Celebrity Tf - Tumblr Posts

I’m sure Tom Daley isn’t the only Olympian that has experienced such an enlightening transformation

Switching teams and going for the bronze(r)

Tom Daley had just secured his fifth Olympic medal, a momentous occasion as it was also his first silver in the synchronized diving 10m platform competition. The jubilation was still evident as he exited the arena, his excitement glowing in every step. He was practically buoyant with triumph, his smile a testament to the pride and joy of the achievement. His eyes sparkled with an electrifying mix of relief and euphoria, reflecting the culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

After soaking in the last of the accolades, Tom headed towards the locker room, his mind already shifting from the competition to the more mundane pleasures of unwinding. He slipped into the showers, the cool, cascading water a welcome reprieve from the day's adrenaline rush. As he disrobed, his toned body was revealed in all its glory, a symphony of muscle and definition crafted through relentless effort.

Tom’s physique was nothing short of a sculptor’s dream. Broad shoulders seamlessly tapered down to a chiseled waist, presenting a v-shaped silhouette that could be considered almost mythological in its perfection. His biceps and triceps, visibly rippling with each movement, underscored the countless hours spent honing his form. His abs, a masterclass in abdominal architecture, were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Each muscle was sharply defined, creating a washboard of six-pack abs that almost seemed to glow with the allure of his hard-earned dedication. Every shift and flex of his stomach muscles showcased a fluid grace, designed to flaunt his physical prowess.

As he reached for a bottle of shampoo labeled "Swagger Silk," Tom’s attention was momentarily diverted. He began to lather his body up, the rich, foamy suds mixing with the water. Without noticing, a deep, brown tan began to cascade down his body, spreading like a liquid bronze sheen. The effect was subtle at first, but as the shampoo's luxurious foam mingled with the water, it became more pronounced.

The transformation was gradual but striking. Tom's body, previously well-defined and toned, began to grow in height, his physique expanding with a noticeable increase in mass. His muscles bulged and swelled, each sinew becoming more pronounced and sculpted. His shoulders broadened further, and his biceps and triceps took on an even more impressive definition. His abs, already a dazzling display, evolved into a more pronounced and awe-inspiring six-pack, each muscle delineated with almost supernatural precision.

His skin, now a rich, sun-kissed brown, highlighted his enhanced physique with a striking contrast. The muscles of his chest, arms, and abdomen appeared more defined and pronounced, each ripple and curve accentuated by the deepened tan. The water and suds created a mesmerizing interplay, making his newly expanded and more powerful form even more captivating.

Tom’s face, equally captivating, remained a striking feature. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones caught the light, creating a visage that seemed both regal and commanding. His eyes, dark and intense, continued to hold that smoldering charisma, a silent promise of adventure and indulgence. His hair, immaculately styled, framed his face with effortless sophistication, adding to his overall aura of polished perfection.

As Tom Daley finished basking in the afterglow of his achievement, his mind began to shift in unexpected ways. The euphoria of securing his fifth Olympic medal, a silver in synchronized diving, was still fresh, but the effects of the shampoo, with its strange, transformative properties, began to alter him in unforeseen ways. With each passing moment, Tom felt a gradual but unmistakable dulling of his mental sharpness. His thoughts became slower, more disjointed, and a peculiar, almost childlike laugh escaped his lips as he absentmindedly played with his newly expanded chest. His once-masterful movements grew clumsy; he fumbled with the shower controls and began to forget the fundamental techniques of diving and swimming that had been second nature to him for years.

As he stared at his reflection, his once-chiseled, refined features started to morph into something altogether different. His face, previously a striking example of Middle Eastern elegance with a strong jawline and high cheekbones, began to distort into a more exaggerated, almost cartoonish version of itself. His features grew more pronounced, his jawline more brutish, and his cheekbones more angular, giving him a somewhat sinister appearance. The transformation extended beyond mere appearance; his demeanor changed drastically. Where there had been pride and dedication, there was now a burgeoning cruelty and obnoxiousness. Tom’s self-assured charm gave way to an entitled arrogance that was both jarring and complete.

His once sophisticated demeanor now manifested as a loud, brash persona. He couldn’t help but smirk with a cocky grin as he turned off the shower, his attitude reflecting the newly adopted arrogance. The elaborate world he now embraced was one of ostentation and indulgence. The high-end, entitled Arab “bro” that emerged was the epitome of excess and swagger, a figure who reveled in the pinnacle of luxury and social status.

His life was a glittering showcase of opulence. His passion for luxury cars and motorcycles was a performance art of its own, his garage a temple to automotive perfection. From sleek Lamborghinis to roaring Ducatis, each vehicle was a testament to his refined taste and immense wealth. His social media was a stage where he paraded these acquisitions with digital bravado, each post dripping with self-satisfaction and dominance.

Fitness was no longer just a hobby but a religion, with his gym sessions turning into legendary displays of muscle and power. His selfies, flaunting his physique, became a visual sermon on the virtues of dedication, accompanied by hashtags like #MuscleGod and #GainsOnGains. His body was his divine offering, sculpted and polished to a perfection that he displayed with relentless pride.

Fashion became his battlefield, where he wielded designer labels like armor. His wardrobe was a collection of haute couture, tailored to showcase both his wealth and taste. Each outfit was a statement, accessorized with watches and jewelry that spoke volumes of his superior status.

Partying and socializing were his playgrounds, his presence at exclusive events and private yacht parties a theatrical display of high-profile enjoyment. His social media was alive with images of his nightlife escapades, his grin suggesting he lived a dream that others only aspired to.

In the modern elite's vibrant social whirlpool, Tom had morphed into an unapologetic maestro of opulence and swagger. His life, now an exaggerated display of luxury and arrogance, was a carefully curated cocktail of unbridled arrogance and charming charisma. Every aspect of his existence—from his luxury cars to his high-end fashion, from his extravagant parties to his cutting-edge tech—reverberated with the unmistakable hum of high status and indulgent flair. In this new persona, Tom Daley had become the very epitome of excess and self-assuredness, a living testament to the allure of the meticulously curated, high-status lifestyle.

Tom Daley emerged from the shower, a newly minted figure of grandeur and confidence. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, admiring his reflection with a mix of awe and vanity. His physique, now larger and more pronounced, gleamed with a golden sheen, a testament to his ostentatious transformation. Flexing his biceps and running a hand down his sculpted abs, he marveled at the almost exaggerated definition of his muscles. His reflection showed a Herculean figure, every sinew and curve screaming excess.

Next, Tom selected an outfit that mirrored his newfound arrogance. He chose tight, glossy leather pants that hugged his beefed-up thighs and calves, accentuating each swell of muscle. The pants were paired with a sleeveless metallic shirt that glittered under the fluorescent lights, emphasizing his chest and abs with every shift. Completing the look were oversized sunglasses and a gaudy gold chain that seemed to scream vanity and extravagance. The ensemble was both flashy and provocative, perfectly representing his transformed identity.

As he admired himself, his phone buzzed incessantly, each notification a new reminder of his altered reality. The texts, arriving one after another, began to chip away at his previous life: “Hey T! 😘 You’re looking absolutely incredible lately. How about we grab a drink tonight? 🍸”

T’s eyes sparkled as he read the message. A cocky grin spread across his face. He felt a rush of desire and self-satisfaction, savoring the attention. The message made him feel more powerful and alluring, reinforcing his new persona. He continued to bask in his reflection, but his phone buzzed again “Just saw your post! 🔥🔥 I’d love to get to know you better. Any chance you’re free this weekend? 💋”

Each notification seemed to pull him further from his previous life, erasing the remnants of his once-happy gay marriage. The flirtatious tone of the message added fuel to his burgeoning sense of entitlement. He could almost feel the fog of lust and desire clouding his mind, the excitement of the attention turning into a palpable craving. As Tom composed a response, another text arrived “T---, you’re turning heads everywhere! Let’s meet up for a private party at my place. 😉”

The constant stream of flirtation was intoxicating, each message reinforcing his growing arrogance and self-importance. His grin widened as he envisioned himself as the center of attention at a private party. The seductive undertones of the message only intensified his transformation. His phone buzzed once more, “Can’t stop thinking about how amazing you looked today. Let’s make some plans soon! 😈”

The flood of attention was overwhelming. Each text solidified his new identity, pushing him further into the realm of superficial allure. The lines between Tom Daley and his new persona began to blur, his previous life as a happily married gay man gradually fading away. The name "Tom Daley" slipped from his mind, replaced by something more exotic and brash.

Tom’s thoughts became muddled, his once-clear sense of self clouded by a fog of lust and indulgence. The name "Tamim" began to take shape in his mind, embodying the essence of a cocky, entitled Arabic bro. The transformation was complete. Tamim was now the epitome of high-status arrogance and excessive charm, thriving on ostentation and self-adulation. His life, once filled with genuine love and commitment, had been replaced by a world of superficial allure and luxury. The fog of desire swirled around him, solidifying his new identity as Tamim, the ultimate embodiment of opulent arrogance.

As Tamim's thoughts became more and more consumed by his new persona, a distinct bulge began to form in his pants. His mind was racing with images of lavish parties, exotic dancers, and the countless women who desired him simply for his wealth and status. The transformation was complete - he was now the ultimate representation of opulent arrogance.

Suddenly, a notification sounded on his phone indicating that he had received a text message. Without hesitation, Tamim reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. As he read through the message from an unknown number, a look of disdain crossed his face; it was clearly some basic white bitch trying to get her hands on him for attention or money or both! But instead of ignoring her like any normal person would do in such situations, Tamim decided to play along… just because he could!

"Hey there sweetheart," he said, reading out loud the slut's text, in an overly flirtatious tone that would make even seasoned playboys blush," I might be able to help you out if you know what I mean." He winked cheekily at no one in particular before typing back: "I know exactly what you want darling… meet me at my penthouse tonight at midnight sharp!" Pressing send with confidence beyond measure; after all – who could resist an invitation like that?

Tamim's mind was filled with a final burst of gay intrusive thoughts, but he pushed them away with a forceful determination. His soul burned with an intense anger towards those who would dare to question his masculinity or threaten his dominance. With every fiber of his being, he rejected these unwanted ideas and embraced the persona he had created for himself - that of an entitled, obnoxious Middle Eastern douchebag.

Feeling renewed and empowered by this inner transformation, Tamim reached for the bottle of cologne on his dresser and sprayed it generously over his body. The cloying scent was meant to repel any potential suitors who might not meet his high standards; instead, it served as a powerful reminder to everyone else that they were beneath him in every way possible.

Satisfied with how he looked and smelled (or at least as satisfied as someone like him could ever be), Tamim made one last check in the mirror before heading out into the world once more – ready to conquer new heights of luxury while trampling over anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with him.

An interesting request from me. What if a straight man wishes to become Chris Evans because he wants the attention from girls. Well instead he becomes Kris Evans and he doesn’t notice until he is completely Kris and love the attention from men.

(Check out the full, NSFW version of this story HERE!)

Who doesn’t want to be Chris Evans?

Stellar career, great body, super nice guy, dog lover, and, by all accounts, a total chick magnet.

But nobody wanted to be Chris more than Blake. He was everything Chris wasn’t: unattractive, untalented, unsuccessful, and terrible with people (especially women).

So when Blake got his hands one one of those rare changing stones—ancient magical rocks with the power to transform the user into whomever's name they wrote on the smooth granite surface—he knew exactly what name he was going to write.

Unfortunately, spelling was among one of Blake’s many deficiencies. He relied heavier on spell check than the average person. But this wasn’t Microsoft Word. The changing stone had no spell check, so whoever (or whatever) one wrote on the rock was… well… set in stone.

At first, everything seemed to go according to plan. Blake felt himself shoot up an extra nine inches in height, followed immediately by a drastic drop in size. His blubbery gut receded back into his stomach, so much so that when looked down, his feet came into view for the first time since middle school.

But the view was short lived, as only moments later, a cartoonishly large pec shelf burst forth from his chest, once again obstructing his feet.

Jesus, Blake thought to himself, I knew Chris was big, but I didn’t know he was this big…

He had no idea.

Seconds later, the rest of his muscles began to come in: big veiny biceps, eight pack abs, a broad back, boulder shoulders, and legs the size of Thanksgiving turkeys.

It was then that Blake began to realize something was wrong. Chris Evans was a celebrity, not a supermodel. This was the body of a man whose entire career was his body. A model, perhaps… or a pornstar. God, I hope I’m not turning into a pornstar.

As if in response, Blake felt a tension in his groin area. He craned his neck over his muscle tits and watched as his cock grew to an impractical 9 inches, the fleshy sheath of foreskin inching up over the head.

Thanks to that screen sharing fiasco, everyone knew that Chris Evans was cut. This was not his dick… and this was not his body.

Blake assumed that the transformation was complete. He bore about as much resemblance to his former self as he did to the actor who’s name he’d written (or thought he’d written) on the changing stone. Instead, he had transformed into a 6’4”, 203 pound boy toy with a massive joystick.

I guess it’s not the end of the world, Blake thought as he explored his new body, chicks are gonna dig these muscles!

But there was still one last change. You see, Blake didn’t just accidentally write the name of any pornstar: he had written the name of a gay pornstar, and a prolific one at that.

As Blake entered the final stage of his transition, his mind flooded with fantasies of gay sex, images of guys sucking his dick and pounding his ass.

He tried picturing the busty blonde women he’d jerked off to his entire life, but his thoughts kept wandering back towards men: big, meaty men with big, meaty cocks, filling his every hole with their hot white spunk.

“No, stop! I’m not gay,” Blake cried out in a comically deep hungarian accent, “I don’t like guys! I like girls!”

But his dick begged to differ. The harder he tried to deny his new sexuality, the harder he got, until Blake’s dick was as hard as the changing stone itself. Whether he liked it or not, this was his new destiny: to live as a gay man.

A huge, hot, muscular gay man.

“Oh…. FUUUUUCK!”

He couldn’t take it any longer. All it took was one stroke and he shot his wad all over the stone. As the pornstar’s cum soaked the surface of the rock, the hastily scribbled black ink melted away.

His transformation was complete: Blake was no more, and in his place stood the iconic gay pornstar Kris Evans.

The hunky Hungarian gave a deep belly laugh, amused by the thought that not five minutes ago, he’d been some pathetic straight dude with a dream of turning into a Hollywood celebrity. Kris couldn’t fathom wanting to be anyone other than himself. He had the body of a god, an amazing job, not to mention the pick of any guy he wanted.

Every gay guy, that is.

Hey, I'd like to sign up for a VIP tour. Been mulling over who and what to do and I think I've made up my mind. I want to be a living insole for Manuel Neuer (star goalkeeper for Bayern Munich and the German National Team). His huge size 14 foot would be amazing to get beneath. I just hope I can hold up under his sweaty, superior sole. I think I might try and play it safe and do the time frame of the World Cup, June 14 to July 15 (I'm assuming Germany will make it to the final).

Wow this is a great idea…trips to the World Cup but as objects for your favorite athlete. I may have to go visit Cristiano Ronaldo myself. But for you I think Manuel Neuer will love a living insole.

I lead you over to a platform and have you stand in place. A glass tube is lowered around you and you get sprayed with a fine mist. The top of the tube starts to lower down pushing you downward. The pressure feels good to you as you are compressed downward. With a thump the press hits the floor before releasing with a hiss. Inside is a pair of insoles that you use to be you. I pull you out and inspect you. I then carry you over to some size 14 cleats and push you inside. You can smell the sweat and musk from the cleats already knowing soon you will experience more. Manuel Neuer thanks me for the new insoles and pulls you on. You feel his weight on you as he heads out for Russia and the 2018 World Cup. Enjoy your month under foot of a soccer star.

Tom's workout

I am posting captions 2 times a week on Patreon (for $4 a month contributions) plus 1 longer caption or story a week (for $8 patreons a month) If you want to see posts early please consider joining my Patreon.

Shorts: Car Makes the Guy

“Is this car alive or something” Carlie said, as the car seemed to be on without any keys in the ignition. The radio was playing obnoxious music she would listen too. Her hair began to recede into her head, as her body began to bulk and expand.

Carlie adjusted his seat, as he was getting taller and wider making this car seem smaller to him. “Fuck yeah” he said as he turned up the music even more as it was appealing to him even more. His chest continued to bulk, as tattoos appeared on his body. Tight sweatpants appeared on his thicker legs, as his manhood formed between his legs.

Chet Hanks smirked, as he took another breath. His face changing. Stubble forming on his face, his hair receded into his head. He was getting extremely into the music, as the car seemed to make the former female match what it though the owner should be.

Call Me By My Name: Timothée

You were sick and tired of always being pushed around. Your last relationship ended because they told you would never amount to anything. They had moved out of your apartment leaving you alone for the first time in many years. As much as you tried not to stew in your own sadness, you couldn't help but find yourself isolating in your empty home, trying to distract yourself with the reliable social media rabbit hole. You sat on your bed, scrolling through Facebook, until you saw an interesting ad.

"Become A Star"

The words in bold font permeated your mind. You had just ended a three year relationship. Your minimum-wage job in the office had good benefits, but it didn't seem like a permanent position. The idea of being a celebrity always did appeal to you: never having to try. You could sit around and maybe sing a song, film a movie, or take a picture every now and again. Seemed easy enough. You wished you had that easy life. No worries about money. People throwing themselves at you. You wanted that. Badly.

You clicked on the strange ad and your browser exited Facebook and opened a new tab. Suddenly, all your other windows and tabs were shut, leaving only the new tab. "Hey!" You yelled as you had some work documents unsaved. You tried to click away from the tab, which was still loading, only to find that your mouse would not move. Heading to the power button on your laptop, you reached to press it until the page loaded with just a text bar.

Annoyed that you had lost progress on your work, but still intrigued by this strange website you looked at this text bar. There was no context surrounding it. It was a black page with a white text bar. You remembered the ad: "Become A Star"

You took a deep breath and typed in the star that you most wanted to become.

Timothée Chalamet

Hesitating for a moment, you pressed enter. Nothing happened. Your computer shut off. Now you were angrier that the tab had closed, rather than the fact that it had opened in the first place. Slowly, you allowed yourself to rise from your bed, but as you stoop up, you became extremely light-headed. Stumbling about, you tried to place yourself back onto your bed, but missed and landed directly onto the floor, smashing your tailbone in the process. As you winced from the pain, a new feeling began to arise: pleasure.

You felt an orgasmic writhing from your toes. They began to stretch and elongate, each crack and pop sending waves off pleasure through your body. Curly black hairs began to carve their way across the top of your foot and onto the tops of your toes, as the pleasure became overwhelming. You laid down on the floor, your erection throbbing in your pants. As you continued to squirm from the pleasure, you lifted your head between gasps, to see that your new feet were donning grey Nikes. and some tube socks. You squished your new feet in the shoes, the socks were sweaty, feeling damp and moist. But you liked the feeling.

Your legs began to sprout, thin, yet dark curly hairs. Your calves toned, while your thighs thinned, leaving both halves with similar masses. The hairs began to weave their way up, encircling your crotch. Your shorts began to lighten and grew longer, becoming a pair of pink pants, almost reaching your smelly socks and shoes.

Your arms, too, lengthened, with your fingers becoming thin and almost dainty. Your biceps flexed with a new, strange power, as you felt the hair work its way into your armpits. Slowly, but surely, your armpits became a forest of curly, wet, dark hair. Your chest narrowed, and your stomach flattened, leaving your torso a sort of plank-like shape.

The pleasure grew as you felt your jaw clench. Your chin narrowed and your jawline grew defined. Thin, wispy hairs sprouted above your lip as your nose thinned. Your eyebrows darkened and thickened, weighing on your eyes, which were forced to close, only to reopen an intense green color. A tickling feeling began at the back of your neck as your hair began to darken and grow out into intense curls, framing your new face. You reached for a shirt, hoping that whatever was happening was over.

Just as you pulled a grey t-shirt over your thinned body, the orgasmic waves grew stronger and began to originate from your erection. You keeled over from the pleasure. You looked down at your pinked pants and saw your bulge growing and growing with each pulse. Each wave felt like it was pushing your penis further and further away from your body. Underneath, your pubic hair began to sprout thicker and thicker, weaving its way back into your crack. After what seemed like an eternity, one final wave pushed you over the edge, and you came into your pants, leaving a dark, sticky, wet mark. The pleasure was intense. You had never experienced anything like this before.

Still reeling, and still light-headed, now from the pleasure, you sat up.

The website had worked. You were now Timothée Chalamet. Now you were a celebrity. Now you didn't have to try for anything. The world would be handed to you because you were talented, attractive, and charming as hell. Overjoyed, you went to take a shower in your new body. As you undressed, you enjoyed the feeling of your thin body against the fabric. You slowly pulled your sticky pants down, with new waves of pleasure erupting as you felt it rub against your perky ass. You needed a moment to breathe; as amazing as that orgasm was, you need to focus now. Slowly, you resumed pulling off your now sweat-filled shirt. Fully nude, you walked towards the shower, ready to clean off.

As you showered, you ran your hands through your curled hair. You traced your jawline; felt the sharpness. You began to lather up with soap, and as you rubbed your butt, you began to feel a little curious. Slowly, you reached towards the hole, but as you crept closer, the pleasure began to hit you, and your new, bigger penis began to engorge itself once again. "God, he's always horny. I need to be careful of this." You thought to yourself. But that was a later issue. The shower was private time. You continued to play around with your new hole with one hand as the other fondled your penis. God, it felt amazing. This is the life of a celebrity; nothing but pleasure. Your strokes began to speed up as you felt yourself nearing another orgasm. As you finished, you couldn't believe that this was your new life.

Stepping out of the shower, you threw on the first things you could find in your closet that would fit. Ready, and impatient to start your new life, you stepped outside of your home. After walking on the street for only a few minutes, you heard the first scream from behind you: "Oh my god! It's Timothée Chalamet!" As you turned around to look at your fan, you began to crack a smile, knowing that this was going to be such a good life.

Where is Mark?

Every day after work, when you arrived home, you set aside a half hour to simply walk off the stress of the day. Sitting in a cubicle answering phones all day meant you needed to stretch and use your legs. Luckily, you lived in a lovely condominium with a beachfront on one side and a small green space on the other. As you placed your small satchel with your computer and files onto your couch, you grabbed your phone and stepped out. As you descended the stairs you received a phone call. Assuming it was one of your coworkers calling you (again) about not turning off your monitor "properly" or something menial like that, you whipped out your phone to silence it, only to see that it came from an unknown caller. Spam, no doubt. You declined the call and continued through the lobby and out into the exterior.

You turned right onto the sidewalk that snaked around a mound of grass, lined with palm trees. Beginning your stride, you allowed your steps to fall in rhythm with the imaginary music playing in your head. You had made it no more than fifty feet when your imaginary music was interrupted by the non-imaginary sound of your ringtone. You pulled it out once again, only to see it was another unknown caller.

Furious that they had interrupted your rhythm, you decided to pick up this time and give them a piece of your mind. You aggressively raised the phone to your ear, but before you could say a word, you heard a man with a deep voice ask for "Mark." They had to have dialed the wrong number. "This is not Mark, you have the wrong number" you forced through your gritted teeth. There was a brief moment of silence. You thought maybe the man had hung up, but before you could lower your phone to check, the man said "No. This is Mark."

A sharp pain erupted in your chest, and you began to stumble, losing your footing on the sidewalk and staggering into the grass. Everything seemed so... foggy. Your grip on your phone was loosening, and you collapsed in a heap onto your back, your phone landing next to you. You could hear the small voice in the phone asking "Mark. Are you okay?" Everything was so strange. It felt like the world was in slow motion. The pain in your chest had subsided into a dull ache, but your body would no longer respond.

As you lay there immobilized on the ground, you felt your breath tightening. You thought to yourself that you were having a heart attack until you heard the top button on your dress shirt pop off, and the tightness briefly subsided. As you inhaled once again, the tightness returned only to diminish when the next button popped off. Your chest was expanding rapidly with beefy pectoral muscles, stretching out your shirt. With each breath, your chest grew, further and further out until you had a shelf. Your stomach tightened and cramped as hard abs pushed their way out of your formerly flat stomach. Still immobile and unable to see, you felt as your shoulders stretched out and your biceps and triceps grew round and thick. You heard a sharp rip as your shirt opened up underneath you You felt your forearms thickening. Your hands, which were sprawled out on the grass, pushed outward finger by finger, ripping the grass beneath it, and leaving you with meaty man hands.

What the fuck was happening. You could see anything, but at this point, you were unsure if you wanted to see.

Your thighs were next. Your former twigs were widening and forcing themselves into each other, rubbing your unimpressive cock in the process and stretching the confines of your dress pants. You felt as your lower body lifted off the ground, as your ass expanded into two perfect globes of muscle, ripping your pants apart entirely. As your thighs continued to stimulate you, your calves ached as they grew and stretched longer. Your feet thickened and lengthened, with thick hair growing on your toes. Your feet pushed out of your shoes and socks, leaving you barefoot. A sharp stench emanating from your newly exposed feet wafted back toward your face in the ocean breeze. Lastly, your cock began to grow, further pushing it against your massive thighs which grew even further and sending waves of pleasure throughout your unmoving body. Slowly, your cock stretched and thickened, rubbing sensually against your body. Your hips began to buckle. You could move, but all you could do was moan in pleasure as your growing cock masturbated itself. Finally, release. You yelled as you finished, ejaculating for what seemed like minutes.

As you struggled to catch your breath, you heard the phone again. "Mark, are you there?" You picked up the phone and slowly rose in your new hulkish body. "Yeah, I'm here now"

On The Campaign Trail

Growing up in Georgia, you had felt as though your voice was unheard. Politically, all you had ever known was Republican. Your parents had always voted red, and that was the way that you were always taught to vote as well. In 2020, when the pandemic hit, and you were sent home from college, you had to return to your conservative household, far from the more accepting and understanding friends you had made at school.

Your parents didn't know that you were gay, and they never will. If you told them, you'd be disowned. You had explored a bit during the fall semester and had come to accept yourself, but you knew that your family would never understand, so you kept it quiet. You were just another conservative teen, sent to college and "indoctrinated."

One night, at family dinner, while saying grace, your mother blurted out "And thank you lord for Donald Trump. We know under his eye, those pesky queers won't know what hit 'em." You were stunned. Obviously, they didn't know you were gay, but somehow it still felt targeted. You stood up and pushed your chair back so aggressively it shook the silverware and dishes on the table. You turned to storm toward your room. "You come back here, boy" your father yelled behind you but you were already gone. Slamming your door behind you, you launched face-first into your bed.

I wish I could make a difference in Georgia.

Almost as if on cue, you felt an intense tingling coming from your feet. Lifting yourself off of your face and turning yourself toward your feet, you shuddered with a strange pleasure. Kicking off your well-worn sneakers, you felt your feet stretching within your socks. Peeling them off, you noticed black tufts of hair on the tops of your toes. Your toes stretched further along the floor, as the dark hair trickled up your legs, which lengthened and toned. Soon your legs were covered with a dark forest of black hair. Your thighs stretched next, also becoming entranced with this new hair, but disappearing under your gym shorts. The muscle in your thighs stretched outward and around to your ass, lifting you on your mattress. You felt the jungle of hair spread around your buttocks and into your genital area. The hair trickled up your midriff and swirled around your nipples, which pushed out into lean pecs. The hair snaked its way into your armpits, which became a dense forest of sweaty dark hair, peeking out from the arms of your t-shirt. Your arms were next, lengthening and becoming covered in this same hair. Only as the hair reached the tops of your hands, which began to stretch and thicken, becoming manly paws, did you realize you had become entranced with your transformation. Realizing what was happening, you began to panic until you felt your gym shorts heat up. Pleasure began to emanate from your crotch as the fabric began to thicken. Your cock stretched and thickened, rubbing against the jean fabric that your shorts were becoming. The jeans stretched down, massaging your new sinewy legs, tapering off just above your large feet, which now donned dark leather dress shoes. The heat in your crotch continued. As you moaned in pleasure, your Adam's apple swelled in your throat, deepening your voice into a sultry, yet commanding tone. Your t-shirt began to shift as well, with a red, white, and blue pattern emerging, and the sleeves stretching down your new long arms. Buttons began to push their way out of your shirt, and a collar emerged from the top, rubbing the dark stubble emerging from your neck and jawline. Finally, the pleasure in your crotch reached an apex as you orgasmed into your new jeans.

You took a moment to recompose yourself. You had never experienced such pleasure. The only thing better would be the feeling when you are finally elected to the U.S. Senate. Looking in the mirror, you styled your hair, gave an approving smile to yourself, and stepped through the house and out onto the street. Where your supporters were waiting on the street for your rally. As you saw all of their signs bearing your name, you knew that you were part of something bigger than just you. Jon Ossoff, you are about to make a difference in Georgia.

I Am Weed

Fuck. You were tired. So tired of being pushed around by everyone at school. You were much shorter than everyone else in your class, and that meant that the taller guys would pick on you. Although you were a freshman in college, your voice still had yet to deepen with puberty. You sounded and looked like a whiny teenager.

You loved music and saw that the school rock band was looking for a new frontman. There was no way they'd ever take you on. You were too short, too whiny, and had no star quality. You were not the rock star that they needed. You wanted to try it anyways. You never know!

To calm your nerves before heading to the band, you had bought some weed from Chuck down the hall from you. You had never smoked before, but Chuck told you it was strong and would make you feel much better. He even rolled it up for you, so that all you had to do was light it and enjoy the ride.

Returning to your dorm room, you pulled out your Boy Scout lighter and lit the end of the blunt. Hesitant, you slowly lifted the end to your mouth and inhaled.

Cough, cough, cough "Man, this shit is strong" you sputtered.

You lifted the blunt to your lips and inhaled once again. Everything became slightly fuzzy. Your head felt lighter, but your body felt heavier. As you sat down on your bed, you took another hit. You felt a warm sensation on your back, almost like the sun. As you sat there, taking hit after hit. The warmth spread across your body, becoming almost unbearable. You stripped naked, trying to ease some of the discomforts of the heat. As the warmth further spread, it brought with it a fuzziness and color. Almost as if someone had rubbed paint all over your body, the color snaked way across your torso, snaking around your side onto your chest and up and down your body.

As the warmth continued stroking your arms and legs, you felt them stretch. Bright, blond hairs began poking their way out of your follicles and curling on your body. The warmth stretched your torso, distorting the colors until they began to resemble intricate patterns, images, and letters.

The warmth stretched you further. You were 6'4" now, nearly a foot taller than before you had lit the blunt. The warmth massaged your face as your features began to sharpen, and your hair grew out and lightened into a fierce blond. On the opposite end of your body, the warmth pulled at your toes and feet, stretching them in your socks several sizes larger. You wiggled your toes as that blond curly hair grew all over the tops of your toes and feet. They were now Size 12s, wide and long enough to support your new height.

The warmth dissipated around the rest of your body, concentrating on your dick. As it stroked you, you moaned in pleasure, not noticing your large Adam's apple bobbing in your neck and the deep voice coming from your mouth. Your dick began to grow further and further away from your body, escaping the ever-thickening jungle of blond, curly hairs surrounding it. As you neared climax, you felt everything in your head being churned into your balls. You screamed in ecstasy as you shot out all of your memories of being a skinny, good-for-nothing dweeb.

Gasping for air, you grabbed the towel next to you and wiped the cum from your strong, inked chest. Throwing on a dirty tank top and some old white pants, you snapped a pic to upload to Instagram.

You uploaded, and the thirst comments were already rolling in. Smiling to yourself, satisfied, you put your phone away. Opening the door, you found yourself in the backstage area. Being ushered by people wearing black, you were handed a microphone. Someone lifted a jacket over your arms. You could hear the roar of the crowd: you are a rockstar. Waiting for the cue, the cheers became deafening. At the nod of the stage manager, you ran out onto the stage, at which point the crowd went insane.

As the band started playing, and the fans started jumping with the beat, you screamed into the mic:

"I Am Weed"

Wacked Out

It was late August, and you were finally on campus for your freshman year at Vanderbilt University. You had studied super hard all throughout high school, ending up with a 3.9 GPA and a 1580 SAT (almost perfect). However, since you had spent all of your time studying and doing class work and homework, you never had the opportunity to live a normal, teenage life. Now that you were already at this prestigious school, you were going to let yourself take a break and work on yourself, not just focus on school.

Your first stop was the gym. Growing up, you were always smaller than everyone else. Rather than playing sports and running around the playground, you stayed off to the side, reading and learning. That habit stuck throughout high school, but now you were ready to change that.

Shoving whatever loose gym shorts and t-shirt you had into your backpack, you left your dorm room and began the short walk across campus to the gym. The weather was still summery, and you began to break into a sweat almost immediately as you stepped into the hot sun. Luckily it was not a long walk, and you soon approached the athletic center. As you were about to key into the building, you noticed something in the corner of your eye. Turning, you saw a dark green Under Armour compression shirt. Maybe it fell out of someone's bag? Picking it up, and holding it away from your body, you thought it was around your size. Bringing it to your nose, it smelled vaguely of body odor around the arms, but it wasn't something that a simple run in the washing machine wouldn't fix. Shrugging, you decided to put the shirt in your bag and keep it as your workout shirt. Anything beat your regular t-shirt.

Stepping into the locker room, you found an open locker and placed your backpack into it. Unzipping the large pocket, you pulled out the shirt. Sniffing it one more time, it definitely smelled of body odor. You wanted to pull away, but something about it was so entrancing. Without thinking you ripped your t-shirt over your head and chucked it to the ground beside you. Holding up the smelly shirt to your nose, you felt your dick stir in your pants. Grinning, you shoved your scrawny arms into the shirt and lifted it over your head. The smell of sweat and musk filled your nose as you pulled your head into the neck hole, leaving you intoxicated with the scent. With the shirt firmly over your slim chest, you felt a pumping in your chest as your pectorals filled the compression shirt, stretching it in the front. Still reeling from the smell, you rubbed your hands lazily over your stomach, feeling washboard abs appear out of thin air. As you rubbed, you lifted your hand back to your pecs, tweaking your new sensitive nipples. A moan escaped your lips as your fingers and hands thickened, squeezing each nipple harder. Your arms and forearms thickened, leaving the sleeves of your new shirt stretched to the limits. Your thighs expanded, stretching your gym shorts. Your calves thickened as well, with light curly hair etching its way up your legs and towards your crotch, which swelled with power and masculinity. Dark spots appeared under your arms, as thick smelly hairs poked their way out of the follicles. Now you were producing more of that intoxicating smell. You lifted your arm and inhaled as you shot ropes of cum into your shorts.

Taking a breath, you left the locker room and went into the gym, heading straight for the mirror. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a photo.

You looked like Ethan Wacker, that kid from that kid show or whatever... the one who dated that girl who sang about her driver's license. He was hot?

Surprised at your new look, you ran back to the locker room. Lifting your bag out of the locker, you got another whiff of your arms. Your dick rose again. "Shit!" Why were you so horny? Breathing and attempting to will your boner down, you began to speedwalk out of the athletic center and back toward your dorm. Trying to hide your face, you threw a mask on. You had to be having a nightmare. There was no way this was real. This was impossible. As you sped across campus, you pulled out your phone again, flipping the camera to selfie mode, only to be treated with your new face.

Seeing your muscled chest and thick arms on the phone screen only caused you to panic further. Breaking into a full sprint, you finally reached the dorm. You swiped into the building and ran up the stairs, and down the hall. Reaching your room, you fumbled around your backpack, hyperventilating trying to find your keys. Grabbing the keys, and pulling them out, you placed them in the lock, but the keys kept slipping out of your hands. Shit, your fingers were so much bigger than before. Finally, you felt the key push into the lock, and you twisted every which way until the door finally fell open and you tumbled inside and onto your face.

Pulling yourself up, you ran to the full-length mirror, only to have your fears confirmed. In the mirror was a hot former Disney star. But that wasn't you. You were skinny and nerdy and good at school, not an actor with big muscles. You did have big muscles. They look kind of good. But this wasn't you. These weren't your strong man's hands. You didn't have these sexy abs and thick pecs. Your biceps weren't that big. Your armpits reeked. You pulled off your shirt, just to make sure that those pecs on your chest weren't yours. You spent your days in the studio filming, not on the playground. You didn't have time to go to regular school. Damn, your chest looked good. Why wouldn't it? You started going to the gym after being so small for so long. Lifting your arms to flex your massive biceps, the smell of your pits engulfed you. You were Ethan Wacker.

Free Vacation

When you saw the email in your inbox announcing that you had won the sweepstakes for a free stay at a "magical" beachside resort in Bali you were skeptical, to say the least. But as you arrived at the airport, and you saw a muscular suited man at the terminal with your name on a piece of paper, something clicked. Escorting you through the terminal, the strong man pushed the weary travelers aside to part the way for you. Reaching a set of double doors, he pushed them open, revealing the tarmac with a large limousine waiting for you. Without saying a word, the man grabbed your suitcase and placed it in the trunk, opening the door for you.

Stepping into the back of the limo, you felt your cares melt into the leather upholstery. After driving for just a few moments, the driver stopped, exited, and opened the door for you. Pushing your head through the open door, you saw a large luxury jet.

"Is this for me?" You asked, incredulously.

"Of course it is, sir." The driver responded with a big grin on his face. He was savoring your childish disbelief.

With a gasp of shock and excitement, you sprinted towards the staircase. The driver panicked at your sudden speed burst and rushed to grab your suitcase from the trunk. Barely acknowledging the gorgeous stewardess, you threw yourself into the cabin, reveling in the stunning interior. Planting yourself firmly into the leather armchair, you laughed to yourself. This was going to be one hell of a vacation.

The flight was uneventful and went by surprisingly quick. Time flies when you're traveling in luxury. The seemingly endless stream of champagne helped too. By the time you landed in Bali, you were intoxicated beyond belief. The poor stewardess you had hounded the entire flight now had the privilege of half guiding and carrying you to the next limo.

This driver couldn't care less about you. You were just another drunk passenger heading to this resort. Nothing out of the ordinary. Driving from the airport to the resort was another surprisingly fast ride. You might've fallen asleep if you're being honest. Arriving at the resort, a young woman, presumably an employee, opened the door of your limo. You stumbled out, face-planting on the floor. You could hear her speaking to the driver but couldn't make out any words. Trying to force yourself to stand up, you found that every move you made was uncoordinated. When you were getting off the plane, you could at least walk a little with the stewardess's help, but now, you were immobile. Were you getting... drunker? You felt two sets of large hands grab onto your shoulders, pulling you upright, face-to-face with the woman. Though your vision was blurred, you couldn't help but let your head "fall" to see her breasts. Before you even tried to focus your vision, she grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a wet kiss. Unable to move away, (and unsure you wanted to) you let her tongue explore your mouth. The hands that were on your shoulders pulled you away and carried you through the doors. The unmistakable click of high heels followed you. You heard the woman say, "I'll see you later, Robbie." Who was Robbie? That wasn't your name.

Your vision blackened. Darkness. Suddenly, you woke to a tugging at your dick. Someone was jerking you off. It was dark, you couldn't see a damn thing. But it felt so good. Moaning in delight, you lifted your arms up behind you. Your large hands cupped your head. Large hands? You felt sore all over. The tugging increased, and your dick felt wet. Were you being sucked off? God, it felt so good. With each motion, each care melted away. You were getting so close. With a grunt, you came.

Jumping awake and with a loud scream, you jolted upward in the bed. A dark spot formed in the sheets. Shit, that was some dream. Looking at your surroundings, you remembered all that had happened. You were in Bali. Looking out onto your balcony attached to your room, you could see the white sand and the bright blue waves crashing upon them. Taking a breath to recover from your dream, you stepped into the bathroom to take a piss, only to see someone else in the mirror. A large muscular man wearing boxers. Startled, you jumped back, only the see the man in the mirror jump as well. Moving your hand, the man followed suit. You reached for your head, and he did too.

Holy shit. It was you in the mirror. What the fuck happened last night. Stumbling back into the room, you fell backward onto your bed. Only to feel another body beneath you. Twisting around, you saw the beautiful woman beaming at you from underneath the covers. "Good morning, Robbie" she cooed. It was her. It had to be her. "What did you do to me?" You seethed. "Nothing you didn't want, Robbie." She smirked, enjoying your little tantrum.

"My name is not Robbie." You retorted. She indicated with her head that you should turn around. Slowly, you turned your head to face a full-length mirror. Your body was chiseled. Your face was angular. God damn, you were hot. Forcing yourself to look away, you saw a tank top on the dresser. Trying to cover your sexy abs that weren't yours, you threw it over your torso. "What's wrong? Don't you think you look good?" the woman said mockingly. Still staring at yourself in the mirror, astounded at how you looked, you said "This isn't me. I'm just some average guy. I'm not a muscle dude." The woman chuckled. "We can make you bigger if you'd like." Your arms were forced upwards against your will, exposing your hairy armpits and showing off your large biceps. A warm tingling erupted in your arms, and you watched in amazement as they grew right before your eyes.

In disbelief, you turned back towards the woman with your mouth open ready to object to whatever the hell was happening, but she had already risen from the bed, and firmly planted her lips on yours. Her tongue explored your mouth, just as she had done last night. Her hand fondled your crotch, which stretched the confines of your underwear. Blinded by the pleasure erupting from your penis, you allowed your tongue to return the favor and explore her mouth. Pulling away, she lowered herself down and pulled down your boxers, exposing your throbbing member. As you closed your eyes, with your head laid back in ecstasy, you felt all of your worries and memories of who you used to be pool up in your balls. With one final bob of her head, your body tensed up, flexing every new muscle in your hot body, and you shot everything that you had used to be out.

Italia rose from below you, meeting your eyes. "Are you ready to enjoy our vacation, Robbie?" Ripping your shirt off, showing off your rocking body, you smiled at your hot wife.

"Sure."

It's All In The Hair

<<Thanks @transformation-fan for the suggestion. This was a fun one!>>

After a long day at work, you had finally begun the long drive home in your beat-up sedan. Working a fifteen-hour shift at the gas station was hard, but it was the only job you could find willing to hire you. The forty-five-minute drive home was usually pretty relaxing. Standing at the counter all day meant your legs were aching by the end of the day. The fatigue set in as you continued your drive through the suburbs and back into the city.

Arriving at your apartment, you found the nearest curb and parked your car. This wasn't a great neighborhood, but you never really worried about someone breaking into your car, because it was so beat up that it almost looked abandoned. It was your ride to work though, so you nonetheless locked it tight and hid anything in the seats in the glove compartment and center console. Satisfied, you turned and keyed into your building. Walking up the three flights of stairs, you fumbled around in the dark trying to find the other key to your apartment. The bulb in the hallway had long since burned out, and the landlord refuses to pay for another bulb. Finally feeling the teeth of the key, you poked it around blindly until it found its home in your doorknob. Twisting the key and pushing, the door flung open into your pigsty of an apartment. Pizza boxes and dirty clothes littered the floor. You worked so many hours a day that you never had time to clean up after yourself.

Throwing your keys onto the counter, you checked in the fridge to see if you had any leftovers. There were some Chinese take-out boxes that were probably still good. As you reached your arm into the fridge, you got a whiff of your body odor. Your face squinched in disgust. Although your apartment was a mess, you hated to be dirty yourself. Working at the gas station, you often came home reeking of gasoline, but today was especially hot outside, and you must've sweat through your deodorant and then some. It was time for a shower.

Stepping over the piles of clothes, you headed towards the bathroom. Peeling off your sweat-filled shirt, you twisted the handle of your shower bath. It would take a few minutes for the water to heat up. Pulling down your jeans, you stared in the mirror at yourself. God, there was so little of you. Your diet of pizza gave you a round paunch, but absolutely nothing else. You were a hairless cat with a gut. Rubbing your smooth chest, you began to wonder what it would be like to have luscious hair. The kind that people would want to run their fingers through. Maybe some muscles? Anything would be better. Sighing to yourself, and deciding that maybe next year you would start working out, you stepped over and into the shower.

The water was lukewarm, you hadn't given it quite enough time to become scalding hot. Underneath the stream of water, you began rubbing your hair. It was short enough that you didn't need to worry too much about styling or combing it, just wash it every now and again. With your face turned upwards towards the waterfall washing down over you, you reached your arm out to grab your shampoo. Fumbling about, you felt the bottle with the top of your hand, and it slipped, crashing towards your feet with a loud thud. The sound startled you, and you flinched causing you to tumble backward. The curvature of the bath allowed you to slide for part of the fall, but you still landed on your back.

Startled more than injured, you sat for a moment, astounded at what an idiot you were. Cursing to yourself, you pulled yourself into a sitting position. Finally finding the shampoo bottle, you pulled it toward you to open it, but it looked different. The generic logo on the front was gone. In fact, the bottle had no logo, no words, no anything. Assuming you had just ripped off the label some other night, you opened the cap to pour it into your hand. Immediately, you knew this was not your shampoo. The smell was divine. It was indescribable. You were going to enjoy this shampoo.

Pulling the drain closed and flipping the faucet, you started filling the bath. Luxury. You poured more shampoo into your hand before lathering it around your hair. Keeping your eyes closed to prevent the suds from getting in your eyes, you felt a strange, but pleasurable sensation. Your head was warm and fuzzy. God this shampoo was incredible. With each rub of your hands, your hair grew longer and longer and thicker and thicker. The suds dripped down over your face as you continued to massage your head and growing hair. Your eyebrows thickened, becoming sharp and defined. Dense stubble pushed its way out of your upper lip and around your jawline. The shampoo dripped down your arms, still raised towards your head. Dark hairs sprouted from your thickening forearms and bulging biceps, and your exposed armpits grew forests of thick brown hair. Dripping down your chest, the shampoo caused a forest of curled chest hair to shoot from your growing chest. Two lean pecs pushed from your chest, with a new pelt of hair adorning them. Your navel sprouted a thick treasure trail as the shampoo pushed your gut inward and traced the lines of your new abs. Finally, the shampoo reached the water line, mixing into the water and causing the surface to become sudsy and foamy. Dark hairs grew on top of your feet as they stretch along the floor of the bath. Your calves and thighs bulged with muscle as the dark curly hair swirled around. You felt your stomach get colder as your ass swelled, pushing you ever-so-slightly further out of the water. The hair curled up your thighs and into your ass, tracing underneath you towards your balls. A mass of hair grew above your crotch and around, as your dick stretched further and further away from your body. Still rubbing your shampooed head with one hand, your other hand lowered down into the water and began stroking your new, large dick. Your hand was still slippery with the shampoo, and the pleasure was intense. With each rub of each head, everything felt more and more amazing. With a final rub, you shot your load into the bath water, mixing with the suds.

Rinsing your hands of the shampoo and rubbing your eyes, you opened them. Right in front of you were large hairy legs. Looking down, you were greeted with a still semi-erect throbbing dick covered in hair. The chest below you was thick and had swirls of hairs. What the hell was happening? Trying to stand up, you underestimated the sleekness of the bottom of the tub, and you fell once again, hitting your head, knocking you unconscious, and sinking into the water.

It was dark. Oh my god, were you dead? You couldn't speak. You tried to scream for help but no sound came out. It was strangely warm, were you in hell? Oh my god, you were in hell. What had you done wrong? With one final desperate scream, you jolted upward and found yourself in a hotel room. Scared and confused you turned about, finding that your pillow was wet, and smelled amazing. Of course! You had just taken a bath with your favorite shampoo before the convention. Turning your body off the side of the bed, you saw your large manly legs and chuckled. Throwing on a yellow shirt and some pants, you stared in the mirror at your hair. God, even after taking a nap your iconic hair still looked immaculate. Smirking, you unbuttoned the top of your shirt, displaying a moderate amount of your thick chest hair. That'll surely drive the girls (and the gays) wild for you. You could have anything you want with the wave of your hand. They adored you. You were Joe fucking Keery. The chartered car came and picked you up, dropping you at the convention. On the red carpet, you heard their screams. They loved you. You knew why: it's all in the hair.

Live from New York

Standing in line to board your flight, you basked in the feeling of possibility. From here on out, anything could happen. After years of working minimum wage at Dairy Queen, you had finally saved enough money to move to New York City. You loved your small town in Iowa, but there was something magical about the Big Apple. There, you could start over and be somebody new. After high school, you wanted to go to college. Some prestigious university would've been your dream, like Harvard, Yale, or Fordham. You had the grades, but you couldn't afford to pay tuition. So you stayed. Luckily, the DQ was hiring, and you got decent pay. By no means were you living large, but you got by. Now, with enough money saved up, you bought a one-way ticket from Des Moines to JFK. You had reached out to a friend living in the city, and they agreed to let you stay with them for a little bit until you found a job and your own place. Armed with just your backpack filled with a couple hundred bucks, some clothes, and a dream, you boarded the flight.

Once you landed in Queens, you desperately navigated the terminal, trying to find your way to the E train into Manhattan. Finding the station, you waited patiently for the subway to arrive. Turning your backpack onto your stomach, you pulled it tightly into your torso. Everything you owned was in that bag, you couldn't bear to lose it. The roar of the approaching train filled your ears, and it skidded to a stop in front of you. The doors opened, and you found the car absolutely packed. You had never seen so many people in one place all at once. Forcing your way into the car, and finding a place to stand near the opposite door, you kept a close eye on the screen, waiting until the 5th Avenue and 53rd Street stop appeared. Then, as the subway stopped and the doors opened, you clutched your backpack and stepped onto the platform.

Exiting the station, you were engulfed by the sounds and sights of Midtown. Your friend lived in a small one-bedroom near 50th and 6th, right in the center of everything. Walking around, you found yourself enamored with the tall buildings and the busy people walking extremely fast. The route you were taking to your friend's apartment took you right past Rockefeller Plaza. Being the tourist you were, as soon as you passed the sign for NBC studios, you decided to pull your phone out of your backpack. Reaching in and then throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you looked up at the words. Growing up, you had seen this marquis on television, and now it was really here. Lifting up your camera, you snapped a photo.

Just as the shutter clicked, a man ran up from behind you and snatched your bag. "Hey!" you screamed. Without stopping, they continued to sprint and turned the corner before you even thought to run after them. Shit. Now what? Looking at the doors of the studio, you figured that they must have security cameras. They could help you. I mean, after all, everything you owned was in that bag. Stepping through the glass doors, you were astounded by the vast ceilings and smooth architecture. You were definitely in the big city.

Approaching the desk, before you could even open your mouth, the attendant looked up at you and gasped. "Sir, you're late, we need to get you upstairs now!" Before you even had the chance to respond, you were whisked away, being led towards an elevator. Shoving you into an elevator, the attendant mashed the button that said "8H." Looking dumbfounded, you opened your mouth to speak, but just as you did the doors shut and you began to ascend into the building.

This was weird, but hey, you had nothing else to lose. It's not like you were breaking in, you were put here. Once you got off the elevator, you would explain exactly what happened, and they would help you find security to figure out how to get your backpack back. As the elevator doors opened and you opened your mouth to speak, two female stylists rushed in and began ushering you through the hallways. The taller one began chastising you for running late as usual, without letting you get a word in. Giving up, you let them guide you into a dressing room. There, you were shoved into a seat. Finally, with the hustle and bustle finished, you finally had a chance to speak. "What's happening?" You managed to finally ask. The stylists looked at each other amused. Without saying a word, they reached towards your body and ripped off your clothes, leaving you nude apart from your underwear.

"Hey! What was that for?" You screamed at the pair. The shorter one explained. "We don't have time to take them off, Sir. Now hold still." The tall one pulled a white jar out of her bag, and the two began applying some sort of cream all over your chest. As the cream made contact with your skin, it began to heat up. As it did, firm muscles began pushing their way from your torso. Thick pecs formed a shelf and dark hair spread its way across them. The stylists massaged the cream into your arms, which flexed with new strength and were covered in that same hair. Your hands cracked as they grew large and manly. You were left with a thick beefy upper body.

The stylists massaged the cream into your feet, which grew and expanded, dark hairs emerging from the tops. After applying the cream to your calves, they stretched and ballooned as well. Your thighs were next, the short one was intensely working her hands around your thighs and shoved her hands under where you were seated. The cream made your legs thick and hairy, and your ass lifted you upwards on the chair. The short one continued to massage your thighs as the tall one applied the cream to your face. Your teeth whitened and your jawline sharpened. Your eyes lightened to a piercing blue. The tall one massaged your scalp, as your hair thickened and became immaculately styled, your head felt fuzzy. You remembered attending Harvard? No, you could never afford that. You were from rural Iowa. The shorter stylist lifted her hands from your thighs and pulled down your underwear, revealing your cock. Reapplying more cream to her palms, she began to massage your cock. Your head felt even fuzzier as the pleasure built up. You weren't from Iowa, you were from Staten Island. Your dick grew longer with each tug. You were married, and your wife loved your amazing body. The pleasure built up even more. Shit, everyone loved your amazing body. With one final tug, your thick cock shot out ropes of cum, and with it, every memory you had of your previous life. You lived in New York now.

The shorter stylist pulled out a towel and began to wipe your thick and muscled body clean, as the taller one grabbed your tailored suit off of the hanger. Standing up, you lifted your thick legs as the stylists pulled your pants on. You lifted your thick arms outward, exposing your forested armpits, as your dress shirt was brought onto your body. The two stylists buttoned you up. Lifting your arms again, you felt the fancy jacket pulled over you. Sitting down again, you were handed your tie. As you tied, the shorter stylist lifted your large feet into dress socks and placed them in your shoes. Once you finished tying your tie, you stood up, and without acknowledging the two women, you turned towards the door and began walking through the halls. You knew exactly where you were headed. As you reached the backstage area, a man placed your mic on your jacket. Finding your seat, you heard the intro music play. This was your job. The audience was applauding for you. You read your cue card.

"Welcome to Weekend Update, I'm Colin Jost."

An Olympic Diver

The local community center had recently set up a high diving board at the pool, and you were super stoked to give it a try. Diving through the air, and landing into the water after doing some flips and other moves, it all looked so graceful and awesome. If you were able to really pull those dives off, you would be the talk of the town. Maybe one day you could even win a gold medal at the Olympics! All you had to do was learn.

Since it was just diving, you decided that there was no need to take any lessons or classes or anything. You had seen plenty of videos of people on the high dive before, and you were confident that you could easily replicate them. Mounting to the top of the board, you had absolutely no hesitations or second thoughts as you approached the edge of the board.

Looking down and past your feet, you could tell just how high up the board was. But you were confident that you could effortlessly land a dive after a couple of front flips. You knew how to dive, and you knew how to flip into a pool. How difficult could it be? Plus, even if you messed up and somehow landed incorrectly, you would be landing in water, so it couldn't possibly hurt. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

With a final deep breath, you jumped off the board towards the surface of the pool. Attempting to flip, you curled yourself into a tight ball, only to open up for a dive at the last moment. However, you had accidentally released too early and lost your momentum. Unable to shift your trajectory, your arrogance shifted to intense fear as your body rapidly descended through the air. You futilely tried to thrash your body in order to shift back towards the dive, but it was far too late. With a large splat, you belly-flopped directly into the pool.

Your body was on fire, and everything stung. Your ears were ringing and you were dazed. You could feel your heart pumping in your head. In your disorientation, somehow you managed to swim to the side of the pool and pull yourself out of the water. Everything was blurry, and you were stumbling toward your towel, which you had left on the bleachers.

Fumbling blindly, you finally grabbed a hold of your towel and began to attempt to dry yourself off. When your towel made contact with your body, it began to bulge outwards. You felt a pumping in your chest as your pecs expanded, with your nipples erect from the cold breeze on your wet chest. You rubbed the towel over your stomach, as new washboard abs emerged out of thin air. You lifted your arms above your head to dry your armpits. Thick, wet patches of hair pushed their way out from under your arms, which ballooned at the contact with the towel. Your forearms thickened and your biceps grew massive with a tattoo etching its way across. Wrapping the towel around your waist, your swimsuit transformed into a tight speedo, allowing your swelling thighs to rub against each other. Your calves thickened as well, with hair etching its way up your legs and towards your crotch, which began to push further and further into your new speedo, sending immense waves of pleasure throughout your body.

The pleasure erupting from your dick was so indescribably intense that it sent you into a euphoric haze on top of your disorientation. Looking down at your swelling dick, you paid no mind to your new muscular body. All you needed was to pleasure yourself. Reaching underneath your towel, you began to rub your dick through your speedo. Almost immediately, you began to orgasm, sending ropes of thick cum into your already wet speedo. Moaning in delight, your body spasmed as the pleasure overtook you. You threw your head back in pure ecstasy. As you continued to shoot out your seed into the speedo, slowly but surely the haze and disorientation dissipated.

Finally, the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced finished. You opened your eyes to look down at yourself, only to finally notice your massive muscular chest and abs. In disbelief, you raised an arm and flexed it, in awe of the mountains of muscle you now had on your body. Ripping the towel off of your waist, you saw your massive cock in the speedo, which had white fluid dripping from it onto your feet and the floor.

"Bloody hell!" You exclaimed.

You jolted, taken aback at what just came out of your mouth. You sounded British! Suddenly, against your will, your hands raised the towel to your head and began to dry off your hair. All of your previous memories began to disappear. You were born in the U.K. You were an Olympic diver for Team U.K. You were here at this pool practicing for the games next year. Another gold medal would be nice for your collection.

As all these thoughts and memories rushed into your head, you heard your phone ring on one of the bleachers. Answering the call and holding to your ear, you heard that it was your husband, Lance. "Thomas, are you finished with practice yet? You know I can't keep my hands off of you when you're all worked up and sweaty like that." You grinned at his desperation for your sexy diver body. You had this man in the palm of your hand. Who wouldn't want a piece of you? It was good to be Tom Daley.

The Main Event

You always took a weekend to go to the nearby music festival on the beach every summer. It was always a blast. There were usually some good artists playing, sometimes a few minor celebrities: nothing too crazy. After a long, cold winter, you were ready for another good summer of live music and a little bit of drinking. However, it seems also though the vibe of the festival had been slightly changed this year.

Arriving at the beach, it was clear that something was different. There were thousands of people all huddled around the stage. Where there usually were some picnic tables or beach chairs there were crowds of people. There was no space to sit. On the stage in the distance was some DJ playing his set, and the area by the front of the stage was crowded with sweaty, intoxicated teenagers, trashing around wildly.

Although the energy was wildly different this year, you were still determined to find some way to have a good time. Resigned to the back of the crowd, you found an empty spot on the sand and sat down, allowing yourself to bask in the warmth of the sun. The morning had been cold when you got in your car to drive here and the forecast hadn’t called for so much sun, so you were dressed for colder temperatures. Your yellow chinos and white t-shirt reflected the sun's rays and seemed to be glowing in their own right. However, the brightness of your clothing didn’t prevent someone from stepping right into you and tumbling face-first into the sand.

Looking to your side, you saw an older man with a lanyard around his neck that said “Event Promoter”. He had managed to sit back up but he was wiping the sand from his eyes, aggressively trying to clear his vision.

Rushing to help the man back to his feet, you grabbed his hand. Almost instantly, you felt your mind empty. You had no more thoughts. You were fixated on this man. The man, having cleared the sand from his eyes, looked you up and down, and nodded. Still holding your hand firmly, he stood up and began guiding you through the crowd of energized people. The warmth of the bodies around you caused you to sweat profusely, but you didn’t care. This man was guiding you, and all you needed was to follow him. Approaching the front of the stage, the man separated with an aggressive shove two people open-mouthed kissing, before taking you around the side to the wings of the stage. Dripping with sweat, you stopped walking when the man turned around and held your face with his hands.

“You’re going to be the main event”

With those words, your eyes rolled toward the back of your head. You began panting heavily, trying to cool your body down. With each breath, your body swelled. Your chinos grew tight around your swelling ass and thighs. They grew taut and muscular, stretching those poor pants to the absolute limit. Your chest, as it heaved, began expanding into a shelf of raw muscle. Your abs pushed their way one at a time from your torso. Your shoulders stretched outward from your neck, ripping your shirt into pieces as it fell towards your feet. Your biceps swelled into mountains of muscle, veins snaking their way down your forearms, which thickened, and towards your now massive hands and fingers. Dark, sweaty hair swirled its way from the center of your chest, encircling your nipples and nestling its way into your armpits, which were dripping with your odor. The hair crawled down your chiseled abs towards your crotch, which pushed against your pants, swelling to an incredible size. The man took his hands off of your face and you looked down at yourself. You felt incredible. You looked incredible.

The man beamed at you, admiring your massive frame and admiring his handiwork. “Okay, Zac. Are you ready to give this crowd the greatest show they’ve ever seen?”

Staring back at the promoter, you nodded with a cocky grin and stepped out from the wings and onto the stage. As soon as the crowd caught sight of you, they went apeshit. Why wouldn’t they? You were an international superstar. You were the main event. You were Zac fucking Efron. They had all come to see you and your massive sexy muscles. Through the roar of the crowd, you could make out voices yelling at you to show off your muscles. Staring back into the crowd with all of those screaming, lustful faces, you smirked. So they want a show? You’ll give them exactly what they want.

Stitches

Max had been searching for a guitar for what felt like forever. He had moved to the big city straight out of college, hoping to find work, but fell in love with music instead. Thus, he was one of the thousands of struggling musicians, working odd jobs to make ends meet, and he dreamed of the day when he could finally afford to buy a guitar of his own. He scoured thrift stores, garage sales, and online marketplaces, but he could never seem to find the right one.

One day, Max was walking home from work when he stumbled upon a thrift store he had never seen before. He decided to pop in, just to see what they had, and that's when he saw it - the most beautiful guitar he had ever seen. It was love at first sight. Max approached the guitar and couldn't believe his luck. It was in excellent condition, and it was priced well within his budget. He felt like it was meant to be.

Max eagerly took the guitar back to his small apartment, and as he walked through the door, he felt his excitement reach new heights. He had always dreamed of owning a guitar of his own, and now, finally, that dream was within reach. He carefully placed the guitar on the floor of his apartment and sat down beside it. Picking it up and holding it to his torso, he got ready to play his favorite song: Stitches. He eagerly began strumming the first chord.

The vibrations of the guitar seemed to echo throughout his body, rippling and causing his body to pulsate. Max closed his eyes; the sounds of the music that he was making felt so good that he was overcome with pleasure. As Max played each chord, his body changed. The first chord caused his muscles to grow, and he felt his biceps bulge as they expanded. His arms became thicker and stronger, his veins popping out from under his skin. The second chord caused his chest to expand, and he felt his pecs become defined. His chest became wider, and his nipples grew larger. The third chord caused his legs to grow, and he felt his quads bulge as they expanded. His legs became thicker and stronger, his calf muscles rippling with each movement. The fourth chord caused his back to broaden, and he felt his lats become defined. His back became wider, and his shoulder blades grew larger.

His face became chiseled and defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes became deeper set, and his eyebrows grew thicker. Opening his eyes and looking through his new curls, he peered down at his body. His body was covered in hair, and his clothes were tattered on the floor beside him. He had grown too large for them.

Max was in awe of his transformation. He had never felt so powerful, so strong, and so confident. He continued to play the guitar, and with each chord, he felt the magic of the instrument coursing through his veins. Max had become Shawn Mendes, the famous musician, and he was ready to take on the world.

Replacement Barista

It’s another chilly morning in Jericho. You were exploring your hometown in Vermont, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you walk down the familiar streets. You had recently moved back to Vermont after a few years of living in the city, in search of a simpler life and to be closer to family. You've been looking for a job, and you're determined to find one near your home.

Suddenly, your eyes spot something that you don't remember being here. A coffee shop, called the Weathervane, with a bright NOW HIRING sign displayed in the window on the door. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to inquire about a job.

As you approach the counter, the barista greets you with a warm smile. They ask if you wanted to buy a coffee. You smile at the thought of you being so polite and amicable this early in the morning. You politely refuse their offer of a coffee and explain that you were interested in working there. You elaborate that you're specifically looking for a job that allows you to be a part of your community, and you were excited about the possibility of working in this coffee shop. With a smile, the barista hands you an apron, no questions asked. A little surprised that the barista didn't even ask you any questions about your experience or background or anything, you look back at them dumbfounded. They explain that they had recently lost their best barista and were looking for an immediate replacement. Holding the red fabric in your hand, you turn it over to see a name tag still on it: Tyler. Assuming that that was the previous owner of the apron who recently left, you dismiss your concerns, and bring it over your head and tie the strings around your back. 

As soon as you tighten the strings, you feel the breath shoot out from your lungs. You feel a strange, tingling sensation that takes over your body. Your vision blurs, and you feel lightheaded, as if you've suddenly lost your balance. It's a disorienting feeling, and you can't help but feel tense. Your heart races, and you're having trouble catching your breath. It's a feeling like you've never experienced before, and you can't quite put your finger on what's happening to you.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, and begin stumbling towards the back wall as the barista looks on at your disorientation, smiling. You use the wall to support your body as you find your way to the restroom and fumble with the handle. Pushing the door open, you fall forward and brace yourself on the edges of the sink. Your vision has started to clear and you look up at the mirror to reorient yourself, but you're shocked by what you see: the man in the mirror was not you.

Your face looks different, more handsome, and chiseled. You run your hands through your hair which was now adorned with thick curls. Your eyes had lightened into an intense green, with a heavy brow giving them a fierce look. Bringing your larger hands across your new face, you felt your smooth contours and your plump lips. You were hot. Your arms bulged against your shirt as they continued to explore your new body, which was taut with lean muscle. You were strong from lifting bags of coffee beans for the past few months. You had been working here since last summer. You loved the way this job allowed you to connect with the community and meet new people every day.

Feeling better from your sudden lightheadedness, you readjusted your apron, making sure that the “Tyler” on your name tag was clearly visible for everyone to see. You leave the bathroom, ready to continue with your shift.