House Arrest (Part 2)

He fought his feet, but he followed Sidney inside, hearing the pulse of music playing in the other room, his butt shaking in time to the beat as they got closer, and he found his hulking son still rolling his hips and moving to the beat. “Oh yes,” Zack said with a slight moan, pushing Sidney gently back down onto the couch, “I’m afraid you’re under arrest sir, and your punishment is going to be one sexy show from the hottest cop on the beat.”

What the fuck did he just say?

He grabbed the front of his uniform and tugged, feeling the snaps break apart as he started dancing with his son, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened to him. There was a mirror on the wall, and as he danced, he was able to catch glimpses of himself in it, but it wasn’t him. His…face was still mostly right–the shaved head, the horseshoe mustache starting to turn a bit grey–but his body…he’d never looked this ripped, not even when he was in the best shape of his life. Huge meaty pecs, a ripped abdomen, thick thighs which were nearly bursting the little blue shorts he had on. It struck him, at last, that this wasn’t his uniform. This was a costume. He didn’t know how, but Sidney had turned him into a stripper, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop himself from humiliating himself.

The look of horror must have registered on his face, because Sidney laughed the next time he turned towards him. “Yes, Officer, I’m sure you’re a bit confused. But why don’t you just relax? Look at how much fun your son is having. Aren’t you having fun Evan?”

“Yes sir,” Evan said with a thick laugh, “I’s having lots of fun. I just a dumb meathead stripper whore! I like to dance and fuck and suck and cum and work my body for sexy old men like you.”

“You…what the…hell did you do to him?” Zack managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Nothing that won’t happen to you too, officer. Now, keep at it. The more you dance, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

Zack pulled his shirt off and kept dancing. Evan kept trying to feel him up and dance with him, but as much as this body wanted to play, he kept finding the will to push him away, but that will was starting to fade, slowly but surely. His panic was dimming, and his excitement and pleasure were increasing. He shucked his shorts, only to find he was wearing an NYPD jockstrap–and from the bulge in the front, he was both hard, and huge. He groped himself for the old man, loving how sexy he felt, his partner rubbing his hands all over his body…turning his head to the side for a kiss…

That face. He…knew that face, didn’t he? It was getting hard to think, and he felt so hot and sexy. And the hunk he was dancing with was hot and sexy too. He didn’t need to think, he just needed to dance and then he wouldn’t have to think anymore. He could just be a dumb meathead stripper too then, and everything else in the world wouldn’t even matter. They kissed, their mouths hot, rubbing their sweaty bodies together, looking over to make sure their client was enjoying their show, because this wasn’t really about them–it was about pleasing him. Most people probably wouldn’t find a client like this very attractive–middle aged, glasses, portly in odd places, a scruffy beard–but guys like this really turned Zach on for some reason. The idea of a sexy, attractive guy like him worshiping and obeying some fat, nerdy loser like this? It got him so fucking hard every time.

The man beckoned him over after the two of them had been making out for a few minutes; Zack sauntered over, climbed up on the couch facing the man so he was straddling him with his muscular thighs, moaning and swaying to the beat of the music. “Are you still in there, officer?” he asked, “Well, of course you are. Don’t worry, you’ll remember all of this once we’re done for the weekend, but for now, why don’t you kiss me, you handsome dumbass?”

He didn’t really know what the guy was talking about, but he did want to kiss him, and being called a dumbass made him really horny for some reason, so he leaned in and started making out with the client, one hand wrapping around the older man’s cock, stroking it slowly and gently, making sure to edge him. The client beckoned to his partner, who got down behind Zack and started sucking the man’s cock–Zack was jealous as hell, but the client’s pleasure was more important than what he wanted.

The man pushed him away for a moment, and let Zack focus on feeling up his flabby body while he toyed with a tablet he’d kept beside him. “I needed you two to keep your faces for a bit, just to make sure you recognized each other, but I’m sick of looking at your face, officer. Let’s make it a bit more appealing, eh?”

Zack felt an odd shift in his head, but when he looked over at himself in the mirror, he didn’t see anything different. His strong jawline coated with a bit of stubble, those thick lips of his, small nose and piercing green eyes, his brown hair short, and attractively mussed up. “Fuck, I looks sexy…” he said to himself.

“You sure do, stud,” Sidney said, and turned his face back so Zack was looking at him, “And what do you think of me?”

“Fuck, sir, I think’s you’re, like, really really hot. I mean, I’m a stud, but you’re like, my dream guy,” Zack said, gushing a bit, “Do you wanna fuck me, sir? I like being fucked a whole lot.”

“Sure slut, I’ll fuck you. I’ll be fucking you both a whole lot this weekend, I think.”

Zack liked the sound of that for sure. His partner stopped sucking, and he slid his client’s cock into his ass with a loud groan. He might not be smart, but he and his partner were the best whores in the city, and he was going to show this hot fucker the best weekend of his life.

House Arrest (Part 1)

Zack had spent years on the case. Building it from the ground up, finding every witness, digging up every scrap of evidence, chasing his own tail at times, but it had come together at last. Sidney Hubert might seem like your average tech savant by day, but at night he had his hands in so many shady enterprises–online black markets, insider trading, human trafficking–it was only a matter of time before he slipped up, and he knew that all he needed to do was be there to catch him, cuff him, and lock him up for good. The chance had come, when he showed up in person for a deal–he’d given the prosecutor the conviction wrapped in a bow, only to watch him throw it.

He couldn’t prove it. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a man with as much wealth and influence as Sidney would have some pull in the criminal justice system, but Zack had underestimated exactly how much, obviously. In the end, the jury let him off on most of the charges, but stuck him with some of the lesser tax evasion charges. Even then, because he was such an alleged upstanding citizen, he was only sentenced to two years of house arrest. Two years, and the fucker was essentially relaxing all day in his massive mansion. And what did Zack have?

This case had…been rough on his life. His wife had lost it, when he’d gotten too obsessed, and left. His son was distant with him, and he only saw him every other weekend. He’d burned a good number of bridges with the department, and with the DA’s office. Five years ago, people were mentioning him as someone who might run the department one day, but now he was going to be stuck as a detective for the rest of his life. He was in his forties, and he was starting to feel it. He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to chase this guy down all over again, once he got out, but he had to try. He didn’t have anything left to lose, after all.

Zack watched him like a hawk for six months, but there was nothing the least bit suspicious at the residence. If anything, Sidney seemed so clean that this alone was enough to raise a few alarm bells. Sidney would taunt him, occasionally–having pizza delivered to him while he sat in his car, or one time, sending him a text inviting him inside for a glass of wine and to look around–enough to let him know that he knew Zack was watching him. It was only making things feel more hopeless. He needed to accept that he’d been duped, but he couldn’t. He had to believe he could still nail this guy in the ass.

He tried to focus on reconnecting with his son, Evan, when he did see him, but it was difficult. He was seventeen, a bit of a loner, and Zack was a bit worried he might be getting involved with the wrong sorts of kids at school. They barely talked, their worlds didn’t even seem to overlap at any point. He’d drift into Zack’s apartment on Friday afternoon after school, they’d try to connect–go out to eat, see a movie–but nothing much seemed to help. Then, one Friday, Evan didn’t show up. He usually just caught the bus, but Zack thought he might have stayed after school–he called his ex-wife, but she didn’t even pick up the phone. He called the school, but they treated him like he was crazy–they couldn’t find any record of his son even attending school there. Then, he got the text message on his phone, from Sidney’s number.

“Feel like you’re missing something?”

His gut fell to his feet. That fucker, he was never going to get away with something like this. He called the squad to get backup, but as soon as he tried to tell his sergeant what had happened, he started treating him like he was crazy. He told Zack that Zack didn’t have any kids. Zack had never even been married to anything beside his job. He wanted to know if Zack had been drinking. He wanted to know if he’d been pursuing the case on his own. Zack hung up on him, incredibly frustrated, and also scared. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He had a son, he knew he had a son, but why did the entire world seem to suddenly think he didn’t even exist? He got in the car, determined to take this shit into his own hands. The rumors he’d heard about Sidney, about trafficking in men and strange technology…he tried not to think about it, as he sped across town.

He parked a ways off down the street, and approached on foot, staying out of sight of Sidney’s numerous security cameras as he slipped around the house, casing the place. Through a front side window, he saw them–Sidney sitting on the couch, naked, and…some muscular guy dancing for him in the middle of the room. That wasn’t his son–Evan was thin as a rail, hunched, always fidgety. But when the hunk spun around to wiggle his bubble butt at Sidney, and Zack saw his face…it was Evan’s face. It was Evan’s blissed out, moaning face, on some stranger’s body. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to get in there. He went around to the front door and hammered on it, ready to burst in if need be, but after a few moments, the door opened, and a naked Sidney was there in the doorway, leering at him.

“Good evening officer, what can I do for you?”

Zack sensed that…something was wrong. He’d had his gun in his hand, but he…didn’t, suddenly. He hadn’t been wearing his uniform, but now he was in his blues–and the fabric, it was…scratchy and ill-fitting. “Sir,” he said, licking his lips, “I’ve heard reports of lewd behavior at this residence–I’m afraid I’m going to have to search the premises.”

“Oh! Well do come in officer, do come in and investigate all you want.”

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 5)

Where was he? What was he? It was hot, sweltering, wherever he was, and as uncomfortable as it was, it also felt…pleasant, in other ways. It was dark, wherever and whatever he was. Dark, and he’d sweat so much, it felt like he was surrounded by some liquid too thick and oily to be water. For a long time, he’d been too weak to fight, too weak to resist whatever he was in, but now, he’d started to feel…a kind of life returning to his body. He would press against the thing encasing him, feel it resist, and he’d relax again, building strength, drawing in the heat suffusing him, letting it fill him up, and when he was full enough, he’d be able to be free again. He’d be free…and he’d be…someone, or something, but he’d be free.

Few people had noticed the strange, black cocoon stuck to the floor of the alley, not even when they were fucking one another five feet away behind the dumpsters deeper in the alley. Most who did notice it just thought it was some kink artifact, but rarely touched it. Just…seeing it was enough to make them feel strange–horny, but also terrified in some deep mortal sense, and usually they would retreat down the alley, hungry for a fuck to remind them that they were alive, that they were still human. A few braver ones would touch it, feel it’s heat touch some darkness inside them, odd, disturbing thoughts occurring to them suddenly, which they found themselves unable to resist fulfilling–craving the sensation of a fist pummelling their guts, a sudden hunger for shit and piss, the need to feel as much pain as they might experience without passing out or dying. In any case, the cocoon remained undisturbed into the evening, until it began twitching and wiggling every few minutes. The activity increased, and became more violent until it was clear that someone was inside the cocoon, and that they were desperately trying to escape it. The skin of the shell had handened and turned brittle, allowing, at last, a fist to burst through, two hands coated in some black, oily goo ripping at the hole, enlarging it, until a head burst forth gasping for air.

Beau fought his way forth, coughing and gagging up the filth he’d swallowed, which had settled into his lungs, which rasped with each breath. The goo hardened once it touched air, and he began scraping it off his body–first in latex like sheets, and then flakes, and then like brittle sugarwork dusting his skin. As he did, he began to realize that the body he was in was not quite the same as the one he’d had earlier–it seemed so long ago, now that he had a moment to think about it, but…what had he looked like, exactly? Older. A bit of a potbelly which had earned him a good amount of ribbing from other…guys on the force. He could see them, he could remember them, but it felt once removed. Like the memories weren’t really his, but somehow leftovers. Like a movie he’d found abandoned in an old VCR at a stranger’s home. It wasn’t…him. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean he knew who he was.

What was he? He seemed to be human, still. Two legs, two arms, toes and fingers. Hairier than before. More muscular than before. Younger than before? That seemed…difficult to pin down. Thinking about time, it felt like a part of him stretched back…further than he could even comprehend. Time was relative. Time was infinite. He was impossibly young and also eternal. H tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Don’t think about who you are–what do you want, he asked himself.

Want. That was simpler. Immediate. He wanted pleasure. He wanted…he wanted sex. He wanted men. He could smell them, all around him in the night, the musk, the smoke, the cum, the piss. He was about to go out and find someone–anyone–to distract him from his terror, when two figures rounded the corner. One was familiar, and the other…he didn’t know how to describe the other at all. It wasn’t…human, was it? It looked like someone who had had grown so fat, his limbs so weak, it had simply become a blob dragging itself over the ground. “Out already? I thought you’d need a bit more time to develop, but you turned out…beautifully, son.”

Son? This person was…his father? As far as age was concerned, it seemed impossible, but time no longer seemed…stable. More importantly, he knew him. He wanted him, wanted to serve him, wanted to be his, somehow. Just standing there close to him, looking at him…the man claiming paternity sent a freakish level of pleasure through his guts and cock, making Beau grin wide. He stepped forward and kissed his father, his maker, the thing oozing between them, sucking and milking their cocks with it’s…mouths? Holes? It felt good in either case, and pleasure was all that really mattered to him at the moment. He pulled away after a few minutes, breathless but thrilled all the same, and wiped some of his father’s spit from his lips. “I don’t…understand. What happened to me? What am I?”

“You’ll learn in time. For now–you know what you need to do. I would join you, but this piece of filth needs to be taken below and stored away with our master. Enjoy yourself. Please yourself and others, and I will be happy when I see you again soon.”

There was a deep shadow, like a sudden blotting of every light at once, and they were gone. Beau was still there, but alone now. Dressed in leather gear–his gear, a hunger growing in his guts and his cock, and he set out into the night to feed, to fuck, to give pleasure–but most of all, to corrupt.

He’d been so focused on his bicep curls, that his six pack had already disappeared by the time he set down the weight, and went to flex at himself in the mirror. He realized the reflection seemed off, but it took him a moment, and another ten pounds gained, before he realized what was happening, lifted up his shirt, and nearly screamed in the middle of the gym floor.

What the fuck was happening to him? He grabbed the flab in his hands, just to see if it was real, and discovered that…he could feel it growing and expanding. He looked around in a panic, unable to understand how something like this could even be happening, and then he ran for the locker room. He had to get to a doctor or something, he had to figure out what was wrong with him!

But by the time he got to the locker room, his clothes no longer fit. The changes had accelerated, and he pulled on his jeans just in time to have the seams ripped apart my his expanding ass. He stared at his new, hairy body in the mirror hanging over the sink, disgusted with himself, when he noticed someone watching him with a smirk…someone…he thought he should be able to recognize.

It wasn’t until he was bent over the sink, the stranger’s cock buried in his fat ass, holding his hair back, filming the video to post later, and he realized it was Ian, a massively obese guy he’d bullied for years in college, now looking slim and trim after transferring all of his fat to his old bully, and taking his muscles for himself. He was nice enough to leave him some 4XL clothes once he was finished, but for his old bully, getting clothed was only the beginning of his problems. His hole was still itching for a cock…and if he didn’t find something to plug up there, he felt like he was going to go insane.

“Who’s the fat ass faggot now?” was all Ian said as he left the locker room, and the ex-jock to his new life.

Source: hotchubsblog

Dark Mind (Part 6)

Sorry I forgot to post this yesterday!

Jordan fought, as best he could, for the first few weeks. Direct disobedience was an utter fool’s errand, he quickly realized–the beast had plenty of control over him in his waking state, and seemed much less concerned with his body’s appearance than Jordan was. Oliver too, seemed to enjoy it–running his hands over the scars crisscrossing Jordan’s back, shivering and getting a bit hard. Was he thinking about the scars that also marked his own back, that the beast was giving him in the night? Certainly, Oliver appeared exhausted, and when Jordan pressed him on it, he revealed he was only receiving two, maybe three hours of sleep a night, but that for Master, he’d suffer anything.

Oliver remained a puzzle Jordan soon realized he’d never be able to disentangle. Half the time, Oliver never even seemed to be addressing him, when he spoke, and all of Jordan’s pleas to him–both rational and physical–would run headlong into the massive brick wall that was Oliver’s utter devotion to the thing which had taken up residence in Jordan’s brain and body. However, Oliver’s exhaustion soon grew so extreme that he woke one morning to the appearance of a second slave in his apartment (or a third, rather, but be refused to count himself, even though Oliver was constantly reminding him of his alleged status). The newcomer slept all day long, and it was several days before Jordan even learned his name–Paul–because his role was different from Oliver’s. He was only there for the nights, to sate the Master’s desires from dusk to dawn.

The workouts remained murderous. He was forced to smoke until the desire for nicotine took over and Jordan no longer had the will to resist his own internal desire for the cigars Oliver kept him supplied with from the moment he woke, to the time the tranqs took hold in the evening. As months wore on, Jordan felt, more and more, like he was trapped in some strange dream of a life, without reason or logic, but which he sensed he’d never be able to escape. The beast inside him sensed the weakness, and seized it, pushing at him as he woke, with whispers and secrets–but the mirrors were the worst. Looking down at himself, he still mostly resembled his lanky form, though he had put on some muscle under Oliver’s direction. But looking in a mirror, his eyes would trick him. He would see the beast there, mimicking him, mocking him perhaps–well over six feet tall, thick, strong, hairy, confident, all of the things Jordan had always despised, and yet he found himself obsessing over this new image, as disgusted as he was by the idea. When he’d been especially good, he was allowed to fuck Oliver facing a mirror, experiencing the beasts pleasure vicariously, while Oliver merely tolerated his master’ vessel attempting to please his hole.

What did it want? Jordan found himself asking that often. Wasn’t there some way it could allow them both to exist, together? No–the beast was too desperate for control to allow such an arrangement, but this situation, Jordan trapped in his own apartment with two mindfucked slaves, he could tell this wouldn’t satisfy the beast either. He was certain he’d be able to solve it f he could just get a restful night’s sleep! But everyday, he woke up exhausted, spent, barely able to keep up with Oliver’s training, hating his body, how weak he was, taunted by that image haunting him in reflections all over the apartment. He wanted it to just…stop. He just wanted to sleep. And then, one morning, Oliver led him into what had been his bedroom.

Jordan hadn’t set foot in the room since arriving home that morning–after all, his body was essentially active all day and night, while the slaves slept in shifts on a small cot in the living room. His bedroom was no longer a bedroom–it had, somehow, been converted into a small, makeshift lab without him even knowing. His notes, which he’d assumed had been destroyed, were all there–everything he needed to continue his work on the serum, in fact, or…or an antidote. He felt a twinge of pleasure at the thought–yes, of course–this is what the thing wanted as well–an antidote to him. In the end, only one of them could survive like this, and they both knew it, and the beast was willing to bet it’s control over him was, even while he was awake, strong enough to convince Jordan to murder himself–but Jordan’s sense of self-preservation lingered on all the same.

From that day on, his days were consumed with work in the lab, the beast in his mind at all times, forcing his hand in small and large ways, the two of them battling out as he mixed and crafted what he simply called the antidote, but in all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what the thing would do, if one of them took it. He thought–he hoped–that he had successfully pushed the serum to stabilize erratic brain activity in the patient, in order to restore a normal sleep cycle–but the serum the beast wanted…he wasn’t quite sure what it was, really. The beast didn’t operate through science or rationality, but through impulse and desire. The one thing he knew, was that it wasn’t something he wanted to take–but on the day it was finished, he didn’t have a choice–The Beast took control, prepped the needle, and injected it straight into Jordan’s arm.

Jordan was never quite clear on what happened next. There was pain–a lot of it, all across his body, but also, somehow, in his very brain, like every synapse had turned on and began firing simultaneously. For a while, he was certain he was going to die. For a shorter time, lying on the floor, he was equally certain he was dead…but he wasn’t. However, he didn’t really know who, or what, he was. The man pushed himself up from the floor, looking around at the smashed up lab equipment around him, trying to process what had happened–there were so many memories, and too many people in his mind to sort them all out. Jordan and Harry, who was he? Which was he?

In the mirror, he looked like Harry–massively muscled, rough of face, massive cock, and certainly a desperate desire to fuck, but Jordan was there too, in ways. Perhaps less of him than Harry, but enough to make a certain difference in his mind, in how he thought, in what he wanted. His slaves, Oliver and Paul, entered the lab timidly, but both were ecstatic to see him, and he them. He could figure out who, or what, he’d become in a while–but right now, his slaves needed their master inside them, and he was only too happy to do so.

My Training Journal (Part 3)

Entry 55

Felix says I can write in you no more. He over here now helpin me move out cause i gotta go live with him now he says because i can’t go back to school cause i just a big dumb muscle slave. I guess hes write though i can’t think very hard anymore bout anythin other than working out and cocks and shit like that but I really like thinking about that stuff so maybe its ok!

I just wanted to tell you that im doin good on training and shit. I can ride Master’s fuck machine for a good hour now which is like super cool, makes me wanna jizz a bit but you know i cant. Not sure the last time i shoot but master says thats normal that i wont even wanna think about it soon because my worthless dick wont even be there much longer.

Fuck so much i wanna write but my head cant figure out how to word it. I’m gonna live with master for my own good from now on i suppose which is good. Hes helping me move out now. I dont need much really just the clothes he gave me to wear (the rubber and lycra and all the stuff thats so fuckin sexy on my huge bod, but I told you about that!) Oh! Master says i cant go back to college but that he found a night school for me instead! With classes and games and dancing and professors and everything, just like a real school but for stupid fagwhores like me! Im super excited to see what its like though. Anyway dont miss me too much!!! Master says ill be ok and happy and stuff and hes never been wrong before so why would he be wrong now, right?

Entry 56

Guess I underestimated that musclefag a bit! It’s a damn good thing he never showed this to anyone, or I probably would have been up shit creek by now. Still, whatever-his-name (I just call him Bitch usually, or Fag sometimes) has been doing really well since he moved in with me a few months back–I’m sure he’d be real proud of himself if he had much capacity for self-reflection anymore, but all of that is pretty much gone. Just a drooling idiot at this point. Even if I hadn’t taken this thing away from him it wouldn’t have mattered–he can’t even write anymore, so why would he have a journal?

Heh, I say he, but I don’t know what Bitch would really count as anymore. It doesn’t have a cock anymore, after all, or a sack. Supposedly the balls just get sucked up and still produce a minimal amount of hormones designed to keep up its muscle mass, but looking at the crotch? You wouldn’t know what it is. You should see the looks it gets, walking down the street in those tight lycra pants, tight enough to crawl up the crack of his wide, wide ass (wider now that we’ve been working in some collagen injections) but on the front, just nothing. No bulge, not even an outline. People don’t know what the fuck it is, and Bitch is too oblivious to even realize it’s a freak of nature at this point. Its pecs are massive, way out of proportion, with huge nipples. Got them pierced, and as soon as I can it’ll be swinging doorknockers from them, which will make its routine at the clubs just that much stranger and sexier. Lips too, got them inflated nice and puffy, great for blowjobs now that its gag reflex is finally gone–that took forever with this one!

Just re-read that last entry he made! Fucking night school, what a dipshit. Didn’t have to keep up that gag for too long, once it settled into the routine. Dancing for patrons, getting shoved in a gloryhole booth for hours on end, and of course, private rentals with his favorite “professors” four or five nights of the week. It just needs a whole lot of tutoring, I suppose. Anyone who wants it for a night can have it, and the rich old fags at these places love the idea of some docile adonis worshiping them for hours on end, no cock of its own to compete with their needs. I got so many regular customers I have a waiting list two weeks long! I suppose what that really means, is that I need to grow the stable a bit, right? Well don’t worry–I got a new athlete all lined up already. A bit older this time, bit of a muscle daddy in his late 30’s looking to get bigger. Well, we can do that. Still, I think I need to diversify my product line a bit–keep the hair on this one, and a big huge cock. Might as well corner the bottom market too, right? I think so. I think I’ll even have him keep a journal too, since reading through this thing while Bitch sucks me off make me nut like nothing else. His first sessions tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.

My Training Journal (Part 2)

Entry 14

Ok. I gotta talk about this. I mean, I can’t talk to anyone about this, because fuck, but i gotta put this down somewhere. Am I fucking crazy? Was that just really fucking crazy, what happened today? Because part of me feels so fucking good, and I just had Felix’s cock in my–

I can’t deal with that yet, I don’t want to think about it.

Fuck. How did that even happen, anyway? I mean. I was in the fucking zone, like always, working out, being a damn beast, as he likes to say. And I was feeling good! Damn good really. Really into it, lifting counting, my head just out of the damn zone or something

God, what the fuck am I even writing anymore, nothing is coming out like any sense at all.

I’m lying on the bench, pumping some iron, and he’s spotting me, and I remember seeing it, the tent in his shorts. I see it, but I don’t think much of it. I’ve seen guys get erections before, whatever, you know? It happens. But I’m looking at it, and then I’m *looking at it* and thinking about it, and I think I can smell it, or I can smell something, and it smells damn good, or I’m hungry or something, and I’m just…my eyes won’t fucking look away! And he fucking notices me looking at it, and I’m embarrassed as all fuck, of course, cause guys aren’t supposed to be looking at each other’s junk, and I apologize, and he asks me if I’m fucking gay! Just fucking asks me. I tell him no of course, and rack the weight, because I can’t keep focus on what I’m doing. He starts tell me that he’s gay, that he thinks it’s really hot, watching me work out, so he gets hard on occasion, and…and I feel like I should be freaking out when he tells me this, but it just seems fucking normal as any shit he might say. A guy I trust literally tells me he pops a boner thinking about me, and I’m like “Oh cool, whatevs”!

We keep going, but I can’t stop looking at it, thinking about it. He asks me if I want to see it…and I don’t not want to see it, I guess. I’m kinda fucking curious what’s making that huge damn bulge, you know? So he drops his shorts, and the thing is massive, like nine inches, and we just keep working out like nothing is up, and it’s inches from my damn face. We get through another few reps, the things leaking a bit on my forehead, but I can’t move, I can’t even wipe it off, and he asks if I want to suck it.

I said yes.

I fucking said yes, why the fuck did I say yes!

He said he wasn’t surprised, that I should feel submissive to him, since he’s my trainer, since he’s the one leading me and guiding me, that intimacy is just natural between men of our physical caliber, that there’s nothing we should be ashamed of. I have a huge cock buried down my throat so far I’m fucking gagging, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he says!

He tells me to bend over the bench, and I do. He peels down my shorts, grips my ass (which is fucking bigger now, I can fucking tell) and starts kneading it, before shoving his face in and eating my sweaty crack like it’s a fucking pussy. I think I moaned. I fucking hope I didn’t moan. He fucked me and I let him. His whole cock was in my ass and he came and I came and then we fucking kept working out and now I want to either die or have him fuck me all over again, right fucking now, because fuck it felt good it felt so fucking good

Entry 26

Fuck yeah man, six fuckin weeks!!! Time for a status update on my big fuckin bod. Big dont even begin to describe it really but I dont really got a better word. Biceps are huge. Pecs are fuckin huge. Fuck, Felix gropes them like tits sometimes when hes balls deep in my hole, pinches these thick nips of mine makes me so damn hot for his cock every fuckin time. Waist is narrower I guess, my ass is big round and fuck perfect of course! Got abs too. Never had abs before, always had a bit of a gut but since we started cutting a week ago they just fuckin popped out man!

Course the rest of the stuff Im doing helps make me look like a sexy muscled out fuck too. Felix was so totally right (not that Felix is ever wrong you know i mean duh!) that all that hair on my body was looking dumb and trashy and messy. The pills and drugs have been helping of course. My hairs been falling out for weeks, from everywhere! Head, face, chest, legs, you name it. Started shaving too, all over. It takes forever but damn my skin feels so fuckin good when it’s done, all smooth and shit. Fuck, I get done shavin my crack and slip my fingers in there in fuck myself, thinkin about Felixs big cock and how much I want him inside me

All the fuckin time now, ya gotta believe me. I swear I get there ready to workout and we fuck. We do some cardio we fuck. We lift, we fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, gettin’ my nub hard as we fuckin speak thinkin about it. I tried to tell Felix it shouldn’t be this small (its like three inches or something and my balls are smaller too) but he just told me not to worry about it. That small cocks on big guys are really sexy to him, and if he thinks its sexy then I should agree with him of course! I mean, I stare at myself a lot (alot a lot, I mean, all the fuckin time) but thats the one thing that just bugs me still I guess. Still nothing to do about it! Anyway gotta do my homeowrk and then head over there for todays training, and this big dildo won’t fuck itself.

My Training Journal (Part 1)

Entry 1

Alright. Step one? Training Journal. Check. Well, step two, I suppose, since I already managed to snag a personal trainer! How about that, you know? Man, coach isn’t going to believe the improvement when I show up on campus in fall, it’ll be like a brand new me! First string varsity, here I come!

As for the trainer, it’s a guy named Felix who works at the supplement store, where I was picking up my protein powders. We got to chatting and he mentioned that he spends his free time working a personal trainer for athletes, but that he didn’t have enough clients at the moment, so he was stuck working here as well. The guy is ripped, fuck! He’s like his own walking advertisement! His rates were damn cheap as well (not that I said that, of course, but charging what he does, no wonder he needs a second job!), and he even offered to help me out with nutrition as well, and gave me a free sample of his homemade protein and energy booster. I just tried it out at the gym, and holy fuck!!! I’ve never lifted like that in my damn life, it was like I was two of me or something. I mean, I ache like fuck right now, for sure, my legs are like jelly, but it’s obvious that guy gets results.

Anyway, I cancelled my gym membership too–Felix has a home gym of his own where I’ll be working out this summer–hell, with his low rate and no gym membership, I’m actually saving money, can you believe it? Things are finally looking up, and I can’t wait for tomorrow so we can get started.

Entry 10

Alright, so it’s been two weeks since my first workout with Felix! He promised I’d start seeing results right about now, and so I’m weighing in and doing some measurements before I go and see him for a bit, since I want to do them without being biased by that guys positivity. Damn, he’s really fucking good at what he does, I gotta say. He says he’s not looking for more clients, but I’d probably get the whole damn football team to train with him, if he was willing!!! Something about working out with him, you…feel so calm and connected. Aware of your body somehow, in a way you aren’t usually. Like your head’s running on auto pilot or something, and he’s pushing you to levels you’d never even imagined before all of this. Fuck, I’m gushing like I have a crush on him or something (Though if I was gay, I’d probably be all over him, gotta say) so I should just measure.

Damn, this is fucking impressive! Added an inch to both my biceps. Looking at this selfie I just took, my abs aren’t really more defined at the moment because we’ve started out with a bulking cycle, but my waist seems a bit narrower (to think coach said I’d never be able to get that ‘V’ shape!” Maybe it’s not really my waist, but more my ass, which is a bit thicker. I didn’t measure that before, but at least I have a baseline for it now, if nothing else. Probably all those squats he’s making me do, I swear! The guy’s in love with me working my legs. Then again, I’ve always been one of those guys who might skip a leg day on occasion, you know? Probably for the best that I’ve got someone looking out for my best interests!

Overall, I gotta say I’m damn satisfied. A few things are a bit worrying I guess, or maybe just a bit strange? My sex drive is down a bit, which is odd. I’m usually a huge horn dog, but ever since I started this new workout, I’ve just felt…exhausted. Well, that’s not quite true. These nutritional boosters I’ve been taking have be more alert than ever, and I’m eating a fuckton of food–following Felix’s meal plans of course, so most of it’s protein and some heavy carb load to keep me bulking for the moment. Gotta gain to put on muscle, as he says! Still, what was I saying? Kind of hard to focus on shit, when my head feels like it’s wired to the damn light socket. Right, I just…don’t feel it as much, you know? Jacking off is harder than it was, and feels kind of like a waste of time. Looking at it now, it actually seems a bit smaller. I’ll measure it.

Yeah, a bit shorter? Maybe it’s just this ruler in particular. Only six and a half, instead of seven like usual…maybe I’ve just been exaggerating a bit. Balls seem a bit smaller too, for whatever reason, but maybe it’s just my bush. A lot of guys I know shave to make their junk look bigger, but I’m so damn hairy it would take me for fucking ever to do it every day! Besides, I like the natural look myself, and the beard I’ve been growing looks good. Felix says it doesn’t suit me, but fuck him–he’s my trainer, not my damn stylist. Anyway, I’ll probably ask him about the cock and ball stuff when I see him today, cause that is a bit strange. I looked up the supplements he’s giving me, on the internet, and couldn’t find anything about them, which is really weird too. Maybe it’s a side effect or something? Who knows, some of this shit can be dangerous if you aren’t careful, but I’ll ask him first. He knows his shit, after all, and he’s my trainer–he only has my best interest at heart, as he says.

visit real-thick.tumblr.com for more training motivators

“What do you think, MoJo? You wanna work out some more?” the man smirked at the huge brute, finishing a set at the gym.

“please, I’m tired, I just wanna go home…” MoJo said, “and stop…calling me MoJo, it’s not my name?”

“Oh? Then what is your name? If you can give me another name, a true name, this will all be over. Then again, you can’t, can you? Because I have your name now, which means I get to call you whatever I want.”

MoJo still didn’t understand how this had happened. He’d been downtown, and seen a couple of faggots kissing outside a bar, and chucked a rock at them. Konked one on the head, and then this other guy had been next to him, asking him for his name, and then…and then this! He looked down at himself, unable to believe how big he’d become in just a few hours. He looked like a freak!

“Well, if you really want to stop, we can work on something else, MoJo. I think you’re looking like a proper musclefag anyway.”

“I’m not a musclefag!” MoJo fumed, “Not a fag at all…”

“No?” the man said, “I’m calling you a musclefag. Empty headed, musclefag MoJo, all brawn and no brains, but wouldn’t hurt a fly–you’re too good of a guy for that. More interested in finding some guy to plow one of your holes anyway, though you’ll always stand up for a fag in trouble, right?”

MoJo was shaking his head, but it was emptying out father than he could understand. The guy was right, after all. He’d been called a musclefag all his life, and they were right. He was muscles, and he was a fag! What else could he be? “I don’…” he started to say, but lost his train of thought almost immediately. “Fuck, I’m horny–wanna fuck my ass?”

“Only if I can fuck it right here, where anyone can see you through those windows.”

MoJo nodded dumbly–he was happy for a fuck or a suck anywhere. He bent over the bench and the man yanked down his shorts, sliding into his well used hole, and MoJo sighed, wondering if he could get back to the club before it closed, and find a few other guys willing to plow a dumb musclefag like him before the night was over.

Source: real-thick

Satyr Hills (Flash Commission)

Commissioned by @musclelover4826

Dan leaned lightly against a tree, his ears straining for the song. The wind had picked up as he’d climbed higher through the hills where he’d been walking, making it harder to hear, but there! Yes, that was it, a light trill, but enough. He had only been planning a short walk through the lands surrounding the greek villa he was staying in for his week of vacation, but he’d heard someone playing some strange, lilting tune, distantly on the wind. It had glued itself in his mind immediately, and he found himself desperate to find the person playing it. He trudged away from the path, and was now miles from where he’d began.

He knew he should be worried, but every time the song caught him he was again drawn to it. He also hadn’t been prepared for this long of a walk–while by no means out of shape, he was not much of an athlete–skinny, more accustomed to days in studying at the library than fields and pitches–or even long hikes like this had become. He took his glasses off to wipe sweat from his brow, thankful for the breeze to cool him down somewhat, and kept going. Half an hour later, the woods thinned slightly–he came around a trunk, and there, sitting on a wide stump was a satyr, panpipes at his lips, playing his song, Dan’s song. His jaw dropped, and he tried to stop and stare, but whatever tune the strange beast was playing pulled him closer still, the breeze now even colder against his bare skin.

Bare skin? He looked down, and then around behind him. He’d…lost all of his clothes, and they were nowhere to be seen! He’d been so hot, walking, had he taken them off to cool down? It had seemed so reasonable in the moment, but…but the song pressed against his mind, and drove out his worries again, bringing him to the satyr’s side. He looked a bit older than Dan, in his mid thirties, with a shaggy brown made of hair coating his head, and also his legs–but two huge ram horns sprouting from his temples implied that the beast was likely much older than Dan could guess.

At last, he set down the pipes, but the tune was still caught in his mind, playing over and over again, a seamless loop binding him to the satyr’s side, no matter how hard he struggled against the compulsion. “Good to know, after such a long sleep, the world still has beauties such as you,” he said to Dan, as one sharp nail ran it’s way down Dan’s front to his cock, the satyr licking his bearded lips before leaning over and running his tongue along Dan’s cock from root to head. His cock began to tingle, a new sensation filling his mind–lust, pure and simple. He’d never had much desire for sex, but soon, he was heaving for breath, eyes rolled back, no thought of resisting as the satyr stood, bent Dan over the side of the stump, and turned his attentions to the young man’s hole, licking and probing with his tongue, feeling the tight cherry begin to unknot and loosen.

Dan kept trying to fight back, but now the lust was overwhelming even the song still running through his mind. He reached down with one hand, and helplessly stroked his cock. It was still slick with the satyr’s saliva, but it felt…different. Thicker and longer than it had, and so much more sensitive than before. It began to leak, precum dribbling onto the surface of the stump, the scent of fresh cum driving him even more wild, the satyr pulling his mouth from his now very loose hole, lining up it’s own cock, and slipping it in deep with a long, loud moaning bleet of pleasure. Dan felt himself explode, a massive torrent of cum pouring forth from his cock, and yet, he could sense, somehow, that it was more than just cum leaving him, but also…himself. His memories, his elevated desires, his sense of self, his sense of humanity. He felt crippled by the overwhelming joy, and had no time to recover before a second, equally massive orgasm ripped through him, shimmering cum spraying across the surface of the stump where it was absorbed by the wood, with no trace remaining. This continued for what felt like hours, but could have been minutes, the Satyr’s hands exploring his body, until, at long last, the beast’s pace quickened, and with a cry that echoed through the hills, he came deep in Dan’s hole as well.

It was like a fire burning inside him. The Satyr pulled out and stepped back, and Dan rolled over onto his back on the stump, his insides aching, but his hands couldn’t leave his cock. The shaft grew longer, but his balls, which had shriveled slightly in the wake of his orgams, swelled again, fuller and thicker than before. The skin thickened into a hide, and a dusting of deep blonde hair grew in, coating the sack before spreading it’s way down his thighs, muscles thickening even as his legs shortened, ankles and feet contorting until he no longer had feet, but cloven hooves at the base of his new legs. The rest of him was changing as well–his lithe body bulging with newfound muscle, a ridged six pack, hard pectorals, strong arms stroking his thick cock, feeling the heat begin to claw through his mind, emptying it out of everything beyond the most basic of desires. Food. Wine. Pleasure. Sex. Service. He could see so clearly–not only without glasses, which had long since been smashed under the satyr’s hoof–but the path forward as well. There was only pleasure, in the end; why had he ever let things become so complicated? As Dan came one last time, two small horns pushed their way out from the side of his head, each an inch long–nothing like the ones adorning his new master, but perhaps in time…

The satyr took his new thrall again, both of them enjoying Dan’s new body through the evening and deep into the night, and then resting together, the old satyr playing one of his favorite lullabies to lull them both to sleep–though not as deep as the one he had just woken from. No, he had seen a glimpse of this modern world’s men–he thirsted for more, and this one would help him. Together, they would make many more brothers for themselves, living happily in the hills and forests, just as they had in centuries past.