Himboification - Tumblr Posts

One of the Boys

A bead of sweat appeared on Brian Watson’s forehead as he stood outside his high school’s athletic center. His oversized black sweatshirt and skinny jeans insulated his slender figure beneath the hot afternoon sun while groups of other students in various high school sports teams walked past. Brian detested the athletic center and wished it wasn’t the closest building to the adjacent street. He checked his phone and huffed. His mom was supposed to pick him up a half-hour ago. What was taking so long?

Leaning against a wooden ledge, Brian stared off into the expansive and empty high school parking lot. None of his other friends were still at school. Like him, they also dyed their hair black and shared the same gothic fashion that he did, which amounted to them dressing only in all black clothing. Brian even had a black leather satchel in place of a backpack. It was their way of retaliating against their preppy high school. All the other students at Woodside High ignored them anyway. They were too busy talking about things Brian could care less about, like sports games and parties and grade point averages. They were all so fake.

Brian noticed a muscular young man carrying a gym bag walking across the empty parking lot towards him. It was Michael Palmer, a high school senior and one of the school’s linebackers whose tall height and broad stature was nothing less than intimidating. His khaki shorts and lavender polo shirt left little to the imagination. The two had the same science class, although they sat on opposite ends of the room, and Michael was surrounded by his own gaggle of bros that Brian resented. Michael looked up and the two accidentally made eye contact and Brian quickly went on his phone.

“Brian!” Michael said as he was now a few feet away, his low voice sent a chill down Brian’s spine. Maybe he was talking about another Brian. As the group of jocks walked past, he continued staring at his phone. That was until Michael suddenly placed his huge arm around Brian’s shoulder, effortlessly pulling him in closer. “What’s up dude?” he said.

Brian nervously returned eye contact to see the jock with a huge grin across his face. Michael had to be at least a foot taller than him and he was so close that Brian could smell his cheap cologne which smelled like a diluted ocean spray. His gelled black hair and faint stubble framed his face perfectly, giving him quite the masculine visage offset by the prettiness of his white teeth. Brian remained paralyzed with fear and confusion. Mostly confusion.

“Oh…um…hi,” Brian replied, unsure of what to say. His mind was racing. He had never even talked to Michael or the other sporty guys like him. “I’m...uh just waiting for my ride,” he said as more sweatdrops formed all around his body. He didn’t even know why he was getting so nervous around this guy. He loathed the football players with their macho personas and their vacuous and obnoxious laughter during class, but he had never actually talked to one of them before. And Michael Palmer did have such a genuine and friendly look in his eyes that was challenging Brian’s defenses.

“How do you think you did on the chemistry test today, big guy?” Michael asked.

“Oh...umm...I think I did well,” Brian replied as he studied the jock's broad smile and angular jawline.

“Don’t BS me,” Michael said, unconvinced. Even with more conviction, his calm, sultry voice was pleasant on the ears. “I know chem is not your favorite.”

That was true. Brian hated chemistry. It was his least favorite class by far. But why would Michael know that, let alone care? “I mean, I don’t think it was my worst test,” Brian said. “I...uh... I think I probably got like a C or something.”

“Hey, C’s get degrees man,” Michael replied while patting Brian on the back with tremendous force. As Brian readjusted his balance, he could see why Palmer was Michael’s last name. “You heading to practice?” he asked.

“Practice?”

“Yeah practice, dummy,” Michael replied playfully.

Brian stood in place, confusion rising even higher. “I don’t...I mean I’m not-”

“Come on inside dude,” Michael interrupted as he headed towards the front door. “I can tell you’re frying like an egg out here.”

That was also true. Brian was getting increasingly sweaty and parched. His black hair and clothing only absorbed more of the sun’s rays. He hesitantly picked up his leather satchel from the ground and followed Michael inside. He began rationalizing why Michael was being nice to him. It felt so unnerving. Brian decided he would just get a drink and then head back outside. That thought certainly wasn’t enticing. But he’d rather be outside frying than to spend it inside to avoid other football jocks.

As the two stepped inside, Brian intentionally walked slowly to distance himself from Michael, hoping that he would just enter the locker room and forget about him. To his luck, Michael continued walking ahead and Brian headed up to the drinking fountain. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was. The water was so quenching and he couldn’t help but take multiple large gulps. Brian rolled his eyes as he could hear footsteps heading towards him before stopping behind him.

“Ready for the game tomorrow?” Michael asked as he lightly slapped Brian’s butt, nearly causing him to choke on his water.

Brian’s face was now as red as a tomato as he turned to face Michael. His confusion turned to frustration when he saw Michael staring at him with that smug expression he always had. He would’ve socked Michael right then and there if he wasn’t a foot shorter than him or a hundred pounds lighter. But as he begrudgingly turned to face the jock, he realized that wasn’t the case. Before, his height had been at Michael’s shoulders, but now it was at Michael’s mouth. Brian was rendered speechless as he wondered if Michael had always been this short.

Then it happened again.

Brian nearly fell over as his body suddenly grew even taller. He stuck out his arms to keep his balance as his body shot upward. In a few seconds, he was a few inches taller than Michael, who he remembered was 6’2. An audible ripping sound indicated that his clothes had not grown with him.

“You think we got a good shot against the Generals on Friday?” Michael asked as if nothing had happened.

Brian glanced down at his extremely tight clothes in disbelief. More of his spindly arms and legs were now revealed. It looked like his clothes had shrunk in the wash. To Brian’s horror, he watched as his strained jeans started to rip more and more, revealing more of his skin. Was this really happening?

To answer his question, the belt holding up his skinny jeans exploded, sending a piece of metal careening through the air. Brian instinctively grabbed his pants to prevent them from falling. His embarrassment intensified and without thinking, he bolted into the nearest bathroom. Michael said something as he left, but Brian didn’t care. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered despairingly as he scrambled around the corner. But as he looked up, his blood went cold. “Oh, fuck.”

Right in front of him was a group of Woodside High’s football players. They were not only enormous-looking but were all in the process of getting dressed. Interestingly enough, Brian realized he was taller than all of the guys who were standing. He didn’t think about that for long though as he saw one of them glance up and look at him.

“Hey, what’s up Watson?” one of the jocks called out.

Shit, Brian thought. Not only had one of them seen him, but he also knew his last name somehow. He was about to leave when he heard Michael’s familiar voice behind him.

“What’s up bros?” Michael called out to the other guys as he entered the locker room. When Brian glanced back, he noticed Michael was so broad that he nearly filled the entire doorway, rendering escape both impossible and extremely awkward.

Brian’s forehead was coated with sweat and his heart was thumping faster than ever. He felt like a mouse in a cage of snakes, trapped in a vortex of impending doom. He could feel some of the players looking in his direction. Desperate to flee, he scanned the premises for a few agonizing seconds before he found success. There was a red exit sign hanging in the distance above the other side of the locker room. It was far away, but he just had to make it there.

In an instant, Brian bolted past the guys and further into the locker room while holding up his ripping pants with one hand. As he sped past lockers through the open clearing, he ran past windows of players getting ready and prayed none of them would notice him. The exit sign grew closer and closer and it looked like he was going to make it. That was until a huge football player adorned in his uniform stepped out from one of the lockers right in Brian’s way. The collision was inevitable. He closed his eyes as the two collided with an abrasive smack.

Brian fell to the ground and had lost the grip on his pants, causing them to loosen around his waist and fall to the floor. His black satchel flew towards an adjacent row of lockers. “Unghhhh,” he groaned as he reopened his eyes and stared at the jock who had hardly even budged. Brian’s heart was pumping faster than ever as he realized his entire lower body was now exposed. He wanted to scream. One of the largest guys in school was looking at him clad in only his underwear and a sweatshirt on the locker room floor. The jock’s hulking figure was clothed in a football uniform, the delicate combination of pads and spandex only made his figure look more imperious. Fear bubbled up inside of Brian so he promptly mustered out a “Shit, I’m sorry bro” to him as he tried to catch his breath.

​​

To Brian’s relief, the jock didn’t burst out laughing. “Whoa, watch it, Woodsen,” he said with a smug expression as he looked down at Brian on the floor. “We’re not even on the field yet,” he said sympathetically before extending his arm to pull him back up.

For a moment, Brian could only stare in bewilderment, too afraid to correct the jock for getting his last name wrong. The jock’s immense size was not only intimidating but somewhat breathtaking. As Brian grabbed his meaty hand, he pulled him upward like he was as light as a feather. When the two met eyes, Brian realized that he was exactly eye-level with this dude who had to be slightly taller than Michael. Somehow, Brian had gotten even taller without even knowing it.

“See you out there,” he said as he playfully swatted Brian on the butt before heading towards the door. As he left, Brian marveled at the width of his back, which was perfectly accentuated beneath his white jersey. The dark blue letters on the back read “WALLACE.” Then the name came to him. Trent Wallace was an amazing center who had the calmest head on his shoulders out of all of the team. He was an amazing team player whose patience was unparalleled. Brian found himself enjoying that trait a lot. It certainly was important to be a good leader.

Before Brian could wonder why he knew the jock’s name, he heard the low rumble of more guys heading towards him. He quickly snatched his satchel off the floor and ducked into the cavern of lockers where Trent had just been. Like a herd of buffalo, the group of guys passed by Brian without noticing him. The young man breathed a sigh of relief, finally happy to not have one of these meatheads in his face for a second.

A tickling feeling around his legs caught Brian’s attention. As he looked down, he wondered how on earth his black boxers had bleached themselves white. He squirmed as he could feel his underwear vibrating on its own. A strap formed underneath each of his buttcheeks while the fabric above disappeared. In the front, a swell of growth came from Brian’s thighs as they burst through the cotton, leaving behind only a pouch beneath his much stronger waistband. Feeling much more exposed, Brian’s face reddened as he looked at this new and very revealing article of clothing. As much as he detested what he was seeing, it felt oddly snug. Still, he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Shit, please don’t let anybody see me like this,” Brian prayed to himself as he studied how revealing the jockstrap was.

Desperately, he tried to rip it off with no luck. Each time Brian tugged on the athletic supporter, navy blue lycra materialized over it. The new fabric started materializing around his waist before promptly extending down over his small butt and down to his lower thighs. The uncomfortable draft from the jockstrap was quickly eliminated. He couldn’t help but smirk with conflicted relief as he realized he was now wearing a new pair of compression shorts and his embarrassing jockstrap was hidden away. Brian pulled on the new lycra, enjoying how tight yet breathable it felt against his loins. With all the movement around his dick, Brian couldn’t help but feel it rise with arousal.

‘No…no,” he whimpered as he slowly sat down on the bench. Now breathing much heavier, he swore he could feel his thighs growing beneath his hands. And sure enough, they were. They gradually swelled to an immense size beneath his compression shorts. It looked like he could squeeze a watermelon between them. Prickles of blonde hair appeared on his thighs before spreading all the way to his ankles. That was odd, his hair was black.

He could feel a tremendously ticklish feeling on his feet as if a million tiny threads were forming around them. As he shook his legs, he watched as a beautiful shade of white spread upwards from his feet, rising past his ankles until they stopped just below his knees. Brian’s new pair of white athletic socks brought a new wave of growth with them. His feet grew to a hulking size 13 before a pair of blue and white cleats formed around them. Huge calves the size of footballs swelled into fruition beneath his new socks. Brian’s disgust was turning to wonder.

“Am I…is this…really...happening?” he gasped as he placed his hands on his meaty thighs, marveling at how gigantic they had become. His breaths sounded lower, deeper even.

A strong odor filled the air and Brian immediately recognized it as sweat, and it was emanating from him! Brian’s fear had amplified a tremendous amount of his body odor. It felt like he was forced to inhale a cloud of his own manly musk. He couldn’t believe he had even been sweating this much. Uncharacteristically, he began to laugh, although came out at a much lower frequency. His tenor register sounded not only lower but also slower-sounding.

Brian closed his eyes and clenched his upper thighs, feeling the sinews of muscle pulsate beneath his fingertips. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he glanced at how disproportionately huge his lower body now was compared to his slender torso. Muscles this size took thousands of hours of strenuous exercise to appear. His pride skyrocketed as he caressed his thighs, partially concealed beneath his compression shorts. He wasn’t feeling afraid of the jocks anymore. If anyone of those cocky football jerks gave him trouble, he’d give ‘em hell!

“Mmmm, yeah,” he grunted as he cautiously guided his hand to his cock. He touched it once and felt it harden. After a brief moment of abstinence, Brian began stroking his cock beneath his black compression shorts. “That’ll show...those…fake posers,” he said, oblivious to how he was becoming one of them. Brian’s cock was lengthening in his hand as he closed his eyes and pictured all of the football players’ stupid smug faces. He could just picture himself flexing in front of the guys and them all respecting him.

RIIIP!

Brian’s stroking was interrupted when his pecs exploded through his black sweatshirt, tearing it apart into tatters, and exposing his chest. His initial confusion dissolved into satisfaction as he marveled at the size of these gigantic new muscular tits, each one had to be larger than his head. He delicately brought his hand up from his dick, tempted to feel the humongous muscle.

“Ffffuck!” he cried as he gave one a loving squeeze, feeling how thick the muscle really was. A million little tingles dispersed through his body as he lovingly cupped his pecs with both of his hands. A light dusting of blonde hair, just like the one on his legs, appeared above them. He was starting to obsess over the way he looked. This new size was so inspiring, but also a little nerve-wracking. Brian had memories of being a shorter young man who only wore black clothing and made it his personality to act apathetic to everyone. But that seemed out of character for him now. Brian enjoyed standing out in a crowd.

As if to counter those contradictory thoughts, Brian continued to inhale his manly musk and his heartbeat started to slow. With oversized muscle tits larger than the rack of any girl he’d ever seen and a thunderous set of legs, he looked like a circus freak. The barrel-chested young man squirmed on the bench as he felt follicles of blonde hair burst from beneath his armpits. A stream of hair flowed across his jugs to his abdomen before culminating in a visible treasure trail. Not only did the new path of hair indicate his increased testosterone levels, which had to be as large as half the team’s, but it also indicated virility. Brian was a man. Or at least he was growing into a huge one. And he was loving every second.

Throwing up both of his skinny arms into a flex sent more testosterone through his body. Brian watched his biceps explode with muscles, becoming larger. And larger. And larger, until eventually, they were larger than everyone else on the team. Years of training under the iron bar entered his mind and Brian remembered how long it had taken him to become this strong. An eight pack burst through his slender abdomen while also causing it to broaden in size. Brian looked at his tight muscly core. Like his arms, they felt eerily familiar, like they were created through strenuous physical activity. His arms felt like lightning bolts filled to the brim with testosterone that spread across his body like a static charge.

A football came flying through the air accompanied by a player saying “Wood, catch!”

Instinctively, Brian turned around and extended his tree trunk of an arm out to effortlessly catch the flying pigskin. He looked back up just in time to see Jake Thomas walking away. “Nice one, dude!” Jake said as he walked through the door, leaving as quickly as he had entered.

The tight end was one of many players who always tried to catch Brian off guard. They were hardly successful. Brian was a colossal athlete and zealously vigilant. Coach always told him his determination would get him very far in life, sometimes calling him the greatest on the team, which only inflated Brian’s ego.

Before Brian could question that thought, he felt a numbness in his hand where he was holding the football. His hand, once demure, was palming the football no problem. His hands grew meatier before his eyes, accentuated by new calluses and hair above the knuckles. They had to be the size of baseball mitts and were perfect for catching and throwing footballs with ease. That was an exciting thought.

“UNNNGHH, no!” he bellowed helplessly, resisting the side of him that was yearning for football practice.

As the immense young man stood up from the bench, his muscles shook like jello, before they solidified into hardened, insurmountable walls. Where there had once been a scared boy, there was now a hulking Adonis who was obsessed with his muscles. As Brian continued to flex his arms and twiddle his pecs, a rush of blood poured into his cock, causing his arousal to return stronger than ever.

“Oh…fuck,” he trembled with carnal anticipation. His much deeper voice echoed through the locker room. Its new baritone register was rendered completely unrecognizable from what it once was. That was hot. He sounded just like…just like…one of the boys. And he didn’t mind.

Brian’s husky bulge was on prime display for anyone who happened to walk by. His cautious expression shifted into a satisfied grin as he reached down to stroke it. Then all of a sudden, it disappeared beneath a layer of white. The new fabric extended from his waist to just below his knees, giving him a brand new pair of football pants. Brian chuckled to himself, unaware of how numb he was feeling to the changes.

The new player’s cock twitched as his ass inflated behind him. Two perfectly muscular globes stretched his compression shorts to the limit before they were swallowed by his new pants. Just like his pecs, his butt was a wall of muscle, on display in everything he wore. And Brian could remember every squat, leg lift, and all of the hard work he put in to become huge. His butt was the biggest in the team for a reason. His reputation of going hard on leg days warranted impeccable results.

He laughed again, although this one came out much...slower-sounding. Brian’s disdain for dorky meathead jocks was being replaced by an understanding of them. After all, these were his bros and their sense of camaraderie was unbreakable. As a senior, he was one of the strongest on the team and they all worshiped him.

But this...this wasn’t right. Brian was a scrawny goth sophomore who wanted to disappear in a crowd. But this new body and personality were the polar opposite. His sheer size and athletic prowess were impossible to ignore. He began to pace around subconsciously, transfixed on the way his body moved.

“Whuh!” Brian exclaimed as he tripped on something on the floor. He flung his arms out and caught his fall by palming the locker, which had somebody’s navy blue shirt sleeve sticking out of its closed door. When Brian stood back upright he noticed the black fabric was sticking around his wrist. When he tried to pull it off, it stuck to his arm like glue. The blue fabric then began crawling up Brian's forearm with impressive speed. A few moments later, it had reached his elbow, concealing his muscular arm in a brand new shirtsleeve. However, it didn't stop covering him up and continued to Brian's shoulders before cascading down over his bare chest. His new skin-tight workout shirt did nothing to hide Brian's beefy pecs.

“Oh shit,” Brian whispered to himself as he ran a hand over his pants. "I...I look just like a player."

Although the utterance had been subconscious, Brian found him remembering more instances where the football players turned to him for advice, like he was a mentor towards them. With each recollection, pieces of a black jersey appeared over his workout shirt. The number "5" appeared in a rich cerulean blue color in the middle of his chest. It was slightly curved over the giant breadth of Brian's pecs. The word "CHARGERS" appeared above it in the same blue color. Anyone who would've seen the impenetrable wall of uniformed muscle that was Brian would've assumed he was a football player.

“FFFFUCK!” the growing jock cussed as he placed his massive hands above his saucer-like pectorals, wasted in his masculinity. Too preoccupied with himself, he didn't notice his black satchel moving on its own. It started to contort on its own, its rectangular shape became more cylindrical and the leather material turned into nylon and polyester. Instead of schoolwork and books, the bag was now filled with Brian's change of clothes, which were nothing like his goth attire. His wardrobe was like Michael's, full of pastels and board shorts that showed off every curve of his.

The bag twitched and leaned against Brian's foot. When he looked down, he was met with a new light gray duffel bag that had the word “CHARGERS” on the side next to a cartoon lightning bolt. He smiled broadly. Even just seeing the team name excited him. He felt an odd sense of responsibility towards that name like he was a leader of it or something.

The letter "C" embroidered itself over the top left corner of his jersey, revealing the validity of that thought. When Brian looked down, his smile only broadened. He remembered that he was the team captain and the star quarterback. The Chargers were his team and he was going to lead them to glory this season. "Shiiiiit…" he muttered with disbelief as he ran his hands over his massive body, caressing every muscle of his body.

A piece of Brian hated the thought of being around football players, but another part loved it. His fear was reforming into adoration. As a captain, he was able to work with the coaches to guide his team to victory. And judging by how well the season was going so far, he was doing a great job. He inspired his teammates every day. Brian’s confidence was contagious and his devotion to the team was unyielding. He wasn't afraid of the jocks anymore. The thought of leading them was much more exhilarating.

“Looking good, Wood!” a familiar-sounding voice said. “You ready?”

“HELL YEAH!” Brian Wood replied with impressive volume. It was at that moment his black hair was saturated with gel and dyed itself blonde. Brian itched his nose, unaware that it grew slightly larger after his finger touched it. His face also resculpted itself, the boyish shape taking hold to the chiseled visage of a real meathead. At one point, Brian would’ve hated what he looked like, but that time was past. It only felt natural that his face should be much more square if he was to lead the players. His boxy face made his gaze more domineering than ever. Even Brian's forehead expanded a little wider. Everyone knew he was the team's alpha.

Unseen to him, the word “WOOD” formed in blue letters on the back of his jersey. Going to Woodside High School had been a perfect coincidence for Brian Wood. The guy was also a horny bastard who often lewdly joked about his own wood to the team. It was expected though. Men are ruled by their cocks and Brian was no different. After being around a team of equally horny guys with a similar sense of humor, they always made crude jokes about their dicks. The bulge in the team captain's pants swelled even larger, leaving no discretion that the blonde-haired dreamboat was well-endowed.

Michael Palmer walked up closer, like a prince eyeing a knight. Brian returned the wordless glance, unaware of the sensation of his chin jutting out. The star quarterback and linebacker had stellar chemistry together, they were able to be serious on the field and chummy when off of it.

"You look great," Brian blurted out. He hadn't meant to, but looking at Michael was getting him riled up. He liked the way he filled out the uniform.

"Right back at you, dude," Michael replied as he stepped right in front of Brian's face. Brian's cock twitched when he realized that he was slightly taller and now even wider than Michael. The two were so close now that they could feel each other's breath.

Instinctively, Brian touched Michael's bulge. Michael grunted a little bit and his erection twitched in Brian's hand.

Brian's cock stirred at that sound and the vulnerable look in Michael's eyes. It felt like time was frozen. Not only was he making the largest guy in school moan, but he was also getting his affection. Brian didn't even like guys, but looking at Michael's amatory expression was changing that. Michael was a macho beefcake like him who was just so sensational to look at.

Suddenly, Michael pulled him in close with impressive strength. The linebacker's lips met the star quarterback's as he tightly gripped his shoulders. Brian returned the kiss, loving the feeling of being the only guy in school larger than Michael. A fire inside the two was challenging their heterosexualities.

"Oh, Brian," Michael breathed as their kissing intensified.

Upon hearing his name, Brian felt something amiss. That name didn't sound right. It didn’t match the masculine prowess that was overtaking his brain. The newly minted football player had a rare moment of fear when he couldn’t recall what people called him.

Adrenaline coursed through the two mens' veins as they savored each other's taste and smell. Memories of a vehement relationship flooded their minds. Dating each other over the last year while playing on the team together had strengthened their bond to a level they had never imagined possible. The nameless jock's lips thickened as they pressed against Michael's. He loved Michael so much. Their love of football allowed them to properly separate their personal and professional obligations to each other. Even the team was cool with their relationship, which was so validating. The nameless jock loved his team, proud to be one of the boys when he was on the field. And at that moment, Zach Wood remembered his name. The two broke the kiss, both with a newfound and intense infatuation for one another.

“Holy shit, Michael!” Zach replied when the two pulled away. He caressed his semi-hard cock. "We need to stop doing this before practice."

"Uh-huh," Michael breathed in agreement. His heart was beating fast as he was going through his own internal turmoil. He could've sworn he had a girlfriend, but he had no idea what her name was. The harder he thought, the more memories with Zach resurfaced. They were a pair of sex-obsessed, macho jock boyfriends who couldn't get enough of each other's minds and bodies on and off the field. Their sex was tantric and their affection towards each other was unyielding.

Michael took a sip from his Gatorade bottle. The locker room was much quieter now and all of the other guys must be on the field.

"You ready, Mikey Palms?" Zach asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

"Of course babe," Michael replied as he shifted his brain to football mode. Usually, the two beefy guys were able to keep their love life away from practice time, but that was getting harder to do. They both loved seeing each other in their uniforms.

"Alright, let's head out," Zach said, excitedly heading towards the open door until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you gotta put your gym bag in your locker, ya gym bag,” Michael quipped as he spun Zach around.

"Oh right," Zach replied as he turned around to grab it off the floor. Sometimes his excitement for the sport caused him to be forgetful. He opened up his locker and placed it inside. "Alright Mikey," he said as he slapped his boyfriend’s butt. "Let's head to practice already."

Michael couldn't agree more. Although later, the two would have to pick up where they left off.

The Boxers and Bro Cap are 🥵🔥

Thank you, good boy. I really love to write an old-fashioned clothing transformation once in a while.

You know how, sometimes, you'll be out in the world and suddenly think of tf? Like, you see a snapback cap sitting abandoned on a bench, and you suddenly think "That cap would probably turn me into a total bro."

You imagine the kind of guy who would wear a cap like that. Sweaty. Douchey. Self-obsessed. Perpetually shirtless to show off his massive, perfectly aesthetic pecs and bulky biceps. Sexy stubble on his face. Totally brainless, massively horny. A toxic fuck machine who'll cum in any hole.

You can't help yourself. You have to pick up the hat, feel how stiff it is with hard-earned sweat. Put it on, feeling it settle on your scalp. Grab the brim and turn it around.

Fuck, bro, you fuckin' killed that chest day! Now go find some lame femme and pass the cap on, bro!

(Imagine this in an ad voice-over voice.)

HIMBO CAP installation successful! Our highly acclaimed product will give you the body and personality you want. Optimizing your brain chemistry, commanding your body to produce the hormones to make you grow and sexually potent as you specified during the setup. Filling your mind with knowledge of the best workout and nutritional facts carefully chosen by our expert at ALPHA corp! And with the premium package, we will also put in sexual techniques that will surely satisfy your partner!

Please be careful though. We are required by law to inform you that our products works near instantly, and should only be worn when you are ready at a safe environment, and after you have input the safe-word for emergency removal!

We at ALPHA corp will not be held responsible for misuse of our product, or any unintended side effects or himboification from failure to follow our safety instruction.

Have an ALPHAntastic day!

He was doing a set of dumbbell pullovers--lats pumped out like crazy--when I hit him with the dart. It was tiny, smaller than the insulin needle he no doubt used to deliver growth hormone to that thick abdomen--so he never noticed it. If I’d had the technology I would’ve frozen him right in this moment, dropped down on my knees and got my hands on those big bloated quads--really dug my fingers into those overdeveloped muscles, deep-tissue style, while I went to town on the shriveled dick and shrunken little nuts he’d withered almost out of existence with his roid addiction. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face into those muscle pits and cram my tongue into their deepest crevice, taste him so hard I never forgot the flavor. But alas, I hadn’t developed that kind of technology yet. Someday. Of course, what was about to happen was pretty damned fantastic too, and soon enough that body would be in my power--what was left of it, anyway.

He trained right to failure, as always, and dropped the dumbbell when he felt the elixir starting to take effect. I’d witnessed the effects in the lab before: his whole body was going to get warm and he’d be swept up in a euphoria he wasn’t expecting. That pump in his lats was going to start spreading everywhere as his oversized heart blasted the elixir to every inch of that oversized frame.

Oversized for now, that is. It all happened so quick nobody else in the gym noticed (thank god): he moaned, but the pitch started to rise from his deep growl to something much higher, then it disappeared--much like his body did, all of a sudden, dropping out of sight as his gym clothes collapsed, empty. Almost empty, that is. I scooped up his shirt--still soaked and warm, score!--into my gym bag, then did the same with the shorts, pausing, of course, to check their contents. Sure enough, a diminished little muscle man, action-figure sized, was writhing in the now tent-sized (to him) fabric. Taking care not to damage him I dropped everything in my bag and zipped it up. As I walked away one of his gym buddies bitched aloud about the discarded dumbbell--”Fucking rookies, not putting their damned weights away.” I made a beeline for the door, my prize in tow.

Back in my hotel room I hurried to my room, locked and deadbolted the door, then unveiled my little catch. He was still dazed and hadn’t completely processed what had happened to him. I pulled him out--gently, unlike the first few guys I’d done this two--and held him in my hand.

Muscles have always felt amazing to me. Once back in high school a gym class bully shoved me so I shoved him back, and at the moment of contact with my hands he flexed his pecs. The way that warm flesh went impossibly hard all of a sudden stuck with me, long after he ended up kicking the shit out of me. I jerked off to that feeling for months after, and suddenly there was an itch I had to scratch.

It wasn’t exactly the same holding the plump muscles of a 6 inch man in your hand. They felt like swollen insect bites but the hairless skin, at its reduced size, was silky soft. That combination--firm and smooth--was so perfectly analogous to a dick that I couldn’t help but think of my new little captive as one: my own swollen dick, only here for my pleasure and my relief.

I put on my jeweler’s eye to inspect my new catch. As I’d suspected, he had an embarrassingly tiny dick between those tree trunks, a little nub poking out over a nearly empty scrotum pulled tight underneath. With a Q-tip dipped in vaseline I probed his tiny dick, delighting in his shrill squeals as he writhed around.

The elixir always had that side effect. It was hard to explain why in laymen’s terms, but just imagine a big swollen juice-monkey shrunk down to dick-sized, all that testosterone now crammed into a much tinier vessel. (Not exactly scientifically accurate but good enough.) So he’d be my own little muscle whore from pretty much now on, constantly in rutting mode, unable to ever find satiation. Of course a part of his mind would be freaking out about what had happened to him, trying to fight back, but that would be overwhelmed by his turbo-boosted reptile brain, plus my rough tongue driving him crazy as it lapped him from head to toe, exploring every crevice. A lifetime in a lab had left me without the skills to score a mate of my own, but luckily I’d been blessed with the ability to build toys for my own satisfaction. And this little guy--dammit, I never got his name--was my new favorite toy... for now.

Love Muscle

Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s my contribution to the dateless.

As little Cupie flitted and fluttered around the world, seeing all of the joyful humans and their roses and chocolates and champagne toasts, celebrating the joyful paradise of a life with love, he sensed a great emptiness. While most warm bodies blasted out warm, he sensed a place of cold metal and hard, unfeeling bodies, gritted teeth, pain and sacrifice and passion without affection. It was love’s most special day; Cupie had to do something! So he descended upon Global Gym, zipped on his magical little wings through the packed parking lot, and took a deep breath of fresh air before he entered the stagnant musk of this sweat-filled dungeon.Inside were many man, big as buffalo and hard as steel, some more perfectly carved than statues. 

As Cupie inspected the marvelously shaped men, he found each of them desperately fighting a hole in their hearts, trying so hard to hide a need for tender touch behind armor of massive flesh.At least, that’s what it looked like to Cupie. And he couldn’t allow this at all. He would fix that right away.

Gathered in a small huddle around a big metal rack were four apelike men, hairy and thick and barely able to move from their enormous swollen muscles. “Powerlifters,” they called themselves, but how powerful can you be without the power of love?

Their leader, a stout barrel-shaped man with a long beard, wore a perma-scowl as he moved many times his own bodyweight in metal, lifting it from the ground and putting it back down. The other brutes in his entourage clapped their chalky hands on his back before each lift, helped him pull his belt tight, barked at him, “You’ve got this bro!”“Deadlifting” they called it. Well, it was time to come alive, Cupie thought, and as the powerful man waddled toward the overloaded bar, Cupie pulled a special arrow from his quiver and fired.

The beastly man clapped his massive hands together, producing a cloud of chalk that surrounded him as the invisible, magical arrow struck him. As the chalk cleared, the man found himself now half his size, swimming in oversized clothes. His still-buckled weight belt clattered to the ground and he stumbled around awkwardly. He struggled to escape his now-tentlike shirt, stepping out of ludicrously oversized shoes and staring up at his three companions, now each three times his size. More overwhelming than the garguantuan men staring at him was the dull throbbing from his ass--an ass that had stayed basically the same size while the rest of him shriveled, now bulbous and unwieldy behind an otherwise petite man--that seemed to beg for his attention. That’s when Cupie let loose three more arrows for his friends.

The one who’d tightened his belt reached out with a meaty paw and yanked the big shirt away, revealing the little man in his newfound glory: a slender, hairless man with a huge inviting rear end. Each of the man felt a stirring in their loins looking at the little man, especially his bulbous backside, and each of them started to perspire. The little guy, suddenly more flexible than he’d ever been, folded at the waist, presented his prized asset to his buddies and grabbed his dainty little ankles. The former powerhouse thrilled as the buddy who’d cheered on his left reached out a thick, chalk-caked digit and gently tweaked the crack of the newly-tiny man’s voluptuous behind, eliciting a squeal that invited all three men to move in closer, their pulses quickened, their loins stirring like never before.

In another room, a powerful man stood nearly nude before a mirror, crunching up his lumpy arms and legs and making the muscles big and hard. Nearby an older gentlemen, with just as much unnecessary muscle as the younger man but gristled with age, sat on a bench, calling out strange directions. 

“Nice, Tony, now front double bi. Great. Show me that abdominal-thigh.” Cupie eyed this strange scene and sensed a latent affection between the men. The rippling Tony, his skin stained dark brown for some reason, seemed to be desperate for the approval of the older gentleman--so much that he’d put on what looked like tiny panties and squeeze his body up in public just to win it--while the older gentleman looked at Tony with a sense of pride, like he was his own creation.

Cupie could work with this.

One very powerful arrow shot into the wide slabs of beef hanging off Tony’s Chest. He didn’t sense anything at first, but then the older man said, “All right, show me that lat spread.” Tony put his fists on his hips and spread his back wide--and it just kept spreading. Tony’s wide back, his bumpy arms and veiny legs all spread out like dough, more muscle pouring onto his frame than he’d ever conceived of before. As his chest and shoulders swelled up around his head, he looked around nervously, his legs splayed out impossibly far to accomodate their thickness while remaining upright.

The older man was shocked for a moment until another of Cupie’s arrows struck him. He proudly rose from the stool and did a lap around the muscular monstrosity he’d created, surveying it with pride, and buried his fingers into the deep ridges between each blimped out muscle, causing Tony to squeal with overwhelming ecstasy. He was now a practically immobile pile of muscle, only able to barely wiggle his toes and fingers while his big dick (swollen like the rest of him, and stretching his overstuffed little underwear to the limit) burped and sputtered cum.

“Don’t worry about the mess, Tony,” the coach said, tickling the overample flesh of his freakish creation. “I’ll take care of it later. Let’s just appreciate all the muscle I’ve built on you. Later on, when they had privacy, he’d take a dildo the size of a baseball bat and get into the really sensitive parts of his muscle-beast, but for now he’d just appreciate the unbelievable mass he’d created with some deep-tissue style massage across dense muscle that was now as sensitive as a cock-head. Tony could only squeal and whimper, delighting in his own helplessness and the attentive caress of his coach.

In the musky, humid locker room, Cupie found  a giant man--six and a half feet tall, at least, wide as a door, stripping out of sweat-soaked clothes before a shower. Next to him, a man the same age but less than half his size tried not to notice the hairy brawn unveiling itself in the same room. Cupie sensed in the smaller man a deep desire to nuzzle into the powerful arms of the big guy. In the big man he sensed coldness, scar-tissue from years of smashing into other powerful men wrapped in hard equipment on big fields to the adoration of screaming fans. 

So much pain in his past, Cupie lamented. This, he could fix.

Cupie fired one of his favorite arrows--it traveled into the big ogre and then a moment later emerged from him and plunged into the body of the smaller man. Suddenly the big hulk’s body started to compress. While he remained exactly proportionate, he grew smaller and smaller while the little guy’s frame started to grow up and out, widening and thickening as it went. The not-so-little-anymore guy watched with amazement as his eye level rose, the room starting to shrink down around him. He grew muscles he never thought he’d have, patting around himself to test all the new lumps and their pleasing density.

The new giant got nervous when his head bumped the ceiling but then the changes seemed to stop. He crouched down, wondering if he was too big to get out of the locker room now, until he noticed the hulk-no-more next to him, still the same shape as before but now the size of a teddy bear.

Having watched everything grow as he diminished as a human being, the newly teddified man felt himself overwhelmed with fear; how could he survive in a world that was so big after having looked down on it for so many years? Then he felt an impossible huge tongue lick the length of his body, so forcefully he fell over, and stared up in awe at the brand new giant before him. The giant man extended a beefy arm and although he knew that he’d been robbed of his size, that it had been donated to this newly gargantuan man, the new giant’s touch filled him with warmth and safety and teddy-bear-sized hulk nestled into it, wishing he never had to be anywhere without it.

Cupie nodded his head at the change, satisfied at his work, and checked his quiver: it was full of arrows, and this place was full of people in need of love. He had work to do.

NEW *FREE FOR EVERYONE* STORY AT PATREON

Terry Hollands, the Insatiable Hulk

New story at my Patreon--no donations required! Have you seen the recent transformation of Terry Hollands to big bulky footballer to shredded up muscle stud? Well it seems that poor Terry’s got a little bit of a Hulk situation going on--you wouldn’t like him when he’s horny! You’ll love this little vignette if you’re a fan of top-to-bottom transformations, himboification, mental TF, straight-to-gay and especially if you like weight gain, inflation or just big beefy footballers. Here’s a taste:

Terry’s personality slowly dissipated, screaming and trying to fight the new persona dominating the giant form: Terrence. The brick-shithouse footballer stood, hands on his wide hips, as the nagging itch returned deep in his nether regions and a curious hunger returned and took over. Nearly every thought revolved around dick. He imagined them in all different shapes, craved one in every hole in his body and in each hand. He needed it. He hadn’t the brainpower to worry about protecting Terry’s reputation. Terry needed to get fucked more than he needed to breathe. Go check it out! If you like it, maybe consider donating! Wednesday and Saturday posts are for patrons only. www.patreon.com/brandedx2

A GOOD TAN IS WORTH TEN WORKOUTS (continued)

Next part of this story is up at my Patreon! If you liked the first three chapters, and you’re a fan of shrunken muscle studs, check it out! Here’s a taste.

Suddenly Trevor realized where he recognized Grady from: the life-sized murals in the tanning place. He’d sneered at Grady’s picture before, threatened to take his job. Now Trevor wished he could take it back. Grady was even bigger than the picture, looking like he’d trained with maximum intensity for half a decade since then, but that couldn’t be possible--he looked about the same age. Trevor felt dizzy with confusion, trying to escape the images of giant Dr. Betty he kept flashing back to.

Patrons only! Come check it out.

 www.patreon.com/brandedx2

Pietro Boselli

"what do you mean you think you like this new hairless look I've got going on bro?" The jock asked me gesturing to the thick expanse of hair covering his shirtless chest, like it was the most ridiculous thing he had heard today. I mean he had every right, he WAS a hairy mountain of a man but as the question left my lips I saw the forestbof hairs retreat from his chest, arms, legs, and jaw. Leaving him as smooth as the day he was born.

Chet over here had the misfortune of being rude to me at the gym, I apparently was on his favorite leg press and he'd made an ass out of himself. So I was going to use it. He sat down between his sets resting and I had decided to do the same next to him.

"I just mean it goes so well with that new hairstyle you got yesterday at the salon" dog piling on the changes, his face cocked in confusion. "Bro. I don't know you, and I don't go to no faggy salons!" He says brushing his hair back, before he rolls his eyes at you. "I get myself waxed for comps and that's it!" His voice sounding so done with me. But his brows were furrowing, things felt dizzy confusing as his posture shifted a little.

I just smirk, "ofcourse you go to faggy salons you silly airhead, they always give you those facials you love that make the skin around your gorgeous dick sucking lips, so nice and pristine!" I could see him ball his fists, my god who would dare fucking talk Chet Wilder, College Quarter back this way. I would.

I could see my choice of words already taking effect, the airhead comment was making his faces' anger soften, his lips began to plump until they were nice and supple always in a permanent pout. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a giggle. "What..what are you doing...doing to me" Chet rapidly said, he felt warm and fuzzy, all his thoughts flooding out of his brain, drifting aimlessly until I decided where to put them.

"you don't have to think about that, you never have to think about anything other than stuffing that giant bubble butt of yours with as many cocks as your slutty hole can dream of" I say, god I was really laying it onto him thick. I shifted his own thoughts and identity into mass and shifted all of that energy down his body and onto his tight muscled ass. He started to squirm in his chair, his pants already tight began to rip and tear as his new beach ball ass lifted him out of the seat. His face became what I could only describe as empty, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he bit his lips. I was destroying a masculine man, I was remaking him into a bubble butted slut himbo who needed cock like an addict needed their fix.

I felt the raw magic settle and heard him moan, more like whine in a high pitched voice... "Fuck..fuck yes somebody fill my holes" he yelled throwing his head back biting his lips eyes closed.

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.

Season 2

Punching Bag Session

Olivia and her friend, Sophie, had planned to spend the weekend together at Sophie's apartment. However, Sophie received an emergency call from work and had to leave Olivia alone. Feeling bored and restless, Olivia began to explore Sophie's apartment. As she looked through the different rooms, she stumbled upon a small gym in a spare room. Curiosity sparked within her and she decided to have some fun and try out the gym equipment.

As she played around with the different machines, her eyes landed on a punching bag. Instinctively, Olivia started to punch the bag playfully. However, as she did, she noticed that her punches became more aggressive and powerful. She shrugged it off, thinking it was just the adrenaline pumping through her. But suddenly, she felt a strange sensation coursing through her body.

Her clothes started to feel tight, and before she could even react, her shirt ripped open from her growing muscles. Her body began to swell and grow, and she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her arms and legs bulged with muscles, and her hands and feet grew larger and manlier. As she looked at herself in shock, she noticed that her face was also morphing into a more masculine one, giving her a handsome and rugged appearance.

Panic started to set in as Olivia realized she was transforming into a man. But before she could process the situation fully, her mind was erased by a powerful spell. All of her memories, thoughts, and her very identity were stripped away, leaving behind only a blank slate.

As Olivia's transformation completed, she was no longer herself but rather a man named Derek. He stepped back, stunned by his new appearance and the unfamiliar presence of a male body. However, he couldn't resist the urge to continue working out, feeling a newfound sense of strength and power coursing through him.

Unbeknownst to Derek, his former friend Sophie had returned home, only to be shocked to see a sweaty and muscular man in her apartment. She was even more surprised when this stranger introduced himself as Derek, the new trainer at the gym she worked at.

Spontaneous Change: Career Ready

Karlie was walking in her hall way when she felt something off about her body. She felt weird and hot. She wasn’t sick earlier and wondered what was wrong with her. Suddenly, her body began to grow larger and wider. Her arms and legs began to sprout and grow longer, as her hands got larger and manlier. Her fingers continued to grow, as her forearms and biceps began to swell with muscle.

Onlookers saw what was happening as they were horrified to see Karlie was going through the change. Her shoulders and chest began to broaden and swell with muscle, as his legs got thicker and hairier. His feet quickly bursted through his shoes, as they widened and expanded. People watched, as Karlie wiggled her manly feet.

His chest continued to swell with muscle, as his dress was becoming extremely ill-fitting on his growing frame. His ass and thighs firmed, as his new manhood formed between his legs. His new testosterone was flowing through his body, as his male hormones were making it harder for him to think.

His skin began to tan, as his face began to broadened and shift. His hair darkened and receded, as his features got sharper and more masculine. A beard appeared in his older face, as Vernon took a deep breath, as the crowd noticed how deep his voice got. His face finished shifting, as Vernon’s eyes shifted and blanked, as he went through a reset.

The crowd looked in disbelief as they saw a muscular man standing where Karlie was. His masculine body exposed from the ill-fitting dress. Someone quickly called the SCC, and got him the help he was gonna need. Months later, Vernon stood in front of a camera. While some gain moderate intelligence from when they age up from the change. Vernon was one of the few, who didn’t. He was himbo, and needed to rely on his looks. Luckily in the day and age of OnlyFans, Vernon got by pretty well.

I wish I was more carefree and in better shape like those gymbos across the street I see every day from my office. Being an engineer doesn’t leave me with the time or energy to look like that!

You were at work, whispering your wish to yourself as you typed away on your computer. Out your office window, you could see the hot muscle men walking in and out of the gym across the street, all of them wearing tight clothes that showed off their incredibly sexy muscles.

You forced yourself to stop gawking at the hot guys and focus on your work. You had a presentation to show your boss on an upcoming project that needed to be completed in a few minutes. You typed away at your computer again, but slowed down.

"Umm," you mumbled to yourself, scratching your head in confusion as you stared at the monitor. The longer you looked at the brightly lit screen, the more the words and code looked more and more like a jumbled mess. The strings of info was beginning to look utterly indecipherable and you struggled to understand what you had typed earlier.

"Adam, please email me the slides for your presentation!" your boss called out from his office.

"Um, sure thing, Bruh!" you answered back, flinching at the odd way you responded, almost thinking that your voice was deeper... and slower?

You shook the thought away and went to send an email to your boss before pausing. Again, you stared at your computer, trying to remember how to send an email. You mindlessly clicked on random icons and links in an attempt to remember, but it was useless.

Pop!

You cocked your eyebrow and picked up the button that had fallen onto your desk. You looked down at your button-down shirt in time to see your pecs steadily inflate, growing larger and rounder until you had to readjust your arms around their new size. The rest of the buttons popped off your shirt, leaving your new protruding pecs out in the open, capped off by large nubby nipples. Before you could react, your arms were affected by the mysterious growth as well, bursting your sleeves at the seams as your new biceps pushed through. Your bulky arms rested atop your new lats, and you squirmed in your seat as your glutes began to inflate and stretch your pants to their limit.

"Whoa..." you slowly muttered as you stared at the dim reflection in your monitor, your jaw hanging low. "What even happened, Bruh?" You lifted a buff arm and flexed a massive bicep, feeling a stirring sensation in your cock as you watched it contract to enormous size.

"Adam!" your boss called out, snapping you out of your dazed inspection. "Your presentation moved up, time now!"

"Sure thing, Dude!" you bellowed in your deepened voice as you stood up from your chair. Simply maneuvering through the office felt awkward: your enlarged thighs rolled over one another, your arms hung akimbo at your sides, and your pecs felt so heavy and cumbersome.

What was even more worrying to you was that it was so hard to concentrate-- on anything. You knew that something was wrong, that you couldn't possibly have gained fifty or sixty pounds of solid muscle in mere seconds, but there was a thick fog rolling through your brain that you couldn't seem to shake. Even when you passed by a window and saw your inflated form in the reflection, you weren't filled with concern over being turned into some dim muscled hunk. Instead, you felt your cock harden in your tattered pants as you couldn't stop yourself from bouncing your massive pecs, a wide grin on your face.

You waddled into the office, immediately noticing the group of men looking at your inflated form from the table in the center. Without a moment's hesitation, you lifted your massive arms above your head to form a double biceps pose, delighted in the lustful awed stares from the onlookers.

"Yeah, check it out, Bros," you guffawed, your cock rock hard now as you flexed for the other men. "I got these massive muscles, little dudes. Wanna feel 'em?"

Clark sighed loudly as he looked through his closet and at the wardrobe that was now useless.

The altered college football player frowned as he glanced down at his nude body, filled with such a feeling of indignation as he gazed at his surreal proportions.

Being a jock, Clark had worked out religiously and watched his diet like a hawk, taking extra care to build his body up proportionally and so that he looked like a complete stud who had scores of women lusting after him.

Unfortunately for the young man, after a chance encounter with the professor of mythology at his university, the previously proportional hunk looked like a curvy himbo who paid too much attention to chest and glutes at the gym. Clark’s pecs had practically ballooned off of his chest, growing large and cumbersome and capped with large nubby nipples that were always hard. But those were almost nothing in comparison to the giant ass the stud now possessed. Where his perky bubble should’ve been was a monster butt that bounced and jiggled with every step the hunk took. It had inflated to at least three times its previous size and formed a near perfect shelf from his lower back.

Clark’s warped body and his increased libido (which seemed to only be focused on older men… like the professors) were bad enough. However, the altered jock was equally annoyed at how none of his clothes fit him anymore.

With a hiss of annoyance or a grunt of pain, Clark was embarrassed as all of his shirts either burst to shreds over his juicy muscletits or they strained so much that they looked more like a crop top, and his nipples always poked clearly against the thin fabric. He couldn’t even pull his pants over his widened thighs, leaving his bulbous butt hanging out.

The professor had been “kind” enough to give him a pair of clothes: a hot pink jockstrap, a string tank top with the neck swooped so low that his inflated pecs spilled over it in plain view, and sheer white spandex shorts that were at least two sizes too small and showed off the stud’s enormous ass like it was a billboard.

Clark held his football jersey up in his hands, knowing that the rough fabric running over his enlarged nipples would leave him cumming nonstop (if he somehow managed to fit it over his huge pecs), rendering it unwearable.

“Dammit,” Clark huffed as he yanked on the clothes the professor had given him, giving himself one last hesitant look in the mirror before he waddled off to class, his cock rock hard as he readied himself to be gawked at by the professor…

For @pandemonius-fae-ri 

– – –

“Damn it!” Callum hissed as he quickly pulled up into his driveway, running a shaking hand through his hair, still annoyed that he was trapped under the hypnotic orders from that little shit, Elliot. Sighing, he glanced down at his crotch in utter frustration, his rock hard eight inches still tenting his workout shorts.

The jock had known Elliot since high school, and would always fuck with the smaller man due to his size and the fact that he was only gay guy he knew in their small town. That continued onward to community college where Callum would torment the gay man even more. However, that changed this morning when Callum had run into the little guy in the locker room, and Elliot had been wearing some oddly colored sunglasses, the light glimmering off of them alluring.

“Since you’re such a dick,” he’d told Callum, “enjoy showing yours off all the time.”

That was all it’d taken for Callum to walk around twenty-four/seven with his large, erect cock perpetually bobbing in front of him. No matter how much he’d tried to jerk off or think of something unappealing, he wouldn’t go flaccid. What was worse for the stud was that he couldn’t bring his muscled arms to cover it up. He would grit his teeth as he tried with all of his might to shield his boner from his classmates, but it was helpless as his body refused to cooperate, allowing his cock to be on display.

The red-faced jock quickly rushed out of his truck and hurried inside the house before any of his neighbors could see him. He was planning on dashing upstairs to his room to try and do some research on how to fix this problem he was having. He was halfway up the staircase when he heard his dad call out.

“Hey Hon! How was your day at school?” his dad asked, or more appropriately chirped in a higher-pitched and flamboyant register.

Callum cocked his eyebrow and cautiously looked over his broad shoulder, trying to shield his permanently hard cock from the older man.

Callum’s father was a total man’s man, who had been an athlete back in his prime. He was a construction worker who still had muscles for days which had always had plenty of women lusting over him and he was always up for the offer, which was part of the reason why Callum’s mother had moved out. The studly older man was masculine to the extreme, always seeing gay men and anything feminine as beneath him, which was why Callum grew up to have the bullying attitude he had. However, that older jock was nowhere to be seen.

Callum’s eyes bugged out of his skull as he stared at the warped version of his father who stood at the foot of the stairs. The man standing in his place was some ditzy, himbo looking gay man. He was shaved from the eyebrows down, allowing his smooth body to be completely on display. The only article of clothing the older man wore was a skimpy thong that did almost nothing to contain his massive cock and balls that created a large bulge that was thrusted out in front of him. His pecs were large and shaven, his nipples looking hard as they protruded off his chest like some pornstar’s. His hair was now a bleach blond and it was styled in a coif that looked completely out of place on the older man’s body. All of his muscles in fact seemed to be slightly pumped, as if he’d just finished a workout, but they were dusted with what appeared to be glitter, causing the older muscled man to shimmer under the lights in the house. He seemed to be staring at his son with a permanent duck face, his lips pursed and covered in shiny gloss.

“D-Dad? Is that you?” Callum gawked, his voice drying up in his throat. To make matters worse, Callum winced internally at his own hypnotic curse which caused his rock hard cock to throb as he stared at the changed man.

The altered man rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and put his hands on his trimmed hips. “Duh!” he giggled. “Like, who would it even be? Silly!” His father was usually a man of little words, and would often just grunt or bark out a few words here and there. The ditzy, valley girl diction with which he spoke was completely out of place, completing his new himbo visage.

“Do you like his new look?” Elliot’s teasing voice rang out, the scrawny nerd coming out from around the corner to wrap his thin arms around the older man’s waist.

On cue, Callum’s dad cooed and leaned into the hug, grinding his booty up against the younger man hungrily as he kept his puffed up lips pursed.

“You son of a bitch!” Callum growled and tried to stalk forward threateningly, but his hard cock bobbing in front of him ruined the effect. “What the fuck did you do to him?!”

Elliot mock-frowned. “Don’t worry about a thing, Callum,” he chided. “Your dad here has had a little change of heart. He was too boring and stuck up as some boring straight guy, which is why I decided to do him a favor and give him a brand new outlook on life. Just look at him: he loves his new himbo life.”

“New?” Callum’s dad jerked back with a loud gasp. “Like, what do you even mean, Babe? I’ve always been a himbo. Just check it out!” He turned around and leaned forward, twerking his massive glutes which swallowed the back of his thong with ease.

“See?” Elliot smirked at the shocked jock who couldn’t help but watch his father twerk. “Your dim-witted, slutty himbo daddy now thinks that he’s always been this way. Which is really perfect, considering that he also thinks that he and I are an item, which makes fucking him all the more fun.”

Callum paled and he struggled to find the words to describe his disgust at the thought of the scrawny gay nerd fucking his formerly straight father.

His dad finally noticed the white, horrified look on his son’s face and he stuck out his lower lip in a large frown. “Aww, what’s wrong Sweetie?” he cooed and walked over, his gait altered so that he minced his steps to wag his bubblebutt, and his shoulders were drawn back to thrust his pecs out. “Like, c’mere and give your daddy a hug!”

Callum tensed up as his himbo dad wrapped his buff arms around him and yanked him into a hug, shoving his face into his plump pecs. Callum wished that he could be free of his own hypnotic nightmare so that he wouldn’t be hard hugging his father right now, and then he could possibly save his dad from a himbo fate where he would get fucked by a tiny gay guy all the time. 

Elliot relished in the sight before him, seeing the formerly masculine patriarch clad in nothing but a slutty thong hugging the blushing jock who used to torment him nonstop. Deciding to up the ante, he reached over and playfully smacked the dad’s exposed ass, causing him to shudder and let out a moan.

“Babe, why don’t we leave Callum alone for a bit?” he laughed. “He’s had a rough day. Besides, let me work out that slutty butt of yours some more.”

Callum’s dad let go of him and quickly rushed, his jiggling butt happily hopping up the stairs, eager to get stuffed. “Like, hurry up!” he called out over his bare shoulder as he hurried to the bedroom.

Callum’s broad shoulders slumped and he hung his head, feeling even lower when he caught sight of his still hard cock.

“Don’t worry,” Elliot teased him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll take good care of your old man. And besides…” there was an evil grin audible in his voice. “…I think we can be one big happy family. I mean, I never noticed how much you took after your father.”

“Family? What are you talking about?” Callum bristled before flinching when he saw that Elliot was wearing the hypnotic glasses again.

“‘What am I talking about?’” Elliot repeated, his voice low and drawn out as the light reflecting off the glasses shimmered. “Well, we’ve all the heard the new expression: ‘Like himbo father, like himbo son.’”

A tingling sensation formed in Callum’s head, starting to make his thoughts feel all slow and foggy. “W-wait! I don’t want to, like, even be a himbo!” he begged, images of rock hard cocks and huge pecs starting to filter into his mind…

My favorite professor is over worked and exhausted, he's such a good guy and I want to help him relax. I wish he was a young, dumb, jock who didn't have to worry about work, or papers, or deadlines. Also maybe I could be a jock too and be his buddy?

You made your wish as you sat in the lecture hall, taking a seat in the first row as you tried to pay attention to the chemical equations protected onto the board.

"...and as you can see from this formula here, the resulting reaction..." your professor, Prof. Andrews, droned. He looked incredibly drained and like he could collapse at any second. He was your favorite professor, always quick to friendly interact with the students, and looking really handsome whenever he grinned their way. Therefore, you felt horrible as the older man struggled to teach a lecture on chemical equations.

You sighed to yourself out of compassionate guilt and scribbled down some notes in your notebook, glancing down at your paper for a brief moment. When you looked back up at Prof. Andrews, you flinched back in confused wonder.

Prof. Andrews still tiredly taught up in front of the class, but you could've sworn that his skin looked a bit darker. It was as if he'd been going to a tanning salon or had spent days out under the sun. His face had a golden hue, hiding some of his eye wrinkles. "...looking at the reactant side, you can discern that the compounds involved are..."

You rubbed at your own eyes, figuring that you were just tired from Finals Week and were finally cracking. However, the second you reopened them, you were greeted with another sight.

The older man's hair had been a salt-and-pepper color and had been cut in a standard, cheap high and tight style. However, now he had deep chocolate brown hair atop his head, and it had been slightly lengthened and stylized into a more modern fashion. Even more shocking was that his previously smooth face now had a trimmed beard, his lips looking slightly more plump as they were framed by the new hair.

"What is going on?" you whispered under your breath. You took a quick look around the room to see if any of the other students were noticing this too, but they were all taking copious notes or staring uninterestedly at the presentation, somehow unaware of Prof. Andrews's changes.

When you looked back at the professor, you couldn't suppress your surprised gasp.

"...and then, like, the metals will totally form a really suuuuuper reactive thing..." Prof. Andrews chirped, his hands waving around wildly as he spoke in his new ditzy dialect. What was even more shocking was that the older man was now wearing nothing but a bright yellow poser which popped against his tanned skin. The man was actually packing, the pouch of the skimpy suit struggling to contain his large cock. The back of them was slipped between his cheeks. He wasn't entirely unfit, but there was a slight beer gut that protruded over the front of the posers and he had love-handles.

"What the fuck is, like, even happening right now?" you muttered to yourself, too shocked to notice the ditzy quality to your own voice. Again, you did a double take at the other students who didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

You looked back over at Prof. Andrews, jerking back in your seat at the muscled hunk who stood in his place. Where the older professor was supposed to be, was some tan, muscle-bound himbo-looking stud. The stud wore skimpy posers and his muscles were large with power and glistened underneath the fluorescent lights in the classroom. He kept waving his hands around flamboyantly as he spoke, sounding like a dim muscleslut.

"And, like, that's totally it for the lecture," the altered Prof. Andrews smiled widely. "Class is dismissed."

The other students quickly stood up and exited the room, leaving just you and the professor by yourselves. Taking this opportunity, you shot out of your chair and hurried up to the front.

"Prof. Andrews!" you cried. "Like, what even happened to you? You look so sexy!" You flinched when your words hit your ears and when it dawned on you that you felt the room's A/C blowing over exposed skin.

You looked down at yourself and gasped when you saw that you'd undergone a similar transformation. Your muscles had inflated and your skin had tanned to make you look like a beach muscleslut, clad in tiny blue posers that did little to hide your large cock from view.

You were speechless as you explored your new body, unsure what had happened to you or the professor. The two of you had been transformed into identical twin musclesluts, looking like you two were perpetually ready for some kind of gogo dance.

In a panic, you looked up at Prof. Andrews to ask for help, to try and figure out a way to return to your old bodies. However, your words evaporated in your thick throat when you saw the large, albeit dim, grin plastered on the professor's youthful face. He no longer looked tired and instead appeared a lot more ecstatic and excited as his large muscles twitched with anticipation as he ran his eyes up and down your bulging form.

"Ready to earn some extra credit, Stud?" he asked, reached over to teasingly pinch one of your protruding nipples.

You could only moan as you flexed your inflated ass, eagerly tailing the new slutty professor into his office.

Thank you all so much for following and taking an interest in my TF stories! I don’t have a regular updating schedule right now thanks to work, but hopefully soon! 

As a thank you, here’s another TF Voting! And I have no clue who this man is, but I think I’m in love… haha!

This is Chase, a 23 year old rough and tough country boy who likes to drive big trucks and fuck chicks. After a chance encounter, he starts to notice something off, but what is it?

A). He turns into a muscle daddy with a large (and sensitive!) roidgut

B). He gets shorter but doesn’t lose any mass (Muscle Compression)

C). He turns into a micro-dicked sub with a fat ass

Or send me your own idea!

I will try to have this up by Saturday or Sunday!

Thank you again for taking an interest in my work! I hope you all enjoy!

“I just need some space so I can think,” Stiles muttered, offering a small, sad smile. “I just wish that you were less reserved with us.” He turned and walked away, leaving Derek behind.

The werewolf sighed and shook his head, pinching the skin above his nose in irritation. He’d just had a fight with his boyfriend, Stiles, because it was their anniversary and Stiles was mad that Derek hadn’t been more “Involved”… whatever that means. Derek was more on the reserved side and he absolutely despised PDA, especially since he was supposed to be a tough alpha werewolf. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles’s feelings, but he knew that rival packs would look down on an alpha acting all lovey-dovey with another man. He had to protect his tough guy image if he wanted to protect his territory.

He’d tried explaining that to his boyfriend when he’d refused to hold Stile’s hand as they walked along the Pier, only causing an argument.

“Man, that was painful,” he heard another man’s voice from behind him.

Derek turned around to glare at a pale, skinny guy who reeked of the sickly aroma of magic, making him bare his teeth at him. “What do you want?” he growled.

The guy held his hands up in front of himself in mock defense. “I’m just a friend,” he playfully pouted.

Derek sniffed at the air and growled again at the sugary stench that wafted off the smaller guy. “You’re a trickster,” he spat, puffing out his muscled chest and stalking closer threateningly. “Now get the fuck out of my territory before I end you.” He leaned in closer, baring his elongating fangs to intimidate the trickster.

The tricker shrugged his thin shoulders. “Fine,” he nonchalantly muttered with a flick of his wrist as he turned around. “But just know that I came with a peace offering, but forget it. Enjoy knowing that you lost Stiles forever.”

The werewolf stiffened and fought the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. No matter how tough he had to look, Derek wanted Stiles by his side as his mate, and he knew that he had to work hard to win him back. He would never admit it to him out of fear of looking like a sap, but Stiles was his world.

“Wait!” Derek called out, rushing forward and placing a hand on the slender trickster’s shoulder. “Help me, how?”

The trickster smirked, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine. “Follow me,” he whispered, leading the werewolf into the mens’ bathroom, which was empty. Once they were out of sight of the other pier patrons, the trickster dug through his backpack and pulled out a hot pink tank top.

“What’s this?” Derek asked as he examined the offered fabric.

“It’s a tank top,” the trickster answered matter-of-factly. “It will help you reconcile with your need to over-exaggerate your masculinity and win Stiles back.”

“How?” Derek asked, looking over the tank top. He even sniffed it, wincing at the cotton candy scent that wafted off it in waves.

“You don’t think wearing hot pink in public will help with your overcompensation?”

That did make sense. “Alright,” Derek muttered as he peeled out of his black t-shirt and leather jacket.

The muscled up alpha werewolf squeezed his massive bulk into the tight-fitting fabric that was skintight, making it look as if he’d simply spray painted his torso the bubblegum color instead of wearing a top. The hunk fought the grimace that threatened to appear on his gruff face as he stared at his reflection in one of the bathroom mirrors. From top to bottom, the hot pink shirt was plastered on Derek’s bulk. His massive pecs practically spilled out over the top swoop, only the bottom third of them being covered by the bright neon fabric. Derek cringed when he could easily make out the faint outline of his nipples thanks to the thinness of the tank top. The straps were so thin that they practically disappeared within his looming traps and round shoulders. Even the bottom of the bright tank top was skintight, wrapping around his waist in a constricting manner that showcased his chiseled abs. When he raised his powerful arms, the bottom pulled upwards and stopped above his navel, looking like a cut off, making the macho man blush.

The smooth fabric of the tank top sent a tingling sensation across Derek’s skin, and the werewolf’s senses were assaulted with the sugary stench.

“There you go!” the trickster clapped, a wide smile on his face. “Now you can go win back your boyfriend.”

Derek didn’t quite understand the plan. Sure, wearing pink was stereotypically less masculine, but he doubted that would be enough to get Stiles back. Putting a hand on his hip, he looked over his reflection in the mirror. 

“Like, how is this even supposed to help me win back my man?” he asked, his voice taking on a higher octave while also having a new feminine inflection on his words. The werewolf’s eyes widened at the words that left his mouth and he slapped his hand over her his lips.

“It works!” the trickster cheered.

Derek knew that it wasn’t possible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Like, testing…” he trailed off as his heart fell at the overly gay sounds he uttered. “Like, what did you even do to me?!” He wanted to lean threateningly towards the trickster, but instead he twittered his hands in a fret and stomped his feet, making his bulky muscles shake with the movement.

“The tank top eliminated all of your masculinity,” the trickster explained. “Oh, and the best part is that only Stiles can take it off. Bye!” He snapped his fingers and seemingly evaporated into thin air.

Derek’s stomach fell as he grasped the full weight of the situation. “Oh em gee! I hafta find Stiles, like, right now!” he chirped, wincing at the words that left his mouth. He rushed towards the bathroom door, wailing when he walked with his arms tucked at his sides and his pecs pushed outwards. With every mincing step he took, he waved his bubblebutt from side to side, seemingly advertising it.

He burst through the door, his face feeling red hot when the large crowd of people at the pier stopped to look at the alpha werewolf in the hot pink tank top.

The old Derek would’ve growled at them and yelled at them to fuck off, but the tank top forced him to giggle nervously. “Like, why is everyone staring at my sexy body?” he playfully whined, feeling himself bounce both of his large pecs tantalizingly. He could hear and feel everything he did, he just didn’t have any control.

He slapped his hand over his mouth and shuffled his feet down the pier in the direction Stiles had left. As he walked, he felt an odd tightness in his jeans and it wasn’t long until he heard a loud RRIIIPPPPPP!

The werewolf froze and looked over his shoulder, screaming as he looked at the massive bubblebutt that had torn its way through the back of his jeans, the inflated globes on full display for the entire pier to see.

He tried to shield his massive ass from view with his hands, but it was so big that the attempt was futile. “Like, what is even happening to me?!” he panicked.

Derek felt an odd weight on his chest and the werewolf nearly passed out when he looked down to see his pecs starting to slowly inflate like balloons. The muscle mounds packed on more meat, rounding and jutting out from his torso. His nipples grew larger and sprang out of the tank top, hardening as the ocean breeze blew over them.

“Oh no! My muscletits!” he cried, grabbing at them in horror, not even caring how he’d just referred to them. He had no idea that the tank top was going to change his body, taking his previously masculine muscles and warping him into some curvy-looking himbo.

He hurried down the pier, bristling at the feeling of his asscheeks and pecs bouncing with every step he took. Despite himself, the sensations of his larger additions sent ripples of pleasure throughout his body, and he felt as if he were rock hard. For some reason though, the trickster must’ve made it so that no one around thought that a man running around the pier with his inflated ass hanging out for all to see was indecent.

Finally, Derek saw that familiar red jacket and his heart fluttered in his chest… and his cock painfully throbbed.

“Babe!” he yelled out, blushing since he never referred to Stiles as anything but his name. He picked up speed and and hurried to his boyfriend, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Stiles turned around, his expression going from confusion to complete shock at the sight of the warped alpha werewolf. “Derek?” he gasped. “What happened to you? Y-you look like a…”

“Like a slutty himbo,” Derek finished for him, wincing at his words, but brushing it off. “Look, Babe, I like totally ran into this trickster who gave me this cute little tank top, and it made me all sooooooo gay. And it made my ass and muscletits grow.”

“That’s not all it did,” Stiles muttered, gesturing down at the werewolf’s crotch.

Derek looked down and felt feint at the barely present lump in the front of his jeans. Although he was as hard as ever, due to being the presence of his hot boyfriend, there was barely any sort of bulge in his pants. Not caring who saw, the werewolf unbuttoned his jeans and peeked into his boxers, staring at the three inch tiny cock that he possessed.

“Like, that’s totally unfair!” he whined, stomping his foot in frustration, making his bubblebutt bounce like crazy.

“Why would you do this?” Stiles wondered aloud.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Like, I didn’t do it on purpose, Babe!” he explained, moving his hands a lot as he spoke. “The trickster told me it would help me win you back! I had to stop acting like some macho douche so that I could get your sexy ass back.”

Stiles jerked back. “Wait, you did this for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Derek huffed, stomping his foot again. “Like, Babe, I’m totally in love with you!” He leaned forward and wrapped the smaller man in his arms, shoving him against his muscletits. It felt so good to have Stiles in his arms and his breath against his inflated pecs only turned Derek on even more, and he unconsciously wiggled his hips, grinding his little nub against his boyfriend. It didn’t take long before the werewolf tensed up and shrieked out, “Oohhhh!” An embarrassingly small amount of cum squirted out, and Derek blushed both at cumming in public and at the realization that his stamina had been reduced to mere seconds.

“I love you too,” Stiles admitted, and Derek felt his nub start to throb all over again.

“Well, Babe, you gotta like, take this cute tank top off me,” he chirped. “It’s like the only way to get back to my boring body.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed the bottom of the hot pink tank top, yanking it off from the horny, himbo, ditzy werewolf.

As soon as he he felt the ocean breeze across his chest, Derek let out a sigh of relief.

Stiles just stared at him, his jaw hanging low and his eyes wide.

“What?” Derek asked, confused, his voice still high. He looked down at himself and wailed out in frustration.

His pecs were still inflated, capped with the larger and perpetually erect nipples. His bubblebutt was the size of two basketball strapped to his back and they formed a near right angle from his back. Worse was that his cock was still a tiny nub, and when he grabbed at it in disbelief, he shuddered and came, his stamina still small.

Derek grabbed at his hair in frustration. “Like, how am I even gonna make it looking like this?” he gestured down at his caricature of a body, paling at the thought of having to spend the rest of his days with inflated pecs and ass and a shrunken cock. His new ditzy behavior only made things worse, and the alpha shuddered at the thought of rival packs coming to his territory and him not being able to scare them away.

Stiles placed a hand on his broad shoulder, and Derek frowned as his three incher throbbed with want, invisible from his sight due to his inflated pecs. “If it’s any consolation,” Stiles offered, “I still think you’re really hot. And maybe I could try being the top.”

Derek stifled a moan, so incredibly turned on at the thought of his boyfriend fucking his giant butt. His unconsciously flexed his cheeks and grabbed a tight hold of Stiles’s hand. “Okay,” he sighed, “let’s go home then, Babe.”

Stiles smirked, keeping the pink tank top in his other hand. “And maybe you can wear this while we do it?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Derek tried to force a scowl on his face, but he couldn’t do it. Instead he playfully bounced his muscletits for Stiles, feeling the muscle mounds bounce a lot more than they used to. “Maaaaaybe,” he teased, his nub already oozing at the thought.

“Peter! There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Stiles exclaimed as he stomped into the gym, heading over towards the weight pile where the shirtless werewolf was working out. He was ready to chew him out for being M.I.A. for several days, but froze in his spot when he looked over the older former alpha.

Instead of his usual dapper self, Peter was a hulking beast. The shirtless stud sat on the bench and lifted dumbbells, his inflated biceps bulging to the size of bowling balls and without a doubt being no longer able to fit in his tailor-fitted shirts. Speaking of which, his cumbersome pecs were enormous, ballooning out from his chest to the point where they obscured part of his neck and to where his erect nipples were pointing straight downwards. Even his abs were pronounced and his waist seemed pinched inwards before meeting a pair of raggedy cargo shorts that he would normally never be seen dead in. This over-muscled Peter was nothing like the arrogant werewolf Stiles was used to, making his jaw drop in wonder and confusion.

Peter looked over at the surprised Stiles and flashed him a smile, yet his eyebrows were worriedly knitted together. “Yeah Bruh,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual, “all you had to do was check the gym. Ya know I’d here workin’ on my pump!”

He set one of the dumbbells down and flexed a giant bicep in front of Stiles’s wide eyes.

“Feel it,” he teased, leaning closer towards the small human. The cocky smirk that the werewolf wore did not at all match the panicked look in his eyes, which seemed to be silently pleading with Stiles.

“Um, maybe later,” Stiles mumbled, cocking his eyebrow at the muscle man. “Anyways, Peter, why have you been here? I’ve never known you to ever go to the gym once. In fact, I seem to recall you calling guys who go, and I quote, ‘Stupid Muscleheads’.”

“Peter wouldn’t say that,” an unknown voice said.

Stiles looked over to see another muscled up stud sauntering over to the weight pile, clad in nothing but spandex shorts and a yellow tank top that had the sides cut in a way that allowed his hairy, beefy chest to be prominent displayed. The unknown bodybuilder stopped right by Peter and patted his broadened shoulder.

“Peter here lives for working out,” the man laughed. “All this guy’s good for is buildin’ muscle and fuckin’. Right, Peter?”

Peter looked straight into Stiles’s eyes, and the pleading look that they conveyed made the human’s stomach churn slightly. However, the buffed up werewolf bellowed out, “Hell yeah! I love to build up this mass!” To punctuate his point, he made his inflated pecs bounce, the massive mounds leaping up and slamming back down with power, sending a ripple throughout his huge muscles.

Stiles immediately knew that this bodybuilder was behind Peter’s new body and attitude. However, he kept his lips sealed when the man looked over at him, smirking.

“You know what?” he said. “I think Peter’s done for the day. You can take him home.” He turned down to the new muscled up werewolf. “See you tomorrow for your workout.”

“Wait— what?” Stiles called out as the unknown man walked away, leaving him all alone with the bodybuilder Peter.

The newly transfigured Peter stood up, looking about twice as wide as he was before. His large arms rested on his flaring lats, being stuck at an odd angle. His thighs were so large that they rolled around each other with every step, turning his walk into a waddle. He must’ve put on at least one-hundred pounds of solid muscle, completely warping his formerly lean body into a body that oozed muscle and roids.

“Um, should you go get dressed first?” Stiles asked, figuring that he should at least take Peter to Derek or Deaton to try to see what was wrong and how they could help him.

Although the embarrassed look in Peter’s eyes looked like he wanted nothing more than to cover up his new bulk, he shook his head. “No way, Babe,” he chuckled in his deep, slow voice. “I gotta show off these gains wherever I go!”

When the two of them exited the gym doors and were out on the public street, Peter’s face turned bright red with blush as the citizens of Beacon Hills turned to look at his massive, inflated form. He was normally used to people looking at him in admiration due to his designer clothing and charming demeanor, however, now they were marveling at his massive size— some of them drooling with lust while others looking in disgust.

Peter, much to his horror, felt himself throw both of his massive arms up above his head, forming a double biceps pose for all to see. His mouth stretched out into that cocky grin he was forced to wear, and despite himself, he hated that he was getting so incredibly turned on by showing off his vast form to the onlookers… but that paled in comparison to how rock hard he got at the thought of smothering tiny Stiles with his giant pecs, his heart racing at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Stiles said as he grabbed a hold of the werewolf’s beefy hand to lead him to his Jeep, “we’ll figure out how to change you back.”

He helped Peter into the passenger seat, trying to hold back a smile when the seatbelt completely disappeared into the cleavage of his giant pecs. When Stiles got into the driver’s seat, he stifled a laugh when he had to lean to the side a little bit due to the hyperbolic broadness of Peter’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little too buff for your ride, Little Man,” Peter boasted, and Stiles knew that was his way of apologizing for the inconvenience his size created.

“It’s cool,” Stiles reassured him, patting him on the hand. As he did so, he felt Peter grab a tight hold of it.

Instead of his eyes looking panicked, Peter’s eyes actually looked pleased as he stared down at the little human by his side. “Ya know,” he playfully growled, “I can show ya another muscle of mine.” He winked and gestured down at his shorts.

Stiles’s eyes nearly exploded as he saw the giant arm Peter’s cock had become. It snaked down his leg, looking about as thick as Stiles’s forearm.

Peter flirtatiously bounced his pecs, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Well,” Stiles hummed, flooring the Jeep in the direction of his apartment, “I guess we can fix this a little later.”

-- -- --

[Photo Source: https://www.deviantart.com/doryfan1/art/Muscle-Morph-Ian-Bohen-1-544217699]

Peter just had to mouth off at the gym, calling one of the musclemen a "Roided up simpleton".

Over the next few days, the pompous werewolf was surprised to find himself packing on pounds of bulky muscle, complete with a protruding roid gut. All of his clothes were skintight, and despite the initial panic that he'd felt, Peter was finding himself unable to do anything but admire his vast form in the mirror as time went on. If anything, he was forgetting being a trimmed guy at all, only able to think about lifting, posing, and showing off for Stiles.

Speaking of, his boyfriend Stiles, was trying to find a cure, scanning through a magical book as Peter flexed his massive pecs.

"You're really getting big, Peter," Stiles told him, a concerned yet turned on tone in his voice. "I think I might have a lead on how I can help you fix this."

"Sounds good, Bruh," Peter laughed in his deep voice. "I'm getting so fuckin' swole! I already topped 300 pounds this morning. Check how huge these guns are!" Peter, a dim grin on his face, performed a double biceps pose, the fabric of his button down shirt ripping to shreds with the action. "Come and feel 'em, Little Man." He coyly bent forward and flexed his exposed mountain of muscle in front of his boyfriend's shocked face.

Stiles immediately tossed the magic book to the floor. "Maybe we can see if you can top 400 pounds!" he drooled as he ran admiring hands over Peter's bulging bicep.

Brad lumbered throughout the gym, a glazed look on his face. The sight of other muscle men like himself put him at ease, and he tried to follow their movements. He grabbed a weight and stared blankly at it, some drool starting to drip from his slacked jaw.

“Hey Brad,” Danny said, waving at him from the other side of the weight pile. “You doing okay?”

Brad glanced up at him, that blank stare still on his handsome face. His blue eyes traveled up and down Danny’s thin, bookwormish form, and a toothy grin formed on his face.  Under the concerned gaze of the smaller guy, he felt some pressure in his shorts… good pressure.

“Brad lift,” Brad grunted in a deep voice.  “Brad get muscle.” He brought up one arm and flexed a bicep for the smaller guy.

Danny furrowed his brow and nodded slowly, confused with what was happening to the bodybuilder who was normally talkative and gave great pointers on macronutrients.  “Um, did you hit your head or something?” he asked him. “Do you need me to take you to the doctor’s?” He rubbed the back of his neck in wonder, his small bicep barely flexing the smallest bit.

Brad noticed the thin man’s barely-visible muscle, and his beefy hand began to paw at his erect cock which formed a large tent in his basketball shorts. It looked like he tried to jerk off, but was too dumb to figure out that he needed to slide his hands inside the shorts that he wore.  Instead, he kept pawing at the covered cock, licking his lips as he stared at the other guy.

“Cock hard,” Brad moaned loudly as he continued to paw at himself. He kept eying the confused guy, that dim smile plastered onto his face. “Danny hot. Danny fuck Brad?” He turned around and bent forward the smallest bit, presenting his large muscle butt towards the smaller guy.

Danny was hit with an internal dilemma: Obviously there was something wrong with Brad… but the sexy bodybuilder looked over his broad shoulder at him, playfully swaying his plump rear from side to side.

“O-okay,” Danny swallowed, following the lumbering bodybuilder towards the locker room, passing the gym goer who smirked in their direction. He could vaguely recall talking to someone online about how hot he found muscle guys who were too dumb to do anything besides work out and fuck.  But that had to be a coincidence, right?

He entered the locker room, stunned when he saw Brad smiling widely at his own reflection while bouncing his massive pecs. He continued to paw at his covered erection, but once he saw that Danny had followed him, he rushed over to a bench and got on all fours.

“Fuck Brad,” he repeated in his slow voice, his massive bubble butt playfully swaying back and forth.

“Fuck it,” Danny shrugged, figuring that it was a wish well spent. He hurried over to the dim Brad who couldn't figure out how to take off his own shorts.