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visceral-stories · 7 months

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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!

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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

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malewgtfstories · 10 months

Text

The start of hibernation.

On a cold October day that sent chills down your spine, you could tell something was off in the air. Kevin was always the skinny, short, and shy type of guy in his late 20s. Kevin was always underweight which worried his big-boned bear of a friend Michael. Thus in a last-ditch attempt, he concocted an idea to plum up his friend.

Kevin was kinda skeptical to go, but he ended up going anyway. As he knocked on Micheals's door he could smell a delicious aroma coming from the other side. When Micheal opened the door the smell of a full three-course meal bombarded his nose. His stomach churned in curiosity at what was waiting for him at the dining table. "Yo man, what have you been up to" Said Michael. "Nothing much and you man" responded Kevin. "Life has treated me well so far. Are you ready for the meal of a lifetime" Kevin walked in as he felt an unease as if what was awaiting from him was much more than just a meal. As he sat down on Michael's cushioned chairs he felt all of his doubts go away. Then came the first plate: A full rack of ribs supersaturated with barbecue. With a diced-up buttered-up sausage and a grilled barbecued chicken. With a side of deep-fried salted fries. A diced pickle and a toasted bread. Lastly for a drink a pint of beer. All have a light dusting of something on top of the food.

Kevin wasn't sure if he could eat it all but once he took his first bite he was hypnotized and couldn't do anything but just eat and eat. And after a few minutes, Kevin was done with the plate. He didn't even notice the weight slowly packing on him the chair slightly starined in Kevin's new weight. The next plate was Burgur with a foot-in radius. with a slice of delicious and crunchy bacon. A side of fries and 16 buffalo wings. And a huge chocolate milkshake. And like last time he slurped everything up. Once he looked down everything was gone. His stomach jutted out so much more and his whole body started to become super itchy. He was slowly transforming into a carbon copy of Micheal. The chair has holding on or dear life about to break under the pressure of his weight. Kevin is almost done with his bear transformation.

And just like that, all the food was gone and the only thing that was left was dessert. The last thing left was a triple chocolate cake, with whipped cream to enhance its delicious ad moist taste. Once Kevin took the first bite he fell deeper into the rabbit hole and ate the whole cake.

By the time he was done, he felt like he was about to pop. He broke out of the spell and once he looked down he saw a bear of a man. Kevin stood up to assess the damage that has been done. His stomach was so far out that he couldn't see his feet. And not to mention that but he was also 2 feet taller. He was somewhat aroused but the transformation and felt that his dick had also grown. He was so turned on that he rushed to the bathroom the jerk off. He left Micheal there and turned on with his beautiful masterpiece. Kevin started to touch all around his body exploring all the cracks and crevivces. He loved the feeling of his new coat. His hands had grown and had roughened up. Thus this was a new feeling for him. Because of this, he came faster than he usually did. As he came out with nothing on since non of his old clothes didn't fit he went to the dining room and then reality set in. He was so scared of his new body and saw no one else to blame but Micheal. But Micheal calmed him down and showed him that there was nothing to be afraid of and then he kissed Kevin in a long and passionate kiss.

#bear tf #maleweightgainstories #bearification #thin to chunky #belly expansion #fat tf #weight gain tf #lard ass #maleweightgain

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skylermadness · 6 months

Text

Rustic Cabin (Lumberjack TF/MC/AP)

(Original Date of Upload: February 25, 2022)

I was going to upload this last year but it was sitting in my drafts because the formatting scared me.

Original Description:

Here it is, one of my favorite works to have written thus far! I had this idea mulling in my head for a few months now, admittedly, so finally writing it and getting it out there is really cathartic. And this is definitely one of my favorite human TFs to have written so far, especially since I was trying something a little new with it. I do think it would look better with formatting but unfortunately that never translates well over when you make it a .txt file. Nonetheless I hope it turned out just as good for everyone to read as it did for me to write!

There was a feeling of comfort surrounding the man. Surrounding him was nothing but massive trees as far as the eye can see. It was beautiful. Comforting. It felt just like home for someone like him.

A massive, hairy hand clasped onto the axe. The worn wood sent another pang of familiarity through his nerves. Over a decade, almost two, of use and it's still going strong.

With a strength he didn't think he had before, he lifted up the axe and began to eye the tree. A noticeable indent was within the tree. So many years of work finally coming to a climax.

He hauled the axe backwards and paused to savour the moment, and with one last swing…

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From what was once a previously unconscious state, verdant green eyes shot open. Forced open, rather. An annoying buzzing had started to go on and off.

"Grrhg… I thought I had turned that off…"

A young man laid on his back and stretched an arm out to a nearby counter before promptly slamming a fist down on a button, one that belonged to his alarm clock.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment. A strange, foresty smell lingered in his nose, accompanied by glimpses of a forest within his mind. A part of him knew this was from a dream he had last night, but he couldn't quite remember much else. He wished he was able to stay asleep longer to find out.

The man sat up and scratched his stubbly chin. "Today's s'pose to be my day off," he muttered to himself.

This is Victor Marshall, and this was indeed supposed to be his day off. To be more accurate, it was his week off from work. And he was hoping to get a little more sleep in, in comparison to a normal weekday. But it was unlikely he'd be able to get back to sleep now.

Resolving to reluctantly start his day, Victor sluggishly ran through his morning routine. Brushing his teeth, showering, aimlessly checking random sites for any updates. After showering he haphazardly threw on a navy blue hoodie, black sweat shorts, and some plain white socks. He didn't even bother to comb his hair, deciding to keep it in the messy style that he had preferred over the "prim and proper" style he felt obliged to have for work.

After one last glance at Twitter, Victor shut off his phone and headed down to the kitchen to prepare himself some breakfast. He had a lingering mood for pancakes that he couldn't quite place the origin of. But finding them to be a little too work intensive for having just woken up he chose to just scramble a few eggs and call it a day.

Once breakfast was all prepared Victor took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled out his phone again. A realization was beginning to dawn on the young man.

He had nothing to do on his week off.

While sitting around and aimlessly wandering the Internet had seemed to be an appealing expenditure of time, something was welling up inside Victor. He wanted to do something… more.

Unfortunately he didn't have too many options. His friends all still had work at their own jobs, and he wasn't too interested in doing something by himself like watching a movie or continuing one of the numerous game playthroughs he has hanging in the air.

Twirling a fork in the air, Victor tried to think of something to do. Suddenly, a message notification pinged on his phone. Glancing down he saw it was from his father.

DAD Hey, kiddo! Heard you got a week off!

Victor tapped the notification and responded.

YOU Hi dad. Yeah, got some time off. still trying to find something to do to spend that time.

DAD I don't have too much in mind, but I hope you can come up with something.

Helpful, Victor thought.

DAD Actually come to think of it… Do you remember Uncle Lance?

Victor tilted his head. Uncle Lance… He couldn't quite put a face to the name, but it was familiar.

YOU not very well.

DAD I expected that. I think the last time you saw him you were still a little tyke. And that was what? 20-something years ago?

YOU Good job on making me feel old there, dad.

DAD Not as old as your old man! And definitely not as old as Lance would've been!

Victor smiled, but he had to get his dad back on track…

YOU So who exactly is Lance?

DAD My older brother. He was such a great guy! He worked as a logger. Specifically at this cabin he owned all those years ago! Although after he went missing the ownership was transferred to your pa over here.

YOU er, missing?

DAD Yeah… we never quite got the details of it, unfortunately. But that's beside the point! I think that cabin would be a nice vacation spot for a bit, if you're interested.

Victor looked up from his phone and thought. It might be nice. Getting out for a bit. Although he was still a little curious about Lance's disappearance. But judging by the conversation switch it appears his dad might not have wanted to speak too much about it. After a few seconds he looked back at his phone.

YOU alright, yeah, I'm interested. send the directions if you have them.

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The cabin was located in a northern portion of his county, specifically a heavily forested region of it.

Victor chose to only pack a few extra sets of clothing and his laptop. His father had assured him that the cabin was still well kept and that he had tried to "modernize it" a little in the event he ever decided to stay there. Although knowing dad, modernizing might be a stretch.

The actual drive there was lengthy, almost half the day to be precise. Over the course of hours Victor watched as city skylines shifted to heavy forestry, packed highways dispersed into nigh-uninhabited roads, and the touch of humanity faded away as he went further up north.

Once he got far enough his car was coaxed off the road by a dirt path wide enough for vehicles to pass through. Victor started to drive onto the path, his eyes occasionally looking away to take in the forest. Massive trees towered over the pathway with the sun shining through the cracks in the foliage. The only signs of fauna was the sound of chirping birds that echoed through the branches. Something about this forest felt welcoming to Victor. Welcoming and familiar.

Ten minutes after entering the forest his car started to pull up to a clearing. A few birds flew up from the ground as he stopped, and his eyes started to take in where he was. Victor got out of his car and started to inspect the location.

The clearing itself was the same packed dirt as the path save for a few patches of grass starting to sprout through. A log cabin stood in the middle of it surrounded by the dense forest. As for the trees, all of the trees looked fairly similar… except one.

It was a tree that was beside his car. It was just as tall as all the others, just as thick too. But on the side of the tree facing towards the cabin was a dent. It was as if someone had been heaving an axe into it. Etched above that dent was a set of lines, seven to be exact.

"Must've been uncle Lance's work…" Victor muttered to himself. He placed a hand on the etched lines, a feeling of familiarity yet again running through his veins. He felt almost entranced… but he broke out almost instantly, shaking his head. "That was weird."

Disregarding whatever just happened Victor went to the back of his car and pulled out the dufflebag containing his items before heading into the cabin. The sound of the dirt crunching beneath his sneakers as he did so felt oddly calming.

Flicking a lightswitch Victor found that the cabin had only a small layer of dust and next to no cobwebs. Once he walked in he found himself in the cabin's living room. Inside it was a sofa with a small table beside it, and a fireplace in front of it with a few empty vases perched above it. On the left to the living room was a kitchen that seemed fairly modern containing a functional stove, microwave, and blender positioned adjacent to a kitchen island. As for the right there was a bedroom with a large, comfortable looking bed covered with a red plaid patterned blanket. Beside it was a bedside table and a door that presumably led to the bathroom.

Victor heaved the dufflebag onto the couch and started to look around a bit more. This place had an air of age to it, but it still had the touch of something recent. All the wood and carpets looked clean (or as clean as something with a slight layer of dust can be). And the touch of technology was almost non-existent, yet the kitchen was new and there were a few power outlets.

Victor's eyes locked back onto the shelf that was above the fireplace. Between the vases was a framed photo.

Walking towards the shelf and taking a hold of the picture frame, Victor found the image to be of a man. He was rather large, a mix of muscular and fat. The man was clad in overalls and a flannel, the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hairy chest. He seemed to be rather hirsute in general judging by his arms. One arm was holding an axe over his shoulder. He sported a thick beard with specks of grey on the chin, short hair that was greying at the sides, and a face that looked to be weathered. Through it all he sported a great smile, one that seemed to be of pride.

The man's smile made Victor smile. "This must be Uncle Lance," he said to himself. The man looked so happy. So jovial. Seeing this image alone had made Victor wish that he had met Lance.

Placing the picture back onto the shelf, his eyes then caught onto something on the wall. It was an axe. Although the blade was rusted and the wood looked extremely chipped. Victor started to walk over to it, knowing it to be the axe his uncle used.

He felt overwhelmed with something. A feeling that maybe he too could wield that object. But the moment the skin of his hand touched the handle he was forced to retract his arm, hissing in pain. He spat out a "Fuck!" as he started to hold his wrist. "Must've gotten a splinter!" What had possessed him to touch old wood!

He moved into the bedroom and started to look through the bedside table's drawers. He wasn't sure if a pair of tweezers would be in this place but he could only hope to find one.

Unfortunately, a few minutes of hopeless drawer searching had been fruitless. No tweezers could be found, and strangely he found that his finger no longer hurt. Upon closer inspection, the splinter was gone…

Victor chose not to think too much about it. But now that he was in the bedroom, curiosity started to bud inside him.

Not too much was on the bedroom's tables save for another picture of Lance, this time with a younger Westley- er- his dad. Beside the doorway was a dresser that contained numerous briefs, jeans, and suspenders. And next to that dresser was a closet.

Inside the closet were only flannels, all with plaid patterns. The only differentiation was the color of them which usually ranged from red, blue, green, and brown.

Victor took hold of a flannel. It looked so new, yet it still seems worn a little. And there was this smell, this musk coming off of it. It made his mind feel a little hazy.

Hanging the flannel back up, he decided to stop skulking around his uncle's former living place and take a well deserved rest. Unfortunately, once he sat down and pulled out his phone he found the cabin had no reception. The last thing he had received was a text from his dad telling him to have fun.

Victor shrugged and placed the phone on the table beside the couch. He thought about pulling out his laptop and maybe forfeiting some of his downtime in order to work on some work documents, but he decided against it.

Maybe sitting back and taking in the sounds of the outside would be good…

The light of the evening Sun shone through the window as he began to relax. The bird chirps had slowed down, replaced with the rustling of the trees in the wind. The smell of the forest penetrated his olfactory senses again as he drifted into an almost daydream-like state.

The feeling of longing to meet his uncle started to enter his mind. But he also felt like this was how his uncle spent his days when he wasn't working, just taking in the reality of where he lived. Perhaps this might be a great week for him after all.

What felt like minutes to Victor was actually a few hours, with the Sun having now set and the darkness of the night now visible outside. The light of the cabin gave a sweet sense of solace, though.

Victor blinked and peeled himself off the couch. He turned his head to the kitchen and saw the time of day. After all of that he somehow felt tired and his muscles were starting to ache.

He got up and started to head towards the bedroom. While passing a window his eyes caught a glimpse of a deer in the clearing. Another aspect of familiarity for the man…

After reaching the bedroom Victor kicked off his shoes. But without even removing the rest of his clothes he instantly collapsed onto the bed with the sweet embrace of sleep taking him not even a few seconds later.

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Victor's muscles continued to ache as he slept, which had caused the entire cycle to be discomforting. Every few hours he'd toss and turn while grunting, muttering in his sleep on how he should probably be a little less intense during his work. Unbeknownst to him his aches were caused by something else. Something settling in his body.

At first it was growing pains. A slow growth spurt occuring in his sleep, bones in his arms, legs, and back lengthening with each passing hour. There were times he'd hear a soft crack in a joint or in his back, an event that forced him to think again about work. About not overworking himself.

The growing pains were accompanied by muscle aches. While his limbs lengthened, they also bulked. Muscle mass growing in his arms and legs. His pectorals subtly increased in size while abs began to form. His hands were catching up with the changes too, growing larger and meatier. His fingers were basically sausages now.

There was a point in the night where Victor resolved to sleep on his back. Loud snoring started to escape his throat at this time, having replaced what was once his quiet sleeping behavior.

His noticeable musculature didn't last very long after that. With each inhale came a bit of bloating in his body. Fat started to accumulate on his belly, his hoodie starting to ride up it as a result. A set of moobs soon melted out from his pectorals. Many of his features had also grown softer, his arms and legs looking thicker while his face looked chubbier.

Another aspect of discomfort was then added in the form of itching. Victor placed a massive hand on his belly as it began. This was due to hair starting to grow out of his body. A treasure trail was growing up the middle of his belly. Thick hairs were growing on the back of his hands and all over his arms. A bushy mustache grew out of his upper lip while the remainder of his facial stubble grew into a short beard. And as for the hair on his head, it looked to be shortening and darkening. All of this new hair was a deep black instead of the brown he once had.

A wave of changes then washed through his clothing. All of them grew to become a little bit more fitting on his body, but a few more adjustments had to be made. One of the sleeves of his hoodie began to roll up. Splotches of plaid-patterned red started to appear in the blue fabric. The hood itself began to shrink into more of a collar. Even a few buttons emerged while the beginnings of a split formed in the middle of the hoodie. The legs of his sweat shorts grew longer while the fabric thinned. And despite the fact he wasn't wearing his shoes, they were experiencing multiple shifts too: deepening from white to brown, the topline rising, and the overall look of them growing bulkier.

It was here the changes were beginning to slow. Specks of grey were starting to shine in some portions of his hair, the palms of his hands seemed a little rougher, and his height had finished increasing significantly. His clothing had also paused mid-changes.

Victor huffed as something began to shine in his eye. It was sunlight. How was it morning already?

He blinked his eyes, mind still feeling tired. Last night was… severely uncomfortable. Maybe it was because this was a new place to sleep?

As he shifted around his bed the springs creaked under his weight. Did they do that before? He could've sworn they didn't…

He draped his legs and stood up off the bed. He caught a glimpse of his footwear, which now looked like a weird mix of sneakers and leather boots. But he didn't have too much time to dwell on that because he really needed to go to the bathroom now.

Each step to the bathroom felt heavier than he remembered. The wooden floorboards would sometimes creak beneath his feet. Come to think of it, everything felt heavier than before. He unintentionally placed a hand on his belly and felt the thickness of it, which forced him to look down to see how big he's gotten. He… he wasn't always like this was he?? And why… why did his hoodie look partially like a flannel.

Walking into the bathroom then brought him to a mirror, face to face with himself. Wider, chubbier face; thicker facial hair; black instead of brown hair; so much was… different.

"What… happened last night…" he asked himself. His voice was so deep. Gruffer than it was before. He looked down and undid a few buttons of his hoodie-flannel to find that his chest had gotten hairier. "I wasn't always this hairy was I??"

A headache started to emerge in his mind. He was so confused. "Uuugh… get a hold of yourself, Vic… Vi…"

He forgot his name.

He placed his two meaty hands at the sides of his head, letting out a few ragged breaths as he did so. His head was swimming in thoughts- his body, his clothing, his name, even his own memories. Everything is conflicting with itself! But something was there trying to reassure him everything was normal. Everything was fine.

"C'mon… Vin… Vince, everything's fine," he told himself. He's been living in this cabin for a few… months was it, now? Nothing about this should be out of the ordinary!

He was snapped out of the chaos of his mind by the sound of his stomach rumbling. He gave his tummy a knowing pat while smiling weakly. "Maybe I should follow up on that cravin' yesterday and make myself some flapjacks…"

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"Nothin' like the smell of flapjacks in the morning!"

He wasn't quite sure how this oven got here. He could've sworn it wasn't there last he checked! But he didn't care too much. He somehow knew how to use it, and he could still make that sweet smelling breakfast that always made his day better. Especially after that morning he had!

The sound of Vince's weird footwear clomping on the ground of the cabin was slightly off putting. He was still a little confused about everything in general, honestly. His mind felt hazy, like something wasn't there yet. But maybe that's just the last remnants of sleep. Maybe after filling his belly and getting some energy he'd feel better!

It took a few more minutes to fully prepare the remainder of his meal, but soon he found himself with those fluffy flapjacks. Once they'd been accompanied by a small slice of butter and some syrup he knew everything was ready.

The moment he shoved a forkful of flapjacks into his mouth he was practically assaulted with flavor. So fluffy, so buttery, so sweet… it was as if he were trying these for the first time! And as Vince continued to dig into his breakfast, a new surge of changes ran through him…

Another round of fat started to pile up in his belly. If he stood up he would've noticed he was losing all sight of his legs and feet. His shoulders then broadened in order to keep up with his new body shape.

In spite of that, his body wanted to persist. Bouts of strength radiated from his core and throughout his body. And even though it wasn't visible under all of that fat, he was gaining another burst of muscle mass.

Specks of hair grew out all over his chest, with a thick thatch of it now visible from the portion of unbuttoned shirt he still had. His beard grew out becoming larger, thicker, a proper beard for someone like him! The hair on his head continued to shorten, however, and his hairline seemed to recede a bit.

His clothing caught up to the changes too. The other sleeve of his shirt rolled itself up. The remainder of the hoodie shrunk into a proper collar. The splotches of plaid spread and got rid of any remaining blue while also thinning the fabric a little. More buttons trailed down the shirt until it became a proper flannel. Even a breast pocket emerged on the right side of the split.

His sweat shorts could no longer be called that. The legs had grown so long they went a little above his ankles, the fabric changed to be a little thinner, and belt loops had manifested around the waist. A brown leather belt soon slithered around the man's waist before promptly buckling itself. And that wasn't the end of it's changes as straps slunk up the front and back of his body, snaking and branching in order to change those pants into suspenders.

His footwear had finished their own changes too. The material changed completely into hard, brown leather. The topline reached pretty high, halfway up his lower leg. Shoe strings materialized and clasped the lip of the boot to his leg snuggly.

His mind clicked right when two clicks rang from the straps of his suspenders fastening themselves onto the pants. Licking what food remained off his lips, the burly bear of a man gave himself a good look.

He smiled. "I don't think I've eaten like that in a decade! Always makin' yourself proud, eh Vance?" He didn't care that his body looked different. Or his clothes. Or even the fact his voice was so deep and powerful.

With his plate pretty much cleaned off he rose from his seat and took a look around. That air of familiarity he had yesterday, that was all because this was his home. It had been for a good while. He couldn't get the years right, but he knew he'd been here for a long time taking in the nature of the world around him.

Then a new memory popped up. Something he'd been wanting to do for a long time.

His axe hung mounted on the living room wall. Wood worn, metal rusted. He couldn't remember how it got like that. He could've sworn he used it yesterday…

Vance clasped onto the axe and lifted it from its perch. Holding onto it… it felt so different…

In mere moments Vance's body changed for one last time. Where his hands met the axe his skin calloused and scarred with years of work getting put in them in seconds. More and more greys speckled into the black of his hair giving his body hair and beard a salt and pepper look. Grey also settled into the sides and back of his head hair. His hairline continued to recede a little, stopping right before it would be considered balding. And the remainder of his head hair shortened for one last time into a soft mat of hair.

His face weathered and aged. Crows' feet indenting themselves into the ends of his eyes, wrinkles forming in his face, and a few stretch marks emerging through it all. It would settle to what would presumably be his late 50's, if he could remember his age properly.

As for the axe, it underwent the opposite. The wood fixed itself by smoothing up and filling in chips, but it still retained a bit of wearing to it. Rust chipped off the blade and dissipated, the blade ending up looking cleaner and functional. This was the axe that Lance knew.

Hauling the axe over his shoulder Lance smiled proudly. He knew what he was doing today.

The lumberjack headed outside and took a moment to breathe the fresh forest air. It smelled like his dreams, he thought. Then he headed towards where the road met the clearing. A big red pickup truck was visible on the road. But that wasn't what he was headed towards.

He was headed towards a tree. The tree.

It was bulkier in comparison to the rest. The trunk was really thick. A sign of it being really old. Likely older than him. The tree had a wedge in it, years of hacking away at it signified by this wedge alone. The seven lines above that wedge each stood for a year. He's been working on this tree for seven years.

"And today I'm taking you down…"

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There was a feeling of comfort surrounding the man. Surrounding him was nothing but massive trees as far as the eye can see. It was beautiful. Comforting. It felt just like home for someone like him.

A massive, hairy hand clasped onto the axe. The worn wood sent another pang of familiarity through his nerves. Over a decade, almost two, of use and it's still going strong.

With a strength he didn't think he had before, he lifted up the axe and began to eye the tree. A noticeable indent was within the tree. So many years of work finally coming to a climax.

He hauled the axe backwards and paused to savour the moment, and with one last swing…

The sound of breaking wood could be heard as the tree started to fall into the forest behind it. Lance bellowed, "TIMBER!!!" as it did so.

Finally, it was complete.

He'd give one of the guys a call tomorrow to pick it up. It should have a good lot of lumber considering its size and width.

Taking a look at the sky he saw that it had already become evening. This work was always so time-consuming, but in a good way. He enjoyed it.

Once Lance was back inside his cabin he hung up his axe for the day. The man mused on how one of his buds would always tell him he'd always get the job done faster with a chainsaw. Maybe they were right, but something about heaving an axe at the trunk felt like it carried more weight to him.

He took a seat on the couch and let out a content sigh. Another day of work done, now it's time to relax a little and listen to the world around him. Although he did notice a few peculiarities, like a duffle bag he couldn't remember owning and a… cell phone on the desk…

He picked up the cell phone and pressed the power button. Somehow it's battery still hadn't died. He instinctively unlocked the phone, Lance unsure how he ever knew the password. The last thing that was open was a message application to someone named "Dad". And for some reason, seeing the word dad reminded him of his brother Westley… It brought him back to that picture on his nightstand of him and his brother.

Maybe he should take some time to visit him…

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Less than a week since Westley sent that last text to Victor. He kind of felt bad for neglecting to mention the cabin would have no signal.

He wasn't sure why he brought up his brother's cabin in the first place. Considering Lance had gone missing there twenty years prior with no evidence as to how it happened wasn't really reassuring. But it was oddly compelling to do so. His son needed something to do and he was happy to provide…

Westley sunk into his slightly oversized polo and looked over at a picture of him and Lance. He really did miss him…

As if on cue he heard the sound of a car pull up outside his home. He had assumed it to be his son's convertible but after a cursory look out the window he found it to be an all too familiar pickup truck. He walked outside in confusion. They never found the truck either so why would it be outside his house?

He heard a door slam all-to-hard before a figure stepped out from behind the truck. Clad in a flannel, suspenders, and leather boots; and just as hairy as he was when Westley last saw him; alive and walking towards him was Lance.

The bearish man let out a hardy laugh. "There's my favorite brother! It feels like it's been years since I've last seen you!"

Westley stepped back a bit, awestruck. "Lance? I thought…"

He wasn't given a chance to finish his sentence as he was scooped into the warm embrace of his older brother. A slight headache formed in his head as all recollection of his brother's disappearance faded away.

Lance let Westley out of the hug and smiled. "You thought what?"

Westley looked down for a moment. "I uh, don't remember… But a part of me feels really glad to see you…"

Lance placed a hand on Westley's shoulder. "I knew you missed me!"

Westley smiled. "Yeah. I did…"

#human tf #male transformation #transformation #muscle growth tf #weight gain tf #age progression tf #tf

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coachs-locker-room · 10 months

Note

I know guys can sometimes leave their clothing. Do you think any big himbo jock left their jockstrap around. Hoping it’ll turn me into something big.

You should be careful who you steal from in this locker room -- or better yet, you could have just asked for one yourself! I guess it's too late to tell you now, as I saw you quickly putting it on underneath your jeans before rushing out of the locker rooms. That jock didn't just belong to someone who wished to become twice the size, but five times as promiscuous.

It wasn't until you arrived home that you noticed just what dramatic effects had already taken place. As it was late in the evening, and because your neighbours had seen plenty of guys arriving and leaving your apartment, you didn't think twice about being seen. You began to notice some changes as you were struggling with getting out of the car and losing your breath as you went up the stairs, but the true magnitude was only noticeable when you managed to free yourself from the (now) skin-tight shirt. Your hulking gut expanded out from the jockstrap waistband, a thick beard covered your face, and hair spread across your chest and down your arms.

Any normal gym-goer would be taken aback if they had lost so much 'progress' in such a short amount of time. The mix of your original request to become a big himbo jock and the effects of the jockstrap, however, enabled your mind to adjust in rapid time to the new situation. Plus, you had gained some muscle in your arms and legs, and more body just means more to love - and who doesn't love a beefy bear?

Keep that jockstrap proudly on show, lad!

#tf ask box #tf story #locker room tf #male tf #bear tf #weight gain tf

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fredwkong · 10 months

Note

Hi love your blog so far. I was wondering if you could let me use your genie? I’m better at working out in the winter so I use summer as my bulking season, and right now I’m struggling to bulk up, so I wish he could make it easier for me. It can be hard to focus on it with so many other worries in life… just let me know, I’m sure your genie will be nice and won’t change too much.

Why use my genie when you just found your own? A fat, hairy genie bursts free from your screen as you send the ask and floats next to you in the air. “A hard gainer, huh?” he cackles, looking over your skinny, pale body. “And you wish to be… bigger? It is done.” He claps once, and vanishes.

You feel a sensation in your belly, like a burp rising up your throat. You let it rip, and the belch is your biggest ever, gassy and rank. It feels like you drank a whole gallon of Coke at once and then held it. Your belly suddenly distends, the skin darkening as the fat gain spreads up your chest and down to your ass. Underneath the fat, you gain thick, bulky muscle. Pretty soon, you’ve got big, squishy pecs and a jiggly belly. Your ass is a phenomenon, bouncing with every motion.

Your arms and legs thicken up, too, and your hair recedes into your golden skin as your brain starts to drain. Who says it’s hard to bulk? All you think about are the three Fs: Flexing, Fucking, and Fat gain. Don't expect to cut anytime soon, or ever. You sniff your sweaty body and know that, no matter which of the three you do next, you’ll be getting stinkier soon.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.

#wish #genie #answered ask #male transformation #weight gain tf #latino tf #mental change #race change #muscle tf #musk tf #wish granted #male tf #all fwkong

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roller6262 · 8 months

Text

Harvey Visits Gurpreet's Bake Sale

Part 2 of reposting a collaborative story from cyoc.net. This first section was written by Tyranitar.

< Previous Part | Next Part >

Harvey tossed and turned in his bed as he tried to fall asleep but restlessly struggled with his sheets, trying to fall asleep. He felt warm, perhaps because it was the beginning of the semester, still basically summer, and there was no air conditioning in his dorm. He tried to focus on anything but the damn heat, trying to shut his mind off, but something was keeping him on the edge of alertness. Eventually, his body started to demand sleep, and Harvey was lying in his bed just on the edge of consciousness. He could feel some sort of sensation throughout his body, almost like he weighed a thousand pounds. Perhaps it was him trying to fall asleep? Whatever it was, it was uncomfortable.

He tried to force himself to stand, but felt like he couldn't control his own body in this restful state. It was like he was made of steel. He kept trying to pull up with his knees, to no avail. He kept trying to move, frantically, as he grew increasingly frightened of his sleep-paralyzed state. He suddenly felt his body jerk up, standing as he found himself suddenly able to control his body again. He frantically looked around, trying to make place of his surroundings. Wherever he was, was clearly not his room.

He felt a small shove from behind, and suddenly moved forward. He was in a crowd, of sorts. He could feel the carpet below his feet. He looked down to see that he was indeed shoeless and sockless. That made sense to Harvey, but he also saw that he was wearing jeans, which he certainly didn't go to bed in. But why would he be here if he had just went to bed? He looked at his arms and down his shirt and saw that he was wearing a simple long sleeved button up shirt as well. The crowd of people, moving forward, were similarly dressed, and they were all wearing some kind of head covering. Instinctively, Harvey reached up to his head and felt the familiar patka wrapped around his hair. He sighed in relief, not wanting to stick out among the crowd.

Seemingly suddenly, because Harvey wasn't paying a lot of attention, the people in front of him started to sit down on the carpet in almost a wave. As people near the front sat down, Harvey could see a grandiose setup at the front of the room, where a very large book sat under a shimmering gold canopy. "The Adi Granth" came to the forefront of his mind, identifying the book. Three elder Sikh men sat around the canopy, observing the crowd. Harvey sat down, putting his bare feet together and knees outwards, placing his hands in front of him.

After a few minutes as the crowd sat down and settled, one of the Sikh men started speaking. "Ga-orhee sukhmanee mehlaa 5. Salok. Ik-on kaar satgur parsaad." Harvey had no idea what he was saying, but glanced around the room subtly. Everyone was taking in what the elder was saying and bowing their heads to the floor. Harvey quickly followed suit, not wanting to commit a faux pas. The script continued as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "Parabh kai simran dusman tarai. Parabh simrat kachh bighan na laagai. Parabh kai simran an-din jaagai."

Whatever this prayer was, Harvey could feel its energy flowing through him. Maybe it was partially the atmosphere of the room, but he felt at peace, surrounded by this homely crowd in front of the elders and the Adi Granth. As the prayer continued, he started to speak the words under his breath. "Parabh kai simran sufal falaa. Say simrahi jin aap simraa-ay. Naanak taa kai laaga-o paa-ay." As he looked down at the ground, he could feel something in addition to the peaceful atmosphere, almost like there was a growing weight on his head. He opened his eyes, and saw some hairs at the bottom of his peripheral vision. It shocked him out of the peaceful place as he clued in that something wasn't right. He didn't have a beard, and this wasn't somewhere he'd ever go. What the hell was go-

Harvey jolted awake at the sound of his alarm clock. He stretched, and reached over to turn it off. He felt extremely tired still, blaming it on the restless sleep he'd had overnight. He remembered that his dream was strange, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it was about. He quickly threw on a muscle shirt that was sitting on his desk and made his way to the bathroom. Thankfully, his first class started at an odd time, so he didn't have to share the bathroom with many people. He went about his usual morning routine, brushing his teeth, and then looked in the mirror to see if anything was stuck in them.

When he saw himself he did a double take.

He knew he'd looked stubbly last night, but there was no way that what he was sporting would be described as anything short of a beard now. It wasn't long, but it was thick and looked well maintained. He took one of his hands and started rubbing his fingers through the bristles, feeling his face. As he did, he pondered on whether or not he actually wanted to shave. He had to admit to himself, he looked damn good. He made a couple of faces in the mirror, and made the decision that he was going to keep the hair, and then walked back to his dorm.

End of Tyranitar's section. The following by Roller62

Upon entering his dorm, Harvey was greeted by a familiar voice.

"Well hello there, Bearded Daddy. Have you seen my room mate, Harvey?" Harry said. Harry was Harvey's gay room mate, and if you ever needed proof of that, you could check the pride flags he pinned to the wall next to his bed. He would occasionally make flirtatious comments around Harvey, but they were all in good fun.

"I'm right here!" Harvey struck a pose, "Shocking I know. I guess I neglected shaving a bit. Hopefully the girls on campus like it as much as you do".

"I'm sure they'll love how it looks. Your personality on the other hand..."

Harvey rolled his eyes and continued getting ready for class. He pulled on a plain white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, then filled his book bag with all the books and binders he would need for the day. "So what's on your agenda for the day?"

"It's looking pretty busy" Harry was rummaging through his wardrobe, trying to find the best outfit for his twinkish body. "Tomorrow is the semester's first meeting for the Queer Student Union, so I'll be preparing for that. You should come, it'll be a lot of fun".

"No thanks, Bro. I already have obligations to another club" Harvey was glad he had a legitimate excuse to miss that sausage fest.

"Really? Which club did you join?"

"You know that cultural studies class I'm taking? The professor made me join the Sikh club"

"Oh the Sikh Student Alliance? They seem like a fun group"

"Yeah, you know them or something?"

"Sure" Harry answered flatly, "A lot of the student organizations know each other because we do tabling events together. Actually, a few of their members are also in the Queer Student Alliance."

"Really? Who?" Harvey asked out of genuine curiosity.

"If you want to find out, you'll have to come tomorrow" Harry grinned, pulling out the clothes he thought would be perfect for the day.

"Whatever. I'll see you after class" Without putting any thought into it, Harvey tied his hair in a bun and wrapped the patka around his head. Since Harry was busy changing, he didn't see Harvey do this. Feeling ready for the day, Harvey left to his first class

Arriving at the designated classroom, Harvey did a double take when he saw Gurpreet inside. He surveyed the room to check if it was full of Punjabis, and was relieved to see that their was a healthy mix of students.

"Hi Harvey, come sit here!" Gurpreet was sitting in the first row. His large stomach was wedged between the chair and its conjoined desk. Harvey fulfilled the bearish man's request and plopped down in the seat next to him. "This is a welcome surprise, I didn't expect you to be taking a class like this, but I'm glad we'll be spending more time together" Gurpreet displayed his signature smile.

"What do you mean, why wouldn't I take this class?"

"Honestly, you didn't seem very excited about Sikh culture yesterday. You bolted as soon as the meeting ended. But now you're here, and you're even wearing the patka we gave you. You must be must be willing to learn lots!"

"What are you talking about?" Harvey reached up to his head and felt the familiar patka wrapped around his hair. He didn't remember putting this on! That thought was interrupted when and elderly Sikh man emerged from the classroom's door. Something about him was so familiar, and yet Harvey was sure he hadn't seen the man in person before. The mental image of a large book and a gold canopy came to mind, but Harvey couldn't place where that memory was coming from.

"Good morning, Students" the elderly man greeted, "I'm glad you all made it to our first lecture. Welcome to Religious Studies 372: Sikhism" he took a dry erase marker and wrote the course name on the whiteboard, then turned his attention back to the students.

"I'm in the wrong class!" Harvey whispered to himself quietly, but not too quiet for Gurpreet to hear.

"Really?" Gurpreet asked, "Can I see your schedule?" Harvey nodded and fished a print of his class schedule out of his binder. "Everything looks right, see? REL S with Professor Singh. The room number and time are the same too" Gurpreet stated, handing the schedule back to Harvey. Gurpreet was right! But Harvey didn't remember signing up for this class. Though come to think of it, Harvey couldn't recall what class he was suppose to be taking instead. Oh well, Harvey figured he may as well say as it would be rude to leave the class so abruptly. He'd have to clear this up with the Advisor Office later today.

"Now before I get started on today's lecture on the basics of Sikhism, do any of you have questions? Maybe some preconceived notions of the religion?" Professor Singh asked, then called on a student who raised their hand.

"I've heard the warrior identity is very important to Sikh people and that's why they are suppose to carry daggers with them all the time. How does that work in modern times?"

"Great question. The warrior identity embraced by Sikhs stems from a period of violent persecution against Sikh people, so of course they needed to defend themselves. Now, I'm sure I don't look like a mighty warrior to many of you, and though it is a requirement of the five K's, we modern Sikhs can not carry a kirpan with us everywhere... but I would like to propose this interpretation: A Sikh should be a warrior when people need defending. Likewise, if people are suffering in other ways, a Sikh should transform into the person they need. We'll get into the theory behind that later in the course."

Harvey chuckled at this notion. Sure Gurpreet was a big guy, but imagining a sweet guy like him as a warrior just didn't fit. The transformation part was interesting though. Could a Sikh really change so much just to help someone in need? That would be interesting to see. The rest of the lecture went on without a hitch, and Harvey did feel like he was learning more about the religion. Once class was done, Harvey and Gurpreet agreed that they should study together if Harvey decided to stay in the class, and the two parted ways.

With nothing better to do, Harvey decided to waste time at the Library Walkway. It was a large open space adjacent to the university's library, which was the center of the campus. Students frequently crossed this area on their way between classes, and it was complimented with benches and shady trees which made it a nice place to rest.

"Harvey? Hey Harvey, over here!" Harvey heard an accented voice call from behind him. He turned around to see Gurpreet again. What a coincidence. Harvey walked over to the waving Sikh bear. He had propped two tables in an "L" shape adjacent to the Library's wall, essentially creating a square with an opening at the side. With all the cooking utensils and devices that Gurpreet had brought with him, it looked like he was setting up some kind of food stand. "I could really use your help, Harvey. Can you set up this stand with me?" Normally Harvey would make some excuse to say no, but Gurpreet already saw Harvey's schedule, so he knew that Harvey had a large gap right now.

"Yeah, sure. I can help you out" Harvey admitted.

"Thank you! Here, come in" Gurpreet made room for Harvey to enter his table square. Gurpreet was hastily pulling materials out of a box labled "tabling supplies". "Here, lets lay down the table cloths." Gurpreet grabbed two orange table cloths with a white floral design and tossed one to Harvey. The table cloth landed on top of Harvey's head. Making contact with Harvey's patka, the table cloth folded and wrapped itself around Harvey's head, becoming a beautiful orange floral Gurmukhi Dastar turban. Harvey felt a wave of heat envelop him as his skin became a deep brown and all of his hair turned black. This was followed by a bloated feeling as Harvey watched his stomach grow. It was slow at first before exploding outward. Massive love handles wrapped around his body, swollen breasts sat atop his stomach, even his face was filling out with plump cheeks and a round chin. Then Harvey noticed he wasn't just getting fatter, he grew taller too. His new height rivaled Gurpreet's, and he was much fatter than the Sikh bear too! He wasn't just fat, he was massive. He thought he was going to explode out of his clothes, but strangely they were growing with him. His jeans were stretched tight by his thick thighs and the two globes in his rear. His shirt managed to stay loose despite his round belly hanging far in front of him. The shirt gained a graphic of a smiling milk carton wearing sunglasses, with the pun "'Sup Doodh" underneath. Harvey's mustache thickened, his beard grew thicker, wider than his face in a round shape and stretching below his neck. Finally, a pair of clear prescription aviator glasses appeared in front of Harvey's eyes, completing the transformation.

"Wha- what the? What's going on!?" Harvey exclaimed.

"We're running a bake sale as a fund raiser for the Sikh Student Coalition" Gurpreet answered, "but the guy who was suppose to do the actual cooking had to cancel. I'm so glad you were able to fill in at the last second, Harpinder. You're such a good cook" Gurpreet smiled and layed out his table cloth. "What a coincidence, your parna matches my table cloth! Hmm, no where did the other one go?"

"What are you talking about?" It seemed like Harvey's question had a completely different context in Gurpreet's mind. Did Gurpreet really not notice how Harvey had changed? "I'm not a chef, especially not with Punjabi food!"

"Don't be so modest, Harpinder" Gurpreet chuckled, "I've seen the lunches you've packed in your book bag. It seems you're an expect with even the most complicated dishes."

"Do you really not see anything wrong with me? I mean..." Harvey paused, looking down at his new form, "my stomach is huge"

"That's not wrong" Gurpreet patted his own belly, "A large stomach is proof you know what good food tastes like"

Gurpreet thought that Harvey was suppose to be like this, he even kept calling him "Harpinder". Harvey felt that he had to leave, he had to find a way to change back. He tried to exit, but he was currently sandwiched between the tables, the library, and Gurpreet. At his large size, he couldn't easily maneuver around Gurpreet, who was blocking the only exit. He tried, but ended up bumping his belly against Gurpreet's.

"Haha, easy there Harpinder. Here, allow me to pass you the ingredients." Gurpreet placed a few packages and utensils on Harvey's side of the table. It looked like escape wouldn't be possible unless Harvey could convince Gurpreet that he wasn't the person Gurpreet thought he was. Still, what was he suppose to do in he mean time? He didn't know how to make any of these dishes. And yet, Harvey's hands moved on auto pilot. Without needing to put any thought into it, he was creating a variety of delicious Punjabi treats. Once Gurpreet finished setting up the decor and collection bin, their stand was open for business.

Since the Library Walkway was a popular spot on campus, they had a steady flow of customers. It was mostly Indian students at first, but the stand's popularity quickly caught the eye of other students as well. Harvey kept busy, constantly making more treats to keep up with demand. Things were going so well, he was starting to forget he had been so troubled by his transformation earlier. He was even throwing out welcoming and thankful phrases such as "Aaooji aaooji" and "tuhada swagat hai" to people who stopped by their stand.

When things eventually slowed down, a group of Punjabi women approach the stand. "Hi Gurpreet. Who's your friend?" the first one asked.

"Hi Rupi, this is Harpinder. He's a new member of the Sikh Student Coalition. He just joined yesterday."

"Ah, now that you mention it he does look familiar. He was at yesterday's meeting, right?" Rupi said.

"Wow, this food looks so good" a second girl added, "Harpinder, did you make all of this?"

"It was nothing, really" Harvey bashfully rubbed the back of his turban and smiled "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please" she replied. Harvey filled plates for all of the girls in the group.

"Thank you, Harpinder. How much do we owe you?" Rupi asked.

"Don't worry about it, it's on the house" Harvey winked "And my friends call me Harp." The girls blushed and giggled to each other, thanking Harpinder before taking off. Harvey was glad that he still had his signature charm.

Gurpreet grinned, "Look at you 'Harp', so popular already" the two shared a laugh "Thank you for all your help today. This is probably the most profitable bake sale the Sikh Student Coalition has ever had" Gurpreet patted the collection bin "and by putting our name out here, I'm sure we've also attracted a few new members. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course. It's just like Professor Singh said, a Sikh should always help those in need" The two hugged each other, their belllies squishing against each other.

"I'm going to finish cleaning up here, why don't you take some well deserved rest?" Gurpreet said as he made room for Harvey to exit.

Harvey nodded and leisurely walked to the a restroom to wash his hands. Looking in the mirror, his turban unwrapped itself from his head, becoming a table cloth again. He also reverted back to his original form, a white man with an average build wearing a patka.

He grabbed his head, feeling a bit woozy. "Did that really just happen?" Harvey asked himself. He remembered everything that happened at the bake sale, but it both felt like he was himself and wasn't himself at the same time. Harvey rationalize that he must of just imagined the transformation. He was just a regular white guy helping Gurpreet with his bake sale. As for the treats he was making... it must have been some simple american treat. There was no way he was making Punjabi food. Harvey placed the table cloth in his book bag so he could return it to Gurpreet later and exited the bathroom. He ended up passing by that same group of Punjabi women. "Hey Rupi" he said with a wink. The girls simply smiled and rolled their eyes.

"See you at the next meeting, Harv" Rupi said while they all walked away. That was odd, they all seemed so into him earlier. Why wasn't his charm working anymore? Oh well, Harvey looked at the time on his phone. He was trying to decide if he should head to class or if he still had time to go somewhere else.

#male transformation #race change #male tf #gainer tf #Weight gain #weight gain tf #sikh tf #Harvey to Harpinder #mental change #reality change #bear tf #hair growth

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13uckaroo · 1 month

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Pudgy partners. 🍕 Commission for @/WideWobbles and @/Will00Wisps on Twitter.

#weight gain tf #weight gain sequence #sequence #comic #fat belly #weight gain #commission #gay gainer #patreon #belly #furry commissions #furry #gay furry #fat furry

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bloatedboar · 3 months

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Need a daddy to turn me into a chubby cub 🥵🥵🥵

#bear chub #gay hairy #gay bear #bear tf #weight gain text #weight gain tf

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malewgtfstories · 13 days

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Jean and Felix: A Tale of Rapid Weight Gain

Special thanks to @sheepmenAsk for the story idea. Shot me up if you want something done.

Jean and Felix had always been the best of friends. Since childhood, they were inseparable, spending their days exploring the neighborhood, playing sports, and embarking on various adventures. Their friendship was defined by a carefree, lighthearted spirit that remained unbreakable throughout the years. However, their relationship took an unexpected turn when Jean devised a plan that would bring about significant changes in Felix's life.

Jean had always been the health-conscious one, maintaining a balanced diet and regular exercise routine. In contrast, Felix's eating habits were indulgent, filled with junk food and sugary treats. Over time, Jean noticed the effects of Felix's dietary choices on his friend’s body, but he didn't focus on it too much, choosing to embrace Felix's growth as an opportunity for something more.

Whenever someone commented on Felix's appearance, he would simply brush it off, saying, "There's nothing wrong with a few more pounds." Jean observed Felix's steady weight gain with interest, realizing he could embrace his friend’s love for junk food in a unique way. He watched as Felix's once-lean physique slowly filled out with a soft layer of fat, giving him a more robust and endearing appearance.

Jean began providing Felix with calorie-rich meals and snacks, subtly encouraging his friend to indulge in his favorite treats. He knew that the weight gain would take time, but he was patient, finding a sense of joy in watching Felix grow rounder and plumper.

As the weeks went by, the results of Jean's plan became evident. Felix's once-lean physique began to transform, his limbs thickening and softening as they filled out with weight. His face lost its angular features and took on a gentle roundness, his cheeks flush with life. His flat stomach swelled outward into a plump belly that peeked out from under his shirt.

Jean noticed Felix's walk becoming slower, a natural consequence of his weight gain. Felix's steps lost their sprightly stride, shifting to a more relaxed, leisurely pace. His once-toned arms and legs softened and expanded, the fabric of his clothes clinging to his larger form.

Felix's appetite grew with his body. He eagerly consumed the meals and snacks Jean provided, his stomach expanding further. Jean delighted in the sight of Felix's shirts stretching across his chest and belly, the fabric straining to contain his newly rounded shape.

Felix's rapid weight gain led to changes in his daily life. He began favoring looser-fitting clothes, embracing the comfort of larger sizes. His once tight clothing became too constricting, and he opted for stretchy materials that allowed his body to move freely. His appetite remained insatiable as he indulged in his favorite foods without hesitation.

Jean found himself enamored with Felix's transformation. He took pride in guiding his friend down a path of immense beauty, one that showcased Felix's robust and full appearance. Afterall there was nothing wrong with a few more pounds on his friend.

#male weight gain stories #thin to chunky #permanent tf #fat gain tf #fat tf #male tf #weight gain tf #gaining weight on purpose

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skylermadness · 3 months

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Casting Changes (Lucas Lee to Stephen Stills TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: January 15, 2024)

Apologies for disappearing, I was too lazy to fill up my queue. Woops.

Original Description:

My half of a trade with moltingscales of FurAffinity. Their half can be viewed here. My first TF of the New Year and it's probably something absolutely no one expected! Character to character TF isn't the most common thing in my repertoire, but I also couldn't resist the chance at this when the trade was being conceived! So much so that when writing I went past my set barrier of 2.9k words and wrote out almost 4k words instead. Woops! But that just meant I really enjoyed the idea and wanted to give it justice! Plus well...Stephen is really really hot. Although we did play with some headcanons in regards to his body type, but what's a TF without some creative liberties. So in general this was a very fun trade to work on, and I also heavily suggest checking out what moltingscales made for me! He also went all-out for his half and it was absolutely gorgeous~

Lucas Lee was not someone to return to a movie set after leaving it, and his blatant carefree attitude made that quite tangible. Hiring him these days had always been a coin-flip on whether or not he would even appear on set. After all; he was already famous, he was already rich, and he was renowned as the best in varying ways.

Emphasis on was.

Maybe he still had the fame, or the renown, but his career had evidently tanked fast after the incident with the paparazzi just a few days earlier. Apparently the threats of California kicking him out ended up becoming true, the man having quickly landing himself on the Hollywood Blacklist. So this left him in Toronto, cut off from his riches and effectively jobless… or at least he would be.

For once in his life Lucas had returned to a movie set after leaving, but it was clear nothing was the same as it was a few days ago. While he wasn't necessarily let go from the production of Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life he still had dropped off the set long enough for someone else to snipe the leading role of Scott Pilgrim from him. The director seemed to take some level of pity on the disgraced actor, however… okay well, not necessarily. Apparently they still didn't have someone to occupy one of the roles in the film and at this point in the production they were desperate for anyone to fill it.

That's how Lucas landed a dinghy trailer, and in his hand was his new script that had highlights for his new role. That role being… the one of Stephen Stills.

“Still don't know who that even is…” Lucas grumbled as he eyed the pages.

The lack of knowledge on the guy wasn't helped either due to the fact that the role felt so small. Having such a minor role also felt so foreign to a hot shot actor such as him. After all, he was always the starring role in the films he was in. Always the center of attention and always the person the action or romance followed. That was just how it's been since the start of his career! But now… now he's been given this. Sidelined with minimal scenes and very few things going for his character. He may as well have been given a background character at this point.

These thoughts alone are enough to cause Lucas to seethe in anger, yet he continues to eye the script. Although the actor would still be left confused as to what exactly he's been given. “How the hell am I meant to do any of this?”

Lucas tried but everytime he envisions a scene in his head or reads out a line in his mind all he sees is the pure tameness of the role. It was something he just was not accustomed to as an action star. Just standing around and talking? And all while Scott (the role he originally was meant to play) got the major battles and conflicts. It may have been counterintuitive but despite being an actor he doesn't feel like he could act in a role like this. Doing something that felt like it all amounted to nothing!

His train of thought then paused for a second. Nothing. Is that what he was now? Downgraded to roles nobody will care about…?

“Pfft, no, I…” he stopped staring at the script for a moment, a fake smile on his face. He still had a chance to regain who he was! This was just a setback, his life wasn't over…! Those attempts at comfort made his smile lower though, Lucas not believing any of them. “Whatever,” he tries to shrug it all off.

The negative self-conscious feeling remains, lingering and slowly but surely starting to gnaw at Lucas’ confidence. And as his gaze returned to the words of the script that feeling would only continue to strengthen…

Each word of each line lingers in the mind of the actor and as it does he can't help but dwell on the fact that he just felt like he wasn't given much with this role. There was no standing out to be done, nothing major for the name Lucas Lee to be put onto. His talents just felt incompatible with the role that was Stephen Stills.

…or perhaps he just wasn't talented enough…

The thought was foreign at first. One that was abnormal considering how he is. But maybe the prospect of the broken pedestal was just getting to him, a prospect that made the statement echo off his skull to the point he couldn't help but dwell on it. By this point everything was making him start to feel a little anxious. And born from that anxiety Lucas starts to do something he has never found himself doing before. Slowly his hand lifted up to his face, hand growing closer to his opening mouth until the end of his fingers could rest on his lips. His teeth then find purchase on a fingernail and he… bites down on it.

He doesn't stop either. He was just idly biting his nails now, an action that had in mere moments felt instinctual to him now. As if this was just his go-to way to take out his anxious emotions. It doesn't even seem to click for him that he started to do this either. It just seemed like it was just integrated into his muscle memory.

That isn't the only thing he wasn't noticing either. While he bit his nails it seemed that some level of wearing was etching into them. What was usually perfectly trimmed and cared for was rapidly deteriorating in appearance, a level of jaggedness being embedded into the keratin. Even stranger was the fact that this wasn't happening to just one hand. The nails on both hands were getting damaged, shown by their tips whitening from it while their roundness got increasingly uneven amongst them all. Almost like years of nail biting was being accumulated in seconds.

His nails also didn't seem to be alone in the wave of physical changes as the remainder of his hands were seemingly getting altered to some degree alongside them. This was particularly more tangible at their front as the usually soft and pristine appearance of his palms steadily got rougher. A level of hardening creeped into the skin, especially on his fingers, as layers of skin were thickening. Repeated instances of friction just getting placed into his hands in the form of calluses.

The back of his hands weren't left unscathed either. Lucas' bodily hair had not been the most visible, especially around his arms, but that was quickly changing as darker hairs started to sprout out the back of his limbs. It was small at first with a few stray hairs poking out the skin, but a level of coarseness quickly arose as more and more fuzz made itself known. Even weirder was the coloration seemingly being different from the actor’s usual by being brown instead of black.

Furthermore the short sleeves of Lucas’ t-shirt made their increasing hairiness tangible as well. It was fairly concurrent with the changes in his hands with coarse brown fuzz making its way up his arm. The once smooth feel of his skin was quickly being replaced by an appearance that could only be described as rugged. And that wasn't the only change happening to his arms either as they were in the process of undergoing a much more drastic change, that being in his very musculature.

There was a level of loss in Lucas’ muscle mass that was becoming quickly apparent. The pure thickness of his forearms shrinking away little by little with the overall diameter losing centimeters. The same could be said for his upper arms as well as the pure definition of his biceps and triceps were getting lost, atrophying steadily under the effects of this mysterious transformation. Oddly enough though it would seem he wasn't being made skinny. Where his muscles were leaving it would seem a new layer of tissue was growing in tangible to at least attempt to make up in bulk, and that was fat. Quite a bit of it actually with fat quickly growing in prominence within his limbs, wrapping around them and replacing the hard thickness of raw muscle with the bulky softness of chub. Although judging by the lack of tightness in his shirtsleeves it was clear that the thickness his fat was providing didn't make up fully for the muscles he had lost.

Lucas had been oblivious of his changes, at least at first. There was a point after the first minute where he stopped biting his nails, wiping the hand off his shirt to deal with any saliva (and seemingly leaving a currently unnoticeably patch of blue discoloration on the all black fabric). He would then proceed to give his chin a scratch as he continued to analyze the script, unaware that the act was making his chin stubble seemingly get a little more sparse.

“Urgh-” he grunted out of partial annoyance, and partial discomfort in his stomach. “N-no matter how I look at this I just can't get into the feel of Stephen! Maybe I'm just not cut out for this…”

That anxious feeling within him had only grown more and more prevalent. That he just wasn't going to be good enough for this, that he wouldn't be able to pull through in what was expected of him. Lucas’ usually carefree attitude was seemingly fading as all he could think about was the inevitable possibility of failure. He was an action star, not a side character! Although in truth he didn't really feel like either of those…

The discomfort in his stomach flared up again causing Lucas to lose grip on the script and drop everything. “Agh, damn-” he muttered, starting to hold an arm around his stomach as he could feel it churn and bloat. And the longer he did so the more he started to realize something about his belly felt off. Was it… softer?

That was the moment he looked down at his body. That was the moment he noticed everything.

“Wh-what the!?” he exclaimed, raising up his arm in front of him. The muscles were still in the process of shrinking by this time, and fat was gaining prominence, all while both his arms were noticeably getting hairier. “What's going on!? What's happening to my muscles, my-” his panicked statement was cut short by another groan, his stomach still churning. All he could do was take his focus off his arm and direct it onto his stomach.

His growing stomach. His rounder stomach. “O-oh God…”

This transformation was evidently a concurrent endeavor that was affecting his entire body in rapid succession. While some parts could lag behind in the end everything was happening at the same time. So even while Lucas hadn't been looking, his torso had been in the process of shifting this entire time, and it had all started at his muscles.

The epithet of Best Chest on the Business wasn't a lie seeing as Lucas Lee indeed possessed a massive shelf that was his pectoral muscles. That wasn't the case now though as due to the usually tightness of his shirt it was noticeable his chest was shrinking. The usually massive size of his pectorals dwindled in size, and it wasn't long until the indent his cleavage left in the fabric. Just years of working out and enhancing his form being lost. And in its stead, as it did with his arms, fat began to accumulate in order to make up for the loss in size. As his muscle mass dwindled his amount of chest fat increased at the same time, the newly formulating softness pushing forward steadily. The amount of fat he'd get wouldn't be enough to create a sizable shelf equal to that he used to possess but it was still enough to give his form some amount of thickness.

The real show of changes happened in Lucas’ abdominal region however. His usually thick set of abs had already been quick to shrink away, partially the cause for the churning that was in his gut. And the other cause was the fat that was bubbling up from the region, manifesting within him and amassing a feeling of bloat as his body was initially not acclimated to this. Then his belly proceeded to bulge forward with fat continuing to make it swell out more and more. The hem of his shirt steadily rose over his growing belly, moving up and up to unveil his chunky gut. And by now Lucas had started watching and witnessing his gut push outwards, his belly button becoming visible at this point as a sign of just how much weight he gained. It wouldn't take much longer for his shirt’s hem to just slip upwards and his belly to begin slightly hanging over the top of his pants.

Lucas placed a shaky hand onto his belly as he exclaimed, “What the fuck is happening to me!?”

The change in weight wasn't even the end either. Beneath his hand he could feel a few hairs sprout from his skin, a triangle of fuzz rising from the bottom of his belly with its tip touching his belly button. Furthermore, a trail of hair ran up from his belly button and lined his midline before reaching his chest. Brown hairs emerged from his now much more shallow cleavage before spreading across the man’s chest. What was once void of any type of body hair quickly became covered with almost a forest of it, which had only continued to dispel his body’s smoothness. At this point a low pressure began coursing across his body (his bones?) as well, and Lucas noticed that the floor seemed to be getting at least a little bit closer. A loss in height, evidently.

“O-oh jeez,” was the first thing he could muster, his voice seemingly sounding a little less deep and a whole lot less conveying of any form of confidence. “Why is this happening? What's going on?? Why is my body like- like this!?”

His brain was just in full panic mode. Any semblance of calmness was thrown out the window as he just stared at his body, just comprehending the difference of it all. And the fact he was transforming at all was enough to make that panic become stronger. All of it has made his prior acting woes get pushed away, but truthfully this just felt so much worse! Especially because he didn't even know who or what he was becoming.

Then came some feeling of dwindling self-confidence, followed by the man starting to try and push his gut back into his abdomen. “Come on, come on, just get back in there!”

He tried to disregard how different his voice was sounding, or the weird level of familiarity of it. He just wanted to be Lucas Lee again, the famous actor!

All while he was panicking the next phases of changes had been underway. His earlier loss in height especially, primarily because of how his legs were decompressing into a shorter length. In general his legs had undergone a process of changes that were quite similar to that of his arms. His pants getting increasingly baggy as his thigh muscles diminished, hamstrings and quadriceps losing prominence as yet again the years of work put into them faded away. The same could be said for his gluteus muscles, although his rear didn't shrink too much as the increase in fat made up for the loss in size quite well in that region. A similar event even happened at the crus of his legs as his calve muscles atrophied and fat billowed out the back of his lower legs to remedy it. All while his legs got increasingly hairy, so much brown fuzz accumulating around them that it was evident that these limbs belong to someone who didn't really shave their legs.

At the same time as his legs changed his feet had been doing so as well. With his body now shorter it had resulted in a lot of his appendages to shrink down a bit to fit his new proportions, feet included. This resulted in his shoes not being too affected by everything as he feet underwent their transformation, shifting to be a bit thicker and softer with fat while perhaps becoming just a bit wider. Hairs were in the process of poking out the top of his foot while his soles gained very minor degrees of thickness and callusing (and extremely minor in comparison to the calluses on his hand).

It wouldn't take very long for Lucas to give up on his crusade to push his fat back into his body as the man was now deciding to embarrassingly try and pull his shirt (which by now was getting increasingly bluer) down over his belly. “How is anyone going to believe I'm Lucas now??” he stated, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he fully realized just how different he was becoming. He was going to look nothing like the action star he was, instead looking like some background nobody!

That statement could very well be the truth as well. Especially because his face wasn't that of Lucas’, no. All during the course of his bodily transformation his face had been slowly but surely shifting into the visage of a different man…

It started with the scratching of his stubble earlier, that very act stimulating the follicles in a way that altered them drastically. It started with a brown coloration washing over the once black hairs, similar to that of his new body hair. At the same time however there came a shift in how his stubble had appeared. What once was a rugged and almost symmetrical appearance quickly shifted with bits of fuzz retracting and the overall well-groomedness dissipating. A patchiness was quickly manifesting within his beard as a result making it uneven. And while it was still relatively short it still had a level of disheveledness and scruff to it that didn't exist prior.

All the while more and more changes overtook the man’s facial features. While his more rectangular skull structure remained there was a level of roundness that made its way into his facial shape, his jawline seemingly coming off as less chiseled as some submental fat descended from beneath his chin. Following that came more fat and more of his features filling, softening his once well-sculpted appearance. And while it wasn't on his face, it seemed that the stylized 2 tattoo that was on his neck had rapidly faded into his skin as well.

It would only become increasingly clear that none of this would come to an end. The straightness of his nasal bridge inwardly curved and the overall size of his nose shrunk a bit, nostrils flaring as it all reshaped into a smaller size with an almost turned-up tip. The regions under his eyes darkened, slight wrinkles forming as he was given some noticeable bagging beneath each eye. And above his eyes the same wave of brown overtook his brows while the finely trimmed appearance of them was done away with. Hairs noticeably sticking out at the top make their appearance looking less pristine and more fuzzy. It resulted in a level of more overt thickness entering his eyebrows that was accentuated further by their almost disheveledly furry appearance.

To truly solidify the differences in Lucas’ form came was changes in his hair. The same brown creeping up from his patchy beard and etching into his sideburns before running over the remainder of his usually spiky style. That spiked style didn't even last long as each follicle got browned, instead many of them growing a little bit longer and sticking out more. As his hair got longer, volume becoming thicker, the style of it became increasingly less neat and more sloppy. Clumps sticking out in any which way by going left, right, and behind his head. At the back of his head his hair noticeably grew to the nape of his neck before sticking slightly upwards and fraying. A fair amount of his hair even hung over his forehead, seemingly short yet still very messy in appearance. The only way to describe his new style was being practically adjacent to one’s hair when they get out of bed in the morning. Disorganized with ends sticking out all over.

This all cycles back to the present with Lucas’ form having become, well, not Lucas. Even his mind didn't seem to be running off his usual mindset as the thought of being gone from the public eye made him unhand his shirt’s hem and grab the sides of his head in panic. Grinding his teeth together he just couldn't stop dwelling over every single thing that went wrong in the past few minutes- hours- days! Demotions and failures and inabilities and- and everything- Every part of his body lost the ability to shake all of this off with a simple whatever and let it be! It just didn't feel like he was him anymore and all these thoughts became overwhelming! And inevitably once everything becomes overwhelming, something has to give…

In this case it was the mental aspect of Lucas that was Lucas. The anxiety was rapidly overriding all sense of self within the man, his own identity being overhauled at a rapid pace. Stray thoughts and memories overran his mind as the very prospect of action star was seemingly thrown out of a mental window. The word fame did stick inside his brain, but the word was seemingly shifted drastically. And while he could just barely grasp onto having been someone else for a few seconds with just the thought of ‘he was still a good actor, right?’ it still wasn't enough to register such a notion in a serious manner. After all, everything in his mind was spiraling into making him think he was just part of a garage band.

Soon it all flowed into his personality. Even though his personality had been integrating a very anxious and panicky persona within his mind there was so much more to shift. Nigh self-absorbness being replaced with low self-confidence, intense desire for bodybuilding fading away to nothing, and any level of disregard for anything instead becoming a regard for too many things. There were even undefined aspects of his sense of self that had gotten shifted with one of the more prominent ones being his own sexuality. Something about it was being solidified (or perhaps unearthed?) as his changing mentality developed a taste in men. So in the end his perception of reality, his entire bank of memories, his entire life. All of it was being reconstructed under a new name and that name was…

Stephen Stills.

And all during the man's panicked breakdown there were two final surges of changes.

The first of the two came with his clothing. Although the aforementioned shade of blue had spread itself across the fabric it was only now that the true result of that would come to life. It would start with a pair of breast pockets manifesting in the upper torso area of the shirt, one on each side of the front. This was followed up by a split running itself down the shirt’s middle, already fastened buttons seemingly manifesting from that split. As the split lengthened up and down the shirt the hem would drop down and cover his belly, the newly divided panels of the shirt seemingly not tucking themselves in. Furthermore the neck of the shirt extended upwards, making its way up the lower end of his neck before folding downwards and becoming a collar instead. The once short sleeves of the shirt also proceeded to lengthen, quickly running down his arms until they could reach his wrists before promptly rolling themselves into cuffs that were a little ways below his elbows. The last change that came to his shirt was an inverted wave-like seam that etched across the uppermost quarter of each end of the split, a shift that gave his shirt what could only be described as cowboy vibes.

The rest of his clothing underwent a much less interesting change. The black hue of his pants was lightened to gray as they shrunk a little to fit his slightly smaller size. Meanwhile his shoes shifted to refit his feet as well with the white and black coloration being deepened to a plain brown tone.

The second surge of changes though, that came in the form of the very reality around him being shifted. The small trailer that was on the set of a movie was warped with everything within it being reshaped. Objects disappear or reshape while the van-like internals expand and ground as it becomes more like an actual room. The set that was outside was also seemingly being morphed as well to fit this new development. It wasn't long until he would find himself in his garage that was surrounded by the neighborhood he resided in. And considering he was just coming to…

“AHHHH, what's going on!?” he shrieks in panic before opening his eyes and finding… his garage. “Whuh, huh? I thought…”

He paused. Wait, what was he thinking? He can't really remember. All he knows is he felt a severe level of anxiety that he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind. He circled around in place for a moment to find a source, but all he found was his garage with the Sex Bob-Omb band equipment originally behind him.

“Maybe I was just stressed about band practice…?” he tried to reason. But something about that statement felt off. Wrong…

…

“Ugh, this is too confusing to wrap my head around fully.”

With a sigh Stephen walks over towards the couch located at the back of the garage and takes a seat. It would be nice to just clear his head and calm down before the others arrive for practice…

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #weight gain tf #bara tf #male transformation

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bigification · 2 months

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Friday,

I feel strong, but these protein shakes haven't been helping my bulk as much as I want. I'm still too skinny. Maybe I should give them more time though, I've only been taking them for a couple weeks after all. I'll try bumping it up to two a day, and I'll eat more, that should help.

I pick up my phone as I leave the gym and stare at the Grindr app. Should I? Is it fair to Dean that I keep bringing back guys to our place. This would be the fourth time this week, I think I can hold off for his sake. Anyway, I put away my phone and head back to my apartment.

"How was the workout?" Dean asked when I got home. I'm shocked, he's never really been interested in my workouts before. We used to go together before we were roommates but now that we live together, the gym is a rare activity we do apart. Besides, he hasn't really been going that much recently.

"Oh, it was good... I'm just not bulking as much as I want to." I reply.

"That must be why you got those protein shakes, huh?"

Why is he taking so much notice of this stuff now? We can share the shakes if he really wants to, he might just be trying to motivate himself to get back in the gym. But he could just ask if that's what he wants. "Ya, I'm gonna try to drink more, maybe that'll help." I say as I go to the fridge and grab one.

"That's good." Dean says in a flat tone, he usually does this when he's lost interest in a conversation.

I get distracted from the conversation anyway as I drink the shake. Something seems different about it, it's got a bit of a bitter aftertaste now. I figure it's probably just me getting tired of the taste and shrug it off.

Saturday,

I wake up in a cold sweat. This was unusual given that I get up every day at this time to go to the gym. I look to the clock and it's... 10 o'clock. Holy shit, I slept in. I'm usually at the gym by 8. I calm down a bit when I remember it's Saturday, so I have nothing to do anyway.

I roll out of bed and hobble my way to the bathroom. My head is spinning and my stomach is growling, I felt hungover. I didn't drink last night did I? I don't really remember. However, all of that leaves my mind in an instant when I look in the mirror. I rub my eyes and look again. Where do I even begin. An itchy beard now covers my face, despite the fact that I shaved yesterday morning. My sweat glistened on my distended stomach, my six pack buried under a soft bloat. My pecs are swollen and slightly rounded.

What the fuck. My mind is trying to process what's happening, but it can't. I turn to the side and see the subtle S shape in my stomach and my ass. Was it the shake? It couldn't have been, it hasn't done shit for me in weeks and now it does this! You know what, this is fine. I pinch my stomach. It's mostly bloated, just a small layer of fat, nothing I can't work off in a couple weeks. If anything this will give me a head start on my bulk.

I throw on some of my loose gym clothes that do a decent job at hiding my physique, but I still look different. I grab my gym back and try to sneak out, I don't want Dean seeing me like this. I quickly try to rush out the door, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Dean.

"I didn't know you were still home, you usually leave before I get up." He says nonchalantly.

"Oh ya... I just decided to sleep in today." I pull my bag to cover my stomach.

"Okay, have fun at the gym. Nice beard by the way, when did you decide to grow it out."

"I've just been a bit lazy with shaving it, that's all." I'm sweating buckets.

"Well it looks good, you should keep it." He smiles at me.

I can feel myself blush, so I smile and get out as quickly as possible. I chug a protein shake on the way to the gym, noting that bitter aftertaste again. It's probably nothing, I have bigger issues to deal with.

Once I start my workout, I feel pretty self conscious about my body. I know no one else could know that something is off, but I still feel off. But as the workout goes on, I start feeling more and more comfortable. I start hitting more reps than I ever have before, though cardio is a bit of a slog. It doesn't matter, I feel surprisingly great. I finish off the workout great, and flex in the mirror for a bit of a confidence boost.

I drink another shake on the way home. As I get home, Dean seems to be waiting for me. He asks how my workout was again. He's acting so weird again. I decide to spend the rest of the day out, drinking the night away. I am bulking after all.

Sunday,

I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck, with no memory of how much I drank last night. I've never felt like this after a night out though. The more I think about it, the more my mind points me to the shakes. They have to have something to do with this. I don't have time for this right now though, I have to get to the gym.

I brush my teeth and shave, I'm shocked at the beard I grew in just two days. I try throwing on some clothes, but I feel some resistance. My largest gym shirt no longer fits, there's always a sliver of skin showing and it goes past my belly button when I reach up. My shorts fit a bit better, but they hug my ass very tight. I think I'll have to buy some new clothes on the way home.

The workout goes similarly to yesterday. I start self conscious of the fact that my belly is showing and my shorts look like they're about to rip. But the worry escapes my mind when I destroy my routine. I feel so strong.

I feel great by the time my workout ends. I head to the locker room and take off my shirt. Yeesh, I have a full on beer belly now. This is no longer just a bloat, my stomach is covered in a thick layer of fat. I didn't even know you could gain this much fat in only a couple of days, and I'm not even eating that much. And what's with the beard, I shaved this morning and it's already coming back in. Although my arms are looking massive, I could even feel my sleeves stretch from my biceps when I was working out. I stare at my belly a bit as I think about what to do.

I throw on my shirt again and head out. I pull up to a clothing store and pick out a few loose gym clothes that should fit me if I bulk even more.

"Hi, where are the change rooms." I ask an employee.

"Oh.." he pauses for a moment, looking at my belly. I notice that my shirt is riding up more than it was this morning. I instinctively cover my exposed belly with my arms and shrivel up in embarrassment.

"Just over there sir." He awkwardly points to the back of the store.

I grab a few larger clothes on the way out and leave the store as fast as humanly possible. I instinctively down another shake on the way home. Dean didn't say anything to me when I got home, but he glanced at me and then looked away. He is acting so strange.

I woke up in the middle of the night, there was a rattling coming from the kitchen. I walk out to investigate and see Dean doing something with the protein shakes. Is he secretly drinking them at night? He could just ask and I would give some to him. But I see him pour something into the shake and then close it back up again before putting them back in the fridge. What the hell? I try to think of what he could be doing. He stashes something away in the bottom of the cupboard and starts walking back to his bedroom. I quickly hide in my room until I hear his door close, and then I go back to the kitchen to investigate. I look at the protein shakes in the fridge and notice their seals have been broken, I can't believe I never noticed that. I move over to the cupboard and find a small bag with white powder in it. It looks like coke, but why the fuck would Dean put coke in my shakes. And besides, I don't think fat, muscle, and hair growth are symptoms of coke. Maybe I'll give him a taste of his own medicine. I go back to the fridge and pull out the jug of orange juice that Dean drinks every morning. I have no idea how much he put in my shakes, so I just pour a bunch in. I kind of feel like a secret agent, sneaking in a mysterious powder into his drink. I would feel worse, but he already did this to me so I'm fine ignoring my morals this time.

I head to bed, lying awake in my bed for a while. Thinking about what I just did, thinking about the results. It's making it hard to fall asleep, but I eventually do.

Monday,

I wake up feeling better than I had the past few days. I go through my normal routine, throw on my gym clothes, and grab a bite to eat. When I open the fridge, i see the orange juice and protein shakes and I'm reminded of my situation. Every morning I get a few moments of blissful ignorance before it's ripped away. I think for a bit, then grab a couple shakes and put in my bag. I'm kinda liking this new me, the strong me, and the belly is definitely growing on me. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I head out, I'm really committing to this aren't I? I ask myself as I look at the bushy beard that has engulfed my face and the belly and moobs that are unmistakable under my shirt. I smile and then head to the gym.

Every day that I spend at the gym, I get less self conscious. I almost forget about the fact that my hairy gut I exposed to the world whenever I reach up. I only care about the fact that I have been increasing the weight on my workouts every day and it feels amazing.

I take a shower and get dressed for work... Oh shit. I never bought work clothes that fit me, I'm reminded when I try in vain to button up my dress shirt. I stop by the store again and grab a couple shirts and pairs of pants. The thought of the protein shake in my car makes me think of the future, so I buy a few clothes in larger sizes too.

I barely make it to work on time. The day went by fast, but all I could remember were the stares and the comments from coworkers. "You forget to shave this morning Santa?" "Might want to lay off the doughnuts in the break room buddy." "We're concerned about your health." "Did you forget to stop bulking?" That was all I heard today. It was embarrassing at first, but it soon turned to encouraging. Each sly comment just makes me want to grow more. It honestly makes me realize how much I'm enjoying growing, and makes me even more excited to see what happens to Dean. It was hard to keep my dick in my pants today, I think the only reason no one noticed was because they were too busy staring at my gut.

I make it back home after work and dress down to my underwear first thing. Damn I am getting hairy, I run my hands through the forest of hair that has grown all over my body. As I'm doing so, an amazing idea runs through my mind. I'm gonna surprise Dean. There's no way I can hide the changes in my body regardless of how baggy my clothes are, so I'm just gonna show it off. I lay down on the couch by the front door, still only in my underwear, and I wait for him to show up.

"I'm hom- Oh hey..." Dean stutters as he sees me.

"Hey bud, what's up." I say nonchalantly.

"Just tired from work, where are your clothes?"

"I had a crazy workout today, just figured I'd air out a bit. Ever since I started this bulk, things have really taken off for me at the gym." I say while I rub my gut. In trying my best to make him uncomfortable and it seems to be working.

"Okay, well if you need me I'll be in my room." He quickly scurries into his room.

I just chuckle to myself and continue rubbing my belly. I wonder if there's any leftovers in the fridge?

Tuesday,

Same old same old. Get out of bed, get dressed, shave, grab a shake and head to the gym.

I feel so imposing at the gym now. I think I've gotten taller, because I look down on almost every now. I have a beard and a deeper voice than I used to, and not to mention the big gut and strong biceps. I'm like the biggest guy here, and people treat me like it. Women and men stare, and people tend to let me use the machines I want. I also notice myself grunting when I work out, I wonder if the entire gym can hear it. Anyway, the point is I feel amazing. This is the first day I dropped cardio because who fucking needs it, I sure don't. Now I focus purely on mass gain. I'm tired of holding back and I don't care what other people think, I want more.

I arrived at work, rocking far more confidence than I did yesterday, and people noticed. I don't care if they stare or comment, and I don't care that my dress shirt is already too small for me. People even asked me how I gained as much muscle as it did that fast. I just tell them to eat a shit ton and drink protein shakes, but maybe once the jig is up with Dean I'll ask him how to get the powder. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing some of the men at work blow up like I did. This is not the time to think about it though, it's getting hard to hide my boner at work. The only thing hiding it when I sit down is my gut.

I get home and notice Dean is home too. He must have stayed home, I wonder if it's because of the powder. He won't seem to leave his room though, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the results.

I just decide to change into some comfortable clothes and eat my heart out. Though I'm shocked at how small my once 'baggy' clothes are. They barely fit past my stomach, and they ride up past my belly button when I lift my arms.

Fuck I'm getting fat. There is nothing hotter to me right now than the thought of my body growing. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a few more shakes and start chugging, feeling my dick harden with each gulp. I feel like a fucking pig, what has come over me. The shake is dribbling down my beard and onto my shirt, but I can't stop. Once I've had enough protein shakes for a lifetime, I stumble to my room and promptly fall asleep.

Wednesday,

I wake up in a pool of sweat, similar to a couple days ago. My mouth tastes awful and my body feels heavy. I question what happened last night as I roll myself out of bed. I drag myself to the bathroom and freeze in shock at my image in the mirror. Holy shit. I pull up my shirt to see a massive ball belly, covered in a thick layer of hair. I pull my shirt up further and see a pair of soft man tits that now lay on my gut. Every part of my body looks swollen, my arms, my hands, even my face looks puffy.

I let out a loud burp that reeks of protein shake, and suddenly I remember last. I walk to the kitchen and see six empty protein shakes on the table. I chuckle in a surprisingly deep voice before opening the fridge and grabbing a shake. I down it before getting ready to head to the gym. I put on my largest gym shirt and it only reaches halfway around my gut, I try to put on my shorts but I can't get them to cover the top of my ass crack. That's alright, I don't particularly care if anyone sees, it's their fault for looking.

I spend the day at the gym enjoying all the attention from shocked gym goers. They watch in amazement or contempt as this fatass walks around like he owns the gym.

I go to work with a similar energy, though I do have a dress shirt that still barely fits me so at least I'm not half naked going to work. My clothes still leave little to my coworkers imaginations, as I confidently strut my fatass around the office.

I get home and stand in shock as I walk through the door. Is that Dean!? Across the living room stands a morbidly obese man wearing nothing but boots, a baseball cap, and a ripped towel around his waist.

"You did this to me!" The man yells in a gruff southern accent.

"Dean, is that you?" I respond.

"Yea, you dumbass! You gave me some of that powder didn't ya." He turns to face me and reveals the damage the powder did to his body.

"Hey you did it to me first! I was only returning the favour."

"I only put I bit into your shakes, how much did'ya give me!? Look what it's done to me!" He grabs a handful of the fat on his belly, and it jiggles like jello.

"Well I didn't know how much to give you."

"And you're only s'posed to take it when you're workin out, otherwise it only grows fat and not muscle. Beside, why d'ya keep drinking it after you knew?" He asks

"Because I like me this way, it just felt good to get revenge. Why did you even do it in the first place?" I ask in return.

"Because I thought if you got fat you'd stop hooking up with so many guys, and you'd notice me. It was only s'posed to be a bit, but then you started drinkin the shakes like crazy and now look at ya." He responds in a genuine voice. I don't know what to say, so I stand silent. He grabs his phone and approaches me. "This is what I looked like 2 days ago!" He shows me a picture of himself. "I was so happy that I could finally grow a beard. Little did I know why."

"This is what I looked like yesterday." He shows me another photo. "My hair was falling out and my hairline was receding. I woke up looking like I was pregnant, and my pants couldn't fit anymore."

"I was so scared that I ate some of that powder, but I didn't know what to do, so I stayed in my room all day and drank nothing but orange juice. Then I woke up this morning as a bald 350 pound man. That's when I knew you put that powder in my orange juice." He seems frantic.

I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed him and kissed him. "I never realized how hot your accent is until now." I say as I pull away from the kiss, he smiles in return. In the moment, another terribly amazing idea comes to my head. I grab the bag of powder he had left on the table and pour some of the powder into his mouth before snorting some myself. He looks at me in shock for a moment before swallowing it. I smile before dragging his fatass to my tiny king sized bed.

Then next Monday,

I just hit 300 today. I still go to the gym everyday, so that keeps my gut from growing out of control. Though I have had some interesting conversations with my family since. But the shocked faces of my family when they see me and their concerned comments if my weight gain only fuels the fire. Though my dad seems to be the only one who says he likes the new me, says I look manlier. It's funny coming from the next fattest man in the family, only behind me of course.

The scale stopped working on Dean after last Thursday, but he has to be pushing 500. I really gave him an insane dose of that powder, and the more fat he got the less capable he was to workout and thus reduce the fat gained. He just sits around and pigs out all day now, and I wouldn't want him any other way. I usually bring home a few meals from a couple fast food restaurants for his first dinner, and when I feel up to it, I'll add a little bit of powder to his meal.

I'm also enjoying work far more. I told all the men at my work about the powder, and within a few days I was seeing results. Some became as fat as Dean by the end of the week, clearly they neglected the part where it said to workout while consuming the powder. Some look like me, with big arms and an even bigger belly. And some have just become muscle beasts, almost like they spent hours a day at the gym. I also feel more imposing at work, people respect me more, even if half of them are bigger than me now. It even helped me get a raise, which funds all of the fast food trips for Dean and I. One day I hope to be the big boss with a silver bushy beard and hulking gut that spills out of my suit.

#male tf #fat tf #fat belly #bhm weight gain #masculine #male wg #muscle tf #ex jock #dad bod #hairy

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