipe distributed seven blue drops directly down Nathan’s throat. He did not have to swallow, the liquid absorbing on impact.

After a moment, the aging began to show. Nathan’s muscles stiffened slightly, toughening after more years of constant conditioning. His body odor grew denser, his voice gruffer. His libido remained the same, but now served a different purpose. It had matured into a machine for fertilization, built for a purpose rather than for pleasure. As the tiniest beginnings of frown lines formed, the process moved forward.

“Auxiliary Supplements complete, Cerebral Manipulation reactivated, downloading Cognition.”

The ceiling tiles lowered, the vents closing as the screen booted up with new diagnostics.

“Displaying mandatory characteristics.”

CEREBRAL CAPACITY - 20%

INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT - 73 Units

SUBORDINATION - 95%

AGGRESSION - 90%

INTERPRETATION - 15%

INDEPENDENT ANALYSIS - 10%

Uploading SECURITY package…

Uploading SELF-MAINTENANCE package…

Installing CODE RED

“Download complete, engaging Cognition.”

Once again, the room was filled with the blaring visual and audio combination. Because Nathan’s brain had already been turned off, the repetition now triggered the opposite effect. Soon, Nathan’s mind reanimated, becoming coherent to his surroundings. His former self had been deleted, leaving an open canvas ready to become something completely new. Before Nathan could become cognizant and recolor his gray matter, the program instituted new effects.

Delicately, the strobing lights and screeching notes were honed into the background. New media quickly infiltrated the pattern. Flashes of words and phrases flashed the screen, branding Nathan’s mind. Images of loyal men, bulky men, masculine men burst through Nathan’s retinas, establishing only one precedent. Mixed in were scattered opinion pieces to erect the bare minimum of personality features. Pictures of conservative leaders, Christian motifs, and clips of straight sex, enough to align with the company’s agenda.

“The company is always right,” “The clients are always right.” A male narrator had begun instructing different phrases into the room. His words crawled into the open crevice of Nathan’s shrunken brain, filling up the emptied space. “Every guard is completely loyal to the company,” “The company never makes mistakes.” Every instruction repeated over and over, accompanied by the images of Falcon Security and their work.

Nathan had been wrong to assume the Falcon Security had been an information technology firm. The company was actually a high-tech, military-grade safeguard who prided themselves with muscles promising complete protection, surveillance, and performative obedience. When they had discovered their investors in conservative businesses, they tailored their focus a bit more, pledging their guards would not only work for them, but vote for them too. Focus groups and trial operations provided them with the perfect formula for their clients.

In an instant, the program went into overdrive. The male AI returned, drilling “Ejaculate, Ejaculate, Ejaculate,” over and over. The stimulation exploded Nathan’s brain with ecstasy, his cock rising directly up and pulsing with excitement. The images on the screen ran twice as fast, the audio tracks looping quicker. With a manly grunt, Nathan howled as his swollen weapon blasted the remnants of his former will across the room. The laser from before returned, erasing the ejaculation and covering up the newly transformed guard in the company’s in house uniform: black sweats and a black cap

Blinking, 3TH93USA stood up as the door to the room opened behind him. He marched out of his room, the other new guards like fraternal clones of him doing likewise. They all filed down to the halls back to where they had come from. Some steered off into the cafeteria, others navigated to the sleeping quarters. 3TH93USA was one of the few who arrived in the gym, beginning his workout immediately as instructed. Security was his function, and if he was not doing that, then 3TH93USA was either eating, maintaining, or sleeping.

3TH93USA began his pull up routine as a few men in suits walked by, looking in on the gym.

“One needs a soldier, completely obedient and always following orders,” one of the businessmen stated. “Each of our men are customizable, programmable to any of your needs. Their only purpose is to be a security guard.”

They watched on as 3TH93USA continued his workout, no other objective in his mind.

Alpha Orders

--- Originally posted on 2023-08-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Troy?”

“In here!”

Marco walked into the living room, spotting his roommate lounged out on the couch. Although he didn’t look 22, Troy’s youthful figure was almost completely absorbed by whatever game he was playing. His petite body was tense and focused. He looked like one of those hairless cats ready to spring forward.

“Whatcha playin’?” Marco asked.

“It’s some new game Franklin gave me,” Troy replied. Franklin was also a nerdy type, but while Troy just mostly looked the part, Franklin actually played the part. Glasses, suspenders, kind of a pushover. It was strange that someone could fit a stereotype so perfectly.

“It’s called Alpha Orders.”

“Kinda like ‘Simon Says’?” Troy asked, grabbing a snack from the kitchen. Since college had started, he’d put on a considerable amount of weight. He fit the ex-jock bill pretty well. But his girlfriend didn’t mind. In fact, she remarked about liking the pudge that had started filling in his frame. As long as he shaved, she always joked, he wouldn’t look like a bear.

“Kinda…” Troy mumbled. Marco shoved a handful of Goldfish down his throat and looked over his roommate once more. The shrimp sure was invested. His eyes appeared somewhat glazed over.

“Seeing how much you love it, do you think I should try it once you’re finished?”

It took Troy a moment to respond. Suddenly, Troy’s body pumped up. Almost like a heartbeat, but affecting his entire body as if someone had pushed the lever down on a tire pump. Marco blinked, rationalizing that his eyes were playing tricks on him out of hunger. The loose button-up and straight jeans Troy was wearing didn’t look any tighter. Yeah, he just needed some more Goldfish down the hatch. Marco eagerly complied with the prescription he’d given himself.

“Uh…” Troy started slowly. “You should just…go to Franklin. Get another copy.”

“Oh,” Marco replied flatly. It was a little odd that Troy didn’t want to share with him after he was done. It was usually chill when it came to the roommates swapping stuff between each other. But if Marco was being honest he didn’t really mind taking the short trip. He didn’t have any homework or plans today anyway, so going over to Franklin’s wouldn’t be a bother.

“Sure, not a bad idea,” Marco shrugged, tossing a few more crackers in his mouth. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Marco had only been to Franklin’s place once or twice to pick Troy up, but he still knew the way to the nerd’s house. Those two looked oddly alike with their small, thin frames and youthful faces. And by how often those two hung out, heck, they could’ve been secretly dating for all he knew. But Marco remembered wingmanning for Troy once. It hadn’t gone particularly well, but Marco did end up with the chick who’d passed Troy off later that night. Luckily, his roommate had never found about the one nighter.

Marco knocked on the door to Franklin’s place. “Franklin? It’s Marco.”

“Yeah,” a rumbling bass replied back, allowing for Marco to open the door. A blast of sweaty musk spilled outwards, causing Marco to stagger. He blinked, hoping to clear his head a little before he entered. He always forgot how pungent the man was, especially in a concentrated place like the apartment.

Sitting back in a recliner was Mr. F, stripped down to just a pair of tiny running shorts. Marco could tell the man was commando underneath the controller–the guy never did try to hide his monster cock. And why should he? He was a total alpha male after all. Tall, well-built, hairy. Had a voice that shook the room and an attitude that shook people’s knees. Including the guy that was at Mr. F’s massive feet, servicing them diligently as Mr. F played his game. Marco didn’t mind though, knowing Mr. F deserved this kind of specialized treatment.

“Mr. F,” Marco started, pacing across the room.

“What do you want?” Mr. F got right to the point. He didn’t even try looking away from the screen.

“I was wondering if I could borrow a copy of that game you gave Troy.” Marco shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “Alpha Orders.”

“Check the kitchen table.”

Marco did as instructed, finding exactly what he was looking for.

“Get me a beer while you’re at it too,” Mr. F commanded. Marco obeyed, not even thinking twice as he snatched a bottle from the fridge and brought it to the man. He didn’t even regard the boy who was currently beside his own feet.

Marco blinked, noticing his apartment door presented in front of him. Wasn’t he just at Mr. F’s place? The game was still in his hand, and everything else looked in order. Except for his watch, which read a full four hours later than when he had arrived at the other man’s residence. But to get to Mr. F’s was only a ten minute drive? Marco didn’t know what had happened, but he had gotten what he wanted. No point in thinking about it much longer.

Marco opened the front door and strolled in, noticing a peculiar thickness to the air. Although he couldn’t see his roommate, some audio from the living room alerted him that Troy was still there. Marco didn’t even bother kicking off his shoes as he strolled into the kitchen and snatched a granola bar. He figured he’d be bunking down in his own room for a bit so as to not disturb his roommate. Being the bigger (much bigger) half of the pair, Marco knew he’d be more of a nuisance than if Troy had been in the same situation.

“Hey dude, still at it…” Marco droned off. On the couch was a man–a real masculine, macho man. He was taller than Marco, larger than Marco, and exuded a more dominant aura than Marco. He was like a crossover between a bodybuilder and a lumberjack, filling out the blue flannel with his solid pecs, thick shoulders, and hairy arms. The jeans were tight around his lower half too, leading all the way to the massive Size 14 feet propped up on the coffee table. And Marco couldn’t believe the size of this man’s junk. He thought the controller lying on top was vibrating, but after a few moments he realized it was the giant lump underneath that was actually throbbing.

“‘Bout time you got here,” the man grunted. He casually itched the massive beard on his face, which was somehow still not enough to hide the lantern jaw hidden within. “I texted you a while ago.”

Marco blinked. “Oh, sorry Mr. T, I-”

“You shouldn’t make me wait,” Mr. T asserted, his gruff tone making him sound older than his 37 years. “I had to stop my game. I was near the end.”

Marco turned towards the screen, noticing that his roommate was already 80% finished with the main task. Whatever that was.

“Mr. T, I’m sorry,” Marco started. “I was at Mr. F’s and lost track of time.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Mr. T corrected. “Apologize to the lads.”

Marco nodded, getting down on his knees and leaning in towards Mr. T’s feet. Both of them had a pungent funk, but it was more subtle than Mr. F’s. After a quick bow of his head, Marco kissed both of them, expressing his most sincere remorse as to not being there when needed. As the alpha in the apartment, Mr. T naturally needed service regularly. Marco was always happy to oblige, as it was his position on the social ladder. It had nothing to do with sexuality after all. Quite the opposite. Both of the men were ramrod straight, but Mr. T was born to dominate men everywhere but the bedroom.

“Good boy.” Mr. T had yet to look up from his phone once. “Now go off to another room, I will call you when I need you.”

Marco did as he was told, grabbing his things and moving off to his room. He shut the door behind him politely so as to not disturb the other man. He couldn’t believe he screwed up like that, so focused on getting this silly game that he’d been late for his primary role as a good roommate. Marco just hoped it was worth all the hype.

Marco popped the disc into his personal console and kicked back in the couch. He casually readjusted his pouch underneath his sweats, noting the strip of bare skin now visible due to the ballooning of his stomach. He huffed disappointedly, knowing this white shirt was just one of the many that had become victims to his recent…expansion.

“ALPHA ORDERS,” the screen read aggressively. Securing his headphones over his baseball cap, Marco hit the play button. A loading screen appeared next, an arrow creating the same biological gender symbol for male over and over. It would loop in a circle, before jutting off at the last moment to the top right. And then it would start again, and again, and again. Marco just watched on, waiting.

“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen began, causing Marco to ready his controller. “YOU TO EMBODY AND EXALT THE MULTIFACETED VIRTUES OF MASCULINITY.”

Marco just stared at the screen, not knowing what exactly to do. Was this some kind of puzzle game? Like was he supposed to hit a certain button based off of the prompt given to him? He blinked, unsure of what to do. He already did embody masculinity with his well-muscled frame, the fur underneath his shirt covering it, and his aura of testosterone. And he exalted it alright, making sure to display his masculinity at all times. Although this white shirt wasn’t doing his stacked abs any justice.

A little ping sounded from the screen as he moved onto the second task. Marco didn’t know how the game had registered something, but he couldn’t help if even technology could sense his manliness.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO RESIDE AT THE TOP OF THE HIERARCHY AND ESTABLISH OTHERS’ PLACE BENEATH IT.”

Marco blinked, making sure to fondle his hefty pouch generously. Oh yeah, he knew what kind of power he had. Pussies practically called to him and his 9-incher. Marco was a predator, always on the winning team. Getting serviced whenever he wanted was guaranteed to him. There was a reason people called him “Mr. M”, “Sir”, or even “Master.” He wasn’t toxic; Marco was in-toxic-ating. Any alpha man was. Everyone loves an arrogant douchebag because they knew their place. His dick was begging for attention beneath his sweats, and going commando made it easy for Marco to give it a quick tug.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO FOLLOW PRIMAL INSTINCT–BRAIN IS FOR BETA, MANHOOD IS FOR MAN.”

Marco rubbed his eyes, having to read the stupidity of that last part again. He thought it was stupid, but after blinking he recognized its truth. Yeah he was led by his pussystuffer! What was he supposed to do? Listen to his head? Marco knew that was useless. Learning was for nerds, and school was for…ultra nerds. He wasn’t a loser! His dick led him wherever he needed to go. Gotta get some cash? Find someone to give it to him with his cock. Hungry? Someone will feed him food while he feeds them with his own personal sausage. Need a blowjob? That will come from any chick around no questions asked.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO PRODUCE AN AURA THAT INSPIRES LOYALTY AND SUBMISSION.”

Marco blinked, taking in a whiff of his own body odor while doing so. He twitched a little, noting a little bit of heat at the end that made his musk all the more enticing. Marco stunk up everywhere he went; deodorants just couldn’t mask his manly aroma. It wasn’t a crime to smell like an ALPHA! Marco’s natural, masculine scent just put those other betas to shame. With damp, bushy pits and Size 13 stompers, it was practically Marco’s destiny to have an ever present, robust malodorous cloud.

Marco’s eyes briefly moved up to the top of the screen, noting his task bar was at 80%. It was right where his roommate had stopped earlier. He hoped that meant he was close. He needed someone to worship him NOW!

“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen read. Marco blinked, noticing the screen was taking a longer time than usual to display its next command. He blinked again, bringing a hand down to his crotch. Marco couldn’t believe it, blinking again. He began furiously groping himself, bringing himself to the edge as he waited. What was the final order? What was he supposed to do? Marco blinked, feeling a rush spiral down his spine right into his cannon. What did Alpha Order?

“YOU TO BE FULLY HOMOSEXUAL TO COMPLETELY DOMINATE OTHER MEN BY MIND, BODY, AND ACTION.”

Marco’s mouth dropped. Was this game serious? How was he supposed to accomplish this task? It wasn’t like he could just suddenly go gay. Sure, he knew when another man was handsome or good looking, but he had never swung that way. Marco knew other guys servicing him came off as strange sometimes–even his girlfriend had questioned him on it once or twice–but that was just to display his authority. But he never found it erotic! It just wasn’t his thing. Marco blinked, simply not understanding what to do.

Because he was already the gayest guy he knew around. He loved men and boys. There was nothing that made him happier than dumping a dude on the ground and ripping them open. He adored the way they treated his body like the temple it was. The way they worshiped him like the god he was. Men were the best at pleasuring other men, so it only made sense an alpha like him was gay. Frank, Troy, Marco; they all understood the best way to be at the top of the ladder was to put other men in their places beneath them, whether it be sucking on his cock or his toes.

“Yo, Marco!” Troy announced as he entered the room. “I got some boys rolling over here in 10. I will let you claim dibs on which part you want to serv…”

Troy stopped, observing the jockish man staring at the screen in front of him.

Troy blinked, registering his fellow alpha had just finished whatever game he had been playing.

“What did you say?” Marco’s voice had a cocky, sultry air to it.

“I said I got some boys rolling over here in 10.” Troy rolled his eyes. “I will let you claim dibs on one of them if you need to be serviced right now.”

Without moving his eyes off the screen, Marco shut down his console and scratched his ball sack.

“Bro, alphas like us always need to be serviced.”

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.

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-03 by breedertfs ---

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

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.

Caring pregnant bitch - Petofy

sign of pregnancy, feed, exercise, medication, vaccination, worming and preparation for the birth of the puppy

The diet should be monitored carefully and always take veterinary advice about the best nutrition during the stages of pregnancy. Five to six weeks into her pregnancy, she will need 30-50% more food than normal to provide sufficient nutrients to her puppies. Give her small and frequent meals to help her eat the amount of food she requires; the growing pups inside her will take up much more room and this will lead to her becoming full more quickly. If you use a good quality, high protein food, supplements will not be necessary.... read more

Don't hide your pride!

Homoerotic buddies on #everyman

Annnnd a little video too because I’m feeling extra doughy today.