Jacque’s Gym

Mycelium

Elliott nervously scribbled on his flashcards, hoping to God that it was enough to pass the exam. Dr. Whitacre was a notoriously tough grader, and she would absolutely kick him from the Senior Expedition if he were to get anything less than a 97. Mycology was Elliott's passion, so missing the trip to the rainforests of Borneo was NOT an option. Luckily, he was fortunate his roommate Guillermo was returning from his class trip to the Amazon, so he could hopefully give some insight into what to expect, if not help him study for the exam.

The doorknob jiggled, and he could hear the insertion of the key into the lock. The door swung open and closed, Elliott completely enveloped in his flashcards.

"Hey man, I'll be with you in a second. I've got like two more here, but I have to hear about the trip!" He was met only with silence, and the loud thunk of a duffel bag hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps began to walk toward the wardrobe to the left of him. Guillermo must have gotten some heavy hiking boots, because those clunks could not have been made by his tiny feet... Guillermo was only 5'2, skinny as a pipecleaner, and pushing 40 years old.

The scribbling finally came to a close as he finished his final card: Pathogenic Fungi. Slamming his pencil against the desk, he leaned back in his chair, ready beyond words for a small respite. Only then did he feel the tingle in his nose. He took a quick sniff. It was faint, but it was sweet, salty, almost sour... and completely intoxicating. He turned toward the point of origin, only to see who was leaning against the old weathered armoire. It was Guillermo, or rather, his face was reminiscent of him. He was young, muscled, and outrageously large, standing a jaw dropping 7'1. His irises were completely black, and seemed to move as if filled with a liquid. A look of cocky intrigue graced his handsome face, one that Elliott could not break contact with.

"See something you like, roomie?" Guillermo's thick Belizean accent remained, albeit several octaves lower. Every inch of him glistened, his skin shiny and coated in a layer of shining sweat. He threw his muscular arms behind his head, the biceps seemingly pulsating as he flexed. The forests of hair in his pits dripped thick droplets of sweat, as they dropped to the floor and splattered like slime.

Before Elliott could even make a single remark, the scent intensified dramatically. What was once subtle was now immensely pungent and carried with it an almost wet weight to it. It felt humid, as if his musk was as wet and hot as the rainforest he'd just returned from. It was thick, soupy, almost slimy and it slithered through the air around him; brushing against his skin, invading his nose, even tickling his tastebuds with overwhelming umami flavor.

"It feels so good, right? Smells so ripe, you can literally taste it." Guillermo was right, he could taste it. In fact, he could feel the plasmic musk seemingly flow like liquid down his throat and into his nose. "We all have our own, El. You could sniff every one of us coming off that plane, and all of us smelled different and so fucking great." Guillermo walked slowly toward the entranced Elliott, letting the heat from his chiseled body radiate throughout the room. "Doc Whitacre found a new kind of fungus, Elliott. Once you take in it's spores, it changes you. Makes you see things you never would see before, feel things you never could. It makes you so fuckin strong, and so fuckin horny... You can hear the others in your head, almost like one mind, and once you let that amazing musk into your body... You're gonna see what it can do for you."

Guillermo was inches from Elliott's face, the heat exuding from his strong pecs was too much. Every inhibition completely obliterated, Elliott buried his face into the ripe, sticky pits, and began to lick. He drank the musk out of the tap, letting Guillermo's savory flavor cloud every thought and judgement. Smirking with his now plush, supple lips, he grabbed Elliott's chin between his two meaty fingers and brought it close to his own before letting his tongue do the rest. The two locked lips, Elliott experiencing the savory, sweet taste of Guillermo's saliva.

The spores had finally built up in Elliott's system, the sheer amount of them released out of Guillermo's pits, groin and feet would have overwhelmed a much larger person in about sixty seconds of exposure. Elliott being lean, short, and lanky meant the transformation stage would happen rapidly. As the microscopic spores in the slimy sweat transferred from Guillermo to Elliott, he could feel the viscous fungi invade his pores. Intense euphoria set in as he felt his muscles spasm and engorge with the slimy fungus flowing into them. Inflating at an alarming rate, he could sense his chest firming up, and his body temperature rising. Everything began to echo in his ears, as if the room had gotten quite a bit bigger. He could hear Guillermo's heart beat, he could hear the sound of the slimy spores slipping into him, and he certainly could hear the sloshing sounds of his arms inflating with fungal slime.

Guillermo pulled away and knocked Elliott to the ground, kicking his dripping black socks and rank yellow trainers off his gigantic boatlike feet. A malicious smile crept onto his face as he lowered his sole onto Elliott's face, letting his slimy toes curl around the nose. Elliott breathed deeply, and lapped his elongating tongue over the slick, reeking foot. With every breath, his torso grew larger, firmer, and more muscular. His legs swelled, and his groin stirred. Thick tufts of body hair began to sprout from his pecs and abs, spreading down his firm quads and calves, down to his rapidly expanding feet.

Snatching a facecloth from the chair, Guillermo pulled down his shorts and jockstrap and began to wipe his pendulous, slimy balls and taint all over the towel. Black precum began to seep slowly from his thick, uncut cock, so why not add a bit of the salty surprise onto the damp towel for his best friend? Pulling his foot from his face, and pressing it on Elliott's throbbing groin, he tossed the towel onto his friend's face, knowing all too well that the last stage of the transformation was the facial region. Listening to the ethereal, dark voices the fungus spoke in his black, slimy brain, Guillermo slid his own filthy socks and ripe trainers onto Elliott's now size 17 feet; letting the spores seep even further into their now muscular, slimy host.

Sliding his slick, smelly foot up and down the massive shaft, Guillermo began to stroke himself as well as the virility became too much to manage. Beneath the slimy towel, Elliott began to see vibrant, dancing colors no human eye had ever seen before, hiding within every glistening spore. They sparkled like a chromatic night sky, creating seas of indescribable constellations and nebulae. Of course, his mind was finally being completely reprogrammed. The sludge had finally made it's way into the brain through the bloodstream.

Flowing through his veins was now his own black slimy spores. Coating his brain, coating his lungs, filling his balls, and most importantly, now wafting from him. Elliott began to smell his own newfound musk, so distinct from Guillermo's, and just as irresistibly potent. He grabbed Guillermo's ankle and began to thrust against his friend's slimy foot, before hearing his moans of pleasure in his mind. He could hear the sounds of Guillermo's mind on the edge of climax, feeling the sensations of mounting tension as his own. In mere seconds, the two blew their black sludge loads in tandem; pints of it. The coated eachother in the other's cum, only stopping after their balls stopped undulating. The sludge, animate, found it's way into their cocks, teasing another round of pleasure as the boys felt the other's cum flow into their balls.

The assimilation process was complete. The fungus had taken complete control of Elliott, and added him to the hive mind. Pulling the towel from his face, an entirely transformed Amazonian man rose to his feet. Elliott's irises flooded quickly with the very last of the mycelium sludge, now filled with the same rippling black liquid as Guillermo. Both boys smiled at eachother, groping and feeling eachother before intently inhaling eachother's addictive musk. They felt the same directive, the same innate need to procreate, to spread. That is, after all, the purpose of all life. The rest of the university was easy pickings for the fungus, it would likely only take a day or two at most... No need to rush. So Elliott, taking in his newfound confidence and swagger, groped Guillermo's musky sac, before falling onto the futon. Bringing his fingers, coated in Guillermo's spores to his nose, taking in every ounce of him... The two were irrisistable, even to eachother, as Guillermo laid atop his new mate for another fuck session.

Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?” 

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.” 

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-” 

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.” 

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater. 

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle. 

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair. 

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

 Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts. 

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

i would love to become a football jock.. all muscular, horny, dumb, alpha.. the brotherhood of jocks and bros

I love cleats .. I wish I could just try some on...

I slipped into the locker room like I didn’t belong, because I didn’t. My sneakers squeaked on tile still damp with sweat and something thicker. The air was heavy, suffocating, soaked in days of unwashed socks, jockstraps, and testosterone. My cock twitched before I even saw them.

The cleats were by the bench. Still warm. Still wet. Black, beaten, with a yellowed sole that looked chewed by use. I knelt and picked one up, hands shaking. Brought it close.

The smell hit me like a punch. Thick. Cheesy. Hot. The kind of stink that clung to the back of your tongue and stayed. I gasped, instantly hard. My eyes rolled back as I pressed my face in deeper, nose grinding into the crusted insole. The sweat was alive, sharp and tangy like it had fermented. I moaned, shame burning as I huffed deeper.

Then… footsteps.

I froze.

He stepped into view. Towering. Shirtless. His torso was slick with sweat, veins crawling across thick arms. I tried to move. I tried to stop sniffing. But I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t obey.

“Don’t stop.” His voice was low. Lazy. Cruel. “That one’s mine.”

A low whine escaped me.

“You like that smell? Course you do. Got a few... gifts in it.”

I whimpered, my cock rock-hard in my pants. He stepped closer. The heat radiating off him was suffocating. His bulge strained in soaked compression shorts. I couldn’t look away.

“Take your pants off. Now.”

I stripped. No hesitation. My knees wobbled as I stood bare, leaking. My cock throbbed in the thick locker room air.

“Put ‘em on.”

I slid the cleats onto my bare feet. The moment they touched skin, heat shot up my legs. My toes curled, heels locking into place. I gasped—muscle packed onto my calves, thighs swelling, skin slick with sudden sweat. My stance widened, body adjusting instinctively to the added weight. I felt... stronger.

“Yeah, bro,” he grinned, stepping closer, body radiating control. “Bet that’s makin’ you feel real good.”

His fingers brushed my cock.

I jerked, moaning.

He didn't stroke, just teased. Lazy, cruel touches that had my hips grinding forward, my breath ragged. I was dripping, every nerve lit up, body begging for release.

“Wanna cum, bro?”

“Y-yeah,” I gasped, eyes fluttering.

“Tough.” He taunted grazing the tip of my cock like electric pleasure.

He stepped back. My hips thrust forward desperately, chasing friction, but found only air.

“Nuh-uh. You don’t cum 'til the team says you can. You know why?”

He held up a black plastic jock cup. Greasy. Fused with old sweat, yellowed on the inside. It reeked. My knees buckled just smelling it.

“Because this is yours now. This is where your cock goes. Forever.”

He shoved it against me. It sucked my cock in, fast and wet. I screamed. The cup sealed to my groin, hissing, pulsing with heat. The walls hugged my shaft, twitching, squeezing, edging, like it was alive and it’s only purpose was to keep me on the brink of an orgasm, never enough to cum.

I wanted to reach down to tear it off. My hands wouldn’t move.

“That’s the dumbcup. You don’t take it off. You don’t touch your cock. You don’t need to. You’re a jock now.”

My back arched. My spine cracked, lengthening. Shoulders widened, chest exploded with new mass—pecs thick and heavy with sweat. My neck bulged. My brain ached.

“F-fuck… wait…”

“Too late, bro. Say goodbye.”

Thoughts spilled like water. My name, gone. Books, forgotten. My degree? What was a degree? My mind fogged over, the air inside my skull filling with gym funk, locker room chants, grunts and moans and the rhythm of my bros fucking me on repeat.

“Say it.” He taunted.

“I’m a… dumb jock,” I panted.

He grabbed my head. Forced me to look up planting a rough kiss on my lips as if to inflict one last ounce of control over the free will I had left.

“Say it right.”

“I’m a dumb, horny bro toy. My cock ain’t mine. My brain ain’t mine. I belong to the team.”

My voice was deeper. Slower. Thicker. My jaw felt stronger. My tongue… hungrier.

He unzipped. “Then prove it.”

I opened wide. His dick was soaked in sweat, thick and veiny. I took it without hesitation. The taste hit me like a drug. salty, hot, claiming. I moaned around it. He spat down into my mouth. I swallowed, instinctively.

Everything went still.

And just like that... I was a jock. Always had been. Friendly. Dumb. Muscular. Trapped. Just another cum dump for the team. Anything for my bros.

I dedicate this story to my good friend and writing buddy @idesofrevolution. Merry Christmas buddy and please PLEASE Enjoy. Happy holidays to everyone and Happy TF's.

A Green Christmas

`What!!`

Ryan screamed at the news.

You sighed.

´I have no choice, my family has to move, and I have to go as well, I don´t have any accommodation here.´

Ryan grumbled. `Bro... you can´t leave me man... you´re my best bud.´

You grimaced. Your friend had been acting weird lately. You used to be super close, and you honestly still are, but your interests had began to shift. You used to play games, watch cartoons and study together, but lately Ryan had become absent from you life. He had been ´busy´ with other things but his grades had been plummeting and he had picked up smoking. Ryan had no idea you knew this, but you had seen the pictures from your classmates. His wardrobe had changed too. Before he would wear shirts and khakis, now its oversized shirts and hoodies. He started wearing contacts as well, which, to be honest, was a great look for him, he looked very handsome without glasses. His lingo had switched as well. No more academic jargon. Just simple sentences, which almost always had at least one bro in them.

`Look Ryan, I really am sorry, but I just can´t make this work´

Your family was moving, and while you were a college student, who by all accounts should have received some form of scholarship due to your amazing grades, you never did. The truth however, was that you wanted to move. The alienating feeling you got from your former best friend broke something in you, and you had to put some distance between eachother. You could easily apply for the on-campus dormitories but you just couldn`t bear staying near the now almost stranger.

`Look you´d better go, I want to be home before Christmas and I still have a lot of packing to do.'

Ryan sighed and left. After closing the door behind him, You let out a grunt.

"Why does it have to be this way! What happend to him?"

Reluctantly you began packing. Your father would come and get you and your things on Christmas eve, so you had your work cut out for you. You were currently staying Ryan, but this had always been a temporary solution. Ryan's landlord didn't want two friends staying together only couples or families. Ryan had become quite open to you about his sexuality. He had told you he was bisexual and that he could always tell the landlord the two of you were dating, but you had declined. You had a hard enough time not getting picked on. If word would get out that you two were dating, you would not be able to survive. What Ryan didn't know is that you were in fact also bisexual. You really liked girls but men really were where you got your satisfaction. From porn that is, because you were still a virgin. You grew up in a strict Christian household, with a Father from the south. Your parents would never approve and they were the reason you didn't have to work, so coming out was never an option.

A loud knock shook you from your deep train of thought. You opened the door and Ryan was standing right there, smiling.

"Steven, can we talk bro?"

"Ryan, I told you. I need to pack for..."

"Please, just for a little while."

"...Fine..."

Ryan walked in and sat down on your bed.

"Look man... I've been thinking... I need to be honest with you about something."

You looked at your former best friend with confusion. He had been so dominant and confident these last few weeks, and all of a sudden he looked shy and insecure.

"I... I picked up smoking... and... not just cigarettes. Weed too"

You sighed.

"I know Ryan, I have seen you. Don't worry, it's whatever... Your body, your choice."

Ryan smiled.

"Yeah for reallll broo but, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" You asked, slightly impatient.

"Come sit down first" Ryan had this shit eating grin on his face, his perfect white teeth on display. Wait that doesn't sound right. he had braces right?

Because you took so long, Ryan grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed, right next to him.

"What the hell man!" You exclaimed.

He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, his musky scent drilling into your nose, and holds something up to your face.

"I really, really want to smoke this with you man. Like dying wish and shit."

You look down and see a blunt in between his fingers.

"I don't smoke Ryan, you know this" You point out.

" Just one hit bro, that's all, I won't tell anyone, you don't have to smoke any more, just humor me with this man."

You took a deep breath and wanted to decline, but then something clicked.

"You know what. Sure."

Ryan's grin widened. 'Let's fucking go bro!!!" He quickly grabbed a lighter, and lit the blunt.

He took the first hit, blowing the smoke right into your face, the fumes invading your nose and throat, leaving you gasping for air.

"Sorry there bro, just wanted to give you a little taste."

"I'm only taking one hit bro... fuck" Your eyes widen not only did you just curse, something which you rarely do, you also just used bro in your sentence. Hoping he didn't notice you hold out your hand to take the blunt.

Ryan, who's grinning from ear to ear, hands you the blunt, and you quickly take a hit. You deeply inhale, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the weed invade your brain. A single hit, and you can almost feel your brain stopping.

"W...whaaat the fuuuuuck" You mumble. Your jaw slacks a bit as the smoke escapes from your lips.

"You gonna take that hit or not bro?" Ryan asked with a sly grin on his face.

"Huh didn't I just?'' You asked confused.

"Bro are you already tripping? I just blew some smoke in your face man, thats all. Now come on bro, you promised."

You took a hit, taking a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and your whole body. Slowly blowing out you feel constricted. You look down to see your buttoned up shirt bulging. You tug on it a bit, and it flies open, revealing a chiseled abdomen and two meaty pecs.

"Brooo wat the fahk' You mumble. "My chest is so big... what the hell"

"Yeah bro I know right. I love that strain. Made me who I am today" Ryan smirks as he takes off his hoodie showing his massive arms and chest.

You look in awe as he stretches a bit, his smooth torso , and bulging muscles on display. He drops his sweats, showing off a massive bulge in his white briefs as he looks at you and smirks.

"Wanna take another hit bro?"

Before he even finished his sentence the blunt was back in your mouth, filling you up with even more smoke. You look down and begin to giggle as you bounce your growing pecs.

"Huhuhu broo they are so bigg... what the shit..." You say as a familiar musk begins radiating from your growing body.

Ryan smiles back.

"Yeah bro you're getting so fuckin huge. You're so hot"

You look at him with a flushed face.

"What... did you say?"

"You're hot. You look amazing."

"Thanks..." You can't help but blush, seeing as he himself is a fucking model.

"You're really hot yourself" You say with a beetred face

Ryan stops smiling and looks at you. He sits down and looks you in the eyes.

"I don't want you to go Stevey. I love you..."

Your eyes widen at the words, and before you know it, his lips get pressed against yours. Before you can react he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and a torrent of smoke follows suit. It's almost as if hes blowing you up, and it feels that way too, Your muscles getting bigger, your mind hazier, and your dick... well...

You manage to push away and look at him.

"Ry... I ... "

"yeah?"

"I think... no ... I know... I love you too man"

Ryan signature shit eating grin flies back onto his face.

"Fuck yeah bro!!"

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you grab the blunt from his fingers, taking a massive hit before grabbing his neck and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

"You're so sexy." You say as he blows the smoke back into your face.

"What about you then, such a fucking cute stud you are"

The two of you continue laughing, finishing the blunt before crawling into each others arms.

You text your dad that he doesn't have to come get you anymore, as you will be staying with your boyfriend, and promptly block him afterwards.

You nuzzled up to your boyfriends pit and took a deep breath. It smelled amazing and it bricked you up knowing you smell the same.

This will be a pretty special Christmas.

__________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays Everyone!!!! Feel free to send in some asks or order something at Rakurai Inc.!!!

In His Home

Timothy stared from across the quad, furiously undressing him with his eyes. Lance Lockhart. For years now he had loved this boy from afar, his every thought, dream, and desire was shrouded in his powerful shadow. And as he innocently studied the silverwood sapling, jotting down whatever measurements he needed for ‘Intro to Botany,’ Timothy did what he always did from afar: daydream. Lance’s favourite grey bro tank and white cap, his silky white wrestling shorts, the gigantic and well worn white and gold Roshes gracing his feet… Every ounce of him was soaked in masculinity, oozed cockiness, and radiated sexual desire.

For one solitary moment, the pair’s eyes met. A sideward glance meeting a deep, invasive stare. Timothy buried his face in his Organic Chemistry textbook, pleading with whatever essence dictated luck that Lance’s gaze had passed him over. For a moment, he thought his childish tactic had succeeded. Yet, as he peeked over the top of the textbook, he saw Lance sauntering toward him across the green. As quickly as he could, he began to pack up his things, foolishly hoping to escape whatever interaction lay ahead. In the mad rush, the small diary he kept since childhood had fallen out of his Patagonia bookbag. Two strong, tan hand gently picked up the leatherbound book, gesturing it to him.

“I think you dropped this.” Lance’s beautiful, velvety, mahogany voice flowed out of his lips; a luscious craving he possessed since middle school. “What’s up Timmy? It’s been a while since I’ve seen ya around!” The two had only one class together, and the dimwitted, yet lovable Lance never let him forget it.

“Yeah, I, uh… Guess we have different schedules or something.” Timothy awkwardly grabbed the book from Lance’s grasp, shoving it deep into his bookbag. He quickly rose up, once again trying to feebly escape from the pleasantries, but felt the jock’s firm grasp envelop his wrist.

“I know it’s a little weird, but I need a favour, bro. Could you watch my dog while I’m in Georgia? We’re facing Emory in the finals, and I just wanna make sure that Ned is all taken care of. You can stay over, and eat my food, play the PlayStation…” Timothy silently nodded, and Lance let out a big sigh of relief. “Fuck, thanks man, here’s the key. I’m heading out in a few hours, so just head over after your classes or whatever. I’ll be back on Monday, aight?” Lance was already halfway across the quad, enroute to the busses which were lining up by the Gym. There was no take backs. Timothy would be spending the weekend at his dream boy’s house.

After he finished the painstakingly difficult Chemistry quiz, he bolted out the door, running for Lance’s place. It was just off campus, one street over from Greek Row. The house was infamous for having ridiculously wild after parties, riding the coattails of the neighboring frat houses’ ragers. As one might expect, the state of the house was slightly run down and decrepit, typical of college housing. The key turned in the front door lock, and opened the replacement front door.

Lance’s house was a disaster zone. From all the Snapchat stories and Facebook posts, this was the aftermath from the ridiculous football party the night before. Red solo cups filled with shitty beers were scattered across the house, atop tables, spilt over on the floor. The remnants of beer pong sat idle on the kitchen table, half smoked blunts and cigarette butts lay extinguished on the trashy linoleum. Even a pair of purple floral panties were strewn over a toppled over chair.

According to the instructions left on the stained countertop, Ned the Doberman was locked up in the bedroom. Timothy made his way upstairs, trudging past crumpled paper plates and crushed beer cans to arrive at the the bedroom door. He heard Ned clawing at the door, whining to be let out, so when the door was slowly opened, the cooped up dog burst out, covering Tim in slobbery kisses. After an adorable reunion, Ned rushed downstairs to eat whatever leftover pizza sat in the abandoned boxes, leaving Timothy alone in his idol’s bedchamber.

The mattress and boxspring sat in the corner of the room, barely covered with sweat stained sheets and cumstained tissues. The room smelt like a locker room, with Lance’s sweaty clothes scattered all around. A black leather Nike gym bag sat half open with a small golden cylinder poking out.

Timothy walked over, realizing the immense opportunity presented to him. He sheepishly opened the zipper, revealing Lance’s weightlifting gear, and a very old fleshlight. The smell of stale cum, smegma, and caked on sweat assaulted his nose.Years worth of wet dreams about what he’d do with Lance’s filthy gear flashed before his eyes, and before he knew it, he was stripping off his clothes. Excitedly, he slipped on the wet compressions & socks, taking a guilty huff of their strong scent. He picked up the black sweatshirt and tossed it on, lifting his arms to sniff the sour stench of pitsweat. He sat down on the bed, running his hands over the damp fabric that now clung to his skin, soaked in Lance’s musky juices.

The fleshlight beckoned to him, begging him to let out all the pent up tension that had built up in his balls. Grabbing the gold fucktoy, he was surprised with how heavy and slippery it was, coated in old lube. He twisted the top cap and pulled it off. Strings of off-white slime clung to the cap as it pulled away from the silicone lips, looking like cheese stretching from pizza. Lance hadn’t ever cleaned it. Old coagulated jizz intermingled with the fresh load he had clearly put in earlier that day, filling the room with salty-chlorine smell of semen. Timothy’s cock throbbed in anticipation, his senses heightened by the olfactory overload of cum and musk.

He pulled back his foreskin, and delicately thrusted his cock into the filthy fleshlight. The cum was slick and viscous, coating him in a thick blanket of smelly slime. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt. No wonder Lance hadn’t cleaned it out, the built up loads and massaging protrusions added to the sensory overload.

He could barely breathe, with each thrust his lungs crumpled within him, and his chest was filled with butterflies. He gasped for air, moaning loudly in absolute ecstasy. Every muscle in his body tensed, flexing every muscle, as he launched his hips into the slurping fleshlight.

He didn’t feel his legs bulging, his feet growing, his cock stretching. He couldn’t see the muscles beneath his skin expand and inflate. He couldn’t taste the salty-sweet sweat that was pouring out of his tanning skin. What he could do, was smell every ounce of Lance. His very essence seeping into him like a sponge. As if that heavy, stinking musk had invaded him. And as he added his load into the heavy, warm fleshlight, he couldn’t help but imagine a little bit of that cum slipping into him.

Lance was eager to see what three days of jockification could accomplish. Coach was all too happy to cough up the secret to jocking when Lance had asked him, though his intentions to turn his personal fanboy into a teammate boyfriend remained hidden. As the busses pulled into the parking lot, and his bags were handed to him, Lance took his time sauntering back to his house. He wanted to give his babe as much time as he needed to ripen. So by the time he had turned the key and unlocked the door, he was barely able to contain his excitement.

“Yo, Timmy! You in here?” The muffled sounds of FIFA 17 crept out from behind his closed door. Every step he took up the creaking staircase, his stupid grin grew in anticipation. He reached his door, the daylight pouring in around the doorframe provided a Tumblr-worthy image as he pushed the door open. The same familiar stench that poured from his room was twofold today, strong and heavy in the air. It was almost humid as he stepped inside and saw an unfamiliar face rummaging through the piles of clothes.

“Fuck babe, you’re kinky as hell! You keep your creamed condoms? What the fuck for?” Lance walked further into the room, grinning like an idiot at his Soccer Captain boyfriend wearing his smelly practice gear.

“Good lube for later, bruh. Sebastian, you didn’t take very long!” Lance swaggered over to his studly creation, proud of every solid muscle and vein.The two powerfully embraced, lips locked in sloppy, wet french kiss. Timothy was no more, only the cocky, sport-obsessed persona of Seba was left. Coach Frost would be thrilled to see his newest Soccer player be so damn sexy! Apparently, three days of Musk-Jockification was pretty successful, at least to Lance. The two spent the entire week skipping class, playing FIFA, plowing ass, and huffing eachother’s dirty socks. The new Sunnmore University power couple was sure to bring the university a whole lotta pride.

Birthday Boy

It had been a very complicated period. I had spent the whole of the last quarter studying for my final exams without taking my eyes off the books, aided by the fact that life around me was definitely not going great. I had been dumped by my girlfriend, had a complicated situation with my family, and often took refuge in alcohol or drugs. If Ben had not been there, I don't know what would have become of me.

I didn't know him for very long, about a year or so, but we had become inseparable. He was a regular guy, Ben, diligent in his studies and full of tricks up his sleeve, also a sports lover, quite athletic even if skinny. He was always ready to lend a hand, whether it was a shoulder to cry on or friendly advice. I had a high opinion of him, and I could see that was the same for him; he was really fond of me. When I had to be strong in the last few months and try to graduate despite the fact that my world was collapsing, I knew I could count on him. After everytime we saw each other, I felt lighter and happier, I was really lucky to have met him. Sadly, although I imagined he might be gay -- he had never told me about his sexual orientation -- I was 100 percent straight; if he had been a girl, I would definitely have fallen in love with him, but the conditions were just not there.

My birthday came, just a few days before finals. Obviously I was not in the mood to celebrate, but Ben with an excuse had a surprise party prepared in my apartment. It was special, really: he, my closest friends and I spent an evening drinking and dancing, with no worries or bad thoughts. I found myself eventually stretched out on the couch, drunk and happy; as I watched all my friends say goodbye and go, I smiled carefree. Only Ben remained, intent on helping me clean up the mess left by the party. I told him I would take care of it the next day, but he wouldn't listen to any reason, so I made him stay. After a few seconds I fell asleep, collapsed. I didn't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, everything was perfectly in order. A voice was calling me and I opened my eyes. Ben was standing in front of me.

- "Hey, you're awake then. I just finished cleaning up this whole mess."

He looked at me with kind, gentle eyes. He had really been a sweetheart, I had slept like a drunken jerk without helping him. - "Oh, Ben, thank you really, you've been so precious, you did all this while I was asleep. I don't know how to thank you." - "You don't have to worry about that, you'll know it soon."

Something changed in his gaze. His face, which had seemed innocent and gentle until a few seconds before, was streaked with a malicious smile. - "Wake up, stud."

I felt something at the pit of my stomach, as if someone had punched me. Then from my belly a sensation of heat began to spread throughout my body, reaching my face, arms and legs. Slowly I was awakened from the hangover, weakness and fatigue passing second by second. I was sitting up, my back straight, my gaze fixed on Ben, as I felt my muscles vibrate and, inside my underwear, my cock swell. I was a guy who worked out, although I wasn't very thick; at this moment, however, I could feel my pecs pumping. Without my noticing, my arms were already flexed, my biceps put on show. - "Way to go, big boy. Are you awake now?"

Two words came spontaneously out of my mouth, without me being able to do anything else. - "Yes, master."

Ben smiled smugly. Then he opened his legs and straddled me. I could feel his hard penis beyond his jeans rubbing my pecs. With his hands he began to touch my biceps, satisfied. He reached up with his nose to one of my armpits, pulled out his tongue and licked it for a few seconds, emitting moans of pleasure. I kept looking ahead of me, my gaze fixed in emptiness, my body motionless like a statue. - "You were so good at following my instructions. More gym, less showers…less razors, you finally let yourself grow some fur on your massive chest. Good boy."

He grabbed my pecs with his hands, squeezing them, then moved his lips to one of my nipples. The moment the tip of his tongue touched my chest, an electric shock ran down my spine and I remembered everything.

Ben is not just my best friend. Ben is actually my Master. A few months earlier he had told me for the first time that this was the case. It had happened one night on this very same couch. He told me that he wanted to hypnotize me to make me feel better. I was very skeptical, but I agreed. From that moment, I don't know why, he is my Master and I have the duty,…nay, the pleasure of serving him. When I think about it, it is the most natural and right thing. He is so kind, so loving. I couldn't do anything else. My Master frequently gives me tasks and then tells me to forget about them, but then he compliments me every time I complete them anyway. Every time he makes me remember all about it. He has made me a better person, my Master. Since I have the honor of being his slave, I am happy and relieved. I don't have to think, I only need to obey. Moreover, when I am good, I receive rewards. The best one is when he does me the honor of making him come, using my body. He says my cock is his favorite, that he loves when I put it inside him. I am so excited when he says that, I feel special. We have fucked so many times in the past few months, he tells me I get better after each time. His pussy is different from women's one, it's so warm and tight and cozy and wonderful --- it's the most beautiful thing in the world, because it's my Master's, because it's Ben's. - "It all came back to you, huh? Licking your nipple to make you remember the last few months was an apt trigger, it usually takes you longer." - "Yes, Master, now I remember everything." - "Very good, then you know what to do next."

He lifted one of his armpits toward me and put it on my face. I smelled the best smell ever, it was his scent, It was a musky, masculine essence. With each sniff I felt a growing satisfaction inside me. My cock in my underpants was as hard as stone. I eagerly licked his sweaty armpit, feeling the hairs friction on my tongue as I ran over it. Ben let out moans of ecstasy. - "Bravo, bravo! You're getting better every time!"

The more he gave me compliments, the more my dedication grew, the more passionately I licked. He got to the point where he had to pull away from me, his face was flushed and his breath short. I remained with my tongue out filled with his sweat, like a good little dog, panting. - "Wow, you've really become insatiable. That's why you deserve a birthday present, my stud. Get undressed."

I nodded and took off my clothes in seconds. I stood naked, my body muscled and manly, my throbbing cock straight as a rod between my legs. Ben looked at me satisfied and horny. - "My birthday present will be something that will last forever. From this moment on, in fact, you will never forget what we do together. You seem to me to be ready now to be my full-fledged boyfriend. You know, it's fair for you to know that now. It was from the first moment I met you that I knew I had to make you mine. All these last months, the closeness I showed you, were nothing but mere brainwashing, slow and gradual. Even the end of your relationship with that slut … well, you're looking at the culprit. It only took a few hours with her to convince her to ditch you; she was really a stupid girl. And now here we are, you and me."

He grabbed my nuts with one hand, squeezing and massaging my cock. The words he had just said should have sparked anger inside me, I knew…but it had been just the opposite. I was glad to be the object of his attention for so long. How could it have been otherwise? Ben had helped me find my place in the world, and it was the one by his side. My eyes relaxed, my mouth widened into a blissful smile. - "You are happy, huh, in spite of everything? You will be even more after this."

Ben knelt down and took my cock in his mouth, still looking me in the eye. I felt his lips move up and down on my penis, each movement a thrill of pleasure. I began to moan, grabbed his head and in a rush of instincts began to lead him up and down my dick. He would pull away now and then, letting go a mischievous moan, showing me the threads of saliva and presperm that connected his lips to my cock. Ecstasy was now in control of me, taking every fiber of my body. I held his head pressed to the base of my crotch as my cock burst into his mouth. I could feel him greedily swallowing all the semen I had shot into him, each jet in perfect synchrony with his throat swallowing it. He broke off to catch his breath. - "It's impossible to get tired of your taste, man."

He stood up and kissed me with his tongue, letting me taste my own cum. He encircled my neck with his arms as I even more excitedly lifted him up and carried him to my bed. When I threw him on the mattress, he looked at me in an excited way. - "Fuck me, stud."

Then he got on all fours and turned his back to me, showing me his pussy. When I saw it, as if it were an ancient primal call, something in me awakened. It was Ben's special pussy, the most beautiful hole in the universe. My cock became marble-like again and I rushed to penetrate him. Ben cried out, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as my hands gripped his hips and my 8-inch massive cock entered him wildly. I let out feral moans and grunts. I just wanted to impregnate him, even though something inside me knew it would not be possible. I felt like a stud bull, an animal made only to breed. I erupted inside him again within minutes, just as he too was wetting the sheets with his white jets. As my seed dripped from his male pussy, I lay down beside him on the bed exhausted. He did the same, devastated, then looked into my eyes, smiling. - "Now, this is going to be forever. Me and my studly boyfriend ready to fuck me like an absolute animal."

I smiled back, already thinking about when I could plunge my cock back into Ben. I couldn't have been happier.

LIFT

Jay said, his voice firm and steady, the way a coach’s should be. As a 40 year old gym coach, he had his habits when it came to training guys, helping them get to their physical fitness goals. He looked at the guy he was training as gritted his teeth and pulled the barbell up with a shaky breath.

“Lift.”

The weight came down again. Jay rolled his shoulders, watching closely, his own muscles twitching from habit.

“Lift.”

He blinked. Something felt off. He had said that word a million times, but this time, it echoed strangely in his head, stretching out—

“Liftttt—”

A rush of cold air hit him. His breath stuck into the black balaclava he was wearing. His gloved hands gripped a metal bar..

He was on a ski lift.

His body felt different—lean, light, skinny, a comfortable flex beneath sleek layers of ski gear. His boots rested on the bar, expensive and pristine. A helmet pressed snugly against his head.

And next to him sat someone else. Another guy, equally sleek, equally expensive-looking. His ski goggles reflected the bright winter sun, but his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“You alright, bro?” the guy asked, his voice teasing, slow and hot. Seemingly young and teenage-ish. “You zoned out for a sec.”

Jay- or was it Jayden swallowed. The guy’s voice was familiar. This whole scene was familiar. He wasn’t just on any ski lift. He was on his ski lift.

Memories trickled in—winter trips, après-ski parties, Miami beaches, yachts, fast cars. He wasn’t a gym coach. He was…

A rich 20-year-old ski boy. Jayden.

And the guy next to him? Jayden knew him too. Knew his name. Knew the way his smirk turned into a breathless laugh when they were racing down the ski slopes.

Knew the way they flirted, although they weree supposed to be fully straight.

Jaydens lips parted, a cocky smirk forming on their own.

“Guess I was just distracted,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, young. “Probably by you.”

The guy chuckled, shifting closer.

“Good,” he murmured. “We got the whole lift ride to get even more distracted.”

He turned toward the guy next to him, the heat between them cutting through the crisp mountain air. The dude was hot—really hot. Not because he had a beautiful face (he did), but because he looked so handsome in his ski gear. You couldn’t even see his face behind his balaclava, helmet & ski mask. But Jayden remembered tons of nights with his bro, sucking it and taking it without any hesitation.

The guy’s gloved hand shifted, resting casually on Jayden’s thigh, just above his ski pants. Not quite subtle. Not quite innocent.

Jayden smirked. “Getting comfortable?”

The guy just grinned, his fingers pressing in slightly. “You looked cold.”

Jayden chuckled, shifting slightly so their knees bumped together. “You sure it’s not ‘cause you just wanna touch me?”

The other guy tilted his head, his ski goggles sliding down slightly. “Touch what? You’re barely packing anything”

Jayden’s stomach flipped. It was all coming back now—the way they teased each other, the way neither of them could keep their hands to themselves, especially on long ski lifts like this.

He let his own hand drift, sweaty gloved fingers brushing over the guy’s arm, then his chest, feeling the firm skinny body beneath the layers.

“Damn,” Jayden murmured, voice low. “Forgot how solid you are.”

The guy smirked. “Forgot how much you liked that.” His hand slid higher, fingers squeezing just a little.

Jayden rolled his eyes, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Shut up, Luca.”

Luca just grinned. His hand sliding lower and lower, cupping Jayden’s average sized dick beneath the ski gear layers. He moaned.

Jayden shifted, pressing himself closer against Luca, feeling the heat of his body even through their thick ski gear. His breath hitched as Luca’s hand slid lower, teasing over the waistband of his ski pants.

“Hey,” Jayden murmured, voice dropping into something softer, needier. “Pet me.”

Luca chuckled, fingers stilling just at the curve of Jayden’s rear. “Pet you where?” he asked, like he wanted to hear Jayden say it.

Jayden swallowed, face heating beneath his balaclava. He knew what Luca wanted, and he knew how much he loved teasing him for it. “You know where,” he muttered, shifting slightly. His small, tight rear barely filled out his ski pants, a firm little thing that didn’t bulge out at all, just hugged close to his frame like it belonged to a lean, sleek ski boy like him. He knew Luca liked it, liked how perky and snug it was.

Luca hummed, fingers finally pressing in, palming over the slight curve. “Damn,” he teased, voice rich with amusement. “Forgot how tiny this thing is. No wonder it takes so much work to feel you.”

Jayden groaned, half from embarrassment, half from the way Luca’s fingers kneaded him, spreading warmth through his layers. He pushed back slightly, encouraging. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

Luca just laughed, fingers pressing firmer, squeezing the small handful of Jayden’s rear through his ski pants. “Cute,” he murmured. “All tight and little.

Jayden’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted in that way it always did when Luca had him like this—flushed, flustered, teased into submission.

Luca’s grip on him tightened suddenly, fingers digging in just enough to make Jayden jolt. Then, his voice came, low and playful, right against Jayden’s ear.

“Do something for me,” he said

Jayden swallowed. “What?”

Luca’s hand on his ass flexed, warm and firm. “Fart on my hand.”

Jayden’s stomach twisted—not from disgust, but from something deeper, something hotter. The fact that Luca was actually asking for it, wanting it, made Jayden’s pulse hammer against his throat. His first instinct should’ve been to shove Luca’s hand away, to roll his eyes and laugh it off. But instead, he found himself shifting, adjusting his seat, making sure Luca’s hand was cupped right under him.

His ski pants were tight, snug against his body, trapping in every bit of heat from their morning runs down the mountain. He could feel the layers hugging him close, sealing in the warmth, sealing in everything.

“Hold on,” Jayden murmured, his voice dropping, turning softer, breathier. He pressed his weight down against Luca’s palm, focusing, feeling the slw churn in his stomach.

Luca let out a slow chuckle, his fingers flexing slightly over Jayden’s tight, small rear. “Atta boy,” he murmured, encouraging. “Let it out, rich boy.”

Jayden sucked in a breath, his gut bubbling, twisting from the sausages and potatoes he’d downed at breakfast. His teenage metabolism had been working overtime, turning everything he ate into fuel—and, apparently, gas. The pressure built low in his gut, warm and insistent, pushing right against the tight waistband of his ski pants.

And then—

Prrfffttt—

A slow, hot burst of gas pushed out, muffled by the thick insulation of his ski gear but heavy, sinking straight into the layers of fabric. It was thick, rich, almost humid in the way it settled, caught between the padding of his ski pants, sinking in deep, unable to escape. The scent hit immediately—sulfuric, eggy, lingering deep in the heat of his clothes

Luca exhaled, fingers tightening over Jayden’s ass. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice dipping, lower, rougher. “That’s rank.”

Jayden shivered, his pulse hammering in his ears. He shifted, letting the warmth of it seep deeper into his pants, knowing it was trapped there, brewing, getting stronger by the second.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice breathy, cocky. He pushed back slightly, his rear still snug against Luca’s palm. “You like that?”

Luca let out a low chuckle, rubbing slow, lazy circles over Jayden’s rear. “Hell yeah,” he murmured. “Gimme another.”

Jayden’s stomach flipped. The heat of Luca’s hand, the way he was actually asking for it, made him feel—fuck. He wanted to give it to him. He wanted to feed him more.

He bit his lip, stomach twisting again, another deep, rich bubble of gas pushing low. He wanted this. Wanted to let go again, right into Luca’s waiting hand.

Jayden shifted once more, feeling the pressure in his gut build, his stomach still working through the sausages and potatoes he’d eaten. He could feel the weight of it in his lower belly, thick and sluggish, pressing against the tight fabric of his ski pants. His butt cheeks shifted restlessly, the material of his gear rubbing against his skin, and the warmth of the gas started to rise, spreading in the thick layers.

Luca’s hand never left his body. It was a steady, relentless presence, still cupping the firm curve of Jayden’s tight butt, fingers flexing, pressing in, making him feel every inch of his body responding to the heat between them.

Jayden bit his lip, shivers running up his spine. “You want another?” he asked, voice dipping low, almost teasing now. “You still want me to let one out?”

Luca grinned, eyes glinting behind his goggles. “I can smell it, man. It’s making me crazy.” His gloved fingers slid up the small of Jayden’s back, a soft, possessive motion. “Let me have it, bro. Don’t hold back.”

Jayden’s heart raced, but he didn’t hesitate. His body was warm, all the gas inside him pressing, making him feel full, heavy. With a deep breath, he let go, feeling it start to push, slowly at first, then building in intensity, a thick, sour release slipping out, unmistakable, the eggy smell rich and heavy, cutting through the air. It was rotten, like overcooked eggs left in a pan too long, mixed with the greasy stench of sausages and potatoes still turning in his gut.

The warmth of it sank into the thick layers of his ski gear, filling the space between his body and the ski pants, wrapping around him like a blanket. It didn’t escape immediately—it was trapped, all that foul gas sitting heavily in the padding, saturating the fabric with the stench of his breakfast, settling right into the curve of his tight butt.

Luca inhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “Fuck,” he muttered, a low, guttural sound. “That’s bad, Jayden. Really bad.” He shifted closer, leaning in, his breath hot against Jayden’s cheek as he took another deep sniff, nose pressing closer to Jayden’s buns. The smell of the eggs and sausage lingered on Luca’s breath, mingling with the sharp, almost sour tang of his sweat.

Jayden couldn’t help but feel a rush of something strange, a warmth flooding through his chest. “You like it?” he asked, voice low, almost breathless now. “You like how disgusting it smells?”

Luca’s hand slid down again, cupping Jayden’s buns harder, squeezing tight. “Hell yeah,” his nose brushed along Jayden’s butt, drawing in a long, slow breath, inhaling the thick, foul air trapped in the layers of his ski gear while surrounded by the snow of the mountains and the calm atmosphere.

Jayden groaned, leaning back into it, knowing that Luca was practically addicted to the smell. His body felt flush, each inhale of the stench making him feel something darker, something he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to fight anymore. “You really want me to let go again?” Jayden whispered, biting his lip, pushing back against Luca’s touch.

Luca’s fingers dug in harder in the already hard small cheeks. “Give it to me,” he growled, voice low and desperate. “I wanna smell all of it, bro”

—————-

Luca :

Jayden :

The Boxers and Bro Cap are 🥵🔥

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

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

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

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

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

Batter Up!

Back to it! Here's another nerd to jock TF, a bookish nerd learns to enjoy baseball the hard way! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

America’s game eh? Jeremy was never all that into any kind of sport, but baseball was a particularly dull one. At least your footballs and basketballs have man-on-man contact right? He briefly scans the field to find anything, anyone perhaps, of interest. The briefest of inspections shows these athletes are some real man’s man types that Jeremy turns his nose up at. His attention turns back to the book sitting in his lap and he loses himself in a world not consumed by a nine-inning snooze-fest.

He hears the loud smash of a bat beaming a ball. As one should expect at the game, not like the batters should miss that often right? Given they’ve nothing else going on up there they should just hit every pitch right? He smugly thinks to himself, taking no time to inspect the field at all. Foolish as even a glance up would bring his attention to the rapidly approaching predicament. His friend who dragged him to the game shouts “Jere!” and the bored bookworm looks up with just enough time to see a baseball torpedoing towards him. His grimaces, starting one last one last snide remark to his friend “Aren’t they supposed to-” before being nailed in the head and losing consciousness.

He awakens elsewhere, though clearly still in the stadium. His head is absolutely pounding with a headache greater than he thought possible. His mind starts to hobble together yet another criticism of the game before a stabbing migraine beats him to the punch. His whole body clenches in response to the pain. Strain and soreness seep through his limbs and core as he tries to sit up. Jeremy then notices his right hand squeezing something with such strength it is almost alien to him. Dragging his arm up with more effort than it should take he finds his hand grasping the baseball that laid him flat, a small bloodstain dotted across the stitching.

His attention doesn’t rest too long on the blood-stained ball clenched in his hand however. This concussion must be messing with his perception or something as his hand looks wrong. Jeremy closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to will his vision back to normality, dropping the baseball in his lap as he inspects his hands next to each other. This makes it beyond apparent that something truly bizarre must be happening to his psyche. His right hand looks like a, well, baseball mitt compared to the thin fingers of his left. Its wingspan large enough to easily palm a basketball, his eye twitches as his mind tries to reconcile his apparently massive hand. Rationality fighting against the current reality as his eyes trail down to see something similar happening to his arm.

Each twist and turn of his hand sends a cascade of twitches down his arm, this he’s used to. His thin arms always broadcast the slightest movements of his hitherto delicate hands, what is beyond odd is that with each movement of his new mitt his forearm is beginning to grow. He feels his chest begin to tighten with anxiety as he watches tight muscle begin to course down his thin bony forearm. Seemingly trying to catch up with the monstrous hand on its far end. Somehow scarier than his arm beginning to bloat with strength is the idea that is beginning to creep on the edges of his mind that this is all normal. Spent all that time at the gym for it right?

Jeremy slams his eyes shut and struggles to take deep breaths, leaving him unaware as the growth quickly spreads further up his arm into his bicep. For the best that he doesn’t notice it, for all his cynical whining at the sport he does quite admire the player’s massive arms. Should he see his beginning to develop such cannons he may have given in to whatever this episode is outright. Instead he shifts his shoulder as a unique tightness arises with the ongoing growth of his bicep, veins pulsing larger down his right arm as his shoulder puts on mass to be able support the increasingly meaty arm. Muscle twitching across his arm as his bicep peaks ever higher.

His eyes still closed, Jeremy goes to rub his face, reminding himself that this must be some kind of delusion or hallucination from his concussion. Instead he finds more changes occurring away from his vision. His face feels rougher. Both his petite left hand and massive right feel a face far more worn and scratchy than the pale inside kid one he knows he has. His brows knit together in fear as he feels what can only be stubble dragging at his palms. The tips of his fingers feel said brows grow thicker and darker as they aim to ever cast a shadow over his eyes. He finally opens them and contemplates if he should find a mirror or not which is when a new horror alights. As his left hand touched his face, sidling up to that alien mit, it too has begun to change.

Calluses peek out on his fingers that his mind without hesitation assigns to holding a bat. He clenches his jaw, feeling pressure as it grows wider underneath the itchy stubble. He watches as his small hand balloons to match its monstrous pair, his headache returning as he cries out in his mind that this isn’t right. Something deep in the pit of his stomach disagrees, glad that he’s finally got the hands of a man. He gulps and finds it is suddenly difficult to swallow. Bringing a meaty palm to his neck he finds impossible warmth as an Adam's apple quickly pushes out, bobbing larger as Jeremy realizes that if there is a battle to be fought, that he is already losing.

The life he has lived has not primed Jeremy with any way to respond to this impossible new reality besides freezing up. His mind is caught between impulses to flee and to fly, his body can only react by beginning to hyperventilate. Heavy panicked breaths swiftly fill his chest as new impulses begin to grace his consciousness. Each uncontrollable inhale fills his torso with air, lungs growing as they are more than happy to expand beyond constraint. On top of his bony chest pecs begin to creep into existence, expanding quickly to match the still growing shoulders behind them. Memories of practices he can’t quite dispute begin to rise as his chest grows heavy with muscular weight. The shirt he threw on is quickly strained as muscle he could never dreamed to exercise begins to surge larger. An image of a man that is not him, that cannot be him sears itself into his mind.

Lost is a sea of memories of batting practices and uneventful hours upon hours of waiting in the outfield Jeremy begins to find familiarity if not affection towards the sport. He shakes his head through his stupor as strategies and concepts of the hitherto mind-numbing game begin to arise. Scraping together just enough of himself to slow his breathing and regain himself he looks down to see a body that has been painstakingly sculpted for the sport, America’s game. 

His shirt is totally ripped across every seam as a deliberate tear appears down the front, buttons dotting down it as a team logo, his team logo, begins to stain across the uniform. His heavier chest presses him into the table as he feels stitching appear in the back O’Hara, 11. Names that are almost more meaningful to him than Jeremy at this point. His coaches always call him by his last name anyway right? The mantra that this is a dream is the only thing holding his fragile mind together. Suddenly there is a burgeoning presence in his crotch and he sees a baseball lying squarely on his cock as it gets the message and quickly begins to force itself larger.

O’Hara bites his lip as blush begins to sneak through his still tanning face. The impossible fear of becoming something so contradictory to himself begins to pale with the mounting lust and desire for release rising from his ballooning crotch. He feels his balls quickly fill his briefs and his cock swiftly spills out of them down his pants leg. He cannot bring himself towards any reaction but rubbing his legs to try and distract himself, feeling the fabric of his shorts rapidly change and roughen. Growing elastic as his thighs begin to demand far more space than they could ever offer. He moans as a cup suddenly appears in his underpants, forcing his cock in an awkward position and hugging his still growing balls tight, of course for their own protection.

His mind hazy from lust and delirious as new hormones assail his waning mind a teammate comes to mind, yelling at him to get with it. Shit is he supposed to be on the field right now? He scratches at his head as his hair grows dark and dirty with dried sweat. His patch of pit hair expands as it releases his B.O. into the open air, heighting his erection even more. O’Hara goes to stand only to find his calves and feet cannot nearly support his monumental upper body.

He scowls down at them wondering how the fuck he ever let himself skip leg day to such a degree, he’s a fucking athlete right? An eye twitches and he is unable to begin to dispute the idea, flexing his pecs as he feels his calves begin to agree with him, quickly bloating with muscle. He screams in pain as they cramp to surge larger with the greatest haste yet. The pain breaks through to an immensely pleasurable soreness as they pound to the size of a titan’s legs. They  immediately fill his polyester pants, putting on size enough to ever show through, making it clear that O’Hara is more than a gem to his team. His team. Jeremy clutches his head again in one last attempt to recover. 

He opens his mouth to cry for help, only producing a deep moan as his feet expand, his no-show socks rocketing up his massive calves as his size seven shoes burst apart. Rubber and cloth fall to the floor as his toes shove through the front of them, his feet widening enough to be mistaken as flippers. His pupils shrink as he watches his hairy feet outgrow his new socks before the holes are stitched together by thicker cotton. His hands jump to his face in despair as a sob catches in his throat. His body pulses with the effort and expands yet again in every direction. Palms grow wider on his face and his mouth lulls open, he hears his pants stretch as his legs lengthen and grow heavier. His uniform tears as his shoulders grow wide with power enough to hit homers every time he’s at bat. 

His eyes twitch with effort one last time as he falls back into unconsciousness, the thought that this will be the last time he lets a ball hit him accompanies him as he crests into sleep. His conscious mind cannot dispute the new life that overcomes him in his dreams. Years of exerting himself to be the best at a sport which demands give and take. Exercising muscle in isolation to ensure optimization that could allow him to outperform in every regard. Sending pitches careening farther than his eyes can follow and sprinting to first base at speeds that the human eye would say is inhuman. He smirks in his rest as the cool air wicks the sweat off his ever-steaming body.

Suddenly Jeremy O’Hara awakens. Weird, he would’ve sworn he was in the middle of a game? His eyes glaze over becoming as dull as they are to be evermore, his slow one-track mind struggling to understand why he’s in a clinic. He springs up and makes for the door with a haste that he has never been able to muster before. Scratching at his crotch he throws on the size 15 cleats and wanders out into the stadium, not questioning why he’s not wearing a top. The music from the field blares in the busy hallway as he stumbles towards the dugout, smirking at the hordes of fans gawking at him. His massive hand struggling to cover the even larger bulge in his crotch as it pulses with their clearly lustful gazes. 

He hears his manager shout for him to get back to the team as he wanders around cluelessly. Forcing his way through the crowd he grabs O’Hara and berates him for his brainlessness, “I fuckin’ swear kid if you weren’t the goddamned best player I’d ever seen, fuck it the league’s ever seen, you’d not be worth the trouble.” O’Hara only caught part of that and from what he understood it was a complement. Hearing the game in play and seeing the green of the field O’Hara’s mind is suddenly preoccupied only with the game. Once more or for the first time it matters not. His coach watches as his bulge pulses in his pants and berates him to think with his real head before pushing him into the dugout.

O’Hara watches his teammates run across the field catching balls and strategizing the best place to throw them in turn. Chin upraised he just readies himself to join them on the field and show them what a real player looks like. Gritting his teeth as his opponents run the bases before the inning ends. His body vibrates with energy and an impossible eagerness to enter the playing field. He was going to show them what this sport is really about. What the best can really do. Hearing his walk-on music beginning to blare into the stadium he leaves the dugout to see a crowd larger than he can understand, feeling the vibration of their cheers in his chest as it bulges with even more power. He smirks as he prepares to perform, pointing his bat to the stadium, sure he’s got another home run ball soon to make its way to his fans.

I tried to save him, I really did! But Coach, man is he one powerful dude… Coach, and the rest of the team, even my best fr…. frien…. Bro… Ky caught on fast, and tricked the hell outta me! I thought I was being slick, sneakin’ around finding all kinds of fucked up shit, tryin’ to get Ky back, but fuuuuck! Coach caught me in his office and fuckin’ screwed me up BIG time!

Ah, no, not again… not again! I have to control this, if I can just keep my mind, I can save Kyle and myself, we can get back to our old selves… But, Kyle, he even helped them Jock me up! He played along with me, egging me on, pretending to be scared, but, they really did turn him into just a big dumb smelly brute! And now, I joined him, all because I couldn’t see through his act, and Coach has the whole team trained to catch guys like me. It had taken weeks to convince Ky… Kyle, that he isn’t Donkey, the team’s Quarterback. He’s been lumbering around school, and in town, eating up the attention, screwing his way through all the pretty girls and even some of the hotter gay dudes. You could hear him coming, then smell him, as he stomped around with his humungous dawgs, reeking up the place. He seemed to enjoy his pretty boy good looks, reveling in the attention, despite having hated guys like that before. But I finally broke him free of it, or so I thought, long enough to hatch a plan to get him back to normal.

We snuck into the locker rooms after all the players, Kyle included, finished practice. God, the humid, dank musty stench made me cough, Kyle pretended to hate it as well, as we broke into Coach’s office at the other end. I was picking the lock, when Kyle raised one of his thick legs, and kicked the door in, his cleat leaving indented prints in the door. I should have known something was up, Kyle isn’t a violent guy, but I ignored it and entered.

We snooped around the office, checking out every inch for a clue on how to turn him back, to free him of the control Coach has over him, when suddenly, as I was leaning over the desk, Ky grabbed me, crushing the air from my chest, and stuffed a slimy piece of plastic in my mouth!

I gagged, trying desperately to spit it out, but my jaw seemed to clench over it, and I found my tongue lapping at the goo all over the chewed surface. It tastes rank, like an old gym sock smells, rancid and sour, then changed to a sickly strong, bleachy flavor I immediately recognized as being cum! I tried to spit it out, tried to vomit, but my tongue lashed helplessly at it, drinking down the slime, and as it seeped down my throat, it burned, feeling as if I’d caught a sudden bout of Strep.

I could feel my body shaking as the mouth guard dissolved, my head going fuzzy, images of the team, of Ky, sweaty and aggressive after practice seemed to swim through my cotton candy filled mind. I found myself lapping at the flavors as they switched between distinct funk, and sweet, savory cum. I could suddenly tell the difference between them all. Feet, pits, jock ass, balls…. And I was enjoying it more and more, as my mind let go and sank into a twisting spiral.

Oh, no, that wasn’t my mind! That was the spiral on the computer screen Ky had sat me down in front of! Then, I head a deep, dreadful voice, Coach, congratulating Ky on his catch, and heard Ky grunting, and a sudden warm splatter on my arm told me Ky had just creamed himself. I couldn’t look, but I saw the door shut as Coach lead Ky out, and then came back for me.

I was shaking as words and images of football, chicks, muscle, sweaty guys, raunchy sex seemed to meld and twist into my head from the screen, and Coach sat there, goading me on, telling me all of the things I’d now enjoy more than anything else. Worshiping the team, being the team’s stress reliever, wanting desperately to be like them. I teared up, struggling to keep these things out of my head as they seemed to rip away at it, filling in deeply. The screen changed to plays, the field, grunting, running, working out, male, masculinity, virile aggression, the need to be a man! And I wanted it all, I was losing the fight, when in a flash, the screen went blank, and I realized the mouth guard was totally gone, dissolved down my dry, ragged throat.

“Fu…. Fuck bro….. the fuck you do to me Coach!?” I rumbled in a dim, dull sounding sexy timbre, the voice of a Jock, the kind that causes girls to cream themselves, and gay bros to bend over for you!

“Fuuuuuuuck! No!! Fuck!” I tried again and again to stop the words, I couldn’t control my own vocalizations, dumb bro speak pouring from my mouth anytime I tried to talk.

Coach went into a speech about loyalty, and how boys in this school who get caught doing anything against their star team, will find themselves joining. He was rummaging through a wardrobe on the other side of the room while he went on and on about the team, about my new position as a Tight End, making a lewd joke about how Donkey, I mean, Ky, and the team could use one, and how I’d find it difficult to say no. He came over with a few more items, while I tried to get up from the chair. I was sweating with the effort, when he grabbed my shirt and hiked I up and off me.

He grabbed a bottle of what looked like sun screen, and squirted a large blob into my chest, rubbing it in with hard, rough hands, making sure every inch was covered and shining in the oily goop. Then he went to town on my nipples, rubbing, twisting, pulling, pinching, all while he mentioned a surprise as well, as I leaked precum from the nipple stimulation into my pants. Then stopping, and rubbing a little oil into the rest of my torso, then my legs, arms, back, all the way down to my toes and up my neck. Not as much as my chest though.

Then he made me strip and tucked me into a jockstrap and cup, pair of purple shorts, a large, dirty pair of cleats, pads, but left the helmet on the rack in the wardrobe, and ordered me into the locker room, then the workout room with all of the heavy equipment. He put me through the most rigorous workout, yelling at me to work harder, lift more, run faster, pullups, sit ups, bench press, and all manner of grueling exercises. I was drenched by the end of it, feeling my pulse in my entire body, as well as realizing that the uniform I was in, was too tight. Especially in the chest and shoulders.

He finally released me, just as Donkey… I mean, Ky, uh, Kyle, came back, dripping sweat from his Bieber cut pretty boy hair, instantly filling the room with his… fucking, sexy… fuck… fuck no.. No! Not that!!! Anything but…. But…. Fuuuuuck……

I ended up licking him clean, from toes to neck, worshiping his muscles, sucking 2 thick, heavy loads from his balls After he left, I sat, sweating, my chest was now a true pair of man tits, big juicy nips perking up from the meaty pecs. I was panting as coach put some headphones in my ears, and with a sneer, told me to get ready for the surprise. He reached for my nipple, squeezed in between his fingers, and twisted, it hurt like a bitch, but I instantly moaned, my eyes going glazed as I filled my jockstrap and cup with a thick, creamy load of jock jizz. I was Tits now, the team’s sweat slurping, nipplegasming Tight End.