Alex Lederman

Another best transformation of male to male.

The Woolly Socks: Part 2 - Dan

As Dan crept out of the bedroom he wondered if moving in with Chris had been a mistake. For the third night in a row he had woken up cold in the middle of the night with the covers pushed off the bed. He knew Chris didn't do it deliberately and it was just his boyfriend instinctively trying to keep his furry muscular body cool, but it had happened enough times now that it was no longer amusing to Dan whose slim toned physique struggled to stay warm. Dan had tried going back to sleep but wasn't able to get comfortable so decided to do some reading in the living room. Chris would be getting up soon for his gym session so he would try and get a bit more sleep after Chris had gone.

The couple's differing routines were another issue with the relationship. Chris had a group of gym buddies that would work out in the early in the morning, whereas Dan never went to the gym as he instead did training with his running club after work. Before moving in together they had often gone out of their way to spend time with each other, but now they seemed to have got into a domestic rut where they actually spent less time together.

As Dan moved into the living room he shivered a bit and couldn't help thinking about how their different preferences for the heating in the apartment was another issue. Even in the middle of winter Chris would often walk around with barely anything on, whereas Dan would always be wearing at least one thick jumper. Dan didn't mind getting to see so much of his boyfriend, and he liked having easy access to rub his hands through the hair on Chris's chest, but he had started to worry about how different their lives seemed to be. Dan worried that they just didn't have enough in common and moving in together had made that painfully clear.

Dan had picked up some clothes from the bedroom before leaving, but in the dark he hadn't been able to find his socks. As he walked barefoot on the cold floor he wondered if he could cope without socks, but he quickly decided that he'd have to go back for them, which was when he noticed the white socks on the floor by the laundry. Chris had mentioned the previous night that he had bought a pair of socks but had found them too hot. As Dan walked over to them they did seem a bit thicker than the thin socks that Chris normally bought. Dan wasn't complaining though as they seemed like they would be perfect for keeping his feet warm until Chris got up.

After putting the socks on Dan was surprised by how warm they were. He felt a warmth creeping up from his feet but was unaware that warmth was due to thick hairs growing in all over his legs. Dan also didn't notice as his legs, that had been toned from countless miles of running, started getting more defined as they thickened up with muscle. Instead Dan started to think about the effort he had been putting into leg day at the gym, in particular growing his calf muscles despite all his buddies saying that muscle was mostly defined by genetics.

The warmth Dan was feeling quickly travelled up into his chest. He didn't notice as hairs burst out all over his stomach and then across his chest, he also didn't notice as his flat chest quickly swelled up with muscle whilst his shoulders widened out and his arms expanded to match. Instead the burning he had felt in those areas made sense to Dan as he was in the middle of his winter bulk, and was really pushing himself each session. Chris had recently made some gains in the gym, but Dan had always had the slightly bigger body and he wanted to keep it that way.

Finally the warmth reached his face and caused his beard to grow out, but for Dan that made sense as he had been growing it out during his bulk. He had intended to trim it back down in the spring, but he had decided he liked the look and was considering keeping it. Dan had also noticed Chris had been rubbing his cheeks more than normal too so he didn't think Chris would have a problem if the beard stayed all year round.

Dan looked at the jumper that he was about to put on and then wondered why he had taken it from the bedroom. He had woken up due to the bedroom being too hot and had come out to the living room to cool down, so a jumper was the last thing he wanted to put on. Dan decided that even the socks he'd put on were too much, so he quickly slipped them off.

Instead Dan walked across to the fridge and enjoyed the cool breeze on his chest that came after he opened it. He decided to start getting breakfast ready as Chris would be getting up soon and they didn't want to be late for their buddies at the gym. It was chest day today which they both enjoyed, although Dan's favorite part of the day actually came in the evening when they would spend time massaging each others sore furry pecs and then snuggling up together on the couch.

Dan couldn't believe how lucky he had been when he met Chris. It seemed like he had met his soul mate and now they had moved in together everything was perfect.

Creamy white skin tanned to a golden glow - Let the beast out

Countdown to a New You

Anderson Cooper, live on CNN's New Year's Eve Countdown, was in the midst of his usual lively banter with cohost Andy Cohen. Drinks flowed freely as the excitement of the night built up, and Anderson was caught in the whirlwind of interviews and the countdown. In the midst of it all, a crew member handed him a mysterious red shot. Without thinking much, Anderson tossed it back, laughing along with Andy Cohen.

Immediately, a sharp cough interrupted his good spirits. The taste of the shot was vile—bitter, burning, and unexpectedly harsh. It left a strange aftertaste on his tongue, but Anderson was far from sober. Having already indulged in a few too many drinks, he let it slide, shrugging off the unpleasant sensation. The liquor worked its way through his system, blurring his thoughts and numbing his senses.

The countdown continued: "10...9...8..." Anderson rubbed his temples, his mind cloudy. The idea of spending another year endlessly reporting on the same political stories, particularly Trump, seemed unbearable. His body began to feel heavier, fuzzier. "7...6...5..." The world around him grew more distant, as though everything was slipping out of his grasp, until...

"3...2...1..."

Suddenly, the world shifted. Anderson blinked and found himself no longer in the CNN studio. He was among the sea of loud, rowdy New Year’s Eve partygoers in the streets of New York. The drunken crowd stumbled and shouted, a blend of joyous and confused voices. As he pushed his way through the throngs of people, someone shouted, “Watch where you’re going, big guy!”

Big guy? Anderson thought, confused. He wasn't a hulking figure—he worked out, sure, but big? He glanced down at himself, feeling a strange sensation building in his body. His stomach ached, but he attributed it to the drinks. However, the ache deepened, his muscles twitching, spasming. The change began, slow but undeniable.

Anderson felt his body shift, growing, expanding. His muscles swelled, pushing against the confines of his clothes. He looked down in astonishment as his biceps stretched, thickening, each muscle becoming a solid mass, defined and powerful. His chest expanded, a hard wall of muscle forming where there had once been a more average build. The veins popped out from his forearms, running like rivers under his skin, pulsing with every movement.

His once lean and slightly slender frame was now an enormous, muscle-bound force of nature. His body rippled with raw power, his hands, now large and calloused, could crush anything in their grip. His neck thickened, cords of muscle making it look like it was carved from stone, and his traps swelled, each muscle a solid mound. As the transformation continued, Anderson became a living testament to physical dominance—a massive man, built from pure muscle, his body like a mountain of strength.

His skin, now bronzed and rugged, reflected years of hard work and a life of physical labor—of lifting, of outdoor adventures, of pushing himself to the limit. He stood tall, towering over the crowd, the raw power in his body emanating from every move. He cracked his knuckles, his new stance one of aggression and unshakable confidence. His entire being seemed to scream "big"—not just big in size, but in strength, presence, and raw, untamed energy.

Anderson looked at his new self in awe, both surprised and strangely empowered by the transformation. He was no longer just a news anchor in a tuxedo—he was a living powerhouse. Every step he took was accompanied by the flex of muscles, the pulse of veins, and the certainty that he was now something different, something more.

Anderson stumbled toward the open bar, his new, massive body clumsy and out of place in the crowd. He leaned against the bar, struggling to adjust to the newfound weight and strength of his muscles. As he looked up, his eyes met the bartender, a handsome man with a cocky grin.

"What’ll it be, bro?" the bartender asked with a confident smile.

Anderson blinked, a moment of clarity trying to pierce through the haze of his foggy mind, but before he could answer, the bartender's expression shifted, and he sneered.

“Ugh. Quit checking me out. We don’t serve no homos here. Only good Christian conservatives," the bartender said, his words dripping with contempt.

For a brief second, Anderson felt a pang of memory—pride parades, his advocacy for equal rights, his husband, the principles he once stood for. But those thoughts quickly faded as his body seemed to pulse with the force of the transformation. His mind became slower, fuzzier, and the memories of the past seemed less important, less vivid.

Instead, the new Anderson began to emerge—a version of himself that was brash, muscular, and filled with an arrogant sense of dominance. The memories of his old life slipped away as he embraced his new persona. Anderson felt the urge to lean into this new identity, one that was provocative and unapologetic. His voice grew deep and confident as he responded, his tone filled with newfound cockiness.

“Yeah, I get it. And what’s wrong with that, huh?” Anderson replied, his grin matching the bartender's. "It’s a free world, right?" Anderson sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped tightly around the glass, the next drink slowly making its way through his system. With each sip, he felt a fire rise in his chest, a burning heat that spread through his veins, turning his blood red-hot. The noise of the city around him, the cacophony of voices screaming and yelling, grated against his senses. It was too much. These damn city folk, all of them—loud, entitled, taking up space in the bar as though they owned the place. His mind seethed with irritation, a storm brewing in his chest.

He shifted in his seat, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. His memories of newscasts and interviews with politicians, once full of politeness, professionalism, and kindness, began to fade away. They felt distant, like old shoes that no longer fit. His years of calm, measured conversations were replaced by something darker, something sharper, as if his very persona was being rewritten by the drink flowing through him. The lines of stress and wrinkles on his face, the marks of a life lived in constant scrutiny and responsibility, slowly began to wash away. He could feel his face growing harder, more defined, less empathetic, and much more youthful.

As the liquor coursed through his bloodstream, his body grew hot with rage and entitlement. He could feel the shift in his thoughts—his old self, the thoughtful journalist, disappearing as a new version of himself began to form. The memories of his compassionate interviews were replaced by new, unfamiliar ones—TikTok clips, viral moments, flexing in front of the camera. His mind flickered to the image of a man who thrived on controversy, who built his empire on shocking the world, on unapologetically flaunting his success. This was something more raw, more dangerous, a walking contradiction wrapped in muscle and bravado.

A vision of a hyper-confident, right-wing comedian started to take shape in his mind, someone brash and bold, with a sharp tongue that ripped through the fabric of the internet’s carefully curated persona. The image was clear now—this new version of himself was everything the media loathed, everything society considered "unfiltered." He saw himself as the epitome of masculinity, his body a testament to hours spent in the gym, the sculpted muscles of his chest and arms flexing with every movement. His face wore a cocky grin, a permanent smirk, like a lion looking down at sheep, unbothered by the noise around him.

The new Anderson Cooper didn't care about social justice or "cancel culture" or the so-called softness of the modern world. He mocked it. He derided it. He was untouchable. He was the one who didn’t need the system, who didn’t need the handouts. Everything he had achieved was because of his hard work, his dedication, his willpower. Anyone who couldn’t make it, well, that was their problem, right?

The anger that had once boiled inside him turned into pure, unfiltered trolling. The satire was biting, sharp as a knife. He saw himself mocking the left-wing causes with sarcastic humor, shredding the arguments that sought to change the status quo, all while flexing his financial success. His wealth, his body, his "self-made" empire were all part of his show—his brand. And he wasn’t going to apologize for any of it. He mocked the soft, mainstream conservatives, too, calling them weak and out of touch, gleefully watching as both sides recoiled from his inflammatory rhetoric.

This new Anderson thrived on controversy. He lived for the outrage, the debates, the clashing of ideologies. His TikToks, his viral videos—they were a canvas for his audacity, an ever-expanding collection of one-liners, memes, and references to pop culture that blended seamlessly with his hyper-masculine, self-promoting lifestyle. His followers ate it up—because he wasn’t just about flexing his muscles; he was flexing his right to speak, his right to dominate the conversation. He was always right. Always the loudest.

As Anderson sat at the bar sipping his whiskey, a curvy blonde slid onto the stool next to him. Her tight dress hugged her body in all the right places. She turned to him with a coy smile. "OMG, aren't you like, super famous?" she gushed, big blue eyes wide. Anderson was about to puff out his chest and brag how he was indeed but the bombshell cut him off. "You're that douchebag constantly going on about how the media is full of 'woke fags'" The blonde's words hit Anderson like a punch to the gut. Anderson's mind began to rewrite itself, delving deep into memories of his most douchey, obnoxious rants as a conservative internet celebrity. He recalled his rise to fame, lashing out at the "fucking faggot woke media" in videos that went viral among the Reddit subreddit of white nationalists, MRAs, and other bottom-feeders of humanity. With each memory, Anderson's ego grew, along with the tent rapidly forming in his slacks as he thought about the smokin' hot blonde beside him. God damn, I'm such a catch…famous AND I'm not afraid to speak my truth. The chicks love a man who isn't brainwashed by the liberal media lies, he thought proudly as he straightened his posture. Fuck, I can already picture this fox riding my dick and screaming "White power!"" "You know what would be SO hot right now?" asked Anderson, with a coy smile. "Bitch, I can do whatever I want! In fact…"He roughly grabbed her ass, squeezing her firm cheeks through her dress. Fuck, what did she say her name was? My brain is like, totally fried right now… Focus, dude! Suddenly, a glimmer of light shone behind his glazed eyes and a voice emerged from within his thick skull, "It's Cassie. You're Jaydien…Jaydien DIESEL!"Jaydien grinned and threw his hand up in the"okay"sign."JAYDIEN DIESEL, motherfucker! Host of 'It's OK to Be White' on Gab. Now back the fuck up, ho!"Jaydien smirked, eyes glazed over as he slurred out drunken rants about the decay of American values and how only "family men like him" can fix it. He rambled on and on about his unwavering faith in Jesus Christ as he groped at Cassie's tits and ass shamelessly.

"You see, Cassie…these liberal scumbags and their rainbow bullshit are destroying the very foundations of our nation!"Jaydien yelled, practically drooling on her cleavage. "But God put ME on this Earth to save America from the homo agenda and their pussy propaganda. Men are SUPPOSED to grab pussy, am I right?!"

Cassie giggled, too tipsy and perhaps too slutty to stop this uncouth cretin from feeling her up in the middle of the crowded bar. Jaydien took her silence as a sign to keep going with his Christian crusade.

Jaydien's hand was all over Cassie's body as he ranted about Jesus, guns, and grab-pussy politics, barely able to get his words out through his drunken stupor. The bartender eyed them warily but was too lazy to intervene. This seemed to encourage Jaydien's lewd behavior. "Goddamn it's hot in here… Let's take this somewhere more private!" Jaydien slurred loudly enough for the whole bar to hear. He yanked Cassie off the bar stool, making her stumble in her heels. The blonde barely had a chance to react before Jaydien was dragging her across the floor toward the restrooms."C'mon, time for you to make America great again on your knees, slut!" A few patrons booed disapprovingly but Jaydien just flipped them off. "Eat a dick, libtards! And suck on the RedWaveRapture"

I consider myself a pretty attractive guy, but I’ll also be the first to admit I’m a little addicted to the gym. More specifically, I’m additcted to the hot guys I see all the time there: big buff goons, perfectly proportional yet intellectually bankrupt.

I don’t know why I decided to take a stray sip out of that guy’s shake bottle, but if I knew about the weregoon virus, I might have thought twice.

The strangest thing has happened to me since. Every full moon, I wake up to find myself passed out in some random part of town, usually in the apartment of some girl I don’t know. It’s so odd and super uncomfortable.

But then one day I was scrolling through Reddit and I found a video of this smoking hot muscular surfer dude absolutely railing this brunette chick and—oh my god, it was the girl who’s house I woke up in!

The next full moon, instead of going to sleep, I stayed awake, staring at myself in the mirror. At midnight, it happened.

I felt my whole body grow numb as it wobbled and bloated in my reflection. My hands explored the odd curves of my shifting skin as it hardened into solid muscle. I watched my own cock grow almost a foot long while my nuts swelled to the size of ping bong balls. My brain was buzzing, but just with static. The last thing I remember was cracking open a beer (which I normally save for guests) and rubbing one out to my own reflection in the mirror. The cum stains were still there the next morning.

I was turning into a dumb blond himbo every full moon, just like a werewolf. The worst part? I have no idea what I do when I’m in that state. One of these girls called me saying her pregnancy test came back positive. What do I do??

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THE TF COMMUNITY IS NOT OPEN TO CHILD PREDATORS.

WRITERS: STOP WRITING STORIES INVOLVING MINORS THAT HAVE SEXUAL CONTENT IN THEM. 

READERS: STOP REBLOGGING THOSE STORIES. STOP GIVING WRITERS A FREE PASS FOR WRITING THAT SHIT. 

IF YOU SEE A STORY INVOLVING AN ADULT SWAPPING INTO OR POSSESSING OR BEING AGE REGRESSED INTO THE BODY OF A TEEN AND PERFORMING SEXUAL ACTS EITHER TO THEMSELVES OR WITH OTHERS, THAT CONTENT IS INAPPROPRIATE AND SHOULD BE REPORTED.

GET CHILD PREDATORS OUT OF OUR GODDAMN COMMUNITY, OFF OF TUMBLR AND INTO JAIL. FUCK OFF.

The best transformation

The best transformation is male to male shapeshift

The Woolly Socks - Chris

Chris and Dan had been inseparable in the two years since they had met at the athletics club. Thanks to countless hours of running both men had slim toned bodies and it didn't take long for them to become a couple once they had started training together. While their physiques were ideally suited to the track, they both found it hard to keep their bodies warm in the winter. That wasn't a huge problem as it gave them a great reason to snuggle up together under a blanket. That was one of their favorite things to do together, expect for one issue - Chris's constantly cold feet.

Whenever they snuggled Dan joked about having to position himself away from Chris's feet to avoid getting a chill. Chris knew he was joking but it had been mentioned enough times that with winter coming around he decided he should do something about it. At first he was concerned it might be a medical issue, but his doctor had said everything was fine and suggested he simply wear some thick socks to help trap in the heat.

Chris looked at the socks he had picked up and worried they wouldn't work. They were a lot thinner than he had expected to buy, but the owner of the store had recommended them and assured him they would keep him perfectly warm. From Chris's perspective they looked like any other socks but he'd been promised a refund if he wasn't happy so had gone ahead and purchased them.

Chris hadn't intended on buying any socks that day, but he'd been passing the store as he was coming to the end of a run and something made him think it would be convenient to pick something up then and there.

After getting the socks, and finishing his run, Chris had taken a quick shower and was now feeling whatever warmth was in his feet quickly leaving as he stood on the cold apartment floor. So he picked up his new socks and slipped them on his feet hoping they at least do something to keep in the heat.

What Chris definitely didn't expect was to feel a sudden warmth from the bottom of the socks, a bit like he was standing on a heated floor. The warmth then started to spread up his legs. At one point his whole lower body seemed to be burning which momentarily worried him but then he remembered he had just done his normal leg day routine at the gym. Maybe he should have cooled down with some cardio at the end of the session but, like normal, he had skipped that. Dan sometimes tried to get Chris to join him on a run, but Chris had always said no - in fact he avoided any form of cardio as much as possible.

Chris then decided that if the heat he was feeling in his lower body wasn't from the gym then it would definitely be due to the hair. He'd always had hairy legs and even on the coldest days had to wear shorts to avoid his thighs from overheating. That meant that Dan always had easy access to Chris's legs and Chris loved the feeling when his boyfriend rubbed his fingers through the hair on his thighs, it was something so simple yet so intimate.

Some of the heat then passed up through the rest of Chris's body. He started to feel like the room was becoming a sauna and wondered if there was an issue with the heating. As he walked to check the thermostat, he was sure his body was still getting warmer. In particular his chest felt like it was burning up, although Chris then concluded that shouldn't be too much of a surprise given how much muscle and hair he had there too.

Early on in their relationship Chris had once trimmed his chest hair down and although Dan had said he liked it Chris could tell that his boyfriend couldn't wait for it to grow back in. He was pretty sure he hadn't trimmed it since and loved the way it complemented his muscles.

As Chris reached the thermostat he slipped off the socks he'd put on and threw them towards the laundry bin. He wasn't sure why he had put them on in the first place - normally he walked around bare foot enjoying the cool feel of the floor.

Chris then figured out what the problem was with the heating - it had been set to come on too early and was far too high. The couple had agreed that when Dan was out then the heating would be off as Chris found it hard to cool down. Even when Dan was home they'd keep the heating on low which Chris found okay if he was just wearing his briefs. Dan didn't love the cold apartment but Chris was always ready to give his boyfriend a furry snuggle if he needed warming up.

Over time Chris and Dan had tried different set-ups, but had come to the conclusion that Chris simply had a body that run hot and there was not much they could do about that.

Any Given Sunday

James's stomach cramps. He clenches his soft gut in pained pleasure as it gurgles, and he can feel ... abs start to indent themselves on his stomach. When he lifts up his shirt to examine his stomach, a deep, sunkissed tan starts forming around his belly button, which is swirling with dark, black hair. He feels an all too familiar heat blanket his body as he starts to sweat.

He sits bolt upright in bed.

He forgot!

It's SUNDAY!

Jaden's voice comes through loud and clear. James's stomach sinks inwards, the fat redistributing to his flat chest and bloating his non-existent pecs and small nipples simultaneously. He bites his lip to stifle a moan as he feels the beginnings of Jaden's pillowy pecs start mounting on his chest.

Jaden please - ugh - just this one - FUCK!

His abs stretch larger against the skin and he moans and groans as his pecs inflate larger, jiggling as his back arches. An Adonis belt carves a path straight to his hardening cock.

Sorry lil bro but you know I gotta watch the game.

Jaden's abs pop and settle into place. His nipples stop growing as his pecs do one final push, all the muscle and fat flexing and bloating and stretching the skin, and put an immense amount of strain on his sleep shirt. He's still in his pajama pants, his cock pulsing and twitching against the rough fabric. His balls fill to the brim, their massive print visible through the fabric. His armpits tickle as a burst of Jaden's dark pit hair grows out. His body odor, tame and mild at first, is starting to get stronger. Jaden always smells like he's just gotten done with a workout.

"Fu - Fuck!"

His voice deepens into Jaden's, cracking and dropping a full octave lower, becoming deeply seductive. James struggles to catch his breath as he begins to feel the first telltale signs of himself slipping away and being replaced by Jaden. The dull buzzing haze of horniness and perfect, jock himbo stupidity begin carpeting his brain as Jaden makes his presence more and more known.

Can I - mmph - can I take my clothes off - huff - first?

Thought you'd never ask broski.

James closes his eyes as he feels his hands strip off his sweaty shirt. The tan sweeps upwards and covers his pecs, makes them grow a little bit bigger. Ja..den's pec tickles as the first of his tattoos forms and inks itself across his chest. James's hands squeeze and play with his tits, making his cock pulse harder and teasing out the first inch of growth in his below average cock. He's moaning extremely loud. He knows Jaden doesn't care if his neighbors hear him basically screaming.

You just - you just like hearing me moan, don't you?

Jaden laughs. He could just let James go right now because the pleasure is so intense. His shoulders broaden as his tan takes over James's pasty white skin. His arms bloat with muscle and fat as more tattoos inch their way across his biceps, thicker neck and shoulders, those traps which seem to try to split the skin as they grow along with his massive back which stretches James taller to Jaden's even 6 feet. Jaden takes this opportunity with James's bloating, expanding hands to tweak and pull his nipples, causing James, who still has control over his vocal cords, to cry out and writhe on the edge of his bed.

Nothing turns me on more bro.

He throws his arms behind his head and flexes his strong abs. His powerful musk fills James's room. His forearms crack and expand as James groans in pleasure. His face pops and shifts, nose expanding and lips filling with delectable fat. Dick-sucking lips, as Jaden would call them. And Jaden sucks a lot of dick. The widening tongue shows that Jaden will also dabble in some pussy if he gets the chance. James may be strictly gay but Jaden will fuck anything that'll let him. One cannot be this horny without looking for any avenue of release.

His hair shaves itself into Jaden's buzz cut, the hair receding back into his scalp. Jaden is one fine motherfucker. Sometimes he forgets this fact but one look at his reflection in the TV screen reminds him, and he winks. His upper body piles on more mass and muscle and James's moans become more feverish and desperate.

Jaden, I don't think - I don't think I can take anymore.

We're almost done little bro.

His hands finish growing and his forearms become blanketed with his thick hair. His fingers lengthen across the back of his shaved head as the last of his tattoos ink themselves on James's fingers. He slides off James's ugly striped pajama pants as his pubes start growing thick and dense, a scraggly forest. Sweaty and the nexus of all that musk that Jaden's producing. His cock springs up, hard and dripping, leaking pre all down the shaft and lubricating the swollen head. His balls have finished growing and are huge, apparent in everything Jaden will wear.

Much like his cock.

But first.

How am I smelling bro?

So ... fucking .. good.

He flexes his strong biceps, the muscles rolling around like boulders beneath the taut skin, and buries his nose in his pit, letting James be overcome by the smell, as he starts fucking James's cock into his fist and teasing out the growth he needs. He needs to make that cock 9.5 inches. He jerks off as he makes out with his huge bicep, his cock stretching along his palm. Those 5 inches straining and bloating into 6 inches within seconds. James's flat ass bloating and fattening up into Jaden's bubble butt, that sways and jiggles, and bounces with every step. He can twerk too. A party trick that sends whatever is left of James after every transformation into overdrive. James doesn't like it when Jaden goes to football parties, worried about Jaden spreading this ... whatever you want to call it to other people. Jaden promises to always pull out, never shoot down someone's throat or in their ass (or pussy). But sometimes Jaden is extremely forgetful. James too, especially when Football Sunday -

"James? You okay in there? You left your door unlocked!"

It's Eli.

Exhibit B of his forgetfulness, that pre-Sunday fog: he forgot Eli was coming over too.

You .. fucking .. asshole!

Jaden dumbly chuckles as James's ass continues bloating and stretching. His cock crests at 7.5 inches. Jaden brings his hands down and squeezes his ass, squishing it and feeling the fat, soft cheeks. It finishes growing as he thrusts upwards, the ass jiggling and clapping together, his hole gaining in sensitivity and sprouting more of those musky hairs.

James's thighs inflate next, the tan spreading downwards as more dark hair swirls and grows. His thighs clench together as they touch his balls, the calves becoming strong and dense with muscle.

"What is that smell?"

Jaden wrests control from James as he takes his hands off his still growing cock - 8.5 now! James could scream at him if he could. They're so close! - and leans back. James's room smells strongly of Jaden as the tan finally hits the last part of James's body. His feet crack and expand, stretching across the hardwood floor and gaining sensitivity, making Jaden shudder and groan as they drag across the cold floor.

"It's me bro!"

Eli opens the door.

You didn't tell me your friend was so cute.

The twunk looks absolutely captivated by the big man on the bed where his friend should be. He sees the man's cock gain the last inch and a half needed, his feet growing to size 13s, big enough to rip through any of James's shoes. Eli watches the big man move and grab a baseball cap and a football, and in doing so, a direct blast of musk comes out of his hairy armpits. He's so hot. He sees James's clothes on the floor. Then he swings his eyes back to the naked jock, cock swinging and spitting webs of pre everywhere, and turns on the TV to the football game. His fat ass sways and jiggles as he walks. His body is powerful and bulky. When the football game begins playing, something clicks in Eli's head.

"You're Jaden?"

"That's me bro. Jamesy told you about me huh?"

Eli only nods as Jaden flexes his massive biceps. Rubs his perfect, pillowy pecs. This self worship session sends lightning bolts of pleasure to his dull brain. James is long gone. Relegated to a back seat viewing. But he feels everything. Not as intense as Jaden is feeling, his cock twitching and bouncing, his hormones kicking into high gear, but he still moans inside of Jaden's head as he worships himself. Eli tries to think of something to say, anything, but his brain is fogging up with horniness and not the alarm bells that should be ringing as his cock hardens in his sweatpants. The print is obvious. Eli has felt horny but this feels different. It's like he's thinking more head on his cock than the head on his shoulders. Jaden sees it and flexes harder. Worships himself with more intent and lets loose a few deep groans.

"I don't know what y'all were planning on doing, but we can watch the game together since you're here."

"Can I please suck your cock?"

Eli blushes. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

Jaden smirks. His cock like steel and at the ready.

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

Eli stumbles to the massive man. Before he can go down to the prize, that massive, throbbing cock, Jaden pulls him up for a kiss. It's rough, and deep, and intense, and Eli turns into warm pudding, literally melting against the big man and squeezing his soft pecs, which only makes the big man moan and kiss him harder. And then those large masculine hands are on his head and pushing him down, his mouth wide open and accepting the musky cock in his mouth.

For some reason it's like he's being fucked in the ass by the guy as Eli bobs up and down on his cock, sucking him desperately. Milking him really. His smelly pubes brush up against his nose. He's sucking Jaden off expertly. Jaden moans and groans - the sensation intensified by him playing with his huge, swollen nipples - and he combs his fingers through Eli's hair and pushes him down, big powerful thighs thrusting his cock up and deep into Eli's throat, ass flexing and jiggling and sagging below him.

Jaden watches the game as Eli sucks him off. He's not going to pull out. He's always been curious/wanting another bro to watch a football game with on Sundays. It's a little boring sometimes to just fuck his fist or one of his many toys every five minutes, which is why he leaves to go to parties. He has all of Sunday at his disposal. He expects the small part of James to protest, fight him.

But he doesn't.

Maybe he wants to see what will happen too.

Jaden erupts like a geyser. He holds Eli's head down as he pumps load after load into Eli's throat. Eli blows his own load in his sweatpants, cock untouched and just rock solid in his pants. He cums more than he expects, soaking through his underwear as a few stains appear on his pants. Jaden groans and moans, mouth wide open as his deep voice fills the room. Shit he should edge more often.

When he finally stops and Eli pulls off with a slick pop, Jaden notices a dark patch of something on Eli's face.

It's the beginnings of a beard.

"My face feels itchy."

Eli's voice is already deepening, a dullness seeping into his once intelligent sounding voice. His beard blooms across his face.

He picks Eli up and places him on the bed as he looks down and sees Eli's nipples harden, fattening against his polo shirt. His cock strains harder against his sweatpants, that wet spot growing into a veritable puddle. Jaden tears it off, Eli moaning in shock and pure arousal as his chest begins expanding. The sensation of whatever fat is on his body filling his growing pecs, the muscles expanding in every direction as his muscular cleavage becomes cavernous, is doubly intense by Jaden's massive hands massaging those growing muscle tits. Dark hair swirls around his nipples and blankets the smooth skin.

"What's happening to me bro?"

Jaden kisses the changing man on his fat lips. Eli's strengthening arms clutching onto Jaden's broad back.

Whatever is left of James smiles contently. Now Jaden won't ever complain about Sundays being boring again.

And you know what? James can't help but agree.

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

°