Celeb Tf - Tumblr Posts

Alex had slip off stage to find pair of shorts to allow some dignity so soon found one it was very tight but would serve immediate purpose, he walked on to stage again now with cool confidence that new body give him, into microphone he said in deep commanding voice "Please ignore announcements John is unable so you got me Alex and this is for costume design with nominees are", he read list of people printed on outside then said "The winner is " opening the envelope and sid the name printed there, the person was surprised and walked up to stage no knowing what to do with naked man who handed award to them but Alex was very professional about whole thing then his part of show was over and could leave the satge to find new bigger suit to wear for his back stage work Soon he would not be able to hid any more since incident ignited firestorm on social media and many questions were asked like Who is He? and How did he end up there, over next several weeks was confusing mess of tv interviews and newspaper articles so such that Alex needed to hire manager to sort out all offers and guard to protect him from crowds

Hollywood Magic

In the bustling backstage of the prestigious Oscars ceremony, nerves were running high. Among the frenzy of stagehands, makeup artists, and celebrities, stood Alex, a wide-eyed production assistant fresh out of film school. It was his first gig at such a grand event, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had bought a fresh tuxedo for the event and felt professional and ready to start his new career.

Throughout the evening, Alex darted from one task to another, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. He meticulously checked seating arrangements, coordinated with the stage crew, and even fetched coffee for the stars. Despite the chaos around him, Alex felt a surge of exhilaration with each passing moment, relishing the special opportunity to be a part of Hollywood's biggest night.

But as the ceremony progressed smoothly, tension began to mount backstage when one of the scheduled presenters failed to show up for their award presentation. Panic swept through the crowded corridors as frantic whispers filled the air. Producers frantically made calls to find a replacement, but everyone was either unavailable or unwilling to present. With no one else available at such short notice, all eyes turned to Alex.

Without warning, an envelope was thrust into his hands, and he was ushered onto the stage. His heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. This was his moment—a chance to step onto the grand stage of the Oscars and make his mark in the entertainment industry. Usually, the honor was only reserved for the most iconic of stars: how lucky he was to be just an average Joe, given an opportunity rarely afforded to even some of the most famous celebrities. As Alex approached the microphone, the weight of the moment bore down on him like a heavy cloak. The sea of faces in the audience blurred as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest as he felt an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body. At first, he thought it must be from the stage lights, but it grew stronger and more electrifying. It started as a subtle tingling but soon evolved into an intense sensation, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

His muscles tensed and bulged beneath his clothes, a strange pressure building within him. Alex's eyes widened in shock as he felt the fabric of his brand-new suit strain against his expanding frame. The audience's murmurs of anticipation turned into gasps of surprise as they witnessed the spectacle unfolding before them. First, it was his arms, as if sculpted from marble, that began to swell with newfound strength. His biceps and triceps rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and eventually ripping his sleeves. Then, his chest expanded, pushing against the material as if eager to break free. Each breath seemed to inflate his torso further, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

As Alex's transformation continued, his shoulders broadened, each muscle defined with chiseled precision. His back rippled with power, the fabric of his shirt straining against the force of his expanding physique. Even his legs, once hidden beneath his trousers, began to bulge with raw strength, threatening to burst through the fabric at any moment.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Alex couldn't help but flex his muscles, which expanded and tore free from the confines of his shirt and jacket, a mixture of embarrassment and pride washing over him as he unwittingly showed off his newfound form to the world. The audience's laughter only fueled his humiliation, but still, he couldn't stop himself.

With each involuntary flex, Alex's body seemed to take on a life of its own, moving with a grace and power that he had never known. His embarrassment gave way to a sense of awe as he marveled at the sheer magnitude of his transformation. But just as he began to revel in his newfound strength, disaster struck. With a sudden rip, the fabric of his pants gave way, leaving him standing on stage in the nude. His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he hastily covered himself with the envelope he had been given to present the award.

Standing there dumbfounded and twice his previous size, he heard an announcer on the speakers: “And now, presenting the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, the one, the only: John Cena!”

I Am Weed

Fuck. You were tired. So tired of being pushed around by everyone at school. You were much shorter than everyone else in your class, and that meant that the taller guys would pick on you. Although you were a freshman in college, your voice still had yet to deepen with puberty. You sounded and looked like a whiny teenager.

You loved music and saw that the school rock band was looking for a new frontman. There was no way they'd ever take you on. You were too short, too whiny, and had no star quality. You were not the rock star that they needed. You wanted to try it anyways. You never know!

To calm your nerves before heading to the band, you had bought some weed from Chuck down the hall from you. You had never smoked before, but Chuck told you it was strong and would make you feel much better. He even rolled it up for you, so that all you had to do was light it and enjoy the ride.

Returning to your dorm room, you pulled out your Boy Scout lighter and lit the end of the blunt. Hesitant, you slowly lifted the end to your mouth and inhaled.

Cough, cough, cough "Man, this shit is strong" you sputtered.

You lifted the blunt to your lips and inhaled once again. Everything became slightly fuzzy. Your head felt lighter, but your body felt heavier. As you sat down on your bed, you took another hit. You felt a warm sensation on your back, almost like the sun. As you sat there, taking hit after hit. The warmth spread across your body, becoming almost unbearable. You stripped naked, trying to ease some of the discomforts of the heat. As the warmth further spread, it brought with it a fuzziness and color. Almost as if someone had rubbed paint all over your body, the color snaked way across your torso, snaking around your side onto your chest and up and down your body.

As the warmth continued stroking your arms and legs, you felt them stretch. Bright, blond hairs began poking their way out of your follicles and curling on your body. The warmth stretched your torso, distorting the colors until they began to resemble intricate patterns, images, and letters.

The warmth stretched you further. You were 6'4" now, nearly a foot taller than before you had lit the blunt. The warmth massaged your face as your features began to sharpen, and your hair grew out and lightened into a fierce blond. On the opposite end of your body, the warmth pulled at your toes and feet, stretching them in your socks several sizes larger. You wiggled your toes as that blond curly hair grew all over the tops of your toes and feet. They were now Size 12s, wide and long enough to support your new height.

The warmth dissipated around the rest of your body, concentrating on your dick. As it stroked you, you moaned in pleasure, not noticing your large Adam's apple bobbing in your neck and the deep voice coming from your mouth. Your dick began to grow further and further away from your body, escaping the ever-thickening jungle of blond, curly hairs surrounding it. As you neared climax, you felt everything in your head being churned into your balls. You screamed in ecstasy as you shot out all of your memories of being a skinny, good-for-nothing dweeb.

Gasping for air, you grabbed the towel next to you and wiped the cum from your strong, inked chest. Throwing on a dirty tank top and some old white pants, you snapped a pic to upload to Instagram.

You uploaded, and the thirst comments were already rolling in. Smiling to yourself, satisfied, you put your phone away. Opening the door, you found yourself in the backstage area. Being ushered by people wearing black, you were handed a microphone. Someone lifted a jacket over your arms. You could hear the roar of the crowd: you are a rockstar. Waiting for the cue, the cheers became deafening. At the nod of the stage manager, you ran out onto the stage, at which point the crowd went insane.

As the band started playing, and the fans started jumping with the beat, you screamed into the mic:

"I Am Weed"

Wacked Out

It was late August, and you were finally on campus for your freshman year at Vanderbilt University. You had studied super hard all throughout high school, ending up with a 3.9 GPA and a 1580 SAT (almost perfect). However, since you had spent all of your time studying and doing class work and homework, you never had the opportunity to live a normal, teenage life. Now that you were already at this prestigious school, you were going to let yourself take a break and work on yourself, not just focus on school.

Your first stop was the gym. Growing up, you were always smaller than everyone else. Rather than playing sports and running around the playground, you stayed off to the side, reading and learning. That habit stuck throughout high school, but now you were ready to change that.

Shoving whatever loose gym shorts and t-shirt you had into your backpack, you left your dorm room and began the short walk across campus to the gym. The weather was still summery, and you began to break into a sweat almost immediately as you stepped into the hot sun. Luckily it was not a long walk, and you soon approached the athletic center. As you were about to key into the building, you noticed something in the corner of your eye. Turning, you saw a dark green Under Armour compression shirt. Maybe it fell out of someone's bag? Picking it up, and holding it away from your body, you thought it was around your size. Bringing it to your nose, it smelled vaguely of body odor around the arms, but it wasn't something that a simple run in the washing machine wouldn't fix. Shrugging, you decided to put the shirt in your bag and keep it as your workout shirt. Anything beat your regular t-shirt.

Stepping into the locker room, you found an open locker and placed your backpack into it. Unzipping the large pocket, you pulled out the shirt. Sniffing it one more time, it definitely smelled of body odor. You wanted to pull away, but something about it was so entrancing. Without thinking you ripped your t-shirt over your head and chucked it to the ground beside you. Holding up the smelly shirt to your nose, you felt your dick stir in your pants. Grinning, you shoved your scrawny arms into the shirt and lifted it over your head. The smell of sweat and musk filled your nose as you pulled your head into the neck hole, leaving you intoxicated with the scent. With the shirt firmly over your slim chest, you felt a pumping in your chest as your pectorals filled the compression shirt, stretching it in the front. Still reeling from the smell, you rubbed your hands lazily over your stomach, feeling washboard abs appear out of thin air. As you rubbed, you lifted your hand back to your pecs, tweaking your new sensitive nipples. A moan escaped your lips as your fingers and hands thickened, squeezing each nipple harder. Your arms and forearms thickened, leaving the sleeves of your new shirt stretched to the limits. Your thighs expanded, stretching your gym shorts. Your calves thickened as well, with light curly hair etching its way up your legs and towards your crotch, which swelled with power and masculinity. Dark spots appeared under your arms, as thick smelly hairs poked their way out of the follicles. Now you were producing more of that intoxicating smell. You lifted your arm and inhaled as you shot ropes of cum into your shorts.

Taking a breath, you left the locker room and went into the gym, heading straight for the mirror. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a photo.

You looked like Ethan Wacker, that kid from that kid show or whatever... the one who dated that girl who sang about her driver's license. He was hot?

Surprised at your new look, you ran back to the locker room. Lifting your bag out of the locker, you got another whiff of your arms. Your dick rose again. "Shit!" Why were you so horny? Breathing and attempting to will your boner down, you began to speedwalk out of the athletic center and back toward your dorm. Trying to hide your face, you threw a mask on. You had to be having a nightmare. There was no way this was real. This was impossible. As you sped across campus, you pulled out your phone again, flipping the camera to selfie mode, only to be treated with your new face.

Seeing your muscled chest and thick arms on the phone screen only caused you to panic further. Breaking into a full sprint, you finally reached the dorm. You swiped into the building and ran up the stairs, and down the hall. Reaching your room, you fumbled around your backpack, hyperventilating trying to find your keys. Grabbing the keys, and pulling them out, you placed them in the lock, but the keys kept slipping out of your hands. Shit, your fingers were so much bigger than before. Finally, you felt the key push into the lock, and you twisted every which way until the door finally fell open and you tumbled inside and onto your face.

Pulling yourself up, you ran to the full-length mirror, only to have your fears confirmed. In the mirror was a hot former Disney star. But that wasn't you. You were skinny and nerdy and good at school, not an actor with big muscles. You did have big muscles. They look kind of good. But this wasn't you. These weren't your strong man's hands. You didn't have these sexy abs and thick pecs. Your biceps weren't that big. Your armpits reeked. You pulled off your shirt, just to make sure that those pecs on your chest weren't yours. You spent your days in the studio filming, not on the playground. You didn't have time to go to regular school. Damn, your chest looked good. Why wouldn't it? You started going to the gym after being so small for so long. Lifting your arms to flex your massive biceps, the smell of your pits engulfed you. You were Ethan Wacker.

Free Vacation

When you saw the email in your inbox announcing that you had won the sweepstakes for a free stay at a "magical" beachside resort in Bali you were skeptical, to say the least. But as you arrived at the airport, and you saw a muscular suited man at the terminal with your name on a piece of paper, something clicked. Escorting you through the terminal, the strong man pushed the weary travelers aside to part the way for you. Reaching a set of double doors, he pushed them open, revealing the tarmac with a large limousine waiting for you. Without saying a word, the man grabbed your suitcase and placed it in the trunk, opening the door for you.

Stepping into the back of the limo, you felt your cares melt into the leather upholstery. After driving for just a few moments, the driver stopped, exited, and opened the door for you. Pushing your head through the open door, you saw a large luxury jet.

"Is this for me?" You asked, incredulously.

"Of course it is, sir." The driver responded with a big grin on his face. He was savoring your childish disbelief.

With a gasp of shock and excitement, you sprinted towards the staircase. The driver panicked at your sudden speed burst and rushed to grab your suitcase from the trunk. Barely acknowledging the gorgeous stewardess, you threw yourself into the cabin, reveling in the stunning interior. Planting yourself firmly into the leather armchair, you laughed to yourself. This was going to be one hell of a vacation.

The flight was uneventful and went by surprisingly quick. Time flies when you're traveling in luxury. The seemingly endless stream of champagne helped too. By the time you landed in Bali, you were intoxicated beyond belief. The poor stewardess you had hounded the entire flight now had the privilege of half guiding and carrying you to the next limo.

This driver couldn't care less about you. You were just another drunk passenger heading to this resort. Nothing out of the ordinary. Driving from the airport to the resort was another surprisingly fast ride. You might've fallen asleep if you're being honest. Arriving at the resort, a young woman, presumably an employee, opened the door of your limo. You stumbled out, face-planting on the floor. You could hear her speaking to the driver but couldn't make out any words. Trying to force yourself to stand up, you found that every move you made was uncoordinated. When you were getting off the plane, you could at least walk a little with the stewardess's help, but now, you were immobile. Were you getting... drunker? You felt two sets of large hands grab onto your shoulders, pulling you upright, face-to-face with the woman. Though your vision was blurred, you couldn't help but let your head "fall" to see her breasts. Before you even tried to focus your vision, she grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a wet kiss. Unable to move away, (and unsure you wanted to) you let her tongue explore your mouth. The hands that were on your shoulders pulled you away and carried you through the doors. The unmistakable click of high heels followed you. You heard the woman say, "I'll see you later, Robbie." Who was Robbie? That wasn't your name.

Your vision blackened. Darkness. Suddenly, you woke to a tugging at your dick. Someone was jerking you off. It was dark, you couldn't see a damn thing. But it felt so good. Moaning in delight, you lifted your arms up behind you. Your large hands cupped your head. Large hands? You felt sore all over. The tugging increased, and your dick felt wet. Were you being sucked off? God, it felt so good. With each motion, each care melted away. You were getting so close. With a grunt, you came.

Jumping awake and with a loud scream, you jolted upward in the bed. A dark spot formed in the sheets. Shit, that was some dream. Looking at your surroundings, you remembered all that had happened. You were in Bali. Looking out onto your balcony attached to your room, you could see the white sand and the bright blue waves crashing upon them. Taking a breath to recover from your dream, you stepped into the bathroom to take a piss, only to see someone else in the mirror. A large muscular man wearing boxers. Startled, you jumped back, only the see the man in the mirror jump as well. Moving your hand, the man followed suit. You reached for your head, and he did too.

Holy shit. It was you in the mirror. What the fuck happened last night. Stumbling back into the room, you fell backward onto your bed. Only to feel another body beneath you. Twisting around, you saw the beautiful woman beaming at you from underneath the covers. "Good morning, Robbie" she cooed. It was her. It had to be her. "What did you do to me?" You seethed. "Nothing you didn't want, Robbie." She smirked, enjoying your little tantrum.

"My name is not Robbie." You retorted. She indicated with her head that you should turn around. Slowly, you turned your head to face a full-length mirror. Your body was chiseled. Your face was angular. God damn, you were hot. Forcing yourself to look away, you saw a tank top on the dresser. Trying to cover your sexy abs that weren't yours, you threw it over your torso. "What's wrong? Don't you think you look good?" the woman said mockingly. Still staring at yourself in the mirror, astounded at how you looked, you said "This isn't me. I'm just some average guy. I'm not a muscle dude." The woman chuckled. "We can make you bigger if you'd like." Your arms were forced upwards against your will, exposing your hairy armpits and showing off your large biceps. A warm tingling erupted in your arms, and you watched in amazement as they grew right before your eyes.

In disbelief, you turned back towards the woman with your mouth open ready to object to whatever the hell was happening, but she had already risen from the bed, and firmly planted her lips on yours. Her tongue explored your mouth, just as she had done last night. Her hand fondled your crotch, which stretched the confines of your underwear. Blinded by the pleasure erupting from your penis, you allowed your tongue to return the favor and explore her mouth. Pulling away, she lowered herself down and pulled down your boxers, exposing your throbbing member. As you closed your eyes, with your head laid back in ecstasy, you felt all of your worries and memories of who you used to be pool up in your balls. With one final bob of her head, your body tensed up, flexing every new muscle in your hot body, and you shot everything that you had used to be out.

Italia rose from below you, meeting your eyes. "Are you ready to enjoy our vacation, Robbie?" Ripping your shirt off, showing off your rocking body, you smiled at your hot wife.

"Sure."

It's All In The Hair

<<Thanks @transformation-fan for the suggestion. This was a fun one!>>

After a long day at work, you had finally begun the long drive home in your beat-up sedan. Working a fifteen-hour shift at the gas station was hard, but it was the only job you could find willing to hire you. The forty-five-minute drive home was usually pretty relaxing. Standing at the counter all day meant your legs were aching by the end of the day. The fatigue set in as you continued your drive through the suburbs and back into the city.

Arriving at your apartment, you found the nearest curb and parked your car. This wasn't a great neighborhood, but you never really worried about someone breaking into your car, because it was so beat up that it almost looked abandoned. It was your ride to work though, so you nonetheless locked it tight and hid anything in the seats in the glove compartment and center console. Satisfied, you turned and keyed into your building. Walking up the three flights of stairs, you fumbled around in the dark trying to find the other key to your apartment. The bulb in the hallway had long since burned out, and the landlord refuses to pay for another bulb. Finally feeling the teeth of the key, you poked it around blindly until it found its home in your doorknob. Twisting the key and pushing, the door flung open into your pigsty of an apartment. Pizza boxes and dirty clothes littered the floor. You worked so many hours a day that you never had time to clean up after yourself.

Throwing your keys onto the counter, you checked in the fridge to see if you had any leftovers. There were some Chinese take-out boxes that were probably still good. As you reached your arm into the fridge, you got a whiff of your body odor. Your face squinched in disgust. Although your apartment was a mess, you hated to be dirty yourself. Working at the gas station, you often came home reeking of gasoline, but today was especially hot outside, and you must've sweat through your deodorant and then some. It was time for a shower.

Stepping over the piles of clothes, you headed towards the bathroom. Peeling off your sweat-filled shirt, you twisted the handle of your shower bath. It would take a few minutes for the water to heat up. Pulling down your jeans, you stared in the mirror at yourself. God, there was so little of you. Your diet of pizza gave you a round paunch, but absolutely nothing else. You were a hairless cat with a gut. Rubbing your smooth chest, you began to wonder what it would be like to have luscious hair. The kind that people would want to run their fingers through. Maybe some muscles? Anything would be better. Sighing to yourself, and deciding that maybe next year you would start working out, you stepped over and into the shower.

The water was lukewarm, you hadn't given it quite enough time to become scalding hot. Underneath the stream of water, you began rubbing your hair. It was short enough that you didn't need to worry too much about styling or combing it, just wash it every now and again. With your face turned upwards towards the waterfall washing down over you, you reached your arm out to grab your shampoo. Fumbling about, you felt the bottle with the top of your hand, and it slipped, crashing towards your feet with a loud thud. The sound startled you, and you flinched causing you to tumble backward. The curvature of the bath allowed you to slide for part of the fall, but you still landed on your back.

Startled more than injured, you sat for a moment, astounded at what an idiot you were. Cursing to yourself, you pulled yourself into a sitting position. Finally finding the shampoo bottle, you pulled it toward you to open it, but it looked different. The generic logo on the front was gone. In fact, the bottle had no logo, no words, no anything. Assuming you had just ripped off the label some other night, you opened the cap to pour it into your hand. Immediately, you knew this was not your shampoo. The smell was divine. It was indescribable. You were going to enjoy this shampoo.

Pulling the drain closed and flipping the faucet, you started filling the bath. Luxury. You poured more shampoo into your hand before lathering it around your hair. Keeping your eyes closed to prevent the suds from getting in your eyes, you felt a strange, but pleasurable sensation. Your head was warm and fuzzy. God this shampoo was incredible. With each rub of your hands, your hair grew longer and longer and thicker and thicker. The suds dripped down over your face as you continued to massage your head and growing hair. Your eyebrows thickened, becoming sharp and defined. Dense stubble pushed its way out of your upper lip and around your jawline. The shampoo dripped down your arms, still raised towards your head. Dark hairs sprouted from your thickening forearms and bulging biceps, and your exposed armpits grew forests of thick brown hair. Dripping down your chest, the shampoo caused a forest of curled chest hair to shoot from your growing chest. Two lean pecs pushed from your chest, with a new pelt of hair adorning them. Your navel sprouted a thick treasure trail as the shampoo pushed your gut inward and traced the lines of your new abs. Finally, the shampoo reached the water line, mixing into the water and causing the surface to become sudsy and foamy. Dark hairs grew on top of your feet as they stretch along the floor of the bath. Your calves and thighs bulged with muscle as the dark curly hair swirled around. You felt your stomach get colder as your ass swelled, pushing you ever-so-slightly further out of the water. The hair curled up your thighs and into your ass, tracing underneath you towards your balls. A mass of hair grew above your crotch and around, as your dick stretched further and further away from your body. Still rubbing your shampooed head with one hand, your other hand lowered down into the water and began stroking your new, large dick. Your hand was still slippery with the shampoo, and the pleasure was intense. With each rub of each head, everything felt more and more amazing. With a final rub, you shot your load into the bath water, mixing with the suds.

Rinsing your hands of the shampoo and rubbing your eyes, you opened them. Right in front of you were large hairy legs. Looking down, you were greeted with a still semi-erect throbbing dick covered in hair. The chest below you was thick and had swirls of hairs. What the hell was happening? Trying to stand up, you underestimated the sleekness of the bottom of the tub, and you fell once again, hitting your head, knocking you unconscious, and sinking into the water.

It was dark. Oh my god, were you dead? You couldn't speak. You tried to scream for help but no sound came out. It was strangely warm, were you in hell? Oh my god, you were in hell. What had you done wrong? With one final desperate scream, you jolted upward and found yourself in a hotel room. Scared and confused you turned about, finding that your pillow was wet, and smelled amazing. Of course! You had just taken a bath with your favorite shampoo before the convention. Turning your body off the side of the bed, you saw your large manly legs and chuckled. Throwing on a yellow shirt and some pants, you stared in the mirror at your hair. God, even after taking a nap your iconic hair still looked immaculate. Smirking, you unbuttoned the top of your shirt, displaying a moderate amount of your thick chest hair. That'll surely drive the girls (and the gays) wild for you. You could have anything you want with the wave of your hand. They adored you. You were Joe fucking Keery. The chartered car came and picked you up, dropping you at the convention. On the red carpet, you heard their screams. They loved you. You knew why: it's all in the hair.

Live from New York

Standing in line to board your flight, you basked in the feeling of possibility. From here on out, anything could happen. After years of working minimum wage at Dairy Queen, you had finally saved enough money to move to New York City. You loved your small town in Iowa, but there was something magical about the Big Apple. There, you could start over and be somebody new. After high school, you wanted to go to college. Some prestigious university would've been your dream, like Harvard, Yale, or Fordham. You had the grades, but you couldn't afford to pay tuition. So you stayed. Luckily, the DQ was hiring, and you got decent pay. By no means were you living large, but you got by. Now, with enough money saved up, you bought a one-way ticket from Des Moines to JFK. You had reached out to a friend living in the city, and they agreed to let you stay with them for a little bit until you found a job and your own place. Armed with just your backpack filled with a couple hundred bucks, some clothes, and a dream, you boarded the flight.

Once you landed in Queens, you desperately navigated the terminal, trying to find your way to the E train into Manhattan. Finding the station, you waited patiently for the subway to arrive. Turning your backpack onto your stomach, you pulled it tightly into your torso. Everything you owned was in that bag, you couldn't bear to lose it. The roar of the approaching train filled your ears, and it skidded to a stop in front of you. The doors opened, and you found the car absolutely packed. You had never seen so many people in one place all at once. Forcing your way into the car, and finding a place to stand near the opposite door, you kept a close eye on the screen, waiting until the 5th Avenue and 53rd Street stop appeared. Then, as the subway stopped and the doors opened, you clutched your backpack and stepped onto the platform.

Exiting the station, you were engulfed by the sounds and sights of Midtown. Your friend lived in a small one-bedroom near 50th and 6th, right in the center of everything. Walking around, you found yourself enamored with the tall buildings and the busy people walking extremely fast. The route you were taking to your friend's apartment took you right past Rockefeller Plaza. Being the tourist you were, as soon as you passed the sign for NBC studios, you decided to pull your phone out of your backpack. Reaching in and then throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you looked up at the words. Growing up, you had seen this marquis on television, and now it was really here. Lifting up your camera, you snapped a photo.

Just as the shutter clicked, a man ran up from behind you and snatched your bag. "Hey!" you screamed. Without stopping, they continued to sprint and turned the corner before you even thought to run after them. Shit. Now what? Looking at the doors of the studio, you figured that they must have security cameras. They could help you. I mean, after all, everything you owned was in that bag. Stepping through the glass doors, you were astounded by the vast ceilings and smooth architecture. You were definitely in the big city.

Approaching the desk, before you could even open your mouth, the attendant looked up at you and gasped. "Sir, you're late, we need to get you upstairs now!" Before you even had the chance to respond, you were whisked away, being led towards an elevator. Shoving you into an elevator, the attendant mashed the button that said "8H." Looking dumbfounded, you opened your mouth to speak, but just as you did the doors shut and you began to ascend into the building.

This was weird, but hey, you had nothing else to lose. It's not like you were breaking in, you were put here. Once you got off the elevator, you would explain exactly what happened, and they would help you find security to figure out how to get your backpack back. As the elevator doors opened and you opened your mouth to speak, two female stylists rushed in and began ushering you through the hallways. The taller one began chastising you for running late as usual, without letting you get a word in. Giving up, you let them guide you into a dressing room. There, you were shoved into a seat. Finally, with the hustle and bustle finished, you finally had a chance to speak. "What's happening?" You managed to finally ask. The stylists looked at each other amused. Without saying a word, they reached towards your body and ripped off your clothes, leaving you nude apart from your underwear.

"Hey! What was that for?" You screamed at the pair. The shorter one explained. "We don't have time to take them off, Sir. Now hold still." The tall one pulled a white jar out of her bag, and the two began applying some sort of cream all over your chest. As the cream made contact with your skin, it began to heat up. As it did, firm muscles began pushing their way from your torso. Thick pecs formed a shelf and dark hair spread its way across them. The stylists massaged the cream into your arms, which flexed with new strength and were covered in that same hair. Your hands cracked as they grew large and manly. You were left with a thick beefy upper body.

The stylists massaged the cream into your feet, which grew and expanded, dark hairs emerging from the tops. After applying the cream to your calves, they stretched and ballooned as well. Your thighs were next, the short one was intensely working her hands around your thighs and shoved her hands under where you were seated. The cream made your legs thick and hairy, and your ass lifted you upwards on the chair. The short one continued to massage your thighs as the tall one applied the cream to your face. Your teeth whitened and your jawline sharpened. Your eyes lightened to a piercing blue. The tall one massaged your scalp, as your hair thickened and became immaculately styled, your head felt fuzzy. You remembered attending Harvard? No, you could never afford that. You were from rural Iowa. The shorter stylist lifted her hands from your thighs and pulled down your underwear, revealing your cock. Reapplying more cream to her palms, she began to massage your cock. Your head felt even fuzzier as the pleasure built up. You weren't from Iowa, you were from Staten Island. Your dick grew longer with each tug. You were married, and your wife loved your amazing body. The pleasure built up even more. Shit, everyone loved your amazing body. With one final tug, your thick cock shot out ropes of cum, and with it, every memory you had of your previous life. You lived in New York now.

The shorter stylist pulled out a towel and began to wipe your thick and muscled body clean, as the taller one grabbed your tailored suit off of the hanger. Standing up, you lifted your thick legs as the stylists pulled your pants on. You lifted your thick arms outward, exposing your forested armpits, as your dress shirt was brought onto your body. The two stylists buttoned you up. Lifting your arms again, you felt the fancy jacket pulled over you. Sitting down again, you were handed your tie. As you tied, the shorter stylist lifted your large feet into dress socks and placed them in your shoes. Once you finished tying your tie, you stood up, and without acknowledging the two women, you turned towards the door and began walking through the halls. You knew exactly where you were headed. As you reached the backstage area, a man placed your mic on your jacket. Finding your seat, you heard the intro music play. This was your job. The audience was applauding for you. You read your cue card.

"Welcome to Weekend Update, I'm Colin Jost."

An Olympic Diver

The local community center had recently set up a high diving board at the pool, and you were super stoked to give it a try. Diving through the air, and landing into the water after doing some flips and other moves, it all looked so graceful and awesome. If you were able to really pull those dives off, you would be the talk of the town. Maybe one day you could even win a gold medal at the Olympics! All you had to do was learn.

Since it was just diving, you decided that there was no need to take any lessons or classes or anything. You had seen plenty of videos of people on the high dive before, and you were confident that you could easily replicate them. Mounting to the top of the board, you had absolutely no hesitations or second thoughts as you approached the edge of the board.

Looking down and past your feet, you could tell just how high up the board was. But you were confident that you could effortlessly land a dive after a couple of front flips. You knew how to dive, and you knew how to flip into a pool. How difficult could it be? Plus, even if you messed up and somehow landed incorrectly, you would be landing in water, so it couldn't possibly hurt. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

With a final deep breath, you jumped off the board towards the surface of the pool. Attempting to flip, you curled yourself into a tight ball, only to open up for a dive at the last moment. However, you had accidentally released too early and lost your momentum. Unable to shift your trajectory, your arrogance shifted to intense fear as your body rapidly descended through the air. You futilely tried to thrash your body in order to shift back towards the dive, but it was far too late. With a large splat, you belly-flopped directly into the pool.

Your body was on fire, and everything stung. Your ears were ringing and you were dazed. You could feel your heart pumping in your head. In your disorientation, somehow you managed to swim to the side of the pool and pull yourself out of the water. Everything was blurry, and you were stumbling toward your towel, which you had left on the bleachers.

Fumbling blindly, you finally grabbed a hold of your towel and began to attempt to dry yourself off. When your towel made contact with your body, it began to bulge outwards. You felt a pumping in your chest as your pecs expanded, with your nipples erect from the cold breeze on your wet chest. You rubbed the towel over your stomach, as new washboard abs emerged out of thin air. You lifted your arms above your head to dry your armpits. Thick, wet patches of hair pushed their way out from under your arms, which ballooned at the contact with the towel. Your forearms thickened and your biceps grew massive with a tattoo etching its way across. Wrapping the towel around your waist, your swimsuit transformed into a tight speedo, allowing your swelling thighs to rub against each other. Your calves thickened as well, with hair etching its way up your legs and towards your crotch, which began to push further and further into your new speedo, sending immense waves of pleasure throughout your body.

The pleasure erupting from your dick was so indescribably intense that it sent you into a euphoric haze on top of your disorientation. Looking down at your swelling dick, you paid no mind to your new muscular body. All you needed was to pleasure yourself. Reaching underneath your towel, you began to rub your dick through your speedo. Almost immediately, you began to orgasm, sending ropes of thick cum into your already wet speedo. Moaning in delight, your body spasmed as the pleasure overtook you. You threw your head back in pure ecstasy. As you continued to shoot out your seed into the speedo, slowly but surely the haze and disorientation dissipated.

Finally, the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced finished. You opened your eyes to look down at yourself, only to finally notice your massive muscular chest and abs. In disbelief, you raised an arm and flexed it, in awe of the mountains of muscle you now had on your body. Ripping the towel off of your waist, you saw your massive cock in the speedo, which had white fluid dripping from it onto your feet and the floor.

"Bloody hell!" You exclaimed.

You jolted, taken aback at what just came out of your mouth. You sounded British! Suddenly, against your will, your hands raised the towel to your head and began to dry off your hair. All of your previous memories began to disappear. You were born in the U.K. You were an Olympic diver for Team U.K. You were here at this pool practicing for the games next year. Another gold medal would be nice for your collection.

As all these thoughts and memories rushed into your head, you heard your phone ring on one of the bleachers. Answering the call and holding to your ear, you heard that it was your husband, Lance. "Thomas, are you finished with practice yet? You know I can't keep my hands off of you when you're all worked up and sweaty like that." You grinned at his desperation for your sexy diver body. You had this man in the palm of your hand. Who wouldn't want a piece of you? It was good to be Tom Daley.

The Main Event

You always took a weekend to go to the nearby music festival on the beach every summer. It was always a blast. There were usually some good artists playing, sometimes a few minor celebrities: nothing too crazy. After a long, cold winter, you were ready for another good summer of live music and a little bit of drinking. However, it seems also though the vibe of the festival had been slightly changed this year.

Arriving at the beach, it was clear that something was different. There were thousands of people all huddled around the stage. Where there usually were some picnic tables or beach chairs there were crowds of people. There was no space to sit. On the stage in the distance was some DJ playing his set, and the area by the front of the stage was crowded with sweaty, intoxicated teenagers, trashing around wildly.

Although the energy was wildly different this year, you were still determined to find some way to have a good time. Resigned to the back of the crowd, you found an empty spot on the sand and sat down, allowing yourself to bask in the warmth of the sun. The morning had been cold when you got in your car to drive here and the forecast hadn’t called for so much sun, so you were dressed for colder temperatures. Your yellow chinos and white t-shirt reflected the sun's rays and seemed to be glowing in their own right. However, the brightness of your clothing didn’t prevent someone from stepping right into you and tumbling face-first into the sand.

Looking to your side, you saw an older man with a lanyard around his neck that said “Event Promoter”. He had managed to sit back up but he was wiping the sand from his eyes, aggressively trying to clear his vision.

Rushing to help the man back to his feet, you grabbed his hand. Almost instantly, you felt your mind empty. You had no more thoughts. You were fixated on this man. The man, having cleared the sand from his eyes, looked you up and down, and nodded. Still holding your hand firmly, he stood up and began guiding you through the crowd of energized people. The warmth of the bodies around you caused you to sweat profusely, but you didn’t care. This man was guiding you, and all you needed was to follow him. Approaching the front of the stage, the man separated with an aggressive shove two people open-mouthed kissing, before taking you around the side to the wings of the stage. Dripping with sweat, you stopped walking when the man turned around and held your face with his hands.

“You’re going to be the main event”

With those words, your eyes rolled toward the back of your head. You began panting heavily, trying to cool your body down. With each breath, your body swelled. Your chinos grew tight around your swelling ass and thighs. They grew taut and muscular, stretching those poor pants to the absolute limit. Your chest, as it heaved, began expanding into a shelf of raw muscle. Your abs pushed their way one at a time from your torso. Your shoulders stretched outward from your neck, ripping your shirt into pieces as it fell towards your feet. Your biceps swelled into mountains of muscle, veins snaking their way down your forearms, which thickened, and towards your now massive hands and fingers. Dark, sweaty hair swirled its way from the center of your chest, encircling your nipples and nestling its way into your armpits, which were dripping with your odor. The hair crawled down your chiseled abs towards your crotch, which pushed against your pants, swelling to an incredible size. The man took his hands off of your face and you looked down at yourself. You felt incredible. You looked incredible.

The man beamed at you, admiring your massive frame and admiring his handiwork. “Okay, Zac. Are you ready to give this crowd the greatest show they’ve ever seen?”

Staring back at the promoter, you nodded with a cocky grin and stepped out from the wings and onto the stage. As soon as the crowd caught sight of you, they went apeshit. Why wouldn’t they? You were an international superstar. You were the main event. You were Zac fucking Efron. They had all come to see you and your massive sexy muscles. Through the roar of the crowd, you could make out voices yelling at you to show off your muscles. Staring back into the crowd with all of those screaming, lustful faces, you smirked. So they want a show? You’ll give them exactly what they want.

Stitches

Max had been searching for a guitar for what felt like forever. He had moved to the big city straight out of college, hoping to find work, but fell in love with music instead. Thus, he was one of the thousands of struggling musicians, working odd jobs to make ends meet, and he dreamed of the day when he could finally afford to buy a guitar of his own. He scoured thrift stores, garage sales, and online marketplaces, but he could never seem to find the right one.

One day, Max was walking home from work when he stumbled upon a thrift store he had never seen before. He decided to pop in, just to see what they had, and that's when he saw it - the most beautiful guitar he had ever seen. It was love at first sight. Max approached the guitar and couldn't believe his luck. It was in excellent condition, and it was priced well within his budget. He felt like it was meant to be.

Max eagerly took the guitar back to his small apartment, and as he walked through the door, he felt his excitement reach new heights. He had always dreamed of owning a guitar of his own, and now, finally, that dream was within reach. He carefully placed the guitar on the floor of his apartment and sat down beside it. Picking it up and holding it to his torso, he got ready to play his favorite song: Stitches. He eagerly began strumming the first chord.

The vibrations of the guitar seemed to echo throughout his body, rippling and causing his body to pulsate. Max closed his eyes; the sounds of the music that he was making felt so good that he was overcome with pleasure. As Max played each chord, his body changed. The first chord caused his muscles to grow, and he felt his biceps bulge as they expanded. His arms became thicker and stronger, his veins popping out from under his skin. The second chord caused his chest to expand, and he felt his pecs become defined. His chest became wider, and his nipples grew larger. The third chord caused his legs to grow, and he felt his quads bulge as they expanded. His legs became thicker and stronger, his calf muscles rippling with each movement. The fourth chord caused his back to broaden, and he felt his lats become defined. His back became wider, and his shoulder blades grew larger.

His face became chiseled and defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes became deeper set, and his eyebrows grew thicker. Opening his eyes and looking through his new curls, he peered down at his body. His body was covered in hair, and his clothes were tattered on the floor beside him. He had grown too large for them.

Max was in awe of his transformation. He had never felt so powerful, so strong, and so confident. He continued to play the guitar, and with each chord, he felt the magic of the instrument coursing through his veins. Max had become Shawn Mendes, the famous musician, and he was ready to take on the world.

Replacement Barista

It’s another chilly morning in Jericho. You were exploring your hometown in Vermont, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you walk down the familiar streets. You had recently moved back to Vermont after a few years of living in the city, in search of a simpler life and to be closer to family. You've been looking for a job, and you're determined to find one near your home.

Suddenly, your eyes spot something that you don't remember being here. A coffee shop, called the Weathervane, with a bright NOW HIRING sign displayed in the window on the door. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to inquire about a job.

As you approach the counter, the barista greets you with a warm smile. They ask if you wanted to buy a coffee. You smile at the thought of you being so polite and amicable this early in the morning. You politely refuse their offer of a coffee and explain that you were interested in working there. You elaborate that you're specifically looking for a job that allows you to be a part of your community, and you were excited about the possibility of working in this coffee shop. With a smile, the barista hands you an apron, no questions asked. A little surprised that the barista didn't even ask you any questions about your experience or background or anything, you look back at them dumbfounded. They explain that they had recently lost their best barista and were looking for an immediate replacement. Holding the red fabric in your hand, you turn it over to see a name tag still on it: Tyler. Assuming that that was the previous owner of the apron who recently left, you dismiss your concerns, and bring it over your head and tie the strings around your back. 

As soon as you tighten the strings, you feel the breath shoot out from your lungs. You feel a strange, tingling sensation that takes over your body. Your vision blurs, and you feel lightheaded, as if you've suddenly lost your balance. It's a disorienting feeling, and you can't help but feel tense. Your heart races, and you're having trouble catching your breath. It's a feeling like you've never experienced before, and you can't quite put your finger on what's happening to you.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, and begin stumbling towards the back wall as the barista looks on at your disorientation, smiling. You use the wall to support your body as you find your way to the restroom and fumble with the handle. Pushing the door open, you fall forward and brace yourself on the edges of the sink. Your vision has started to clear and you look up at the mirror to reorient yourself, but you're shocked by what you see: the man in the mirror was not you.

Your face looks different, more handsome, and chiseled. You run your hands through your hair which was now adorned with thick curls. Your eyes had lightened into an intense green, with a heavy brow giving them a fierce look. Bringing your larger hands across your new face, you felt your smooth contours and your plump lips. You were hot. Your arms bulged against your shirt as they continued to explore your new body, which was taut with lean muscle. You were strong from lifting bags of coffee beans for the past few months. You had been working here since last summer. You loved the way this job allowed you to connect with the community and meet new people every day.

Feeling better from your sudden lightheadedness, you readjusted your apron, making sure that the “Tyler” on your name tag was clearly visible for everyone to see. You leave the bathroom, ready to continue with your shift.

Heartstopping Tank Top

You had always been a skinny guy. Growing up, people often made fun of you for how little you seemed to look. During your spring semester of junior year of college, you decided to study abroad in London. You had a job lifeguarding in the summer, and you wanted to make sure you were in good physical condition and looked good for the girls at the pool. You made a promise to yourself that you would return to the U.S. with a more muscular physique. 

So, you found a gym near your dorm and went to sign up. After singing some forms and paying for a day pass, the attendant at the front desk handed you a large white tank top and said, “Oy, this’ll help you grow into a real muscle lad”.

You shrugged it off as a harmless sales pitch and went to the locker room to put on the tank top. It was way too large, but the attendant seemed really enthusiastic about you wearing it, and you didn’t want to be rude to someone in a foreign country, so you decided to stick it out and start your workout.

Exiting the locker room, you made a bee-line for the first open machine you saw. After reading the graphics and demonstrations on the metal, you sat down and began your workout. It felt… surprisingly great! You could get used to this! With each machine you went to, you felt a strange sensation pulsating from your tank top. Unbeknownst to you, they seemed to be growing at an accelerated rate, much faster than should be naturally possible, stretching and bulging under your skin. 

Your arms were the first to change. Your once skinny biceps and triceps began to thicken and expand, stretching the arms of your tank top with bulging muscles. As you flexed, you could see the new definition in your arms, and your veins popped out from under your skin.

Your chest was the next area to change. You pecs began to swell and harden, pushing out from your ribcage with an impressive mass. Your nipples stood out like little knobs atop your chest, and you could feel the fibers of your muscles contracting with every heavy breath you took. Hair began to push its way from your pecs and swirled its way into your armpits, which were moist from your intense workout.

Your back muscles were the next to grow. As you pulled down on the lat pulldown machine, you could feel your lats expanding like wings on your back. You could feel as your spinal erectors bulged out, creating a column of muscle that ran down your spine, widening your torso and giving you immense bulk.

Your abdominal muscles became chiseled, with each muscle fiber becoming visible through your top. Your six-pack was now a washboard, and your obliques became well-defined ridges.

Your legs swelled too, with your quads becoming massive and your hamstrings bulking up. Your glutes expanded into globes of muscle, stretching your gym shorts. Your calves became rock hard, with the muscles contracting and relaxing with every step you took.

As you continued to work out, your hair began to lighten, and your facial features began to change. Your jawline became more pronounced, and your face became wider. Your eyes turned an intense hazel, and your skin took on a healthy glow. You had become someone… new.

Dropping the weights, you looked into the mirror, and you recognized exactly who you were. You were Kit Connor. You had never been an American. You had worked hard for these big muscles and your successful career. You had always been Kit Connor. You flexed your new massive muscles in the mirror, admiring your physique.

With your British accent, you mused “I am one fit lad.” You turned back to the mirror and posed for your Instagram. In no time, you're sure it'll be filled with a bunch of gay lads trying to get your attention... just how you liked it.

Hollywood Magic

In the bustling backstage of the prestigious Oscars ceremony, nerves were running high. Among the frenzy of stagehands, makeup artists, and celebrities, stood Alex, a wide-eyed production assistant fresh out of film school. It was his first gig at such a grand event, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had bought a fresh tuxedo for the event and felt professional and ready to start his new career.

Throughout the evening, Alex darted from one task to another, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. He meticulously checked seating arrangements, coordinated with the stage crew, and even fetched coffee for the stars. Despite the chaos around him, Alex felt a surge of exhilaration with each passing moment, relishing the special opportunity to be a part of Hollywood's biggest night.

But as the ceremony progressed smoothly, tension began to mount backstage when one of the scheduled presenters failed to show up for their award presentation. Panic swept through the crowded corridors as frantic whispers filled the air. Producers frantically made calls to find a replacement, but everyone was either unavailable or unwilling to present. With no one else available at such short notice, all eyes turned to Alex.

Without warning, an envelope was thrust into his hands, and he was ushered onto the stage. His heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. This was his moment—a chance to step onto the grand stage of the Oscars and make his mark in the entertainment industry. Usually, the honor was only reserved for the most iconic of stars: how lucky he was to be just an average Joe, given an opportunity rarely afforded to even some of the most famous celebrities. As Alex approached the microphone, the weight of the moment bore down on him like a heavy cloak. The sea of faces in the audience blurred as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest as he felt an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body. At first, he thought it must be from the stage lights, but it grew stronger and more electrifying. It started as a subtle tingling but soon evolved into an intense sensation, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

His muscles tensed and bulged beneath his clothes, a strange pressure building within him. Alex's eyes widened in shock as he felt the fabric of his brand-new suit strain against his expanding frame. The audience's murmurs of anticipation turned into gasps of surprise as they witnessed the spectacle unfolding before them. First, it was his arms, as if sculpted from marble, that began to swell with newfound strength. His biceps and triceps rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and eventually ripping his sleeves. Then, his chest expanded, pushing against the material as if eager to break free. Each breath seemed to inflate his torso further, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

As Alex's transformation continued, his shoulders broadened, each muscle defined with chiseled precision. His back rippled with power, the fabric of his shirt straining against the force of his expanding physique. Even his legs, once hidden beneath his trousers, began to bulge with raw strength, threatening to burst through the fabric at any moment.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Alex couldn't help but flex his muscles, which expanded and tore free from the confines of his shirt and jacket, a mixture of embarrassment and pride washing over him as he unwittingly showed off his newfound form to the world. The audience's laughter only fueled his humiliation, but still, he couldn't stop himself.

With each involuntary flex, Alex's body seemed to take on a life of its own, moving with a grace and power that he had never known. His embarrassment gave way to a sense of awe as he marveled at the sheer magnitude of his transformation. But just as he began to revel in his newfound strength, disaster struck. With a sudden rip, the fabric of his pants gave way, leaving him standing on stage in the nude. His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he hastily covered himself with the envelope he had been given to present the award.

Standing there dumbfounded and twice his previous size, he heard an announcer on the speakers: “And now, presenting the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, the one, the only: John Cena!”

The Tornado Wrangler

Kevin had always been fascinated by the sky. Growing up in the heart of Tornado Alley, he spent countless evenings watching the horizon, mesmerized by the towering clouds and the electricity of a brewing storm. So it was no surprise to anyone when he doubled down his efforts in high school to get a full tuition scholarship to study meteorology at the University of Oklahoma.

Despite his meek stature and unassuming presence, Kevin wasn't just your average meteorology nerd; he was also an amateur storm chaser, spending his weekends and evenings tracking storms, hoping to witness the raw power of nature up close and in person. His peers admired his passion for twisters but often worried about his safety. They'd warn him to be careful, and that he could get hurt. Kevin would simply laugh it off, saying he knew what he was doing.

One sweltering May afternoon, just after finals finished up, the atmosphere was ripe for severe weather. A tornado outbreak was forecast, and Kevin could feel the excitement building in his chest. He checked his gear, ensuring his cameras, weather instruments, and emergency supplies were all in place. His beaten-up 2005 Honda Accord, affectionately named Storm Seeker, was gassed up and ready to go.

The sky darkened, and the first storm cells began to form. Kevin monitored the radar, pinpointing the most promising supercell. He drove rapidly with a mix of caution and anticipation, weaving through the countryside, always keeping an eye on the sky and his instruments. The thrill of the chase was a feeling like no other. As he approached the massive, rotating storm, Kevin could see a funnel cloud beginning to dip down from the base. He pulled over to the side of a deserted road, his heart pounding with excitement. He grabbed his camera and stepped out of the car, eager to capture footage of the forming tornado.

The tornado touched down, a swirling monster of wind and debris. Kevin watched in awe, his camera rolling. It was a perfect intercept, the tornado moving steadily away from him. Being out of harm's way, Kevin could take the time to truly admire the magnificence of nature's destructive forces: each tornado was special and distinctive. He couldn't wait to return to his dorm room and upload the photos to his database. He was about to return to his car when he noticed something alarming: the tornado was changing direction, and fast. Within a matter of seconds, the massive twister barreled straight towards him. Kevin's heart skipped a beat as he sprinted back to his car. He barely had time to shut the door before the tornado was upon him. The wind howled, the car shook violently, and the world outside became a chaotic blur of flying debris.

Then, with a terrifying lurch, his car was lifted off the ground and pulled towards the sky. Kevin gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, as he felt the incredible force of the tornado suck him and his car into its heart. He was weightless, tossed around like a child's toy in the vortex. The noise was deafening, a roar that drowned out his own screaming. Suddenly, the car door was ripped off, and the violent wind yanked Kevin from his seat. His lanky body was flung into the air, spinning uncontrollably, the world a chaotic blur around him. He felt the sting of debris cutting into his skin and tearing his clothing, the force of the wind threatening to rip off his scrawny limbs which flailed like a ragdoll. He saw, in the chaos, Storm Seeker crash onto the ground and crumple like a piece of paper.

He struggled to keep conscious, the pain and fear overwhelming him. As he was thrown across a field, the ground rushed up to meet him, Despite his best efforts, Kevin's vision began to darken, his brain struggling to keep up with all of the adrenaline and pain. He landed with a bone-jarring thud, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. As darkness closed in, the last thing he saw was the towering tornado moving away. Kevin's world went black, and he passed out, surrendering to the storm.

Kevin's consciousness flickered back like a faulty lightbulb. He awoke with a massive headache, his head pounding in rhythm with the distant rumble of thunder. Groaning, he squinted against the harsh sunlight piercing through the dissipating clouds. Blinking rapidly, he tried to piece together what had happened. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to ease the pain. He reached over and put on his sunglasses to try and make the sunlight more bearable. As his vision cleared, he looked down at his muscular body. Something seemed different, but he couldn't quite place it.

His massive legs filled out his jeans, his arms bulged inside of his weathered leather jacket, the lines of his abs were visible through his sweat-soaked shirt, and his feet felt cushy and warm inside his boots. Looking to his right, he saw his cowboy hat lying beside him. That must be what was different!

Feeling disoriented yet determined, Kevin reached for the hat. As soon as his manly, calloused hands touched the worn leather, a sense of familiarity washed over him. He placed it on his head, and suddenly, his mind was flooded with memories. Images and sensations poured in, overwhelming him. He remembered filming videos and live streams, engaging with fans, and chasing storms across the Midwest. He saw himself standing in front of towering thunderheads, narrating the events with confidence and charisma. He recalled the thrill of the chase, the roar of the wind, and the exhilaration of driving headfirst into a twister.

Tyler Owens stood up, still unsteady on his feet from being tossed around by the wind, and looked around. His outfitted storm-chasing truck was parked just where he had left it. As he strutted over to his truck, he turned back towards the sky and saw another twister forming in the distance. Pulling out his camera from the cab, he began to set up for his next livestream adventure. He was going to show everyone online why he earned the nickname Tornado Wrangler.

Team USA

The city of Paris was alive with excitement as the 2024 Olympics drew people from around the globe. Among the crowds of tourists and athletes was Jesse, an American traveler with a love for adventure. Fascinated by the event and the athleticism on display, he felt an irresistible urge to experience the Olympics from a closer perspective. He had always been a rather meek man but had envied the raw athleticism and power that these athletes embodied. After saving up since the previous games, he was finally able to afford a trip to Europe for these games. Driven by curiosity and a sense of mischief, Jesse decided to sneak into the Olympic Village, to get close to the Olympians he had admired for so long.

Knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be in proximity to his idols,  he had to make sure he made the most of this trip and didn’t fuck it up. Despite his meek statute, his confident demeanor and clever deception got him beyond the security, and he managed to enter the facility, blending into the vibrant atmosphere of the athletes' quarters. He wandered the village, soaking in the energy and marveling at the athletes he admired from afar.

Word of his entry got around, and soon guards were searching for him. As he heard French men shouting down the hall, he knew he needed to hide. Jesse twisted the nearest doorknob to him, and surprisingly, it was unlocked. Pushing it open, he threw his body inside and closed and locked the door behind him. Inside, the lights were dim. Now that he was safe from the guards, the adrenaline he had been riding was starting to wear off, and fatigue began to set in. Looking around the space, he noticed that the room was incredibly simple, with two beds with Paris 2024 sheets, a fan, and a clothes rack.

Exhausted from his adventure and his narrow escape, Jesse lay down on one of the beds to rest and regain his energy before making his daring escape. But the makeshift mattress was surprisingly comfortable, and even though the guards were still probably looking for him, Jesse quickly lulled into a deep sleep. 

As Jesse slept, a peculiar warmth spread through his body, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. His limbs felt heavy yet relaxed as if they were being gently molded by an unseen force. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. The sensation was soothing, yet beneath it was an underlying intensity, a pulsing energy that coursed through his veins.

His body began to change. His hands, once ordinary, grew larger and more defined, the fingers thickening with callouses. His arms swelled with muscle, biceps and triceps becoming well-defined, veins standing out against the skin. His shoulders widened, giving him a more powerful and athletic build.

His chest expanded, pectoral muscles firming up as his heart beat stronger and more steadily. His abdominal muscles tightened, forming a sculpted six-pack that spoke of strength and endurance. His legs, too, transformed, becoming muscular and sinewy, the calves and thighs bulging with new power.

Jesse’s jawline became more pronounced, his cheekbones higher, giving his face a more chiseled appearance. His skin, once pale from his travels, took on a healthier glow as if he had spent years training outdoors under the sun. 

When Jesse awoke, he felt a strange surge of energy and vitality coursing through him. He sat up, blinking in the morning light, and noticed the gymnast's uniform hanging neatly on a chair, adorned with the letters USA. Confused but intrigued, he stood and moved towards the mirror.

The reflection that greeted him was stunning. Jesse stared, eyes wide, at the image of a powerful, athletic man. The person in the mirror was undeniably him, yet also a stranger. His body, now sculpted and strong, moved with a grace and ease that felt both new and familiar.

As Jesse struggled to understand what had happened, the door opened, and a young man in a Team USA singlet walked in. "Hey Brody, you're up!” the man said casually as if everything was perfectly normal.

Brody blinked, trying to reconcile the confusion in his mind with the reality before him. “You’re running late! The competition starts soon… you’d better get dressed!”

 "Yeah, okay,” Brody with an unfamiliar deep voice.

The other man closed the door and Brody picked up the singlet. He pulled his now-massive thighs through the spandex and pulled the outfit over his muscular body. His bulky arms flexed as he held the singlet open for the rest of his body to enter. The spandex hugged his abdomen, displaying his six-pack through the fabric, and his pecs pushed against the top and he held the shoulder straps. 

He let go of the straps of the singlet that he had been holding. With a snap onto his broad shoulders, he remembered everything: growing up in Tennessee, waking up early every morning to work out and train, enrolling at Stanford to compete, and qualifying for the Olympics.

Now knowing that he earned his right to be here, Brody strutted out of his room with a newfound bravado and through the Olympic village towards the shuttle to the gymnastics complex. Within the hour, he was there, on the mats warming up to compete for the gold in front of the world.

He was representing the best country in the world. He was the best of the best, and he was going to give the world one hell of a show.

The Sweat Guy

You had always struggled with excessive sweating, a condition that had plagued you since puberty. It wasn't just the usual places like underarms; every nook and cranny of your body seemed to turn into a faucet, drenching your clothes and filling your personal space with an unwanted odor. It was an embarrassing and frustrating problem that you constantly battled, with little success. The sweat seemed to have a mind of its own, ruining your shirts and making you self-conscious in social situations.

One day, as if your phone could read your mind, an ad popped up while you were scrolling. It was for a new line of antiperspirants, promising comprehensive coverage for all the sweaty areas of the body. The ad seemed too good to be true, but desperation had a way of making you willing to try anything. The thought of a solution that addressed not just your underarms but also areas like your feet, face, thighs, and even groin was tantalizing. You quickly searched for the nearest pharmacy and, grabbing your bag, set off with a determined stride.

The walk to the pharmacy was typical for you—by the time you arrived, you were already sweating heavily. The summer heat didn’t help, but the thought of finally finding relief kept you motivated. In the store, you found the products from the ad and eagerly grabbed the whole set. The price was surprisingly affordable, which felt like a small victory in itself. You clutched the bag of products like a treasure trove, imagining a future where you wouldn’t have to worry about sweat ruining your clothes or your chances with girls.

The idea that there could be antiperspirants for areas you hadn't even considered gave you a sense of hope. You had never imagined such a comprehensive solution existed, and the possibility of being sweat-free was exhilarating. You started the journey back to your apartment, feeling lighter and more optimistic. The thought of finally being able to meet people without the nagging fear of sweating through your clothes was almost too good to be true. As you walked, you couldn't help but smile at the prospect of a fresher, more comfortable future, with all your new goodies in tow.

Once you arrived home, you spared no time in going to the bathroom to apply each and every product. Opening the underarm product, you gave it a sniff. It smelled heavenly. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and let the scent waft up through your nostrils, intoxicating you. Delirious from the scent, you lifted up your arms and rubbed the antiperspirant in your armpits, not noticing as the hairs grew longer and thicker, but also dried up, with years of stench dissipating.

The thick hair snaked its way onto your arms and down onto your hands, each finger growing thicker and longer, with your palm widening as it clutched the antiperspirant. The stick of product now looked comically small in your manly hand. Your chest swelled and pushed against your t-shirt while thick tufts of hair swirled around your nipples and filled out the center of your chest, enveloping your torso, which hardened with lean muscles.

Still in a daze, you grabbed the thigh cream, rubbing it all over your legs, which too dried up, but thickened with muscles and a forest of hair.

That’s a lot of hair… you hadn’t ever thought of yourself as hairy…

You dropped to the floor, your hands seemingly moving by themselves. The foot cream felt cool and smooth as you applied it to your damp, sweaty feet, massaging it into the skin with firm, deliberate strokes. As the lotion absorbed into your soles, thick, coarse hairs started to sprout from the tops of your toes and the tops of your feet, quickly spreading until they were covered in a dense forest of hair. You brought your feet up to your face, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was as intoxicating and invigorating as the scent of your armpits.

You placed your now-manly hands on the bathroom vanity. The muscles in your arms and chest rippled as you lifted your bulking frame up and toward the mirror. You grabbed the face cream and rubbed it all over your face. You felt a tingling sensation as thick stubble rapidly sprouted, covering your cheeks and chin with a rugged beard and mustache. Your vision blurred, adding to the already overwhelming scent-induced delirium. The world around you seemed to sway and warp, but you reached out instinctively, feeling around the side of the sink until your fingers found your glasses. Sliding them onto your face, the lenses helped bring the world back into focus.

Had you needed glasses before?

Still enveloped in a dense fog of scent and sensation, you fumbled for the groin cream, your movements slow and deliberate. You threw your pants down around your ankles, exposing your hairy legs to the cool air. As you applied the cream to your manhood, an intense warmth spread through you, almost like a gentle hand cradling and massaging you. The sensation was deeply comforting, creating a feeling of intimacy and care that was both strange and overwhelmingly pleasurable. The brain fog thickened, clouding your thoughts and senses, making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Each breath you took seemed to deepen your trance, making it harder to stay upright. Your legs felt weak, as if they could give way at any moment. Yet, somehow, you managed to reach down and pull your pants back up, fumbling with the zipper as your hands quivered. You reached out for support, gripping the door frame with a firm hand, and began making your way through the house. Leaning against the walls for balance, you moved slowly, each step requiring a monumental effort. The strange desire to get outside, to feel the fresh air and test the antiperspirant, drove you forward.

You made it no more than ten feet before the effects of the groin cream intensified dramatically. It was as if all the sweat your body had ever produced was being expelled through your manhood in one overwhelming rush. The sensation was blinding, a searing wave of heat and pleasure that spread from your groin to every corner of your body. Your muscles tensed and your skin tingled, as if electricity were coursing through your veins. Hair shot out around your groin, leaving you with a massive bush that provided a cushion inside of your underpants. The intensity of the pleasure contorted your face into an expression of pure ecstasy, a mix of surprise and delight at the overwhelming physical sensation.

The rush of endorphins surged through your masculine body, a flood of pleasure and euphoria that seemed to reach every fiber of your being. Your once-smooth skin was now covered in a thick layer of hair, and your muscles felt firm and powerful. The sweet, intoxicating scent that clung to you. As the pleasure surged through your system, your mind seemed to shift. Memories of your previous life, filled with embarrassment and discomfort due to excessive sweating, faded into obscurity. You were the Sweat Guy.

One final burst left you breathless and drained. The sensation was so overwhelming that your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the ground, your body unable to handle the intensity of the transformation. Darkness enveloped you, and you blacked out, lying on the floor in a state of exhausted satisfaction.

When you awoke, you blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented but surprisingly calm.  Pushing yourself off the floor, you walked back to the bathroom, where you had left the products you had spent so many years perfecting.

Heading back to the kitchen with antiperspirants in hand, you grabbed your keys off of the counter. You were headed to a video shoot for the company's social media. After all, you were the Sweat Guy, and you wanted to make sure that everyone knew just how life-changing these products are.