#preppy tf

[onelittlespiral]

You should definitely do a preppy boy tf!

FML: Contact

I knew I should have charged my phone before I left, but I was running late and didn’t want to miss my study session. I know, I know it was stupid. But the walk was only supposed to be a few blocks. I have no idea how I got this lost. It felt like I was wandering for hours, but I kept just going around in circles and ending up in front of this gym. Great, just what I needed before finals week. Maybe I should stop an- ugh. My bag spilled out in front of me as I wa a knocked to the ground.

“Hey, sorry bro.”

It seems like on about my third time around the block I finally ran into one of the gym’s patrons, idiot. For the life of me I will never know how those guys will walk out in shorts in December. I started to scoop my belongings back into my bag.

“Here, let me help- Ah fuck, that could be bad.” He picked up my laptop and handed it to me. Thankfully it seems that there wasn’t any real damage, but a few deep scratches were carved in the metal and the screen was definitely cracked.

“Just what I needed today! Look where you’re going next time!” I was nearly in tears. I was lost, I was frustrated, I think the fall tore a hole in my khakis, and now my computer would be busted till after finals.

“Hey, I said I was sorry. Didn’t mean to knock a shrimp like you down. I didn’t even hit you that hard…”

“Well sue me if I don’t have time to get swoll bro,” I spat, “but some of us have finals to study for.”

“Oh dang, that’s where I know you from! English 110, with Professor Kim. Yeah, you’re always in the front and answering shit.” Immediately the puzzle pieces clicked. I can’t blame myself for not recognizing him. He must have been one of the dudes who sat in the back, and they all basically acted, talked, and looked about the same. A bunch of gym rats struggling through the gen eds. I’m genuinely surprised he can to class often enough to recognize me. “Hey man, are you studying for this final later? I’m just like not getting this stuff. Like, why are they having Exercise Science majors out here studying English anyways?”

“Uhh, yeah maybe.” At this point I was past the point of caring about this conversation. It was such a simple class I hardly had even glanced over the study guide. I had packed my things and was making to get up and leave.

“Here bruh, lemme help you up,” and he extended his hand to me. I grabbed hold as a small shock passed between us. It was just a split second, but as his calloused, sweaty had grasped mine, I felt a jolt that stuck my hair on end. I hardly had time to notice as he hoisted me up. “Hey, if you do end up reviewing later, maybe give me a heads up. We could do a study session or something.” He pulled out a pen and scribbled on the back of a receipt. Grabbing my hand again, and pulled me into a bro hug before I could protest. Up close he was warm and humid, sweat cooling in the cold winter air. He left the paper in my hand when he pulled away. He smirked, “You should ask inside, they may be able to help. I’ll see you later tonight.” There was a confidence in his voice that sent a chill down my spine. Before I knew it he had booked it, and I was left with a piece of paper, a broken computer, and a sinking realization I was still lost.

With few options left, I popped into the gym my classmate had just come out of. Maybe they would have a charger I could borrow or be able to help me with directions. At least it was warm inside. I walked over to the man at the desk, asking “Hey, sorry to bother. Do you all have a phone charger? I am completely lost and out of juice.”

“You can bother me any time,” the attendant said with a wink, “We’ve got some chargers in the locker room, but management is struck about people using facilities without paying. You already a member with us?”

“No, do I look like a member with you all? Please, I’m tired and at this point I just need to get home.” I groaned.

“Well sorry bro, you’ve gotta get those gains somewhere… let’s see, a day pass only runs about $5,” he slid the card reader to me.

“Fine.” I thrust my card into the machine and grabbed my receipt, storming off towards the locker room.”

“Enjoy your time! Oh, sir. Those aren’t the locker rooms they are the changing ro-” and the swinging door cut him off. I cut to the first door on my left. The overhead lights activated as I walked in. The inside was warm, hotter even than the lobby. For locker rooms, there were very few lockers. Just cooler with some sports drinks, some mirrors, and a charging station. No one else was inside, so I sat down on a bench and set my phone down on the charging station. With the heat I quickly began stripping layers, till I was down to my sweater, but I was not going shirtless in this place. It looked like it would be a while before my phone would be charged. I tried to put the whole situation out of my mind as I laid back and relaxed, carried to sleep in the thick heat…

I woke up a while later, disoriented and thirsty. It may have been a bad idea to sleep in the sweater, the thing was practically dripping in sweat now. I began to pull off the damp thing when I was shocked to see what was underneath:

Abs. Pecs. Abs and pecs. I had to be dreaming, when did I go from a stick to having abs and pecs. Not only that, but my arms. Thick and smooth, my arms looked swollen, as though I had been working them out for years. And my legs, they felt like lead beneath me, so heavy I could hardly move them. I could crush a melon between my thighs. And my poor shoes, they were practically in tatters on the floor. My toes poked out of the remains, leather torn between my meaty soles. I looked in the mirror to get a full picture. If I didn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed it, I was a whole different man.

I grabbed my phone and booked it out the door back to the front desk. The same attendant was there, looking me up and down as I passed by:

“Well hey there handsome. How are you enjoying our amenities?”

I just about strangled him, “What the hell happened? What did you all do to me?!?”

“I did try to tell you. Locker rooms are the other side. Those are the changing rooms.”

“What’s that supposed mean?”

“Well, look at yourself. Must have gone for the muscle enhancement, eh? Not a bad look on you.” I could just about wipe that smug look off his face.

“Cut the bull crap, I didn’t ask for this. If you all changed me into this change me back.”

“So sorry,” the apology dripped from his lips, “but things don’t quite work that way. For more specialized changes you have to get a full membership.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” I shouted, “You never said shit about this. I don’t need your membership. Change me back, now.”

“Woah, calm down there hot stuff, no need to get so worked up. How about this. My boss is home for the night. I know what you looked like when you came in. I can sneak you back into one of our specialty changing rooms, and I’ll calibrate it myself. Deal?”

I was about in tears, “Deal.”

He took my hand and lead me to the changing room all the way in the back. Same set up, same bench in a mostly barren room. This one was maybe a tad smaller. His voice came on over the intercom:

“Alright, now just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

This time, deep red lights came on and that same heat began to fill the room. It somehow felt a bit different. The other heat wrapped around, this one felt like it pierced. In moments my body was flooded with warmth. Sweat rolled down my body as the room began having its effects. But something wasn’t right. Instead of shrinking down to my lithe self, my body felt like it was bubbling, and began to swell even more.

“Hey. HEY! What the hell! What are you doing out there? Wrong way asshole!”

He chuckled into the intercom, “What? I think it’s a good look on you.”

“You’re supposed to change me back!” I shouted

“I said I would calibrate the room. I didn’t say how. You should feel lucky, you’re getting the VIP treatment for free!”

Everywhere sweat rolled my muscles stretched as my body began writhing under the feeling of its growth. It felt… it felt… oh god it felt… so…good. But it had to be stopped. I couldn’t keep going like this. I put all my effort into standing up and lunged for the door handle. It didn’t budge, locked from the outside.

“Oh, is this not to your taste?” he teased “Well, I already did smooth jock tonight. Fine, let’s try this then.”

The red lights switched off as dull LED’s took their place. At the same time, a mist began pouring into the room. The smell made me dizzy as I slumped back on the bench behind me. The haze curled around me and stuck to my skin. It smelled like aftershave, sharp and fresh, with a coolness that made me shiver. My skin began to tingle wherever it touched. I watched as my skin turned to goosebumps, then slowly a fine layer of fuzz began to coat my pecs. It grew and curled wherever the mist lead it. It blazed a treasure trail down my abs and branched out to cover them. I could only moan as my body pushed out my new pelt. It curled around my back as a forest erupted behind me. Working it’s way up, I felt a tickle on my jaw and cheeks. It caressed my face as a five o-clock shadow pushed out from my smooth face, and in moments a full beard was pushed out. It’s curling tendrils even worked on the hair I already had. I felt the hair on top of my head stand on end before following the mist into a thick mop. It worked it’s way into my gapping mouth too, and I felt my throat stretch and adjust, my moans coming out much deeper. Then it concentrated on my groin and pits. My previously trimmed bushes grew wild, quickly becoming a tangle. As my pubes grew around, it felt soooo good. I began getting hard, but the mist only took that as an opportunity. Something else to grow and curve. It stretched 6, 7, 8, 9 inches straight out before curving distinctly up. I was in pure ecstasy, with only the thought of the man outside watching keeping me from fully jacking off.

“Wow, what a grower. I knew you had potential but, woof.”

“You… won’t… *gasp*…get away… with… with this!”

“Oh, still a little rebel in you? Maybe we can bring that out a bit.”

The mist receded, and overhead the lights began to strobe and a loud white noise began to play. The pattern was disorientating and it hurt to watch. But even when I closed my eyes I couldn’t escape. A splitting headache developed as my emotions all turned to anger. I tried to shout, to call for it to stop, but my words didn’t even reach my ears. I watched in glimpses as I began to scream, deep and primal, rage in my eyes. My arm clenched into a fist and I ran up to pound the door down. It still didn’t budge but the shock sent a ripple down my arm. In the mirror I watched as in slow motion a full sleeve tattoo stretched down my arm. I sat down in pain and fear and anger as I grew close to tears. But the back of my mind knew that I could not cry, not anymore. Then, all at once it stopped. I realized I was still shouting. I felt pissed off, aggressive. When I got out of this room, I was gonna pummel that twink into submission.

“God, that one always gets me. I love a man with tattoos.”

“Fuck OFF” I growled. I looked in the mirror at the monster I had become:

My mind was being flooded with emotions, a sense of loss for the person I was, a rage at the man who had done this to me, an animalistic horniness from my sizable new cock, and a deep terror for what else could happen. I channeled that fury and made one last attempt on the locked door. I yanked and rattled the door with all the strength this new body could muster. I felt the handle flex beneath my grip, before a loud *snap* sent me plummeting to the ground. The handle had come off the door. I banging against the door, shouting for anyone to come help me.

“Hmmm,” the attendant contemplated, “I may have gone too far with the rage this time. You’re a beast bro, but let’s reign it in. A healthy dose of this should help.”

A new cloud filled the room, this one thicker than the last. It was damp and sticky and clung to every inch of me. This one smelled rich and acrid, like an arm pit that had long since sweat through any deodorant. It was as though every patron of the gym had joined me in the room fresh from their workout. The fog was so thick I felt as though I was beginning to choke. It slid heavily down my throat and made my eyes water. That’s when I felt it begin to corrupt me. My enraged mind became calm, then addled as my brain filled with the all consuming fog. Memories flashed before my eyes as I felt them slip from my mind, replaced with false copies. I felt my college experience shift from books and classes to working out and tutoring sessions. My classes in journalism and writing were swapped for work out routines and remedial math. Then my cock began twitching as memories of hot workout sessions with my bros filled my mind, replacing my book club. As my mind relaxed and the new memories came to me easier and easier. My IQ was slipping down quickly, resting now somewhere around 75. As my mind relaxed I felt my body do so too. The cloud began seeping into my pores, filling me with its corrupting influence. My body betrayed me, greedily sucking up the cloud until the room was completely clear. I felt warm and tingly, my body pressed flat against the cold floor. I lifted my arm to get a good wiff of my funk. My cock jumped in response. God I needed to fuck. The cloud had saturated me, inside and out, soaking me in a new identity.

“How are you feeling in there big guy?” a voice was on the other side of a speaker in the room.

“Aight I guess man. I’m tired. Guess I passed out in here,” I replied. God, just waking up from a nap and I had my morning wood. The door opened, a cute bro was on the other side.

“Have you enjoyed your day pass sir?” He asked.

“Hell yeah Lil’ bro, it’s been good. This gym is stacked. I haven’t felt this worn out after a workout in a while!”

“Have you considered upgrading that day pass to a full membership? I know I would love to see you around,” he said with a wink.

“Mmm, wouldn’t mind seeing you every day. Gimme the forms.” He led me out to the lobby, I signed a few forms, and handed me a card.

“Now remember next time, locker rooms are over there,” he smirked. “Here, this is free with your sign up.”

He threw a tank top over to me. Good thing too, I think I forgot mine at home. It fit snugly over my huge chest. It made my arms look huge too. Just a shame I sweat so much after a workout, I already had some pit stains going. Shit, I was rank.

“Thanks bro, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I strolled out the door into the cold winter air. I flexed, feeling the breeze wick some of my sweat away.

“Hey, excuse me?” Some dork walked up to me, looking desperate. I felt like I knew him from somewhere, though I couldn’t place it. “Would you happen to be able to help me? I have been going around in circles and can’t seem to find my way. I have an exam in just a few hours.”

“Nah, sorry man. I’m not quite sure I’m able to help. Never been good with directions huhu,” that’s when it clicked, “Hey, you’re in my bio class aren’t you? Ah shit, is that exam today?!? Fuck, I’m never gonna pass that crap.”

He looked a little flabbergasted, but made some excuses and was about to move on when I grabbed him. I felt something pass between us, as his gaze fell onto me, unblinking, “You should check in the gym bro, I know they can help you out.” I pulled away and the moment passed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two receipts. The first was my receipt for my day pass. I scribbled down my contact info, and handed it off to the nerd. “Here, if you want to talk about lifting with me and my buds later you should give me a call. Looking a little scrawny bruh.”

He took the receipt before wandering towards the gym entrance. I then looked at the second paper I pulled out. Oh yeah, it was that hot gym bro from earlier. Yeah, I could meet up with him for sure. His name at the top rang a faint bell. For a split second, I remembered a friend I would sit next to in class. Smart, nerdy, nothing like the man I had met on the sidewalk earlier... But just then I felt my brain pounding, and I couldn’t focus on… whatever it was I was thinking about. Oh, right. Hot jock. Yeahhh, I’m gonna go see if he wants these rank pits shoved in his face while I ride his cock.

————

Maybe not what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy anyways ❤️

#hypnosis #bro #transformation #musk #preppy tf #jockification #fml #muscle tf #changing #reality change #straight to gay #jock tf

[fafnir19]

The Hamptons Diary

Loris sat in the glow of his computer screen, the frenetic sounds of gunshots and explosions filling his small apartment. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight.

His neighbors Andrew and Dean, a gay couple in their late forties, tossed and turned in their adjacent apartment, unable to sleep amidst the cacophony of Loris' late-night gaming. Suddenly, the sound of pounding fists echoed through the thin walls. Loris paused the game and sighed, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before Andrew and Dean barged in. "Can you keep it down, Loris? We're trying to sleep here," Andrew's stern voice reverberated through the door. "Yeah, seriously, Loris. It's the middle of the night," Dean added, his voice laden with exhaustion. Loris opened the door, revealing himself to be unkempt, his blond hair disheveled and his once-bright blue eyes weary and bloodshot. He mumbled an apology as a single tear trickled down his cheek. "What's wrong, Loris?" Dean's tone softened slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. "I lost my job, okay? I don't know what to do. I feel useless," Loris choked out, his voice laced with defeat. Andrew and Dean exchanged a glance, the reality of Loris' struggles sinking in. They offered their sympathies before leaving, but the tension lingered in the air like an unspoken plea for help. The nightly pattern of gaming and sleepless neighbors continued for weeks, taking a toll on Andrew and Dean. Andrew, with important business meetings on the horizon, could no longer tolerate the disturbances. "We can't go on like this, Dean. I need my rest for these meetings," Andrew voiced his frustration, weary lines etched on his face. Dean, with a thoughtful expression, suggested a temporary solution. "Remember our friend in the Hamptons? We inherited his house. Loris could look after it for us, spruce things up a bit. We could even pay him for it, give him something to focus on." Andrew hesitated, skeptical of entrusting Loris with such responsibility. "You know how disorganized Loris is. Can he handle it? And I've never liked him, you know that," he remarked, his apprehension evident. After some debate, Andrew begrudgingly agreed, swayed by Dean's kindness and the hope of peaceful nights ahead.

Dean drove Loris to the opulent oceanfront home in the Hamptons, the fresh sea breeze offering a stark contrast to the urban clamor left behind. Loris gazed wide-eyed at the sprawling property, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. "Thank you, Dean. I'll take care of the house, I promise," Loris assured, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. Dean patted Loris on the shoulder before heading back to the city, leaving Loris to the tranquil expanse of the Hamptons estate. Days passed, and Loris reveled in his newfound solitude, though the pristine beauty of the house soon mirrored the chaos of his city apartment. Used dishes littered the kitchen, and dust settled on every surface. Amidst the clutter, Loris stumbled upon a weathered diary, its pages yellowed with age. Intrigued, Loris began to read, realizing that the diary belonged to Tom, likely the previous owner's companion.

Loris sat cross-legged on the floor, a pool of moonlight around him as he pored over the aged diary. Dust motes danced in the air, and the distant crash of waves against the shore provided a soothing backdrop. The pages crackled as he turned them, each revealing more of Tom's intriguing life. Scribbles and smudges adorned the once pristine pages, speaking of Tom's dedication to exercising, grooming, and housekeeping. A humorous snort escaped Loris as he read about Tom's relentless efforts. With a shake of his head, he thought, "This guy was really something." Holding the diary closer to his face, Loris continued reading by the flickering light of an old candle. He marveled at the meticulous routines Tom adhered to, his neat handwriting leaving no detail untold. Loris couldn't help but chuckle at the pages filled with anecdotes about Tom's wardrobe and preppy attire. As the nights bled into each other, Loris found himself unconsciously mimicking Tom's habits. He'd rise before dawn to jog along the beach, pamper himself with regular grooming sessions, and maintain the house with an almost obsessive zeal.

And when he slipped into Tom's preppy clothes for the first time, a shiver ran down his spine, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his body. Days turned into weeks, and Loris was a changed man. His previously disheveled appearance had given way to a chiseled physique and impeccable grooming. At night, the house practically sparkled under his diligent care. One evening, Loris stood before a full-length mirror, clad in Tom's preppy clothes. As he admired his reflection, a new sense of confidence surged within him. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt - he looked like a gay wet dream.

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he let out a low, satisfied hum. The thought surprised him, but he couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through him. Lost in his thoughts, Loris barely noticed Dean's arrival at the beach house.

As Dean stepped into the luxurious oceanfront home in the Hamptons, he couldn't help but feel a jolt of surprise at the sight before him. Loris, once unkempt and disheveled, now stood before him as an enigmatic and adorable young man. Dean's eyebrows shot up in astonishment as he struggled to process the drastic transformation. "Loris, what... how did this happen?" Dean's voice quivered with disbelief. Loris grinned, exuding a newfound confidence that seemed to radiate from every pore. "I found Tom's diary," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dean's heart sank as he realized what that meant. He thought the cursed diary was long gone, destroyed to prevent its sinister influence from spreading. The possessive and jealous former homeowner had given it to his lover, Tom, in a twisted attempt to bind him and transform him into a trophy boy against his will. And now, it seemed that Loris had unknowingly fallen prey to the same fate. Dean's expression darkened, his voice barely above a horrified whisper. "Loris, that diary is cursed. It forces its owner to become a trophy boy, against their will. We need to destroy it, before it's too late." He watched Loris carefully, praying that he hadn't been fully ensnared by the diary's enchantment. Loris' eyes widened in shock as he processed Dean's words. "I-I'm the victim of a spell?" His voice trembled with uncertainty. For a moment, it seemed that the confident facade he'd adopted was beginning to crack.

But then, to Dean's profound dismay, Loris let out a laugh that chilled him to the bone. "The spell is good!" Loris exclaimed, his tone betraying an unsettling fervor. "I used to be undisciplined and unkempt - and look at me now. The magic makes me better! Plus, I like the way you look at me lustfully, even if I'm not gay!" Dean's heart sank as he realized the depth of the diary's hold on Loris. "But Loris, you don't understand. You'll become a trophy boy, against your will. You'll be forced to submit to someone else's desires, to become something you're not." His voice shook with urgency as he tried to reason with Loris, to break through the spell's intoxicating allure. To his astonishment, Loris's expression transformed into one of unnerving determination. "It isn't against my will anymore," he insisted, his words firm and unwavering. Dean felt a surge of helplessness as he confronted the stark reality before him. It was clear that Loris had embraced the changes wrought by the cursed diary, despite the dangers that lurked beneath its enticing facade. Desperation gnawed at Dean's insides as he grappled with the enormity of the situation. As the weight of their predicament settled upon him, Dean realized that breaking the spell would be an uphill battle. But for Loris's sake, he knew he couldn't simply give up.

Dean drove back to the city from the Hamptons, a sense of urgency gnawing at him. He weaved through traffic, determined to tell Andrew about the cursed diary and Loris's transformation. As he burst through the front door, he found Andrew in the living room, engrossed in his laptop. "Andrew, we have to break the spell!" Dean exclaimed, rushing over to Andrew. Andrew lifted his gaze from the screen. "Dean, what are you talking about? What spell?" Dean quickly recounted how Loris had discovered the cursed diary in the Hamptons, and how it had changed him drastically. "We have to find a way to undo this. It's not right, Andrew." Andrew's eyes widened, and he leaned in, "Let's do it. We'll figure out how to break this curse." A week later, Loris returned from the Hamptons. As he stepped into the living room, Andrew's breath caught in his throat. Loris stood there, transformed into an adorable young man. His previously disheveled appearance was replaced with a preppy and well-groomed look.

"Wow," Andrew murmured under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from Loris. Dean shot a pleading look at Andrew. "We have to do something, Andrew. Loris is becoming a trophy boy against his will." However, as Andrew stared at Loris, he found himself charmed by the young man. "Dean, I don't think I can help you," Andrew said softly. "What? But Andrew, this is not right," Dean protested. Andrew's eyes softened as he looked at Loris. "He's the son I never thought I wanted. I can't help you, Dean. I'm sorry." The realization hit Dean hard. He had lost this battle. He resigned himself to his fate as Loris's second gay father, feeling helpless in the face of the enchantment that had captured Loris. Weeks passed, and Andrew and Dean rallied to support Loris. They made it possible for him to study at the best university in the country, providing him with everything he needed for his education and well-being.

Loris flourished under their care, embracing his new life as a well-groomed and preppy young man. In the end, Loris was happier than ever. He found comfort in the care and attention he received from Andrew and Dean, feeling like he had finally found a place where he belonged. The once unkempt and lost Loris had transformed into a young man who exuded confidence and joy. As the days went by, laughter and warmth filled the walls of the house. It echoed with the sounds of Andrew and Loris joking and sharing stories, while Dean looked on with a warm smile. Despite the circumstances that had led to this unusual family dynamic, there was an unspoken bond that tied them together. Loris had found a new sense of purpose and belonging, and Andrew and Dean had welcomed him into their lives with open arms. Though the cursed diary had brought about unexpected changes, it had also led to an unlikely but loving family forming in the beautiful house in the Hamptons.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #preppy tf #hamptons

[visceral-stories]

Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story! 

Ko-fi |Twitter 

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings  with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall. 

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week. 

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door. 

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance. 

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.” 

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.” 

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile. 

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird. 

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside. 

A tall, muscular  jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive. 

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re  that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there. 

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact. 

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!” 

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!” 

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair. 

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big. 

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.  

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him 

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented. 

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?” 

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief. 

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”  

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options!  Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?”  Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past. 

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy. 

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind. 

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.” 

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face. 

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy. 

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?” 

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot. 

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck. 

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash. 

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!” 

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous. 

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!” 

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.  

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something. 

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result. 

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips. 

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength. 

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!” 

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-” 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!” 

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear. 

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?” 

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command. 

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth. 

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it. 

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge. 

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone. 

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!” 

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it. 

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape. 

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself. 

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously. 

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts. 

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next. 

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive. 

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self. 

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.” 

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot. 

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself. 

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.  

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this. 

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex. 

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge. 

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.” 

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity. 

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a  God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity. 

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.” 

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust. 

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy. 

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?” 

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?” 

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”  

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too.  “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old. 

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.” 

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy. 

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.” 

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!” 

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing. 

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!  

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing. 

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step. 

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?” 

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”  

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man.  Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real. 

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone. 

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say. 

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.” 

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall. 

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation. 

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen. 

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels. 

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!” 

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had. 

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand. 

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response. 

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!” 

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.” 

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.” 

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place. 

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously. 

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder. 

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled. 

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son. 

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.  

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent. 

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice. 

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass. 

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant. 

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich. 

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.  

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?” 

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation. 

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed. 

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!” 

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day. 

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd. 

“Vince has grown up so fast!”  chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife. 

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection. 

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out. 

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it. 

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life. 

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation. 

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation. 

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever. 

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man. 

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden? 

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders. 

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled. 

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.” 

#male tf story #age progression #mental change #reality change #age progression tf #male transformation #muscle growth tf #businessman #male transformtaion #sartorial #weight gain tf #weight gain #wealthy #jock #preppy #socialite #butler

[bruciemilf]

Huge loss for the dark haired and bisexual community

#hear me out #im not immune to the preppy nerd/himbo jock dynamic #they fit so well together in my eyes. both chaotic both scrappy both quick to clown on authority figures #yara is such a himbo truly. not a thought behind those amber eyes. she'd annoy tf outta him fr JSJSJS #finally getting my insufferable girl rep. plus jason's a canon moronsexual #yara: so yeah i wanted to fight hades bc he took my bestie #jason taking his clothes off: how does your brain work? do you know? #jason todd #yara flor #wonder girl #dc #dc comics #memes #dcu

[zzzinternetperson]

I would love to sit in seat #2. I really have to make this flight!! 😁 Thanks!!

You’re in a hurry, huh? Oh, I get it, business inquiries. You’re now Noah, an 18 year old submissive business boy.

Don’t worry Noah, you’re making your flight, in business class of course.

— — — — — — — — — —

Sexuality ; gay

Status ; bottom and extremely submissive

Musk ; 7/10 all the musk is coming from your feet and butt.

Butt size ; 7/10 Very round and cute, bulges out of your chinos nicely and giggles cutely when you walk.

Dick size ; 3/10, 3 inches hard, 1 inch soft.

Farts ; 9.5/10, you can’t go 10 minutes without farting, huh? Isn’t that embarrassing during your meetings ?

Intelligence ; over average

Muscles; 5/10

Overall looks ; 9/10 in my opinion.

If you have any question about your new body, feel free to ask in PMS!

#preppy #male transformation #straight to gay #musk #twink tf

[ria-starstruck]

life is strange but you can never save arcadia bay

ocs are roxanne and petra, 2 girls raised in a cult in their actual universe/story + subjects of a couple WIP animatics i have atm

#hold on dont text. sense of me mudflow just came on #hold tf up that should go in my sol lune webcomic playlist wtf am i doing #ok normal again i can continue w the taggghhhhhhold on dont text. spanish sahara foals just came on (the cycle continues) #sunblood #briars_ocs #my_ocs #life is strange #art #man i remember watching a playthrough of lis and just being absolutely shattered after i could Not handle it #it was like. Yowch!! #and ofc spanish sahara. Yowch!! #kinda wanna rewatch that last scene again now lmao #anyway its funny cause actual petra n roxanne are sooo ill suited to max + chloe roles not only bc their personalities + aesthetics r so #different (roxanne im drawin preppy n petra im trying to goth/punk kinda) #but also theyre just . theyre not normal enough! theyre too fuckin much of freaks! theyre too weird to live in an arcadia bay!!! #theyre too selfish to fill max and chloe's shoes! sacrifice roxanne or arcadia bay is never a choice for petra. only sacrifice arcadia bay

[snekdood]

its wild to me how western european beauty standards even effected me as a child. my blonde, blue-eyed ass. i'd tan and come inside to look at my skin and it was "darker" in a way thats not conventionally understood as beautiful, I thought I was "supposed" to have more red and orange pigment when I tanned

like this

but instead it was more like

this and it always made me feel insecure on a subconscious level, like i wasnt the "right type of tan" or something :/

anyways, everyone with olive skin is beautiful and fuck them other color undertones sdjkhbvsfgdvghsdfhgvdfshvgfdgshv

#fuck your red undertone ass #fuck your orange undertone ass #fuck your pink undertone ass #im green bitch and im a beautiful snake man. #im the evil swarthy bad guy type of tan not the blonde preppy barbie good girl type of tan :/ #THIS is why i resonate w bruno btw bc they LITERALLY DID THE THING #everyone else has these warm or neutral skin tones besides him #and they demonize him and he has the cool olive tone and hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #hes just like me hes just like me fr #ok well. felix has a cool undertone. BUT ITS NOT OLIVE. its like. purple-y almost. #isabellas kinda olive toned but shes a warm olive so the Good Guy olive 😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒😒 #apparently the greyer you are in complexion the more evil you get according to disney idk #no fr look at captain hook vs peter pan. look at maleficent vs sleeping beauty. look at jafar vs aladdin! #look at scar vs mufasa!!!! repunzel vs mother gothel!!!! #like!!! every villain!!!! cooler toned or cool olive toned! disney!!!! who hurt you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #ik its not disney but. rasputin in anastatia. fuck even like. the bad guys who wanna marry thumbelina? #a literal green ass toad. a literal blue ass beetle. a literal brown ass mole. ok don bluth who tf hurt YOU too?

[beanie-twink]

Venn diagram of my type in men and how I want to present as a trans guy

#ITS A FUCKING CIRCLE #I literally just realized this #ITS CRAZY #gender envy vs attraction got me tf again oh hell #trans #trans guy #lgbt #gay #NO BC I JUST HAD THIS REALIZATION ITS MAJOR OKAY #basically my two types of men I’m into are preppy and like emo #then I realized…the two ways I like to dress… are preppy and emo #OHHHH HELLLLLLLLLLLL

[notmuchtoconceal]

( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

for @ashevilleleatherboy

dust motes fell under the hot studio lights. if he could close his eyes, every pore of every brick in the wall would burn in afterimage on the back of his retina. it must have been months. someone had to be looking for him. someone must have wondered where he was. with each passing day, it was harder for him to remember who he had been before entering this room

some things were clear. he remembered walking home from school. barking dogs. sirens in the distance. in the dark, he kept his hood up and his eyes down, still out of breath, the fuzz of his sweater soaked with sweat, the low resonant ache of a body put through the ringer. teammates said he was dedicated, and yeah. he was dedicated, but to tell you the truth most nights he’d rather be at practice than at home. used to be that late in the season, with sectionals approaching, practice could run as late as eight o’clock at night

now it was post season and he was poised to compete individually at the state level. had the whole gym to himself most nights, and that was okay by him. he had to be dedicated. he was used to it. always scrappy, wiry, ready for a scrape, he’d gotten used to going to bed hungry, and didn’t need to adjust to skipping meals to keep weight. now this had become his meal ticket. if he couldn’t get a scholarship to a decent school, best he’d be able to manage’d be becoming a bricklayer like his old man. trying not to slug the fucker every day. another nobody. working himself to the bone, coming home covered in filth, back broken at fifty, drinking the pain away, looking back on his life and wondering where the hell he’d fucked up

hey. at least he couldn’t knock up the guy he was seeing on the dl and get stuck with a kid he never wanted. it was a convenience, nothing more. barely a mutual shame. his guy’d been tainted by the miasma round here. the resentment which so saturated the air, it almost composed another molecule, settling like debris on the cushion of the lungs. he couldn’t get close, even to the man he was closest to. wouldn’t let himself get kissed without feeling like a fag, push back if he laid a hand on his shoulder. this place was a bear trap and with every trod on the ground you were always one misstep away from the teeth slamming shut

even a twenty minute bus ride was enough to get him to let his guard down. new building. contours of stone and glass. no lead in the pipes, no possums in the walls. at school, nobody’d ever try to tear him down. he could smile and put on a brave face knowing nobody knew what trash he really was. he still never got close to anyone. whether that was by choice, or the sum totality of his past conditioning, he couldn’t say. always felt like there was a wall between him and other people. like he was a spectator to his own life. like the person he heard talking was a skilled impressionist mocking him for a failing he couldn’t perceive. nobody’d expected anything of him before, and every line of praise received he processed with a distanced skepticism it’d taken almost four years to shake off. people looked up to him. that was real. there was a place in the world where he was admired, wanted, and could fit in. the idea kept him going. he’d get far away from here soon enough. get far away and never come back

there was this brochure for a prep school, that was another thing he could still remember. rich kid place out in the country. polo field. river adjacent for the crew team. old stone masonry wafting the decrepit stink of elitism and privilege. figure’d it be a different kind of trap. the equivalent of sidestepping the clamp of rusty teeth and stumbling face-first into a human sized strip of flypaper

there was freedom, no doubt, in being a nobody. he could go wherever he wanted, but never stay too long. not having a future meant one wasn’t dictated to you. being ignored meant you never had to feel the heat of someone breathing down your neck. for the price of staying still and sinking further in the mire, any hollow comforts could be yours for a night. the booze, the boob tube, the shot of morphine before they harvest your kidney

he heard somewhere once–was it his mother? grandmother?–that most people never got anywhere because they preferred the devil they knew to the devil they didn’t. it was a quaint phrase. conjuring up a magical world that no longer was, that nonetheless still existed in the hearts of the people he knew, overlaid like a color filter on the urban landscape. where cracks broke backs, the partition of a lamp pole carried ill omen, and dead women could be glimpsed by candlelight through the medium of a bathroom mirror. some divine spark, they said, elevated the human body to more than meat made to tread single-file on the factory floor, anodyne and frightened, never seeing, never giving any true inkling, to the slaughter ahead. monsters had not troubled his sleep since early childhood, but he saw them every day out in the light. in suits, ties and uniforms. keeping the peace. assuring us that everything was gonna be all right

fucked here, fucked there, didn’t matter

there was no way out

whatever faith to which he could still cling rested on the shifting foundations of an echo reverberating through this memory. the soft, sweet words spoken by a faceless woman at an age time had reduced to billowy haze

bent over a bare mattress, the brochure almost slipping out of his fingers, hard red pixels counting down to 2 AM, he figured the best thing he could do for himself was finally meet a devil he didn’t know

there was breathing

heavy, haggard breathing

his thighs still in his singlet, he could feel the cold pouring over his head. it was going everywhere. the slime splattering on his arms and legs, running over his shoulders, and into the cleavage of his pecs. it pooled around his dick, soaking into the thin, tattered lycra he’d worn almost every day for the past four years. the heat and the wetness around his loins. a memory of childhood, hazy as the faces he no longer saw. the slime filled up his seat and began to trickle down his leg, filling the heel of his ratty old wrestling shoes

he wanted to get up. he couldn’t hold his hands straight

the heavy iron held him there

heard the rattle of the chains around his feet

there was somewhere he needed to be. something that made him wanna cry

and another hand was on his

calloused. leathery. the knuckles almost canine with yellow hair

a man’s hand. bigger than his

his hand was a man’s hand too, though a hand fresh to manhood. strong, veiny, but soft and still void of the desiccation and discoloration that comes from years of labor. the veal-like quality of his skin made him feel small. the way that hand, with the dirt deep in the beds of cracked nails, wrapped around his made his head woozy. he wanted to lie down, but it was tight around his neck

easy

go back to sleep  

and to a vibratory shushing through phlegm, he sank back into that warm dark 

and from the dreamless abyss, he awoke into exhaustion, his hands coated in a congealed layer of translucent, petroleum-colored sap

palm flat, the pressure adhered the skin to a wooden surface. pinky and ring fingers splayed, veins bulging, a rigid plasticity had already merged the pointer, middle finger, and thumb into a single digit. when he tried to move, only the ridge above the ballpoint of the wrist would even half-bend. his head wouldn’t budge. something cold and gelatinous was still wet around his neck, and colder above that was the rattle of a padlock. leather pressed tight against his face. the double-exposed blur of straps crossed over the sides of his nose and something bit at the roots of his hairline. he could manage to jerk his elbow and knees, banging bones against wood and metal. pressure coursing through the soft sponge beneath, he heard screams muffled by his own sealed mouth

the crash of a metal door sent him silent

the squeak of rubber boots against wood marched and stopped

all he could hear was his own breath, feeling eyes on him, the cozy, invasive non-heat of another body

and then the laughter

first he felt the cool of heavy industrial rubber at the nape of his neck. a grip tugged at his hair, jerking his head so fast it hit the back of his skull. a man stared back with eyes as blue as the baltic sea, and smiled with a mouth carved from a serrated butcher saw, exposing rows of pistol-flattened shark teeth

hey there, lil bro

not cool to doze off in class, even when you’re lucky enough to be gettin a free ride

his voice was a rasp through rusty pipes, the vowels elongated past deformity. the skin was pulled so impossibly tight there seemed to be no muscle between it and the bone beneath. along the vault of his cranium and the razor edge of his jaw, the pale birch of his hair had been buzzed to stubble, lending a brutish utility to his broad, asymmetrical skull

only gonna say this once, so pay attention. we’re a private institution. that means no financial support from the federal government. donor money only. we don’t give out cash we don’t expect to make back, you hear me? you work for us now, lil bro. we own that cute lil ass’a yours

the man leaned closer, the grip tugging so tight it felt as though the force would uproot his scalp  

round here, they call me teach. could say it’s my job to mold the future achievers of tomorrow. and i do mean mold lil bro, haha

he was lucky enough that he could still move his eyelids. still close his eyes and pretend that this could all go away

he felt the weight of his tears give way and roll hot down his check, wetting the underside of the muzzle. the breath now hitting his face carried the caustic, sour fumes of cheap whiskey. with a long, controlled lap a different heat, a different wetness circled the crest of his cheekbone

crying, alone and in the dark, he heard the words

gonna be my pleasure to get you acclimated to your new academic career

next thing he remembers, that man was breathing through a heavy rubber gasmask and respirator, spraying down his shoulders with an instrument like an airbrush. he was trying to bend his neck, trying to look down at what bare patches of skin still remained. a jolt struck him hard against the right temple, cushioned only by the slick of the cool rubber

don’t fuckin move, lil bro! neck’s gotta set in that position, and if it don’t i gotta fuckin scrape it off and start again. you want that, lil bro? me sittin here peelin the shit off you by hand? heh. maybe you do. maybe you like these lil one on one sessions with your pal teach, don’t ya bro?

he tried to beg with his eyes. pour any piteous humility he could into a few inches of pale blue shimmer. the attempt was met with laughter

fuck, you’re cute lil bro. gotta admit, i love when my bros do shit like that. suffer for me. get nice and fucking puppy stupid. pathetic little displays like that make my day, lil bro. get my dick rock fuckin hard

tell ya what. maybe i won’t throw the welding goggles on ya. maybe i’ll just spray this shit right over your eyes and seal em in that position with the rest of ya. moisture sealed like fuckin bathroom caulk and you’ll cry and cry til your fuckin tear ducts rupture inside that fuckhead’a yours. you want that?

and like that he was in the dark again, sobbing and alone. he’d never missed home before. never missed the nights he’d laid awake listening to his old man scream at his girlfriend, but anything was better than this. the rape of even being spoken to by that drunken fuck. the loneliness of lying in bed with the guy he’d thought he could call his own, feelin a gulf of six inches he’d knew he’d never cross. he wished he’d never applied. just accepted his lot in life. ground himself down into bonemeal and at least pretend it was a choice

a chill ran down this spine when he felt the slick of a rubber clad finger gentle against his temple. still red from being struck. for a moment, he wasn’t alone. he was back in that blurry heat of the long ago, feeling another’s arms around his, the acceptance so forward and unconditional. he sat, still afraid, feeling the humiliation of his passivity at this moment of tenderness

disgusted with himself

disgusted that he could feel so calmed

he opened a single eye halfway, and saw that man staring down at him with a neutrality that bordered on warmth. the caress glided down his cheek and became the flat of a stroke against his jaw. a near cradle around the back of his skull. he felt the electric current of close contact, felt breath on the hairs of neck

i mean it, lil bro. it’s gonna hurt if i have to do this again. gonna tug on your skin. might need to use the heavy strippin chemicals. gonna burn

i can tell you’re a fighter, lil bro. you’re doin great. lotta guys i do this to don’t hold up so well. doesn’t have to hurt, y’know. can relax and let ol teach take care of ya. whaddya say, huh?

that man’s hand fondled his bulge. a jolt of bliss ran through him. he tried to whimper, but found himself silent and sedated by that raspy, gentle shush. stroking softly, working the shaft through the lycra until he was good and hard, the electrical spike of every nerve ending from head to base bombarded his brain. it felt good. much too good. better than when he’d bate after smoking a bowl. the slit now as dewy as his eyes, he cried into the leather protuberance behind his muzzle, half in shame, half for more

this was sick. so fuckin sick. what this man was doin to him

how could he keep him here and tell him it’d be okay. how could he have the balls to come off soundin so fuckin nice

teach was scratching him behind the ear, smiling in a way which no longer seemed predatory. a tender smirk. his teeth only showin on one side, the flesh of his cheek bunched up and red. there was flesh there. on his face

nobody’d ever looked at him like that before. maybe they did. maybe he didn’t notice. maybe then he didn’t believe em, wouldn’t have believed em. but now he had to look. he had to look, but he didn’t have to believe

you’re a beautiful fuckin guy, lil bro. bet you was just swimmin in pussy back where you came from

he didn’t think he had time to respond. teach must’ve saw something in his eyes

nah, lil bro?

teach leaned back, smirking almost whimsically, arms folded over his heavy rubber apron

he went away, his rubber boots squelching. the clashing of a file cabinet rang out. a cone of light shifted, throwing shadows over the rafters. and the squelching came back, bending. the shriek of a metal chair scraped his ears and the rubber of the boots rested warm on his hands

shit, lil bro. we were practically neighbors, haha. no wonder you’re so fuckin tough. so on edge

the spring screeched. teach was back on his feet, hands rubbery on his shoulders, eyes locked with his

well let me tell ya somethin, lil bro. i get ya. i get ya better than ya think. they don’t get men like us back there. men with passion. day, in day out, they tear themselves down, and try to take us down with em. now that’s not gonna happen here, lil bro. i don’t break my boys down. i build em up. but ya gotta trust me first, lil bro. you think you can trust me?

again he spoke before there was enough time to think

yeah, i get it lil bro

he threw up his hands with a conversational diplomacy

trust don’t come easy for ya. hey. who can blame ya? i’ll treat ya right though, lil bro. you’re not like the other boys i do this kinda thing to. you’re different, man. you’re a keeper. might take me awhile, but i’m gonna make you realize how special you are to me. how special you shoulda been to those fucks back home

he sat with the blur of vision unfocused

he wanted to believe this. god help him, he wanted to believe this

he wanted to believe it the way he wanted to believe his coaches, his teammates, his teachers when he studied hard and managed to keep up with his classes. the way his dad’s girl’d get after she was too shitfaced to walk, and told him that he really did love him

teach slid the gasmask back down. he said, with body language that winked

now you do as i fuckin say, lil bro, and don’t budge. otherwise i’m gonna have’ta fuckin deadbolt ya to that desk

and he laughed. he laughed like they were best buds

reaching under the desk, he gave him another few tugs. so firm, but so light. the skin of his uncut cock bunched and squeezed around the head in a wreath of liquid fire. an ether warmth seeping throughout his body in fluid waves. the protestations emitted were weak, and would’ve been even without the muzzle. teach pulled his hand away, trailing the long glistening spider silk of pre soaked through his bulge

you’re a good boy, lil bro

if you stay a good boy, maybe tomorrow we’ll finish up

when left alone, he’d feel nothing

his body would grow stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. something in the resin must’ve acted as a balm. his skin was warm. it tingled. it cycled from the pain of a dull scrape into the resonant pleasure of pure sensation, triggering with mechanical predictability muffled groans through his gag. something hard sat in his ear. some kind of plastic. he couldn’t tell if it was part of the spray layer or something else. what felt like wires would occasionally brush against his neck, dulled by the coating on his skin

through a low hum and the soft static, he thought he could hear voices. reassuring voices. sometimes’d he try to focus and listen in on what they might be saying, but usually he’d just fall asleep. he was tired. didn’t matter if it was day or night, night or day–not that, in this windowless room, he had much frame of reference–whatever time it was, he was always tired

after the second day of spraying, teach’d waken him up with a tap to the head from a paint scraper, and peeled his hands from the wood. he couldn’t move his neck any longer, nor the entirety of his shoulder girdle. his legs were still free, and so were his arms below the elbow. teach’s hands held his back gently as he spoke the marching him away from the desk

take it easy, lil bro. you don’t want to hurt yourself

though the way his neck had set kept his gaze tilted upward, he could see he was being lead to a wooden scaffold in the wall, holding three boards cut with semi-circles of varying size. beside it, a heavy iron vat with an attached plastic tube hissed softly from some internal mechanism

handling him like prized china, teach’d placed him in the recess of the scaffold, pinning him to the wall with the central board, its wide, singular semi-circle snugly accommodating his waist. moaning, and trying to wriggle free, the unfinished wood bit into the skin of his soft, sparsely hairy belly

i told you lil bro, be a good boy

teach fondled his balls. the soft, spongy tissue quivered more than winced under the pressure of the slick, heavy rubber. waves of pleasure liquefied the inside of his skull, and as he succumbed to the sensation. going lax and leaning back, the grit of the wall scratched at his scalp. shushing and prodding, reaching up to stroke his hair and press a finger to his muzzle, teach’d managed to shackle his ankles with the two smaller holes of the bottom plank. from there, the top plank with its wide central cut and smaller side-cuts pressed up against the underside of his armpits and accommodated his biceps with ease

gonna open the front of your muzzle now, lil bro. promise me you won’t scream, okay?

unclasping the buckle around the back of his neck, the plug in his mouth slid out

“please…”

shhh. don’t talk, lil bro

his voice cracked

“lemme… lemme go”

you beggin lil bro? or you wonderin if you mean it

“i… i don’t want this”

sounds like you do

“i don’t want this. c’mon, man”

teach was kissing his neck. kissing him through the solid encasement of his neck. he could feel every caress of his lips, every scrape of his stubble with the intensity of chemical burns and rusty nails

i know it seems hard to accept now, lil bro…

mmphhh

but you’re gonna be happy here…

ugghhh

and pulling away, he stroked his chin through his muzzle

it’s been a couple days. i know you gotta be hungry

he could hear flesh engorged, ruffled behind the rubber apron

without quite thinking, he blurted out 

“people’re looking for me. i was was sectional champ. i coulda been state champ. someone’s gonna wonder where i am, they musta saw your–”

nobody’s lookin for you, lil bro

he said it calmly

so calmly it could only be a cushion to a hard blow

i know it hurts, man. but your family? those people you thought were your friends? they don’t care about ya, lil bro. at best, you were a means to an end. at worst, you were just someone who got in the way. if they coulda gotten what they wanted outta ya, they’d just toss ya aside

ya weren’t nothing more than trash to em, lil bro

his eyes were going unfocused again

that was the first thing teach’d said he didn’t have any trouble believing

it was difficult with the scaffolding in place, but teach’d gotten close to him. almost managed to hold him. the distance of this awkward half-hug lacked any of the guilt that came with his dad, was more than he’d ever gotten from the guy he’d used to see on the dl

just sit tight. i’m gonna take care of ya, i promise

into the opening of the muzzle, he inserted the front of the plastic tube from the metal vat. an attachment like a contoured nipple pressed almost against the back of his mouth. corrugations around the base of the tube swiveled into the front of his muzzle and locked it in place

you ready? i’m gonna turn the machine on now

he flipped the switch. flipped the switch again. tapped on the canister

hmm

ah!

with a snap of the fingers, he pointed to a vintage laundromat sign, half-obscured by dust and cobwebs

25¢

he patted the front of his apron. the bare flesh of his thighs and ass. it was only then, hearing the clammy resonance of skin on skin that he realized this man was naked except for his boots

damn

hey, you got a quarter, lil bro?

before he realized he didn’t have time to speak, he realized teach was already gonna respond, and it was that predictable fact, more than the request itself, that made him snort through his muzzle

hey, don’t give me that look, boy

teach got close again, and went in behind his ears

oh, what’s this?

a groan half in jest, he clenched his lips and tugged

on a streamer of slime, teach held a quarter before his eyes

hey, look at that lil lbro! you’re a magic boy

a drop of the coin and bursts of hot air shot out of the base of the vat, and up his leg. a thick, syrupy globbing came with the motor hum, pouring into the tube. coming fast, it was in his mouth and down the back of his throat. what little of it he could taste around the plastic nipple had a gruel-like consistency, the faint liquorice-like sweetness of artificial vanilla. he couldn’t reject it. any attempt to spit it back out just made him gag. into his violated esophagus, the substance continued to run, micro-layer after micro-layer coating his throat on the way down. a stiffness like eating raw peanut butter

you won’t ever go hungry again, lil bro. this hardening agent is a special type of silicone that NASA’d thought have some application in space travel, but uh… didn’t go so well for them. it’s gonna slow down your metabolic functions, pulse, cell respiration, by coating the inside of your stomach, where it’ll seep into your blood stream and from there to the heart. everything below the colon’s gonna be sealed off. no movement. can’t force it out. not a chemist or anything, but the way i hear it the shit’s vitamin rich, and the way it reacts with your stomach acid just makes more of it, basically turning your gut into this sorta rubber cement churner. don’t ask me why they couldn’t find any on-label uses for the shit. probably ‘cause they couldn’t figure out how to unstick it once it’s stuck

it wasn’t long before he felt his stomach bloated. felt like he had to shit. he couldn’t budge his bowels. the low tension on the inside hummed into a pleasant numbness like what happens after you hold it in too long

lay back. let it happen, lil bro. we’re gonna make something beautiful together here. that’s you. you’re beautiful. and now you’re finally gonna meet some people who’ll be able to understand that

from some imaginary pocket, teach produced and clacked the blades of a pair of shearing scissors

let’s get you outta that lil red lie first. won’t be needing it here, bro

as the machine continued to pump, teach tugged on the front of his singlet, and kept up the tension. flecks of the sap cracked and flaked as the fabric came unmoored from his skin. slicing a hole straight up the front, he stuck his hand inside and pantomimed fingering a pussy with the cleavage of his pecs

fuck, i love bony fishboys like you. so satisfyin to beef up

from that same non-existent pocket, he pulled a jumbo sized white plastic jar, and began to massage his abs with pale wax. the tips of his fingers, so firm, so relaxing, prying into every pore, deep into the tissue of every muscle. the low hum, the static, the words he couldn’t make out still whispered so softly in his ear. but he let it happen, he sank into the noise as teach’d continued to speak

we’ve had many boys here, lil bro. boys who never knew their worth. knew they were worth something, sure, but always had to deny it because they didn’t come from good homes. didn’t come from good schools. now there’s no denying it. they gave up their pasts, the feeling they were never good enough. they gave up trying to make themselves useful, and they became valuable assets for this fine institution. 90% graduation rate. nothin but good homes from here on out

with every word, he alternated between the scissors and the jar. cutting off more of his singlet, exposing new skin to massage. the handle quickly became lubed and slippery, and the reckless flair with which teach snapped and threw the scissors nicked the uneven crests and plateaus of the amber. lil bro gagged on the paste with each wince from the metal edge

this is going to keep you pliable, poseable. used to be you were tough on the outside, lil bro, now it’s gonna be the other way around. your muscles’ll stiffen, but this’ll keep you soft. stop you from snapping if we bend you too far. this varnish’ll moisturize and preserve the skin, replace the collagen with something closer to plastic. your nerves’ll still be there, still send signals. you’ll still feel touch, temperature, tickle

like this

goochy goochy goo

you’ll be warm under the display lights. you’ll still sweat. we’ll still be able to smell you, though your musk’ll be a bit more uh… rubbery. wiry body’ll get beefed up on the high cal stiffening paste. type of jock toy broldable you’re gonna be’ll need to be sponged on occasion. more like oil than the perspiration you’re used to, but we’ll smear it around like vaseline. take a nice, fine cloth, and work it deeper into the skin, your own personal polish and moisturizer, haha

and the massage felt so good. he felt himself melting into every push of his synapses, every word through the soft hum of the machine and haze. all the while teach’s hand was moving down his abs, past his v-taper, lower and lower

speaking of polish, lil bro… i think you’ve been a good enough boy

pulling the disembodied leg bands down to his ankles, teach looked up at his lil bro’s chin, and tore away the last remains of tattered singlet

which he’d cut into a thong

his cock rising to meet him, teach’d taken it in hand, sending pulsations up his spine and through his lats. back arched, quivering, he remembered a past which seemed both near and distant. the years at his private jesuit high school. the brunches and functions. the royce his father the statesman had gifted him on his 16th birthday. how he loved that car. loved that car his father’d gifted him

he remembered his first dalliance with a boy from the crew team he spied one fine morning as he sat on a blanket by the river, watching him carry his single scull in from the dock. the sly smile, the bulge in that ridiculously filmsy one-piece uniform they made them wear. like he had any room to talk, being a wrestler… the way they sneaked out to the back of the boathouse, and among the oars and shells undressed in the narrow beam of sunlight, exploring each other’s bodies with the languid tenderness of first timers, his new friend licking his shaft and sucking like an expert, though the coquettish lil bro had said it was his first time. faster and faster, lips pressed against lips, the heat ruptured in his face, and the pressure of a geyser built up within his depths

with each burst of his load, teach’d worked his cum into the wax, fingering it in pearly whorls up his abs and down his quads, brushing against his cock for only a moment, adding another few droplets of self-plasticity to his hard, weathered features. tremors rapt his body, the sensation dimmed by his new plasticity, fanning out into the fuzz of prolonged, eternal bliss. bound up in the scaffolding, finding himself more and more unable to slump, the marinade of his own spunk became the new top layer of his skin, with the varnish sensitizing his nerves

last load ya had in ya, lil bro

shit’s gonna sink down into your boys next. don’t worry about it, though. things’re only gonna feel even better from here on out

it took him a long time to believe that, too

sometimes he caught his eyes in the mirror and saw the twinge of horror leaden in the faint blue shimmer. his plasticized skin. how his muscles had swollen without contraction. the colors that weren’t his school’s. the tie and button down that didn’t belong to him. he’d remembered that he was trash. he remembered… and wondered why he wanted to keep remembering. he was still state champ, no matter which version of his past he kept. he was still loved by his old team, loved by his new team, too. teach’d kept telling him that soon they’d meet in the flesh, or… in their case, the encasement

fuckin’ aye, lil bro. never looked better, i gotta say. i’d shake, your hand, but uh…

almost giggling like a schoolboy, he grabbed him by the back of his head and leaned in to kiss his cheeks

won’t smudge, lil bro. think you’re good and settled. knew you were a beaut, lil bro. primo material the second I first laid eyes on ya. hell, second I first laid eyes on that fine as fuck admissions essay. sucker for a good sob story, i gotta say

well, pleasure workin with ya, lil bro. don’t worry, I’ll be seein ya around. jack of all trades, your old pal teach. shine on, ya crazy diamond

before long, he was strapped to a handcart with rope, and wheeled down the halls. out of the corner of his eye he could see the rest of his classmates. the jrotc standing tall and saluting in their dress uniforms. the football team, legs spread, hands behind their back, pads adhered to their skin with the varnish. the rugby team, crew team, swim and dive teams. water polo. all trapped in kit, unis, speedos. some posed for team pictures. some stood in action poses. headlocks. sprints. dives for the ball. smiling. laughing. in some he could still see the paralytic terror behind their eyes, in others the calm serenity of defeat. faces of grim resignation, faces half-pleading, half dazed. he believed them. he believed them all. it was getting easier to believe a lot of things

and teach said here they were

when the cart came down, he saw his team. the other wrestlers, posed like him. some in singlets and headgear, full meet day wear. others lacing up their shoes, or singlet tops peeking out from slacks they’d never unbuckle. there was something different in their eyes. something he didn’t think he’d imagined. they were welcoming him. accepting of his place within their design. he remembered meeting them all in those memories he wasn’t sure were real. the memories where none of them had names, but all knew they belonged together. sweating together, striving together, achieving something great together

teach’d positioned him behind a bro who’d looked a lot like how he used to look before the change. tall, wiry guy. lean and strong. he was a good looking guy, even then. they were brothers now, so close to one another. his new bro at all times feeling his gaze, his closeness, but never able to look back and see. their companionship more a sensation then a relationship, the intensity of the nerves playing over their emotions. a shared heat, a shared moisture. their oils mingling during polishing sessions as a single rag moved from body to body. other bros were close to him, and he wanted to see them, too. he wanted to be closer to everyone here, to know them, see them, but never could

some nights he still remembered the life he used to live, and the tension in his face would come nearly to breaking, but… he only needed to dissolve back into the soft hum of the words. accept that he was never going back, and wouldn’t even if he could. maybe there was still a wall between him and other people, always would be, but he had something more now. even if he couldn’t reach out and touch his new bros, they shared a deeper fraternity, a sense of eternal togetherness. all sculpted, all material. maybe it was humiliating, being nothing but an interchangeable object, having his name and past stripped away, assigned an exhibit number in the gallery… but people would come and look at him. see him, admire him. just like the rest of his bros

when teach took out his camera and laughed, saying smile, it was time for the yearbook photo, he sensed there would be no difference in substance between that photo and their lived reality. a memory prolonged, unending, which they would share together. metabolic heat as real as photochemistry and captured light. the bubbling of eternal stillness

for the first time in his life, he felt he truly belonged

#wrestling singlets are better than skin #workin class stud #can't move or speak #life he chose #haze of memory #hold me sir #/ #preppy #jock #mannequin #tf

[jrwiyuri]

Everyone keeps making really angsty points about what kipperlilly’s motivation behind her worldview and eveyrthing could be and while I agree it’s possible to me she is so ‘entitled white woman’ coded to me…

#stupid snake talk #like..? do u understand what I mean #it’s mostly the ‘people in hardships only are better than me cause they get special help or have ways around the system’ #she seems like the girl who hates scholarships that’s are given to low income families or like minority groups #‘well everyone should have an equal chance I don’t get why they get special treatment just because they’re less fortunate..’ #‘if you work hard they have as much as a chance as everyone else..’ (NOT TRUE) #sorry for random kipperlily hating in defense I hate her lol #it’s not like I’m an adult or smth I can hate a teenager.. we the same grade I’ll fight her after school tf #u will not see me being the bigger person to some white little preppy shithead #sorry!! idc tho ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[thxnks4themrms]

Ofc it had to be when I dress preppy

#preppy as in like old money/old preppy #not whatever tf that new shit is #erm

[1-800-vampires]

customer being openly homophobic and transphobic at my Retail Job slay <33

#living here sucks sometime fr :/ #like tf we are making conversation as an employee and customer how did you manage to bring you being a dick into this #i did get to say something passive aggressive to him tho #he was like masculine but in a preppy rich middle aged asshole kind of way and said that they were moving back to california cause the #weather here is crazy #and i got to be like “yeah well not everyone is tough enough to handle it especially the heat” #and he got real defensive like it’s ok babygirl just say you’re too much of a little bitch for the heat #fuck that guy fr #i’m so tired

[polaesims]

Trillyke Daisy Cropped Top Conversion

☆ Original here by @trillyke ☆ Polycount: ~3.5k ☆ For adult, young adult and teen females ☆ 12 presets (2 shown) ☆ non-recolorable

Featuring Faye cause I love her with all my heart. I was missing this preppy kind of look in my gameplay and this top is so perfect for that!! It's certainly one of of my favs so far, enjoy!!

AF: ☆ Download Free ☆

TF: ☆ Download Free ☆

@katsujiiccfinds @pis3update @xto3conversionsfinds

#ts3 #ts3 simblr #simblr #4t3 conversion #ts3 conversion #ts3 cc #download

[imsrtman]

Tags & Links (Open in Dashboard | Universal)

Click here for an alternative Tags & Links page (Open in Archive | Web Only)

▮ male transformation ▫ male possession ▫ male body swap ▫ male hypnosis

▮ muscle growth ▫ muscle loss ▫ muscle theft ▫ weight gain ▫ merge ▫ bodysuit

▮ age progression ▫ age regression ▫ hair growth ▫ race change

▮ mental change ▫ mind control ▫ dumber ▫ language change ▫ accent change

▮ reality change ▫ identity theft ▫ role reversal

▮ straight to gay ▫ gay to straight ▫ female to male

▮ daddy tf ▫ bear tf ▫ jock tf ▫ himbo tf ▫ bodybuilder tf ▫ otter tf ▫ twink tf ▫ redneck tf ▫ stoner tf ▫ ginger tf ▫ surfer tf ▫ cowboy tf ▫ preppy tf ▫ pornstar tf ▫ stripper tf ▫ military tf ▫ cop tf ▫ lumberjack tf ▫ pirate tf ▫ lifeguard tf ▫ celebrity tf ▫ animal tf ▫ inanimate tf ▫ devolution

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TFCaptions Archive

Dumb-and-jocked Archive ...In Progress...

[wilcze-kudly]

Can't decide if I see the Beifong kids going to a really preppy private school or being homeschooled.

Though I think I'm leaning towards homeschooled. I could see Su, the attention starved control freak she is, wanting her kids right beside her at all times. She's helicopter mom like that.

And I just imagine that the only people they ever interacted with was family and staff. None of them are properly socialised. I feel like homeschooling would work for some of them. But definetly not Kuvira and the twins.

Young Kuvira, who's only known the village school, a dingy clay building with one old man who vagely grasps the multiplication table: tf do you mean the teachers come to US?!

Baatar Jr: idk they just spawn

I could also see Aiwei as someone who would teach them. He seems to know his way around herbs. At least to the point were Su wasn't suspicious when he conveniently had the cure to the shirshu venom the red lotus used to try and kidnap Korra.

#baby kuvira from the poor person village being baffled by rich city folk things is my fave idea #su beifong #suyin beifong #kuvira #baatar #baatar jr #huan beifong #opal beifong #wing & wei #wing beifong #wei beifong #the beifong family #beifongs #lok aiwei #aiwei #legend of korra #tlok #the legend of korra #avatar #avatar the legend of korra #atlok

[babiebom]

What Clique they would belong to if they were in Bully(2006)

A/N: because I wanna play this game on stream and have been watching old videos about it <3 also there’s no real emo clique but all the emo goth kids are in a specific clique that you will see very soon

Tw: mentions of bullying, cursing, some maybe nsfw stuff

Bc: idk like 5 each?

Stardew Masterlist

Sebastian

Okay see this is what I was talking about

There is no EMO clique in this game

Like the closest thing is the Townies so he’s going to that clique

Is you don’t know what the townies are they are the high schoolers that don’t go to Bullworth Academy and half of them look alt

The reasoning is Sebastian is too cool to be with the nerds

But he’s not cool enough to be in like the others

Like he isn’t preppy at all

He isnt a bully bc he’s antisocial and would rather just not talk to anyone

He isn’t a jock at ALL

If I had to put him with any of the ones at school he would be with the greasers but in reality he doesn’t fit in with them other than like his love of motercycles

Shane

Okay so he would definitely be in the jocks

He literally was a gridball star

He is an athletic man who has just let himself go

In high school his depression was not as bad or it didn’t even exist at that point

So dude would be with the jocks, laughing at nerds and being the captain of the football team

Sam

He doesn’t fit in any of the cliques unfortunately

Just like his bestie (guess where Abby is gonna go)

So townie he goes

He’s too nice to be in the jocks or bullies

He’s way too cool for the nerds

And dude is not a greaser

So oof townie he has to beeeeeeeeee

Elliott

King of the preppies

Again he gives me pretentious vibes which match with the preppies really well

Would think he’s better than you

And is a rich kid

It literally just makes sense

Harvey

Nerds

Dude is a doctor with a special interest in planes

Definitely in the nerd clique

But I don’t think he would be bullied as much because the girls in different cliques think he’s cute

So they’d be like “hehe Harvey can you help me with my homework? I promise to make it worth it”

And he’s like “yeah sure!!” And absolutely ignores their flirting attempts because he’s oblivious

Alex

Jocks

I mean what else would he be in?

If Shane is the captain of the team Alex would be the quarterback (are they different things? Idk?)

Like actually the most popular guy in school

If I have to pick a second clique for him it would be bullies

Haley

Preppies

Like rich blonde girl that’s pretty? Duh

While I do think she bullied people in high school

She’s too bougie to be in the bullies clique they’re too ghetto for her

And I’m pretty sure it’s the preppy girls who are cheerleaders which she definitely is

Captain of the cheerleading team by the way

Penny

Nerds

But like Harvey all the guys like her (in a very bad kind of way they wanna corrupt her)

So she doesn’t get bullied often

Can always be seen in the library reading

Is actually really pretty and the preppy girls hate her because she gets a lot of attention especially bc she’s a redhead

Emily

Only one to be non cliquey

She doesn’t fit in ANYWHERE

And that’s a blessing and a curse for her

Since her sister is a prep she isn’t bullied relentlessly

But she also doesn’t have a group of people to fall back on

But people in multiple cliques like her

She’s like popular but not popular if you know what I mean

Like if someone tries to bully her a random jock would be like

“Yo thaTS Emily she’s cool leave her alone”

Leah

Unfortunately for her she would be a preppy girl

Because this is high school we’re talking about

And Leah was a normie before she ran away to become an artist

So she would be in the preps and would HATE IT

Severely dislikes Haley and wants to fight her

Never hangs out with them unless it’s to keep up appearances or on campus so she isn’t kicked out and bullied

Maru

Nerds

Literally gets bullied everyday because why tf are you so socially unaware?

Also she isn’t hot enough (unfortunately) to escape the bullying

The guys that like her like her because she’s ethnically exotic to them

She’s popular among the nerds though because of her smarts

Literally could lead them if she wanted to

Abigail

Drumroll pleaseeeeeee

She’s a townie what else is new?

Alt girl who is too cool for the uncool kids and too weird for the cool kids

If she had to have a second clique I think she would want to be around the greasers

Simply because I think high school Abby wouldn’t wanna be associated with the nerds

Like does she like the same stuff they do?

Yes

But she would go feral if anyone tried to bully her

The greasers are the right amount of cool for her

Not bully enough that it makes her uncomfy but like they aren’t really bullied by anyone other than the preppies (literally the outsiders)

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv headcanons #stardew headcanon #stardew valley headcanons #sdv shitpost #stardew shitpost #stardew valley shitpost #sdv sebastian #sdv shane #sdv sam #sdv harvey #sdv alex #sdv elliott #sdv haley #sdv emily #sdv leah #sdv maru #sdv penny #sdv abigail #stardew abigail #stardew penny #stardew maru #stardew leah #stardew haley #stardew emily #stardew sebastian #stardew shane #stardew sam