Cock Tf - Tumblr Posts
Damn bro, when I said you could be my cock I didn't think you'd be horny all the time. I need to relieve myself every chance I get now. It's almost taking over my life.. but each climax is better than the last..
#103
Big thanks to axeegliter for the picture! If you have a picture you would like to see turned into a story then dm them to me on Twitter!
Picture from @NicoLorenzoGio on twitter!
Uncensored version on my Twitter
Dick Head
RICHIE INCOCKNITO
by BrandedX2
Richie stood on unsteady feet in the shower steam, still barely awake and definitely hungover from the night before. His phone, sitting on the tank of his toilet, buzzed again, nearly vibrating off the edge. It was his buddy Eric, the Bills center, texting him once again to find out about what had happened last night after Richie disappeared from the club with the creepy pale chick who had freaking out all the rest of their fellow Bills buddies by sitting at the bar and staring with her weird black eyes. Eric had been blowing up Richie’s phone all day, texting him relentlessly; in fact, it was the only reason he’d gotten out of bed, since he’d much rather have been faceplanting his pillow.
“yo Richie you bang that goth skank?”
“Wanna hear the scuzzy details you perv”
“Wake the fuck up scumbag aren’t we hanging out today”
After a dozen texts Richie agreed to meet up with Eric for some drinks (damn, he was enjoying the offseason) during which he’d tell the whole tale. There wasn’t much to say: Richie was so drunk he couldn’t see straight, decided he needed to get home before he passed out on the dancefloor, and the chick just happened to be near him when he made the getaway. She was easy prey, moaned like a maniac and left on her own in the morning without a word.
Richie leaned into the shower spray and soaked his big hairy body. His chest hair was plastered against his chest in a weird formation, like a misshapen circle, and suddenly he remembered how that freaky chick had scooped his load out of her puss after the third time he’d hollowed her out; then she smeared it on his chest like she was fingerpainting.
What a weird chick, he thought as he rubbed a bubbly lather over his big frame. Memories came back in little flashes: she was talking in some weird language, head cocked back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been too drunk to figure out any of it, or to care, so he just rolled over and passed out—he thought. His brain had just sort of turned off then.
As Richie rinsed he felt a little of the post-blackout haze leaving his brain—and at the same time he became painfully aware of his rock hard cock, standing nearly straight up against his belly. Damn! It’s like it had shot up like an arrow. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d had a boner so insistent. And sensitive--just the feeling of the water hitting it was like a rough handjob! Fuck, he thought, staring down his big frame at the steel pipe practically staring him in the eye, pulling his balls tight… Eric would be over soon, but he had a key. He could wait on the damned couch while Richie took care of this thing.
As soon as he got his hands on it, Richie almost keeled over… It was like getting a blowjob on ecstasy. He felt like his brain was short-circuiting, fireworks going off in his head with each pump of his fist up and down his shaft. It didn’t take long before—BAM! He felt the blast of cum splatter his forehead, then another covering his cheek. He swooned so hard he almost fell off his feet—it was like that cumblast had come from his fingers and toes. He stumbled for a second, eyes closed, hand against the tile wall, trying to steady himself as he recovered from what had to be the biggest cumshot of his life…
Something was wrong. His hand brushed against the shower knobs, which were usually at about waist height for him, but they felt about nipple-height. He reached up and realized the shower was spraying over his head. A second ago it was aimed right at him.
Wiping cum off his face, he stumbled around awkwardly as he opened his eyes and gawked at his surroundings: his shower… looked HUGE! For a second he thought he was in somebody else’s place. He’d have to jump to reach the shower head now, and it looked twice as spacious as it had before. He wobbled unsteadily, disoriented by the shift in the surroundings—until he looked down and saw his cock. It was slowly deflating but it was enormous, easily twice the size he was accustomed to, and the added weight pulled on his groin. His balls also felt big, swinging pendulously between his knees. He stared at the thing, big as a mule’s cock he thought, afraid to touch it—but when his fingers reached out, he felt it (oh God did he feel it—damned thing was more sensitive than ever!). It was his.
What the fuck was going on?
He shut the shower off with a squeak and stumbled out of the shower, yanking down a towel that felt huge and heavy in his hands from a rod that was above his eye level. After he’d wiped himself down, he took a look in the mirror. He was still him, it seemed—just with a massive cock—but everything else in the mirror looked gigantic, and he was only taking up about half the space he normally did.
As his phone buzzed again—dammit, Eric, whatever it was could fucking wait, he thought—his brain slowly wrapped around his situation: he now stood a little over half the height he’d had before, while he cock hadn’t changed size at all. He compared it to reference objects around his bathroom: his razor, his toothbrush, the toilet plunger; they all felt giant and weighty in his hands, but held next to his cock, they looked about the same as they always had. This shit wasn’t possible!
Grabbing his phone (which seemed big as a brick to him now) he thought about who he would call—911? Coach? Eric was on his way over—no way could he let the big beefy center see him like this! He estimated he wasn’t taller than maybe four feet, now. He could barely see over the bathroom counter.
Before he dialed anyone, he noticed the last text that had come through—some number he didn’t recognize:
“If you spill your seed in the next 24 hours you will greatly regret it”
The fuck did that mean?
In a panic Richie realized he had to get out of there—coach would help him. He was the Bills’ greatest asset for chrissakes! He was a prime piece of football machinery—no way they were gonna leave him like this, like a midget! As he ran he felt his junk swinging against his thighs, then up against his belly. It was hard to maneuver with this added weight attached to him—he found himself waddling back and forth as he went. To make matters worse, his apartment seemed entirely unfamiliar now that everything was twice as big. He shied away from the weight bench in his living room, trying not to think of how heavy those big dumbbells looked now, and stood for a moment in front of his 60 inch plasma screen. It seemed movie theater sized now.
In his room, Richie yanked open a drawer and started to pull on underwear—then stood, mouth agape, after the boxers he’d tried to pull on were up around his waist. He barely filled up half them, the waistband circling him like a hula hoop, and they hung all the way down past his knees. A glance in the closet revealed a bunch of jeans that looked like they were as tall as he was now, and even though his trunk still looked as thick and beefy to him as it had always been, to his clothes it was no bigger than a little kid’s waist. The fuck was he going to wear?
He settled on a Bills jersey he had in the back of his closet that fit him like a damned dress (but at least it covered his little-big-dicked-body up!) and a set of flip flops (that stuck about four inches out behind his heel). Then he grabbed a Bills cap—it covered most of his head, like a little kid in his dad’s hat, but at least nobody would see his face.
He couldn’t believe the image in his full length mirror as he assessed himself. Could that really be big Richie Incognito? There was no time to think about it. He had to get to Coach’s. Coach’s cell went right to voicemail, but he figured he’d just go straight to Coach’s house, directly.
Soon as he stepped out of his apartment, any feeling of confidence he had in his plan evaporated. Everything was huge. There were people out there, and they seemed MASSIVE—but as he looked, he realized they were just normal-sized, average folks. If he was his normal size, he’d be looking down on them, probably intimidating them, twice their size. A chubby kid walked by and Richie realized they were eye-to-eye.
Worse than the size of everything was his big floppy dick—it just kept swinging around his little groin with every step, nudging the front of his jersey obscenely. And every time his cock touched the fabric his whole body blushed, his pulse quickened, the way he used to react when a girl deep-throated the thing. This shit was too much—but as he turned around to go back in his apartment, he realized he didn’t have his keys on him. He was locked out! He was gonna have to just book it for coach’s and just hope everything worked out.
He tried to look nonchalant as he waited for the elevator doors to open—I’m just being paranoid, he thought; nobody’s staring, and if they are, they sure as hell don’t know who I am. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open—and Richie was almost knocked over by the busty blonde amazon (to him) who walked out.
“Oh, I’m sorry little guy!” she said in a sing-songy voice she might use to speak to a puppy. He stared up at her—and his gut went cold when he realized he knew her. She lived on his floor, and he’d fucked her once with no plans to follow up on it. Now she squatted down to look in his eyes and patted him gently on the head. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he said, suddenly shocked at his voice—it was higher, like he’d huffed some helium or something. That was too much—he stomped past her into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby, staring at the wall until the doors closed.
“I’m still big,” Richie thought, eyes closed, running his hands over his body. To him, it felt the same—he was still a big, massive lineman with wide shoulders, a build like a brick shithouse and a thick ass and legs to push all the mass around. Then his hands got to his cock—ooooooh, he shuddered—and his eyes snapped open. He wasn’t big. He had to look up to see the highest elevator buttons. But he had to quit feeling sorry for himself—he was a goddamned NFL beast, and he had to start acting like it.
Then something happened—he shivered, his skin rising in goosebumps, and his whole body tensed. Then his jersey seemed to be swallowing him up—his hat suddenly sank over his head like a bucket, covering it entirely. When he shook it off, his eyes fell behind the red and blue fabric as it seemed to turn into a collapsing tent he was lost in. He kicked off the flip-flops as they threatened to pop his big toes off. He thrashed around on the floor, trying to shake off whatever was happening to him, as the jersey collapsed like a giant deflating balloon around him.
When it stopped, he lay there on the floor of the elevator, looking up at the giant 62 he saw printed backwards on the “ceiling” of jersey that lay above him, each number about the size of his own body. In horror he looked down and saw that, still, his cock had gotten no smaller—Jesus, it was over a yard long now! His balls were like big heavy melons, his ballsac collecting in wrinkly piles around his feet. As he tried to stand, he realized it was a great effort to drag this big fucking thing around—and every time it touched anything (the ground it rested on; the jersey that surrounded him; his own body, which brushed up against the huge member every time he moved) he moaned aloud, overwhelmed by the sensations zapping his brain.
Still, he kept on, fighting for a way out of the jersey, finally coming to the neck hole—and as he peered out, at an even more enormous elevator (he figured he was about as tall as the fire extinguisher on the wall, so—what was that, two feet?!?!?), hauling around a grotesquely overgrown dick and bowling-ball-sized balls that were so sensitive a stiff breeze could make him cum… he felt the fight die out of him. He saw his phone, which had landed in the middle of the elevator when he’d shrunk again. He’d need to use both arms just to pick it up now. He couldn’t reach the elevator buttons anymore, let alone a doorknob. How the hell was he going to get to coach’s now?
He jumped when the elevator dinged loudly, and retreated back into the jersey as the doors slid open, his eyes nearly bugging out as he saw his buddy, Eric Wood, buffalo-sized center of the Buffalo Bills, who now looked as massive as a house to him. He actually felt Eric’s heavy footfalls as the enormous man stepped into the elevator, too into his phone to notice the tiny man hiding in the discarded jersey on the floor of the elevator.
Then—Eric looked down. His deep voice boomed, “What the fuck?”
* * *
First off, Eric thought, why the fuck would Richie leave a jersey lying in the middle of the elevator? There was also a hat on the floor, and a pair of flip-flops—did Richie just get strip in the elevator and stride off butt-ass-naked? Not like he wouldn’t put it past the big oaf—Richie was a wild man, after all.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself,” Eric thought with a smirk, as the image of his buddy Richie striding around proudly in the buff made his cheeks red—but then he put that thought out of his mind, like he always did. Richie was his buddy, Eric had a wife, it wasn’t like that. They were in the NFL for chrissakes.
But still.
Then Eric noticed Richie’s phone, face down in the middle of the elevator. Jeez, was his buddy drunk already? He was less bothered by the earliness of Richie’s debauchery and more by the fact that he was left out of it. Eric crouched down and plucked Richie’s phone off the ground—and then he noticed something.
The jersey moved.
Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, he thought, leaning forward—jeez, he could really smell Richie’s scent coming off the jersey in warm waves, like he’d just been wearing it a second ago—but then a little lump in the jersey moved around. Eric reached one thick paw down and yanked the jersey up off the ground.
It was Richie—no doubt about it, he’d recognize his best buddy anywhere—but he was naked and barely knee-high to Eric now. Funny thing was, his cock hadn’t changed size at all (and Eric would know; he’d seen Richie’s cock in the showers hundreds of times; he could’ve sketched it blindfolded). It looked cartoonish on him now, though, and it seemed to be weighing him down. Poor little Richie pressed himself against the elevator wall, shaking. It was hard to tell because they were so damned small, but he looked like he had fear in his eyes (something Eric hadn’t thought possible before).
Eric stood for a second, overwhelmed by the situation—maybe even a little bit dizzy. His mouth was dry, heart pounding in his ears—what was the matter with him? He just couldn’t stop staring at his buddy looking all little and helpless, but with that big juicy—fuck, juicy? Where’d that word come from?—cock…
“Hi Richie,” Eric finally exhaled in a low voice.
“Eric! Buddy! You gotta help me! I dunno what’s happening to me but… I’ve shrunk twice already! We gotta get me to coach or the team doctors or…”
Eric smirked. “God, Richie, what’s up with your voice?” He sounded like a friggin chipmunk! Just then the elevator dinged—Richie suddenly crouched down, holding himself, shaking even harder, and Eric started like a little kid who got caught looking at his dad’s porno. Panicking, he reached down and yanked up his shrunken buddy without a thought, wrapped him in the jersey, scooped up the phone, hat and flip flops and stood against the wall, trying to look nonchalant.
A little guy with glasses walked in. He gave Eric the up-down look that he usually god (“Gosh, you’re big!”) but then punched a button. “Play it cool,” Eric repeated to himself, and punched Richie’s floor. He’d go back to Richie’s and they’d figure something out.
Then it dawned on him—that warm thing in the jersey he’d just tucked into his armpit, the thing squirming and wriggling around and kicking him in the side… that was Richie! He couldn’t help the swelling in his shorts just then, and he prayed the skinny guy didn’t notice.
Eric darted out of the elevator soon as the doors opened, desperate to take another look at his little prize, but there was a kid carrying a skateboard coming one way, an old woman sorting through mail coming the other. He couldn’t bust out a shrunken football player with a megacock until he had some privacy. As he fumbled with the key Richie’d given him awhile ago, he felt the jersey start to shake like crazy—then it felt different.
Lighter.
Eric slammed the door behind him as he plopped the jersey on the counter and shook out its contents. Richie was still in there, and he tumbled out on the granite countertop, landing flat on his back. He was even smaller now, about the length of a football, but that cock was still there, now about two-thirds as big as his whole body.
“Richie! You got smaller!” Eric shouted, prompting tiny Richie to cover his ears. The little lineman’s protests came out even more high-pitched than before—Eric could barely make them out. “Except your cock,” Eric said in a softer voice. With a shaky hand he reached out and touched it, felt its warmth and its velvety softness and he gently ran his fingers up and down its shaft like he was stroking a little dog, all the while Richie kicking and writhing and squeaking wildly at the touch. The tip was slobbered with something sticky—Eric gathered a big gob of it on his finger and raised it to his lips. “Mmm…” he moaned as he savored its taste. Then he noticed the inside of the jersey, gooey with Richie’s precum, which he’d probably drooled out on the walk up here.
It happened again—Eric almost missed it, so focused on the hardening cock of his dreams, right there at his fingertips—but Richie’s whole little body flexed suddenly and then started to pull in on itself while his cock somehow managed to become even more engorged. Eric put a big meaty hand on the counter next to his tiny buddy to measure—the hand was bigger than the man. With his sausage-thick index finger he gently reached out and rubbed little circles on Richie’s tiny, hairy chest. The hairs were so fine now they felt silky. Then Eric brought his other hand around to the big balls that were crushing Richie’s tiny legs. As he stroked the big, bulky mounds, a musk filled the air. Eric had smelled it before, in the locker room, the smell of testosterone flowing hard, but he had to get up to it close, breathing in the thick, smoky scent. He couldn’t help it as his tongue lolled out of his mouth, gently tasting Richie’s big nuts, enjoying their salty manliness as he gently licked up the shaft which stood almost straight up from the counter, still managing to fill with blood somehow.
The end of Richie’s cock burped up some precum which came to fall on Richie’s little head. The little lineman coughed and sputtered, trying to wipe away the gobs of his own broth that kept coming as Eric’s tongue started moving more and more vigorously up the length of Richie’s delicious cock. He ignored his buddy’s barely audible squeaks as he suddenly found himself leaning forward and swallowing the big cock whole.
He’d never done this before—hadn’t even allowed himself to picture it for more than a few seconds before sweeping it out of his thoughts—but Eric was completely engrossed in the feeling of Richie’s big cock going down his throat, intoxicated by the power he had (because what could Richie even do about it?). With one hand tightly gripping the base (and absolutely no concern for the six inch body attached to it) Eric started swallowing the cock whole, running his tongue over it, slobbering over the big bone as he deep-throated it again and again with more enthusiasm than he’d ever had for eating his wife’s old puss. And then, he was rewarded—the cock stiffened and jerked and a hot load shot down his throat. He swallowed as much as he could but some still spilled out of his mouth. The cock came out of his mouth with a pop and then he wiped the dribbles of Richie’s hot load from his face with the back of his meaty hand.
“Holy shit,” Eric groaned on unsteady legs. “God-damn, Richie, that was amazing… you can’t say you didn’t like that too…” His eyes fell on the spot on the counter where his little buddy just was.
His cock remained, unchanged from when Richie was full-sized, but Eric couldn’t see the rest of him.
Grabbing the cock off the counter, he examined the other end—maybe Richie’d just shrunk again, even tinier, but as Eric inspected, he couldn’t see any evidence of his pal. It was strange to think, but it was like Richie had disappeared entirely, leaving only a disembodied cock—which was still warm, still throbbing, still stiffening in Eric’s grip. Fuck, he could still feel a pulse!
“You in there, Richie?” Eric whispered, trying to find even an imprint of a face in the dick’s veiny surface, to no avail. After double-checking that the door was deadbolted, Eric walked to Richie’s bedroom, lightheaded and giddy, holding Richie’s hot erection against his chest. Within minutes he was squatting naked over a mirror he’d set on the floor, rubbing the stiff hot cock against his hole, his fingers and toes tingling with the sensation. It wasn’t long before he’d shoved the whole thing in, lubed by the copious amounts of spunk oozing out the end, and started fucking himself with it, moaning, “Yeah big Richie, fuck my big ass Richie, oh fuck yeah…” until it fired a huge load into his massive lineman ass, and he collapsed blissfully into Richie’s bed, petting the cock like it was a kitten, every inch of him still tingling…
* * *
FUCK! Richie thought. DAMMIT CALL A DAMNED DOCTOR YOU DUMB FUCKIN APE! He could hear his own thoughts as loudly as if he were shouting, but he couldn’t seem to project them—Eric didn’t seem to hear him, he thought. He was also vaguely aware of his surroundings—he was on his bed, he knew, next to Eric—that fuckin faggot, who would’ve thought? When I’m normal again I’m gonna bust his jaw and rip his fuckin dick off—but his “vision” seemed only black and white and kept fading in and out (and yet he didn’t seem to have eyes).
Eric had used Richie to fuck himself four times now—Richie was still waiting to wake up from this nightmare, trying so hard to get the memory of being surrounded by Eric’s tight, humid ass out of his mind—but he’d taken a break, thank God. Richie couldn’t move, couldn’t communicate, could only lay there, every inch of his “body” tingling with every single sensation. When would it end, he wondered miserably, when Eric’s hand reached down and lifted him dizzyingly into the air, then lowered him down to his mouth.
Eric’s tongue was a magnificent torture, and Richie was powerless to fight sliding past those big lips and down that warm wet throat—fuck, yeah, suck me, big man, suck me, swallow me, make me cum, yeah—fuck, cock, ass, hard load fuck hard fuck hard cum cum cumcumcum…
…the fuck? That kept happening, for longer and longer periods: he kept forgetting who he was, what he was, his whole brain swollen with blood, the urge to ejaculate the only thing on his mind, if he even had a mind. The worst part was: it was absolute ecstasy, a true joy that seemed to sing through Richie’s core. How many more times was it going to happen before he got stuck that way? Richie wondered miserably as Eric got off the bed and thudded away. Seconds later he heard Eric peeing, then moaning, then heard the big Center shout: “What the fuck?” in a much higher voice.
“Fuck, Richie, it’s happening to me too! It’s contagious!” Eric shouted, and from what Richie could “see,” big Eric had stumped down in height, his own cock (which wasn’t that big to begin with) retaining its size on his reduced frame. “I’m gonna get us help buddy,” Eric squeaked, grabbing Richie by the root—ooooooh, fuuuuuuck, Richie thought wildly—and then heading quickly for the door.
Richie suddenly hit the floor with a thud, and as he rolled over, he bumped into something else. It was a cock; Eric’s cock, now attached to a tiny little football player, immobilized by his cock’s massive size. Seconds later, with a squeak, Eric’s body disappeared, leaving only his cock behind.
It was quiet for awhile, Richie pondering the situation while his ability to “see” faded in and out. Would anyone he fucked shrink like he and Eric had? Was he ever going to fuck anyone again? Had he been lying on the floor for minutes or hours? Had it been days? Eric’s dick had come to rest just next to Richie’s and they touched, gently, Eric’s stumpy tip to the center of Richie’s shaft. Richie couldn’t help but savor that touch, that warmth, that super-powered nerve cluster that was making him see colors and feel sensations he’d never imagine before. He prayed it would never ever end…
His ecstasy was interrupted by the click of his front door unlocking and several light footsteps across his floor. The last thing he was aware of as his vision faded away was that creepy goth chick, leaning over him, dangling the key she’d stolen the night before.
“Ah, two of you, hunh?” Her voice grew further and further away as Richie felt himself becoming less and less a man, more and more just a cock. “I always knew you big football boys played with each other off the field. It looks like I’ve got two nice cocks to add to my collection, the only useful parts of you overgrown gorillas. You little pee-pees are going to fetch quite a penny indeed…”
And then, nothing, because cocks can’t hear, don’t think. The rest of Richie’s existence was just getting hard and cumming, over and over, and nothing more.
After the game, Jason saw the mysterious number pop up on his cell phone. Truthfully, he’d been waiting for it. He snuck away to a private part of the locker room and answered it. “You still wearing it?” asked the mysterious voice.
Jason’s dick went hard, his mouth dry. He slowly ran a hand under his pants, gently fingering the strap of the jockstrap the voice was referring to. “Yes,” he replied weakly. “Good. Go home and make sure you’re alone. Wait for me to call.”
The line went dead, and Jason found himself weak on his feet.
The jockstrap didn’t look remarkable at all. In fact, Jason hadn’t noticing anything unusual about it until he slid it over his legs the day it appeared in his locker (he’d figured it was one of his own). Minutes after sliding it on, he felt a strange buzzing in his backside, a low tickle up his crack that he tried to ignore; he had a game to play. It grew in intensity as time went on, and he couldn’t focus on football at all, only the crazy itch up his backside. He played like shit, got screamed at by his coach, then snuck to the bathroom to stick a thick finger up there to finally hit the spot that had antagonized him all day--but when he finally itched it, he broke into a sweat, his legs wobbly under his weight, as the feel of his finger up his hole sent waves through his body. He almost blacked out. One of his teammates banged on the bathroom door. “You okay in there Jason?” He stammered a response and slid out of the bathroom, prancing like a ballerina as the buzz returned at full force. All he could think about was his ass, and trying to look like nothing was wrong in front of his teammates.
Back in the locker room he started to undress. When the jock hit the floor, the feeling cut off immediately. He exhaled deeply, relieved to be free of that antagonizing itch, but unable to get it off his mind.
He made the connection instantly--wearing the jockstrap made his ass light up like that--and took that jock home with him. That first night he slid the jockstrap on and kicked his legs up into air, slinging drool as he moaned with two fingers deep in his big ass. He couldn’t believe it when he shot his first load without even touching his own dick. He was even more shocked when he found he didn’t want to stop, milking out four loads before finally collapsing in sweaty exhaustion on his bed, eager to go again but too exhausted to move.
Then came the phone calls, demanding that he wear the jock at all times. He didn’t have to be asked twice.
But this was the first time he’d been given any other order other than, “wear the jockstrap.” He hurried home, as he’d been told, and when he got through the front door of his condo, he locked it, stripped down to the jock and sat back on a chair, one leg up in the air, digging tenaciously up his hole with a toothbrush he’d bought just for the occasion. His heart leapt when he heard the knock at the door--half from fear of being discovered, the other from excitement; he knew it was the person from the phone, and a part of him desperately wanted to meet him.
As Jason unlocked the door, the skinny blonde guy strode into the condo like he’d been there a million times. Jason advanced on him but the blonde, a couple of inches shorter than Jason but easily a third of his weight, put a hand up on Jason’s chest and he stopped in his tracks.
With a smirk, the blonde walked a lap around Jason, whose thick hairy body was dewy with sweat. He felt naked, standing there in only a jockstrap, and vulnerable as the blonde inspected him like he was a farm animal.
This was Jason’s condo--he was a lineman, massive compared to this little wimp! And the blonde had a feminine way about him. He felt a surge of aggression as he tried to take control of the situation, to one-hand the little fag through the wall, but it all died out instantly as the blonde spoke.
“Very nice,” the blonde said, raising an eyebrow. He reached out and scooped Jason’s jock-clad cock and balls up in his hand, holding them up like he was weighing them. When the blonde dropped them, he smelled his hand. Jason whimpered, and felt shameful for doing so.
“You haven’t washed it, have you? You’re enjoying what my little jockstrap is doing for you, aren’t you?” The blonde walked behind Jason (who wanted to turn to see what was going on back there but couldn’t get his head to obey) and fell to his knees. He started gently blowing on Jason’s crack, using his hands to spread it open. The big lineman shook on his feet, whimpering like he was in heat. His high-pitched moaning humiliated him but he couldn’t fight the sensations blasting through his body, greater than any thought he could muster.
“Good. Looks like you’re ready,” said the blonde as he walked around to Jason’s front again. “Just a few alterations that should be kicking in... now.” He punctuated the last word with a loud snap of his fingers and suddenly the buzzing in Jason’s ass roared with the force of a jet engine, spreading through his entire body.
Suddenly the blonde seemed to grow--fuck, the whole room seemed to enlarge. Jason looked wide-eyed up at the ceiling, which grew further and further away. Then he looked down at himself. His big body was compressing, his bones compacting, his dense musclefat body reducing.
Well, almost all of his body. He felt a swelling in his asscheeks and watched in horror as they inflated like truck tires. He put two hands down on them to find them swollen up like a shelf behind him. The large buttocks were firm but he could sink his hands into the soft warm flesh--and that feeling made a line of drool pour from his mouth down his chin. The feeling of this impossibly huge ass made him feel unwieldy, his center of balance totally different from what he was used to. He wondered what sitting down would feel like.
On his front, he watched as his cock dwindled like the rest of him--but his balls swelled up like his ass! He couldn’t believe how big they’d gotten. He reached down with a hand and couldn’t hold all of his big swollen sac. He needed two hands just to lift their new bulk. His cock-head was all that was left of his shaft, sitting on top of the massive swollen balls and starting to drool out precum in a slowly spreading sticky stain.
The changes more or less finished, Jason looked up--UP!--at the blonde. His eyeline came to about the blonde’s navel. Jason’s beefy lineman body had remained in proportion (with the exception of the changes to his junk and his caboose) but he couldn’t believe how small he felt next to the BIG blonde--the word “Master” suddenly appeared in his head with a capital M. Master smirked down at him and patted him on the head. Jason leaned into the gesture.
Suddenly Jason’s thoughts reordered themselves. Wasn’t he supposed to be big and strong? No, that couldn’t be. He was just a little guy--and from the looks of his body, he had an ass built just for fucking and a useless little nub of a cock that sat on two massive bull-balls just waiting to spill gallons of cum. His body seemed structured for only one purpose: pleasing his master.
The buzzing in Jason’s ass had spread to his brain, drowning out all other thought, and Jason looked hungrily up as his master dropped his pants and revealed his own swollen dick. Jason looked around Master’s condo, thankful to have someone to serve, and couldn’t wait to feel that juicy cock inside him.
Jason Gamble
31 Days of Derek Hale
Day 08: Cock TF
Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08
When Derek woke up, all that he could see was darkness, as if there was a sheet yanked over his head. Instinctively, he moved to yank whatever was covering his head, but he realized that he couldn’t move.
Immediately, panic started to seep throughout Derek as he realized that he was practically paralyzed, unable to move a limb. He thought that it was sleep paralysis at first, but eventually he felt himself shift around and being moved without any say so of his own. Derek panicked as it felt as if he was being carried, unable to feel his legs carry him towards something, that fabric still covering his eyes like a blindfold.
“Ready for a surprise, Derek?” a familiar voice asked the alpha.
“What? Theo?” Derek asked, growing angry over what was happening. “What the fuck is going on?!”
“You were always such an annoyingly cocky alpha, so check this out!” Theo chuckled.
The “blindfold” was ripped away from Derek’s face, and the first thing he noticed was Theo’s smirking face. However, it was wrong in the fact that it was much higher up than it should’ve been, as if Theo were several feet taller than the alpha werewolf. That thought was quickly ignored when Derek looked directly into the mirror that he was standing in front of, screaming loudly when he noticed what was wrong.
“What the fuck?!” Derek roared as he stared in horror at his altered form.
All Derek could see was Theo’s long cock that dangled between his thick thighs. However, instead of a regular-looking cockhead, Derek saw his own head attached to Theo’s shaft. It looked as if someone had photoshopped Derek’s head on top of Theo’s cock, editing out his arms and legs.
Theo chuckled as he shifted his hips a little, causing his cock to wag back and forth, and thereby make Derek a little dizzy. “I was so tired of you and your big dick energy,” Theo explained, “so I decided to turn you into my cock. I thought about making you my butt, but I like this idea better.”
“You turned me into your cock?!” Derek repeated incredulously, unable to wrap his head around what was happening. “You better turn me back, right now! You hear me? Now!”
Theo mock frowned. “Don’t be like that, Sourwolf,” he teased. “I’m sure that you’ll love your new life as my cock.” He reached down and fondled himself a little, causing his cock to grow harder.
Derek’s angry face froze, and he wore a stunned look as he felt his new body stiffen. It was as if all of the muscles in his body was flexing in unison, becoming hard and rigid as his new cock body hardened. His head rose and stood out at an angle on Theo’s boner, bobbing the air.
Despite his panic, Derek’s hormones surged throughout his new body and all he could concentrate on was getting off. He was incredibly horny and all he wanted to do was jerk off his new body; however, without his arms, he was helpless and trapped at the chimera’s mercy.
Luckily/unluckily, Theo reached down and wrapped his fingers around Derek’s new shaft body, pumping his fist up and down.
Derek nearly went crossed eyed as his new body was jerked off, feeling as if tidal waves of pleasure were coursing all throughout his altered form. Memories of Derek jerking himself off paled in comparison to having his entire body felt up and played with. All of the nerves in his new body were intensified, forcing every touch on his smooth skin to electrify every pleasure center he owned. Derek couldn’t hold back his low moans as he was played with, almost loving it when Theo ran his fingers over his cock body.
Derek tensed up and felt one of the waves of pleasure inside of him break. A snap ruptured deep within him, and the alpha werewolf felt a pressure building deep within him when—
“Ooohh!” Derek moaned, his jaw opening wide as cum squirted out of it and onto the mirror in front of him. The salty substance coated his mouth and as he came; he blushed as he realized that he’d truly been turned into a cock, cumming on Theo’s behalf without a second thought.
Worse was that Derek couldn’t deny that he’d loved it. It was such an intense surge of pleasure that he’d felt, easily outweighing any solo session or any sex that he’d ever had. Being a cock was truly the gateway to the ultimate pleasure, Derek fearfully began to realize.
That epiphany was soon forgotten when Derek stared back into the mirror, shocked to see his thick black hair beginning to recede. It slowly pulled its way back into his scalp until the alpha’s head was smooth. However, he saw that his head was oddly shaped, not looking as round as it should. Instead, there was an odd curvature to it, especially near the bottom that made it look more like a mushroom cap than a head.
Derek’s eyes winded even further when a slight indentation pressed inward at the top of his head, forming a piss slit. The stunned werewolf was helpless to do anything except watch as his mouth closed, his lips fusing shut until it vanished altogether. His nose shriveled up and disappeared next. Finally, his eyes were next as they closed tightly and fused, yet he was still able to see.
When all was said and done, Derek stared back at a cock. The shaft and head blended in seamlessly, giving absolutely zero indication that it was Derek before.
Derek couldn’t say anything or beg to be changed back. The only response he could give was twitch, causing Theo’s cock to throb and rocket back to life.
On cue, that glorious surge of pleasure erupted throughout Derek once again. He new head, the perfectly shaped cockhead, oozed precum.
“I’m gonna use you to fuck Stiles’s tight ass,” Theo snickered, wrapping his fingers around Derek’s cock body again.
Immediately, Derek succumbed to the intense pleasure rippling throughout his new body. He instantly gave in, knowing that his new body was built solely for pleasure and sex. He loved being a cock and he looked forward to all of the sexual experiences that he’d get to have.
