Branded
Branded
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Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked
Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.
If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!
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Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.
Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.
“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”
“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”
“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”
His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.
“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.
Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.
“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.
“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.
“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”
Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.
“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”
Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.
“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”
Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.
“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.
“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”
He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.
All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.
“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”
Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.
“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”
“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”
Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.
“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”
The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.
“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.
“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”
“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.
“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.
“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.
— —
Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.
The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.
“Alright next!”
Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.
“Zaney boy, ya made it!”
Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.
“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.
“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.
“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”
“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.
“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”
They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.
“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.
“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.
“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.
“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.
“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”
Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.
“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”
It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.
9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!
The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.
“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”
“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.
8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.
9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!
“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”
Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.
“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.
10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!
“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”
“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.
“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”
“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”
“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.
— —
“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.
“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.
“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”
“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”
“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.
“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.
“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”
“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.
“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”
“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.
“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”
“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.
“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.
“Wait, Kaedan?”
“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”
Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.
“One sec, just let me check something.”
Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.
“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?
“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”
“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”
“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.
“Kaedan, I don’t under-”
Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.
“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.
“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”
“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”
“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.
“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”
Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.
8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!
Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.
8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!
Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.
“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”
“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.
“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”
“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.
“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”
“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.
“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”
Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.
“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”
“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.
“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.
“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”
“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.
“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”
Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.
“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”
“Blue?”
“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.
“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”
“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.
“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.
“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”
“Eeyup.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.
“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”
“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”
“And what color are you?”
Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.
“Gotcha!”
Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.
“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.
Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.
“Are ya gonna take it or what?”
Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.
“It’s just too easy.”
Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.
“What… what did you do?”
“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.
“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.
The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.
After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.
Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.
With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.
The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.
“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”
“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.
“What in tarnation is left?”
“Just give it a sec-”
“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”
Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.
Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.
“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”
Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.
“Wow-ie!”
A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.
“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.
“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.
“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”
“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”
“Ah I see.”
10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!
Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.
“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”
“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”
“See y’all then, Wayne.”
The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.
Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.
10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!
ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!
More Posts from User211201 and Others
--- Originally posted on 2023-08-16 by shapedbydesire (breedertfs)
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
Shady Unit
ϟ gay to straight tf, muscle growth, cop tf, forced tf, changed by surroundings, mental tf, reality tf, breeder/conservative tf
Peyton accepted his friends' dare against his better judgment; the gaggle of gays had been walking home from their early morning brunch, mimosas fizzling inside their dizzy heads, when they noticed the parked cop car with a wide open door. No pigs in sight, only an abandoned police unit just begging them to come over and snoop around. "Ohhh my god, you have got to let us take a picture with you sitting in the driver's seat, Peyton! That would be so funny!" This made the boy in question frown, blonde curls hanging in his face and obscuring his narrowed, baby blue eyes. Looking at the group, the least straight OR cop passing of the whole bunch would be Peyton, the twink runt, so that just made his friends laugh louder at the thought and push him closer to the unguarded vehicle. "Come on, Peyton, do it! You've got this!"
Making sure once more that the coast was clear, he decided that there was no harm in it. All he had to do was run over, strike a cute pose, and then get the fuck out and go home! He marched his way over, struggling a bit as he pulled the heavy, solid door a little further away so that he could squeeze inside, and then he turned to smile at his friends with flushed cheeks, hands lifted up in a double thumbs up pose. It was just a shame that the car door slammed shut before his buddies could snap their pictures, a faint murmur of gasps and sounds of confusion behind the thick shell of steel as Peyton found himself trapped and silenced within the car, panic rising in his system as he tried and failed to get the door to budge as he pressed and yanked trying to open it. All to no avail.
That was when he heard the rustling on the dashboard, the bulky pair of black sunglasses rattling in place, as if charged with energy and about to combust. He was staring at them in shock and fear when they suddenly leaped forward, opening their hinges and sliding right onto his frightened face, covering his shocked vision in a shield of dim, repressed light. Honestly, the jumping object would have been the most frightening part, if not for the pain that suddenly flared in the space between his temples. He gasped out in pain, muscles tensing, spine locking in place as shocks began to pulse through his body.
Little thoughts began to dance with his begs for mercy, his brain was a battlefield of trying to rationalize what was happening to him, and trying to ignore the presence that was steadily making itself known inside of himself. Another man's casual thoughts were overlapping his own, overpowering them. "Fuck, I can't wait for this shift to be over so I get home to my girl." Peyton grimaced, another shock rolling through him, his jaw stinging as it cracked outward into a chiseled, strong, pitch black stubbled line. The twink was confused and alarmed to hear this gruff voice speaking, especially one that gave a shit about getting home to a girl.
He reached up to pull the glasses off, trying to exert control over his spasming limbs, but then he could feel the muscles in his arms tearing apart and stitching themselves back together in an instant, his spindly arms vibrating in the air as suddenly they ballooned out into firm, solid, vascular biceps that were swollen with raw strength. Except now they were forced into a double bicep pose and no longer reaching for the glasses still trapped on his head.
"Fuccck, I just want to get home and flood her cunt. The good book says to be fruitful and multiply, my only purpose in life is to be a traditional man, to fulfill my duty as a male," the low, bovine voice kept talking despite Peyton's inner protests, his newly large and calloused hand reaching down to cup his bulge, lithe fingers fattening into sausages. His rough fingertips could feel a different and more durable fabric where his mesh shorts had once been. But that all paled in comparison to the heat radiating from his crotch, the trembling of his little nub cock as it began to engorge, fattening into a thick, girthy, vein covered shaft.
His cock head flared out into a large purple mushroom that was already leaking pre into his tight and sweaty boxers, a sun kissed hue washing across his pasty skin with every twitch of his bulking up body. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His firm jaw itched as black, wiry beard hairs burst through the coarse skin, making look him manly and intimidating. His blonde curls retracted into a dark black, traditional cut.
With what little control he could muster, he reached up to the driver's side mirror, pulling down the flap and gasping in absolute shock. Or at least he meant to, but now his permanently fixed cocky smirk could only speak with the same voice that was inside his head. "Fuck, I look clean as shit! My bitch is gonna be dripping all over my cock all night long." He watched clear as day as his now douchey, older, masculine face moved on its own accord, speaking without his say in the same dumb, harsh, jock voice he had heard earlier. Now looking at himself in the reflection, unable to control the posing body of the conceited bodybuilder cop he was trapped within, he could see what had become of his clothes. His little rainbow buttons and badges were now deadly gear strapped to his vest and belt, and his cute outfit was now a traditional and crisp police uniform.
Nothing that made up Peyton was left once that door slammed shut, leaving behind a smug and newly minted Officer Dickson sitting inside his very own unit. Flipping on the siren lights, he popped open the car door with a casual lean of his bulky body, Peyton wailing inside his mental prison at the sight of his former friends. This was their idea, and they needed to help him! He just wanted to be set free, safe to go home and far away from this awful, backwards minded brain his essence had now been shoved into.
But the massive man only sneered and glared at the group of fairies behind his dark black, emotionless lenses. "Clear the fuck out, or I'll take you all in for processing." He was okay watching them sprint to run away, vowing to deal with their presence another day. As much as he loved bringing alpha men into this world by changing gay men to serve the police unit, repurposed to better suit traditional society, he would always have a fondness of doing it the old fashioned way. And his wife was certainly gonna end up inflated with a few alpha sons in her belly once he was finished with her tonight. Peyton would just have to get used to the countless flashes of bouncing tits and squirting pussies inside his new cage. Officer Dickson wasn't going to change his mindset for anyone, let alone the skinny little queer he didn't even remember being.
The rings: Jake
--- First time writing my own story ---
--- Please let me know what you think ---
Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.
Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.
Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.
To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.
Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.
He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.
Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.
Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.
To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.
He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.
--
As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.
It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.
Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.
He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.
Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.
I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.
Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.
As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.
Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.
A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.
"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.
The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.
Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.
Nothing.
Huh? What the fuck?
Okay, this is kinda weird.
I need to get rid of this ring.
It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.
Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?
Hey nerd, you hear me?
No response. Fuck.
I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...
Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.
Hey Jacob, say something!
In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.
"something"
You've gotta be kidding me.
Uh, let's try something else.
Jacob, jump!
Without skipping a beat he jumped.
This is kinda awesome...
Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings
"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."
Explain what you mean with transform
"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"
Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?
As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.
The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.
I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.
I realized that with these rings I could do anything.
I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.
--
Time to get to work.
Strip
The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.
I could not help but feel pity for the guy.
He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.
I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.
Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock
His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.
I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.
To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.
Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%
His already slim frame now became quite boney.
Add 40 lbs of muscle mass
The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.
Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.
The changes didn't stop there, however.
A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.
Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.
My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.
It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.
To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.
You've always worn a size 13
His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.
You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff
Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.
Now, flex for me
Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.
----
"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"
Ah, wait.
You will wake up
"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.
"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.
"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.
Don't move
Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.
"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.
"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.
"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.
"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.
"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"
"Wait no! Please-"
You've always been a dumb
"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"
"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"
You have always been called Jake
"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."
"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.
You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.
Oh, and you may move again
"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.
"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.
"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.
When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you
"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.
"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.
A bro is never afraid of a little bromance
A little fire in his eyes lit up.
"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.
"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.
"Ready?" I asked.
3.. 2... 1..
I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.
"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.
"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.
I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.
I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.
"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.
"Of course bro, always down"
"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.
"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate
My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.
"You think you can help a bro out?"
Back from hiatus & Discord server
What’s up brahs!
I’m back from hiatus, everyone! Went hiking, relaxed a bit and got caught in a norovirus outbreak, but now I’m back to writing. New stories will be coming in the next couple of days and I hope y’all enjoy more of my horny fantasies. Stay tuned!
In other news, I’m launching a Discord server for like-minded bros. It’s gonna be a space to share our horny thoughts with each other and just chill out. Hope y’all gonna enjoy a place like that. Just behave yerself bros!
See ya in a few days
Fly, Eagles Fly!
TS - #008 Cordypecs
A virus is not just DNA; a virus is also packaged up, covered over with a series of proteins in a nice, elegant, well-compacted form.
- Francis Collins
An archaeologist begins to explore the ruins of an ancient Scottish castle that dates one of the many battles in the ‘War of the Craft’. His hand faltering and flitting over the stonework, he flinches somewhat as he feels something cold and damp, scared that somehow it may be blood or rot. Instead when he shines a light on the sticky white concoction, his eyes widen as a white dampness turns into what feels like white heat searing through his palm and travelling up his body.
Before he knows it, he’s bent down, hand wrapped around his cock as he can already feel the change happening. His bones shift as his back grows sending him to be over 6’ tall. His feet burst out of his boots. His own ass becomes thick as it grows. His once skinny and pale frame now broad and fair as he can feel muscle growing and growing in an endless wave of pleasure. By the time he cums on himself and feels his intelligence draining, he knows it’s too late, as for now he’s nothing more than a temporary victim of Cordypecs.
Morbus incrementum musculus otherwise more commonly known as Cordypecs is a virus that originated in the late 1400’s due to the actions of Sir Thomas. Having been transformed into an orc, Sir Thomas believed the affliction to be permanent and sought out [REDACTED] believing it to be a cure. During a heated discussion with The Craftsman, he was warned that his case was not permanent and that [REDACTED] wouldn’t cure him but only make his permanently become an orc and have disastrous consequences on both him and those around him. However Sir Thomas did not heed The Craftsman’s words and once he [REDACTED] he found himself shifting into an orc for the very last time as he became the first human-orc hybrid, containing the humanity and intelligence of his old self but the body and power of an orc.
He could barely control his body through the lust as he learned that he had a similar effect to the transformation that ensued for his squire, Gared. Only this time instead of making men more masculine (or at least their idea of masculinity). He also robbed them off their intelligence for the however long they lasted in their new forms. Eventually all men who were even transformed once by this method were soon able to find themselves transforming others and thus what was once a blessing was now viral, spreading from men to men across generations to come (no pun intended).
The virus has since been spreading around however it has weakened in the modern day era, now only leading people to last as long as a few hours in their new forms. Not much else is known about the virus other than it is only spread through semen and that it transforms men into their idea of an ideal man. This has changed throughout the ages, whereas men in the medieval period became knights, soon in the 50’s they became sexy businessmen that worked wonders on Wall Street and then greasers that enjoyed diners, leather, and all things motor in the 1960’s America and so on and so forth.
Nowadays the ideal man to many varies and one can become anything from a male model, to celebrities, to a jocked out gym bro. Only time will tell what many men will soon become, and perhaps even you will soon become your ideal man.
Ostello della Moda: Eduardo
--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---
John hadn't heard from any of his friends in Italy for the last 24 hours. The last thing he got was a text from Luke, saying "Last flight to Milan!" but that was yesterday afternoon. "See ya soon Johnny-boy." In college, he had gone by Johnny, even though his name was John. He hoped that the lack of communication was because they were having too much fun to post any pictures or send a reminder e-mail. He hoped everything would work itself out.
It was around 3:00 PM when he showed up at the "Ostello della Moda." He was exhausted. He went to the front desk and gave his name.
"Sorry, sir. No reservation under that name."
He gave the names of his friends, no luck. "No reservation," the man repeated. He wasn't the one that made the arrangements, so there must have been a mistake. He sat down at a table and tried to text his friends. After a few minutes, still nothing. He went back to the front desk.
"No one checked in under the names Walter, Dylan, Tyler, or Luke. No one?" he said, a little irritated by the whole situation.
"No reservation. We don't have any rooms left," the man said, trying to be polite, but failing.
He checked his phone again. Still no response. He was stranded. What would he do? Should he find another hostel? Should he get a hotel? Would he ever get in touch with his friends. There were people behind him in line, so he stepped out of line for a second to think and let the person behind him pass. He was a muscular man with short wavy hair, a thin mustache, stubble, and a tight bro-tank. He chatted rapidly with the man behind the desk and handed him some towels and supplies in exchange for some paperwork. Suddenly, he looked straight at John and then fired off some rapid Italian questions. They talked together and John felt like they were discussing him. The man walked over and said, "You are John?" in a thick accent. "Yes ... I mean ... sì," John answered. "Antonio," he said introducing himself. "We have open bed ... uh ... I checkout ... apartment next door ..." his English was not very clear. I turned to the man behind the desk for help. "He has an apartment in the building next door. He comes here often." They nodded. I considered my options. "You stay free," Antonio said. "Show you," he added.
I followed him outside and passed a storefront selling what looked like Italian hip-hop fashion. We walked inside and Antonio greeted the owner of the store as we walked up a flight of stairs. "Some work here. We live here," he said opening a door at the top of the stairs. Inside was a small apartment with a couch, a few chairs, and an entertainment center. There was a small kitchen and bathroom and a room with bunk beds along one wall. The most noticeable feature of the room was the clothes. There were boxes of clothes everywhere. Most of them looked like the kind sold in the store beneath them. In the bunk room there was a small weight set and a treadmill. Antonio pointed to one of the bunks. "Empty. For you," he said.
Suddenly, he heard voices in the living room and Antonio left. John followed him cautiously. Antonio greeted the two guys that had walked into the room and introduced them. "John ... here is Bruno and Christofano." They conversed in Italian, and the only thing that John could understand was that they were saying the name Edoardo a lot. He wanted to ask, but he mainly wanted to sleep and try to call his friends to connect about the hostel fiasco. Bruno jumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, finding a football game. Christofano and Antonio were discussing something in the kitchen, which left John to awkwardly slink back to the bunk room and try to process this nightmare that he was in. The room was stifling hot, but he wanted to sleep, so he laid down on the bunk bed and closed his eyes. The bunk was already covered in sheets and blankets, but he felt something lumpy underneath him. He reach and pulled out a blue baseball hat from between the sheets. It smelled strongly of cologne, and had a musky scent that seemed to come from the mattress and bed. This bed belonged to someone, it wasn't just an empty bed. He hoped that Antonio wasn't putting him in an awkward position if their roommate came back and found some random American guy sleeping there. He threw the hat onto the floor and laid back in the bunk trying to relax. He breathed in the hot stale air of the room and could here the guys in the other room shouting at the TV as they watched the game. He checked his phone again, but no one replied to his texts. Some vacation.
He drifted off to sleep.
--
He woke up a few hours later and was covered in sweat. The room had grown hotter and his t-shirt was drenched. He wanted to take off his shirt, but felt that would be gross for whoever else used this bunk. Instead, he walked into the living room, hoping that someone was around to help him. He was also really hungry. Everyone was gone, but there was a note on the table next to a plate of food and a can of beer. "For John. Help yourself!" He took the plate of pizza and beer and walked over to the couch. He ate it and checked his phone again. The battery had died. He finished the food and beer and tried to find his charger in the room. But when, looked for his bag, he couldn't find it. His bag was gone and all of his clothes. Then he saw a drawer open on one of the dressers. Inside was a phone charger and some other hygiene products. "For John." There was also the blue hat that he had found earlier. He grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. The charger was different than the one he had brought, but it was compatible with the Italian outlet, so he decided to use it. When his phone finally turned on, the main screen and the default language was Italian. It looked like he had received a few text message replies. There was a message from Antonio, all in Italian. A few from Bruno. Someone had replied to a message from Christo whose name was Edoardo -- was this even his phone? Was this one of there other roommates. He was so confused and worried that all of his stuff had been stolen. He started to feel sick and needed to go to the bathroom. After he relieved himself, he stumbled back to the bunk and found a towel, some shampoo, and a pair of red underwear waiting for him. Again, the blue hat had been placed on the bed. He felt sweaty and dirty. He hadn't showered since the plane and that nap hadn't helped. He grabbed the pile of stuff and found the shower.
He stripped down and stepped into the warm stream. It felt good. The shampoo and body wash smelled clean and inviting -- they reminded him of the smell of his bunk in the bedroom. He relaxed and let the water wash away the stress of this doomed vacation. Suddenly, he heard his phone ringing. He turned off the shower, grabbed the towel, and raced to the counter of the bathroom.
"Hello?" he said.
The voice answered in rapid Italian.
"Who is this?" he said. He tried to listen, and oddly every few words he started to understand. Casually walked over to his stack of clothes and dressed as he listened. The phone cut out and he set it down and looked up into the mirror. The first thing he was was the blue hat. He was wearing it. He followed it down and realized he didn't recognize the face in the mirror. It was a dark, swarthy, face of an Italian man. He had also absent-mindedly put on a pair of tight red underwear, which accented his slim waist, and hairy pleasure trail that covered a rock-hard set of abs and chiseled torso. There was a knock on the door.
"Edoardo, è che tu?" said the voice.
"Sì, solo un momento," he rattled off without thinking. He dried himself in the towel and opened the door. He instantly recognized the man as Diego, which was odd because he didn't think he had been introduced. But, Diego didn't seem to care and continued saying that he needed to take a shit and that if Edoardo would be so kind as to leave! They joked and he left him in the bathroom. He walked to his room and felt an odd sense of recognition as he laid down on the bunk. He felt comfortable and relaxed. He put on some more clothes and knew that tonight he was working in a show with Christo in the fashion district. He texted him to confirm the time. A few minutes later, Antonio and Bruno returned with food for supper. They asked if they had met "John from America." He said no. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and said "He must have found his friends. Glad you're back, Edoardo! Or you would have had to sleep on the couch!" Edoardo punched him in the arm and they all laughed. It would have been fun to meet this John person, but somehow he felt that he had met him somehow. In any case, he was home now and was glad to be living the dream with his roommates!
Unknown Title 3
--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---
It had started off as just a funny flirty prank between him and his friend Michelle. On a long weekend before exams, they were going to take a study break (procrastinate, really...) and go to the local mall. Michelle's roommate Tricia tagged along as well, probably so it didn't feel like a date. Justin had been friends with Michelle since their freshman year. He had a crush on her from time to time, but had never acted on it. He sensed that he was always going to be in the "friend zone" and had learned to just enjoy that privilege instead of pushing his luck. Maybe things would turn around some day.
Michelle and Tricia were trying on sunglasses inside one of the stores, giggling madly. Justin was shyly killing time while they laughed about which glasses looked cool and which looked stupid. "How about these?" said Michelle, "for Justin!" she added as she walked over. They were a pair of shaded aviator-style glasses. "Try 'em on, Justin," said Tricia. Justin shook his head. "Oh, come on!" they both pleaded. "Please..."
"No, I don't want to try them on," Justin protested, a little too loudly and aggressively. "Geesh, you don't have to be an asshole about it!" said Tricia.
"I think they would make you look cool," said Michelle. He couldn't read whether this was sarcasm or not, but decided to yield and put on the stupid glasses. When he put them on, Tricia stifled a giggle and Michelle tried to look supportive. But one look in the mirror made Justin blush. He felt stupid and ashamed, nothing like the cool and unattached man he would expect to wear something like these.
He slammed them back on the rack. "They make me look like a douche bag."
"Well, you sort of are a douche bag," Tricia replied. Michelle was looking away, letting Tricia have her moment.
"What?!" Justin replied.
"You don't even know, do you? You come out to the mall with us to have fun and do nothing but pout. We are trying to have a good time and you are just a downer all the time. And, you're oblivious to it?"
Justin tried to get Michelle to bail him out, but she was still looking away.
"And you've got so many damn opinions! And you always think you're right, all the time!"
"Wow. I don't have to stand here and listen to this," he said walking towards the doors back into the mall.
"Exactly, my point, asshole!" Tricia shouted after him.
When he got to his car, he saw that his phone had a message on it -- a text from Michelle: "Sorry. You're not an asshole."
He texted back: "Thanks. I'm going back to my room. Have a good night."
Back on campus, he swung by the library to print off a study guide his professor had sent to his class. And he bought a burger and fries at the campus grill. He felt stupid for making a scene at the mall. He hoped that Michelle didn't think he was judgmental or opinionated. He thought the night was going fine, even if Tricia was there. Maybe he was oblivious!
When he got back to his dorm, his roommate Kyle was sprawled out on the couch playing video games in his boxers.
"Dude! Where've you been?" he asked.
"No where...studying," he answered.
"Studying is for losers," he laughed back. "Oh ... Michelle stopped by looking for you. Were you going to meet her tonight?"
"Yeah, we went to the mall hours ago. Geez, Kyle, have you been playing this game all day!"
"Who gives a fuck what you think, Justin!" he answered angrily. In his head, Justin replayed what Tricia had shouted earlier that evening.
On his desk, he saw a note and what looked like a sun glasses case.
"For my favorite asshole! ~ Michelle"
"Fuck!" he whispered under his breath as slammed his hand on the desk. He was angry, but new that Michelle was just trying to take pity on him. That made him even angrier!
Kyle's character took a bullet through the head and he shouted obscenely. Justin looked over at him and asked loudly, "When did Michelle drop these off!"
"I don't know, 20 minutes ago?"
"Was Tricia with her."
"Tricia? Oh, that's her name! Hate that chick! Yeah, they were trying not to laugh."
"That bitch!"
"Easy dude. What's wrong."
Justin held up the pair of sunglasses and then put them on. Kyle started laughing uncontrollably.
"Did you pick those out? I mean, dude, you could never pull those off."
"Why not?" Justin asked.
"You don't have the balls. I mean, you're way to insecure."
"Insecure? Wow, didn't think you even knew that word, Kyle."
The look on Kyle's face changed instantly. "Fuck off! You know, maybe you should wear them. Only a total dick would wear 'em anyways!" On the screen of Kyle's game he saw his friends chatting, clearly upset that he hadn't spawned again to help out. He switched on his headset and told his team.
"Guys, sorry. My roommate's being a dick. I'm headed over to Nick's place. It'll only be a minute." He switched off the game, ignoring their protests. Kyle grabbed a pair of smelly gym shorts, a t-shirt with holes in it, and his flip flops and walked down the hall to his friend's room. Justin was used to this. He actually cared about getting good grades, so Kyle's gaming habit led to a lot of frustration. Usually, the solution was for Kyle to join his friends in another room. Justin took off the stupid glasses and sat down on his computer. He tried studying for a few minutes, but then started randomly browsing the internet. It started as general searches about upcoming movies, video games, things going on around campus, but somehow, it turned into looking at pictures of guys wearing sunglasses. He typed into the search bar: "Do sunglasses make you look like an asshole?" There were pictures of sexy men with sunglasses and comments about whether or not it made them attractive or unattractive. This led him to type another stupid question into the search bar: "Am I an asshole?"
There were a few results, most of them dumb quizzes on line. He clicked on one from a website called "Insecurities.com" with the title "Watch this video to find out if you're an asshole?" As soon as he clicked on the link, he felt something change in the room. It was like all the lights had dimmed and the sound faded away. The video lit up the screen and he heard a drone-like sound coming from his speakers. Over top of the sound was a calm and soothing voice.
"Listen closely and relax. You are watching this video because you have questions. But I want you to stop thinking about the questions and start listening for the answers. Just relax and let my voice become your thoughts. All you need to do is listen and you will know the answer. You have chosen to listen. And you have chosen to hear the answer."
Justin's focus on the computer continued to increase. He couldn't look away. He couldn't move. All he could do was listen and stare blankly into the white-blue screen. The video showed hypnotic fractals and swirls, which were drawing him in deeper and deeper. The voice seemed to drift off, making him have to listen more and more carefully.
"You are listening for the answer. Listen closer. The answer is here. Listen closer. Listen. Listen."
He thought he heard a distant voice. A voice that was inside his head, not in the computer. It was the smallest whisper.
"You are an asshole," said the voice. "You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You don't care what others think. You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You like the way you look. You look confident and you are confident. What other people look like or think like doesn't matter. You are an asshole. You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want and you go out and get it. You are an asshole. If someone criticizes you or your choices, you don't care. If someone confronts you about something, you ignore them. Everyone you know already knows the answer. You are an asshole. They know it. You know it. If they treat you differently, it is because you are an asshole. And you don't care. When this video stops, you will wake up. You will not remember this video. But, you will know the answer. You are an asshole."
The video stopped and Justin felt the room brighten and return to normal. At least, Justin felt like it was normal. He picked up his phone and saw that he must have texted Michelle and she had replied.
"A party tonight? Isn't it kind of late. This isn't like you."
"Whatever. I'm going. Meet you there," he texted back. He never used to be so short with Michelle, but he was tired of being pushed around and felt a confidence growing inside him. For a second, he had a fleeting thought that he should apologize at the party, but heard a voice say inside of his head, "Whatever." At the sound of this voice, he felt a warm sensation in his chest, like his shirt was sweaty and tight. He walked over to his dresser and pulled off his shirt. "What the fuck!?" he said aloud. He was startled that he had said the f-word, because he rarely swore. What was even more surprising was what he saw in the mirror. His chest was glistening with sweat, showing his tight pecs and chiseled abs. He flexed his arms a little and gave himself the "sexy" stare. It was like he was a completely different person -- completely unrecognizable. He stared into his own eyes and saw his old self -- insecure, worried, second-guessing, weak. He heard a voice in his head saying, "You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want..." He grabbed the pair of glasses off his desk and put them on. A haze seemed to wash through his mind now that he couldn't make eye contact with his old, vulnerable self. He stole some of his roommates product and gelled his hair. He took one of his jackets and ripped the sleeves off. He felt invigorated by this new identity. He felt like he could do anything.
--
The party was a block from campus at a friend's apartment. When he showed up, all eyes were on him, but instead of laughter, most people just stared in shock, jealousy, or flirtation. At least three girls gave him "the look" before he found Michelle and Tricia at the back of the party.
"Justin ... you look ... I mean ..." fumbled Michelle. She looked concerned.
Tricia was giggling to herself and Justin looked at her. "You have something to say?"
"No, it's just ... it's just a new side of you."
"Get used to it."
That was the last night he ever spoke to Michelle. Something had changed between them, but he didn't care. Tricia tried to hit on him when she got drunk. He called her a "fucking whore," the last thing he ever said to her. He took Miranda, a girl older than him back to his room. He told Kyle to "fuck off," then had sex in his bed out of spite. It felt glorious. Within a month, he was kicked out of college, which was for the best, since his grades were plummeting anyway. He spent most of his time at a local gym and a college bar, where he picked up chicks, most of them from a different college in town. He wasn't sure if he was happy, but he sure as hell was having more fun. And if anyone suggested that he was a terrible person, he owned it and didn't care. If you're an asshole, you just blow them off!
My favorites stories (of 2024)
Looking for table of contents? Click here
Hi all, another year is almost over.
I wanted to take a moment to revisit some of my new favorites stories posted this year as well as some old-but-gold posts posted over the last couple years!
First, I want to put into spotlight some stories but out by authors that started out this year:
Catch! (βΓΦ) by @johnbrand
The Witch's Transformation part 1 and part 2 by @keozrb
Spare Parts by @yellowjestertfs
Personal Muscle, Uniform Included by @mrrharper
Miserable Nerd by @alphajocklover
Revenge: Jock Bro Style by @czascornertfs
The Jockrooms by @jockbroski34 (technically started in December of 2023, but...)
Some other reasonable mentions from seasoned authors this year would be:
The Silent Sentinel by @axeeglitter
Reversal Agents II: Going Back, the 2024 sequel to The Reversal Agents by @misctf
Immersive Mode™ by @artificial-transmutations
Be Kind Rewind (Fan title) by @salmonskinrolltf
americanalphajockbro.mp3 by @transform4u
3TH93USA by dumb-and-jocked (thank you for all your stories!)
AL:IV Everycop by @occamstfs
Next up are my old-but-gold favorites. Some of these authors have written dozens of stories and it was hard for me to pick just one favorite to recommend, but alas I can't make the post too long!
New Surf Instructor by @amalianetwork
Pledging the Frat by @agmsye
Mermaid Sire by @fafnir19
Construction Crew Recruitment by @bluecollarmcandtf
Well on your way (Fan title) by @bodriversblog
The Long Game by @captainmalewriter
Himbo Haunted House by @cinaedefuri2
Pills and Cubes by @deviantknight25
Rogue Muscle Drone by @dougtfs
Kristian by @fullfriendnerdpurse
Veni, vidi, vici by @guytransformedforever
Chess Rivals (Fan Title) by @hyphyphurray
Midnight Snack by @inanimatetffantasies
Pool Table by @jakelandry
Sentenced to Grow by @jd07201990
End of Shift by @joshslater (Phenomenal story, cruel and dystopian but super hot)
Making Todd by @joyfullovepirate
Get Digitized by @just-a-jock (Such a cool theme to write about. Would love to see more digitization-related stories!)
Replacing His Shirt by @mrcavanaughtf
Listen Up: Swimmer by newyoutf
The Box by @omnitf (and their many other excellent stories!)
Genieus Barber by @rakurairagnarok (Fellow Dutchie 🇳🇱)
Boxered into a promotion by @rozza22365 (I must admit it was hard to pick a favorite, haha)
Doctor's Orders by @king-craftsman
Magic Hoop by @the-tfstation
Career Day by @thetfchangingroom (One of my all-time favorites)
Oliver, the handyman by @the-volunteer-host
Terminal Boredom by @transformhim
Model Job by @octuscle
I also want to highlight that there are other good sites that also host great stories, here's some I'd recommend:
Thank me later, bro (Fan Title) by @adonker811
My Roommate Gives Me Nicknames by Derek Williams (From the good old NCMC days...)
Brothers in Arms by @idesofrevolution
Fantasy Models by Lusty Stallion
Permanent Vacation by Nameless
Won't let them change me by realhankmccoy
The Pred Policeman by RotherhamMan
Tailgating by TheBurdenBorne (originally posted on DeviantArt)
Swimming Confidence by ZacharyEverlust
If at this point you are still reading this post, thank you. Not too get too sappy but I really wanted to shine on a light on just how many amazing authors there are, some of which even still actively write stories today! Surely, there are some authors I may have forgotten but I think this is a good start!
I also want to quickly say thanks to blogs like @imsrtman, @bratboy197 for liking, reblogging, and archiving posts for everyone to keep reading. In this corner small corner of the internet where stories get taken down, authors move to different platforms, and some disappear into thin air it's nice to know not all stories are lost!
Furthermore, I want to give a special thanks @mrrharper for the good company and his tremendous help with proofreading some of my stories. As well as others in the community I have chatted with or helped archive more old stories!
Lastly, I hope this post motivates you to read and heart some of these great stories or perhaps inspire you to start writing your own!
-user2112001
Product Placement: Subway Sleeper
--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---
Connor picked up his backpack and walked towards turnstyles of the subway station, hearing a screeching train pulling into the station. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and waited in line. As a student, he had a school sponsored pass, so he swiped his transit card, but it received an error message.
"Card invalid."
The people behind him started shouting, so Connor stepped out of line and waited for the attendant.
When the line was gone again, he tried the card again.
"Card invalid."
"You a student?" said the attendant.
"Yeah," muttered Connor.
"Alright, follow me," the driver said handing him a sheet of paper. "Fill this out ... don't miss your train."
He grabbed the paper and filled out his information. The attendant let him through, handed him a ticket, and Connor slumped onto one of the benches and waited for his train. He curled up inside his hoodie, hoping that no one would notice, considering that he was embarrassed enough by the ticketing machine rejecting his student card. He was tired from a long day at school. Today, had started out rough and had only gotten worse. Connor was a senior, but had always been sort of an outcast in his school. Some of the guys on the basketball team liked to bully him because he had quit the team his freshman year. He hated sports, and only played because his dad forced him too. But after the coach, the players, and his disappointed father came to realize that being tall doesn't make you good at basketball, they let him go his own way. But he struggled to make friends after that, and sort of just drifted through high school until now, when he only had less than a year before graduating. Connor yawned and checked his phone, "The train should be here any minute," he thought. He put his phone in his pocket and felt his eyelids close.
After a few minutes, Connor shook awake when a train rushed into the station.
"Shit!" he said, not knowing he had slept for only a few seconds or minutes! The train's doors opened and Connor saw the number and destination of the train just in time to run inside as the doors zipped shut. The train started to move and suddenly Connor felt that something was wrong -- he had left his backpack on the bench!
"Fuck!" he shouted, but he knew the train wouldn't stop for him. The train was mostly empty, but the few passengers in this car were staring at him. "What are you staring at?" he shouted, ignoring their stares. But as he walked towards an empty seat, he saw in the reflection of the glass windows that we wasn't wearing a shirt. His first thought was that he was somehow still dreaming. Any second, he would wake up and board the real train, with his backpack, his shirt, and his sanity. But the longer he stared, the more the dream became a reality. His shirt was missing, but instead of the scrawny arms and thin chest, he started to notice bulges of muscle building on his once lanky frame. His biceps and pecs filled out and his abs became defined. It looked like he was aging rapidly too. Even as a senior, Connor's chest was mostly hairless and he never had to shave his face. But the man in the reflection was covered in hair, and soon a large beard spread across his jaw. A few small tattoos darkened his skin and one of his ears looked like it was pierced. His muscles continued to throb and his once loose fitting jeans filled in with powerful legs and sexy ass. He looked like he was in his twenties, probably after college, but wondered if he was just hallucinating or dreaming. The train stopped and Connor decided he better get off and figure out how to get back to the last station. One of the people entering the train looked at him, and to his surprise, Connor cheekily said to him, "Fuck off, mate!" in a New Zealand sounding accent.
Connor stormed off the platform, ignoring the stares and glares of the other people in the station. He walked over to a booth and shouted at the woman behind the glass "What you lookin' at?"
"Nothing, sir," she said.
"Right. Well, I need to get my pack from the last station."
"Oh ... actually we have one left here. Is this it?"
"What? No that's impossible ... " Connor protested, until he noticed that the backpack looked exactly like his from home.
"It came with this ID," she said, handing Connor a wallet. He checked his reflection in the mirror, and the photo matched the grizzly, attractive face. Connor grabbed the bag looking for his books, but instead it was filled with workout clothes and a t-shirt. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and it fit snugly over his toned chest and shoulders. He walked towards the escalator, wondering where he was supposed to be going, but his mind relaxed as he emerged on street level. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, completely at ease.
Originally posted on 2019-09-12 by dumb-and-jocked.
Comradirization
Jacob woke up with a start. His eyes were groggy, adjusting to what he assumed was the morning light. He shifted his arm, trying to scratch his head, but found he couldn’t move it. He flopped over, a little annoyed, and was surprised to find his arm handcuffed to one post of the bed. He tried to swing his other arm over, but found that it too was cuffed. He raised his head to look at his legs to discover that they were also chained to the beds. His whole body was locked to the four corners. Before he could panic anymore, Jacob realized he wasn’t alone in the room.
“Chacoob Kooglerr?”
In a chair next to the bed sat a young, rather handsome man. His defined body and proud beard made him look to be approaching his 30’s. He sat there confidently, his large thighs spread out as he sat there in just a small pair of white briefs. A small tattoo adorned his right arm, while the rest of his body looked as pure as an angel. Although he looked stunning, he didn’t smell it; Jacob noticed the lack of hygiene rather quickly. The man was trying to smile, but it looked more like an awkward smirk. What Jacob didn’t see coming was his thick Russian accent ruining his name. Jacob hadn’t done anything illegal or wrong, at least nothing that he thought would attract a Russian man to kidnap him.
“Vow do yoo zay eet?” the man asked, scaring Jacob. Jacob slowly pushed himself up to a comfortable sitting position, not knowing how to respond. He was too frightened to think of anything else. He had heard of people getting kidnapped before, but usually not by men who wore just their briefs.
“Ya get vaht I mean, yeh?” the Russian added. Jacob slowly shook his head, not knowing what else to do. The Russian grunted angrily, obviously irritated, before speaking again.
“Yoorrr name?” He tried to say it as clear as he could, but the exaggerated “oo” and rolling r’s brought him right back to square one.
“Oh,” Jacob replied, “Jacob Kugler.”
“Chacoob Kooglerr.” The Russian brought a hand to his face, smiling almost proudly, not realizing he had butchered the name the same as before.
“You Amereeican zand zyoorr dumb names.”
The Russian got up and walked throughout the apartment, grabbing items along the way. As he searched, Jacob took his time to figure out where he was. The room was fairly small, housing everything from a kitchen to a bedroom in it. It looked to be some sort of hotel suite, but Jacob couldn’t find any windows to tell. Jacob also realized that as he looked around the room, he found he probably wouldn’t be staying here long. The room looked clean and devoid of any decorations, in fact it barely seemed like a home at all. No photos, no scattered laundry, and Jacob quickly realized that his bed looked to be right after the staff maid had stepped in. He also discovered that he too was in a pair of small white briefs, not at all like the boxers he had last remembered wearing. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized his barren body had been exposed to the world.
Speaking of memories, he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before waking up. He remembered walking out of his office early that morning to catch a meeting on the other side of town. That lead him to a train station, where he bought his tickets and went to the bathroom. Once he was in the room, the memory went black. Jacob was rather ordinary; he worked as an accountant, lived alone at 24, had a moderate build. His blond hair and blue eyes weren’t as appealing as they could have been. He wasn’t fat or skinny, tall or short, but he didn’t have enough muscularity to attract anyone of the opposite gender. In fact, the last time he had a girlfriend was in highschool. Jacob hadn’t really done much with his life yet, so he couldn’t figure out why he - out of anybody - would be kidnapped.
“I am Pasha Vajda,” he said, bringing over everything he had gathered, “Eet ees time to zbegin procezz.”
“What process?” Jacob said, shivering out of fear and being cold from his lack of clothes. Pasha slowly gathered his things and dumped it on a table behind the chair he originally sat in. First, Pasha brought over what looked to be a virtual reality headset, but it looked different than what Jacob was used to. First off, it was a dark red color, with yellow stripes across the back side. The straps that were meant to go around the head also looked different, being shaped more to look like a helmet. Jacob tried to fight back, but Pasha easily placed the device over his head. As soon as the goggles went over his eyes, Jacob felt the harness tightening, so hard it felt as if it was digging into his skull.
As Jacob sat there in quiet fear, Pasha placed the other items in their proper places. He brought over a small tube and linked one end over Jacob’s nose and mouth before hooking the other to a small tank with multiple compartments. He quickly placed two earbuds in Jacob’s ears while connecting the cord to an old iPhone, one that still even had the headphone jack. The last thing Pasha did was jump on the bed between Jacob’s legs, switching on the phone before opening a Russian music app.
“Zee,” Pasha began, “Eez my chob to zhelp creehte new comrrades.”
“New what?” Jacob said, still confused and struggling to escape.
“Eez zimple,” Pasha said, “ve need morre comrrades, yoo’ll be ze comrrades.”
Before Jacob could ask any more questions, Pasha tapped the first playlist that had appeared on his phone, titled “товарищество.” The playlist’s title was rather obvious, for Pasha knew the two would be sharing comradery very soon. Once it began to play the first track, Pasha tapped a button and switched on the VR headset. He leaned back and sat there with the phone in hand, his cocky smirk returning as the process began.
Jacob tried to protest again, but before he could his eyes were blasted with a bright light. As soon as they refocused, all he could see was a red and yellow spiral. Jacob tried to look away, but he was sucked in mere seconds. He didn’t even hear the playlist beginning, starting with the National Anthem of the USSR playing quietly. He also didn’t register when words slowly began flashing on the screen, flying in and out before his conscious mind could register anything, or when he had started to breathe the air being fed to him. A deep melodic voice also entered, saying the words that were disappearing fast, but only in Russian. Jacob tried to ignore everything that was happening, but it was all too easy for him to succumb. The process began smoothly, easing Jacob’s mind open for comradirization. The first set of messages flashed quickly on the screen.
“Real Men have facial hair.”
“Real Men do not clean themselves.”
“Real Men put brothers before others.”
“Real Men listen to other men.”
“Real Men only trust Russian Men.”
The messages were repeated for almost an hour before the first track ended. As soon as it was finished, Pasha pushed the headset up on top of Jacob's head and removed the tube from his face, allowing him to see and breathe fresh air again. Pasha pulled up a different app on his phone, showing the procedures of what to do after each segment of the playlist.
Jacob sat there dazed. He knew his mind had been flooded with certain commands, but he had no idea of what. He was still in the weird apartment, still kidnapped and in white briefs. He was still tied up, both of his hands still cuffed to the bed; the only difference from before was that Pasha now sat right in front of his crotch. Strangely, he was fairly comfortable with the situation. It must have been the essence of the Russian Man sitting in front of him, Jacob could only trust Russian Men after all.
“So,” Pasha began, “khow long ya khad ze faczial khairr?”
His accent was still as thick as ever, but Jacob understood what Pasha was asking fairly well. Jacob brought a hand to his face and itched his subtle beard. It wasn’t large, but definitely worthy of praise.
“Ever since I could grow it.”
Pasha smirked and looked at his notes before continuing, “Ven Vas ze last zime ya zhowyerred?”
Jacob thought back to the last time he’d been in a bathroom, or water for that matter. The rising stench around him suggested it had been a while, but Pasha had a noticeable funk too. Jacob didn’t care that he smelled however - real men were supposed to reek.
“I don’t remember.”
Pasha smirked again before he leaned over and placed the equipment back on Jacob. The Russian Man told him to stay still, and Jacob, knowing to listen and only trust Russian Men, did just that. Everything was loaded back on and set to its proper settings before the second track begun. New words flashed along the screen with a new scent. The last one was plain, filtered air, but the one being fed to Jacob was now raunchy, sweaty, and extremely pungent. Jacob would have vomited at how odorous the new scent was, but he was too busy absorbing the new Russian commands to care.
“Real Men work out every day.”
“Real Men are proud of their bodies.”
“Real Men only respect Russian Men.”
“Real Men are only comrades with Russian Men.”
“Real Men wish to be Russian Men.”
The second track played for a little longer than the first, causing Pasha to get a little impatient, so he began to pleasure himself. Once it had ended, Pasha awkwardly found himself halfway through trying to bust a load. Not having time to finish, he quickly removed Jacob’s gear and began the next set of questions. As he asked away, he non-subtly stroked his massive steel rod, knowing Jacob was far enough along that he wouldn’t mind.
“Ya verrk out?” Pasha asked. Jacob looked down proudly at his built body. Of course he had worked out, you couldn’t be born with a body like this. He had large pecs, beautiful abs, strong biceps, and don’t even start him on his sculpted legs. Jacob made sure to always get every part of his body, ranging from the sculpted shoulders to sculpted buttocks.
“Of course I work out, bro! I always know when to get in a sesh,” Jacob replied, not noticing the jockish gym lingo influencing his deeper voice.
“Goud,” Pasha replied, “Vat do ya zink of Ruzjians?”
“I think they’re incredible. In fact, I’d say there the best!” Jacob had greatly adored the Russian race as long as he could remember. It was a deep passion of his.
“I’d be a Russian and only be friends with them if I could!” Jacob exclaimed excitedly, allowing Pasha move onto the next part of the process.
Pasha swiftly tilted himself up and once more placed the gear upon Jacob’s head. As he did, his exposed, leaking cock rubbed up against Jacob’s torso. Jacob shivered, the touch of a real, Russian man thrilling him. Once Pasha was finished, he leaned back and activated the next stage. Russian commands were fired through the earbuds again, but this time the words in front of Jacob’s eyes were now in Russian too. The gas from the tube was also replaced, now filled with a dark, yellowly liquid that flowed down Jacob’s gullet. The burning pain of the constant piss wasn’t even enough to take him out if his comradirization.
“Real Men have Russian as their first language.”
“Real Men do anything for Russian Men.”
“Real Men only love Russian Men.”
“Real Men are gay for Russian Men.”
“Real Men are Russian Men.”
After another hour of pounding commands into Jacob’s skull, Pasha removed the gear. This time, Jacob’s head really hurt, like he had just studied hours for a hard test. He brought up his hands to rub his temples, also itching at the short, brown-colored sports cut. When he opened his eyes again, Pasha sniggered as he noticed their new, dullish brown tone. Once the headache had passed, Jacob made eye contact with Pasha, feeling flushed as he observed the beautiful man in front of him. His cock began to inflate in his tight briefs, a full three inches longer due to his improved, Russian heredity. He was so infatuated with the male in front of him that he didn’t even realize he was no longer imprisoned, or the lukewarm cum drying on his pecs.
“Who do you love most in your life?” Pasha asked, speaking in full Russian.
“Um…” Jacob answered back in Russian, his thought process noticeably slower, “I dunno…”
Pasha wasn’t satisfied with his answer. As if a lightbulb flashed in his head, Pasha popped up with an idea. He leaned over to Jacob, giving his cock a quick tug. Jacob moaned in response, before muttering out, “I love other Russian Men.”
“Good,” Pasha said before continuing, “Where are you originally from?”
“Russia,” Jacob announced proudly, and as soon as the words were said, the equipment was replaced for the final part.
Pasha clicked a few apps on his phone before sinking up the last section of the playlist. The end of the comradirization was always the most difficult, as so many important parts were involved. First off, two new machines were added: a milking mechanism and an infusion pump. Pasha carefully placed each of the objects in their respective locations; one would inject the Russian sperm and the other would make room for it. The other component that made the ending the hardest was that if it didn’t go absolutely perfect, the whole process could fall apart. Pasha had to make sure everything was ready as he began the final section of the process. The final words flashed on the screen and paired track began to play. This time, lots of messages flooded the screen, while the rest of the equipment pumped Jacob’s body into the prime, Russian Man he was soon to become.
“Russian Men obey the stereotype.”
“Russian Men love football.”
“Russian Men drink vodka.”
“Russian Men love to smoke.”
“Russian Men have deep voices and are dumb jocks.”
As the new reality set in, Jacob’s mind became flooded with new memories. Memories of growing up in Russia, going to school with Pasha, learning how to be an incredible forward in soccer football, and making out with other hot, Russian Men in the locker room. The smell of vodka and nicotine always on their breaths as they passionately kissed.
“Russian Men never smile.”
“Russian Men reminisce the USSR.”
“Russian Men are Orthodox Christian.”
“Russian Men are abrasive, arrogant, and rude.”
“Russian Men are alphas.”
The milking machine chugged away, pulling out every bit of Jacob’s cum as the better, more powerful Russian semun was pumped into his veins. Pasha loved seeing the man become a comrade right in front of him. Jacob’s growing body pulsated out towards Pasha. Jacob’s once-scrawny legs not stretched over the edge of the bed, his feet bloating to a massive Size 16 - just like Pasha’s.
“Russian Men are superior above all other men.”
“Russian Men want all men to be Russian Men”
“Russian Men want to comradirize all other men.”
“Russian Men want to make all other men their Russian brothers.”
“Russian Men are Vadja Men.”
Once the final track had ended, Pasha removed all of the gear and towed it away. He placed the white briefs back over the now goliath dick and tucked the large, Russian Man into the bed. The new comrade had passed out, the final part overloading his smaller brain. Pasha cleaned up before leaving, his job done. He was ready to find the next person to comradiraze.
— —
Yakov woke up in his small apartment, the smell of a smoky, alcoholic locker room pleasantly filling his nose. He flipped over and slapped his large feet on the floor, the meaty sound echoing throughout the small room. He walked over to the dirty kitchen, grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter, and turned on the small television to reveal a Russian football game.
As he took a swig, he picked up his old phone and looked through his notifications. He had forgotten to close out of the comradirization tracks; he could be such a dumb jock sometimes. As he scrolled through a Russian, gay dating app, a text popped up at the top of the screen. He clicked it, seeing that it was his brother: Pasha Vadja. He clicked the tab as the first set of Russian letters filled his screen.
Pasha: hey brother
Yakov: hey comrade
Pasha: how’s my little Vajda doing
Yakov: its Yakov Vadja, not little, I’m as big as you
Pasha: yeah whatever. hope you’re ready to go make some comrades
Yakov: yeah, I’ll get to it real quick
Pasha: send me a pic of you first, for fun
Yakov: alright, just a sec
Yakov heaved off the couch, mad that he had to tear himself away from the intense football game. He crouched down in front of the mirror by the bed and posed, making sure to get the best angle. Yakov knew that his brother would nut over this, and he knew he probably would too later. First things first, he had to go make some more comrades first. He was excited just thinking about it. He looked in the mirror and then at his phone before taking the pic. He was so glad that he couldn’t smile, it made him look much sexier. He quickly sent the pic to his brother, ready to go comradirize.
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