Forced Change - Tumblr Posts

Whumptober alt.Prompt #6- Lost

Little backstory- while I just wrote this, the idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while.  Whumptober finally just got me to write it.  SO! This will make a bit more sense if you’ve seen the episode of the original Twilight Zone called “Number Twelve Looks Like You”- it’s a story of conformity and societal standards and it’s really good but that’s not the point.  The point is this idea stems from that episode.  And it’s original fiction, not fanfiction.

...

Tristan desperately reached out and grabbed at the ship, catching a low pipe.  He got his second hand onto the pipe and pulled.  His arms broke through the seal. His head followed quickly.  He gasped at the atmosphere, his mouth unused to the lungs he was given.  He hauled himself up, trying to ignore the seal screaming at him, the doctors and nurses racing after him, begging him to stay, begging him to come back, shouting at him to understand.  His hips broke free.  He was almost there.  He was almost free.  The voices were coming closer.  He looked down.  Doctor Rex was close.  He threw his right leg out, slipping off the edge of the pipe.  He tried again.  Something grabbed his left foot.

“Tristan!”  Rex.  “You have to come back.  The transformation is a wonderful thing, you just don’t understand it yet.  Please, don’t go!”

Tristan kicked out, catching Rex in the face.  It was enough to get his left leg back onto the ship.  He was now holding onto the ship by a single pipe which didn’t like holding his weight.  The seal, sensing that the obstacle had left, closed itself once again.  Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.  Once the seal closed, it wouldn’t open again.

The pipe creaked ominously.

“Who the hell is stowing away on my goddamn ship?!?”  Came his Captain’s voice.  Tristan had never been so relieved to hear the British asshole he called Captain.

“Sir, please, it’s Tristan!”  He dared to wave one arm, the other holding tightly.  The pipe creaked again, and Tristan thought he felt a small crack appear.

“Tristan?”  The Captain called out.  “I hear your voice, where are you?  What’s the passcode?”

“I’m below, sir.  On what Jessie called the exhaust!”  Tristan called out.

He saw his Captain’s face and couldn’t contain the smile.  But the Captain’s face held only rage and soon he saw the Captain’s blaster.

“Who are you?”  The Captain asked, disgusted.  “You’re not my Tristan.”

“Please, sir, yes I am.” Tristan begged, another piece of what was left of him falling into nothingness.  “I’m Tristan Serling, one of your agents sent by Time herself to fix the cracks since the Breach opened portals in time and to other dimensions.  Honestly, you and I don’t really get along, we fight a lot, you knew my father, only reason I stay on this crew, and because my friends won’t leave you.  For some reason, they see a softie underneath your hard exterior, I don’t really care to look.”

A bigger crack appeared.

“Sir, please pull me up.” Tristan shot his hand out, knowing holding on as tightly as possible wouldn’t help if the Captain let him fall.  “Please!”

The Captain frowned, knowing only Tristan would know that but still not recognizing him.

“I’m in love with my best friend!”  He screamed, knowing he had once confessed this to the Captain while suffering from an intense fever in the field.  He hadn’t told anyone else on their little ship.  “Leah is sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and funny, and she’s just so goddamn good.  She’s everything I want but don’t deserve.  Look, I fucked up most of my early life, but please sir, don’t let me die like this!”

A hand quickly shot down and grabbed his.  Together, they were able to get Tristan onto the landing platform, the pipe falling down into the void of space.

“I’ll replace that, sir.”  He said automatically.

“Doesn’t matter.”  The Captain said.  “Kid, you- you look- what happened to you?”

Tristan swallowed hard.  “Sir, I- I mean, I- They…”

He couldn’t finish.  He couldn’t verbalize what he’d just gone through.  What he’d just lost.

The Captain seemed to understand.  “Let’s get you to medical. Maybe our resident doctor can do something.”

“No, sir, please, don’t take me there.”  Tristan said, stepping away, half his right foot hanging off the edge of the landing platform.

“Let’s get you inside the ship, then we can talk.”  The Captain said, being as gentle with Tristan as he’d ever been.

The Captain led him into the ship, bringing in the landing platform. Now they were safe, sealed inside the ship.  He walked on shaky legs, his muscles unused to the legs he’d been given.

“Here, just sit against the cargo.” The Captain suggested.

Tristan flopped down, landing hard on his ass, his back hitting a box hard enough to make a thump.  His whole body was shaking now, unable to contain his emotions.

“Maybe she can help.”  The Captain crouched down next to him.

“No.”  Tristan shook his head.  “I don’t want her seeing me like this.  It’s bad enough she sees the person I want to be instead of the person I was, but I can’t.  I can’t do this.”

“Because trying to solve it makes it real?”

Nausea hit Tristan like a freight train.

“Here.”  The Captain dumped out a box of ammunition and shoved it into Tristan’s hands.

Tristan spent the next few minutes throwing up what little he had in his stomach.  The transformation had required fasting so they had simply starved him.

He felt a strong hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

Tristan raised an eyebrow once he got control of his stomach.

“My wife may be the stay-at-home mom but I’ve helped my daughter through plenty of illnesses.”  The Captain explained.

“Forgot you have a kid.”  Tristan admitted.

“I don’t talk about her much.”  The Captain admitted.  “I try to keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

Tristan nodded, his stomach lurching again.

“Take it easy, kid, just let it out.”  The Captain rubbed his back, speaking softly.

Tristan threw up until he had literally nothing left to throw up, but nausea still rolled in his stomach.

“You want some ginger ale?  Water, maybe?”  The Captain asked.

Tristan shook his head.  “I don’t want them to know I’m here.  Just tell them I quit or that I died or something.”

The Captain shook his head.  “I’m not gonna do that.  You and I may not get along but if your father wasn’t here, I know for a fact that the Hawks’ would adopt you.”

Tristan laughed breathlessly.

“Wait, my father’s here?”

“Yes.”  The Captain nodded.  “I picked him up a little after you went missing.  Your father isn’t exactly known for sitting around doing nothing while his son is in danger.”

“Don’t let him see me.”  Tristan grabbed the Captain’s arm.  “Please.  I can’t- he can’t- I can’t face him.  Not now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”  The Captain asked.  “Where did you go?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know where it is, or when it is, or if it’s even in our same dimension.  I just know the Breach opened the portal, and when I landed, I was taken to this… bureau they called it.  I wasn’t really paying attention at first, I was mostly looking for a way to close the portal and get home, like we always do.  They asked me my age, and I told them I was twenty-one, hoping I could get a drink when this was all done.  Dad’s like super strict about me drinking now, and honestly, I know I was supposed to be quitting that shit but I wanted a drink and I wanted a smoke so I lied and said I was older.  I figured twenty-one would be a good enough age to get a cigarette.”  Tristan laughed listlessly.  “Big mistake.  They said I was overdue for the transformation.  I tried telling them I was only here to fix the portals and shit but they didn’t care.  They threw me in some kind of hospital, called it the Transformation Center.  Said I needed to have it.  I… protested.  They just held me down and sedated me.  I kept trying to explain who I was and what I was doing here, but they just said all would become clear after the transformation.  I ended up meeting this chick, Marylin.  She told me what it was.  I begged them not to go through with it, just as she did.  Two days later, I saw her transformed.  They said she changed her mind, when she told me she never would.  I mean, it must’ve been similar to our planet because we talked about Yeats and Dostoevsky and Shakespeare for literal hours.  We talked about individuality, about the dignity of the human spirit, about beauty, about real beauty.  She understood.  It was the first intelligent conversation about Shakespeare I’ve had in years.  She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t have changed her mind like that.  So I knew I had to try and escape.  I don’t know how but I must’ve gotten lost or something or they changed the signs because somehow I ended up in the transformation room, I don’t know how I got there.  I tried so hard, I swear, I tried so goddamn hard… I begged them not to do it.  I swear, I tried…”

The Captain pulled Tristan into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Tristan.  The Captain’s jacket got wetter and wetter, and Tristan wasn’t sure how.  He fought to get control over his breathing.  The Captain started brushing a hand through Tristan’s hair.

“Shh, it’s okay, let it out.”  The Captain murmured, gently rocking back and forth.

“I tried so hard.”  Tristan said, the stain on the Captain’s jacket growing.  “I tried so hard, I wanted them to stop.  They just kept getting more and more nurses to hold me down.  I kept begging them to stop.  Why wouldn’t they stop?”

“I don’t know.”  The Captain whispered.  “You did your best, Tristan.  Remember that.”

“But they won.”  Tristan said, his voice cracking.

“You survived.”  The Captain pulled Tristan’s hair ever so gently to get Tristan’s eyes up to his own.  “You made it back here.  That’s what matters.”

“No, it’s not.”  Tristan’s voice cracked again and he felt wetness running down his face.  Oh, he was crying.  That’s why the Captain’s jacket was wet.  “They won.  Look at me!”

The Captain sighed.  “Maybe Leah can find a way around it.  If it was done to you, it should be able to be undone.”

Tristan pulled away from the Captain’s safe embrace.  “It can’t.”

“You don’t know that.”  The Captain said.

“I know that!”  Tristan screamed.  “You think I didn’t try?  I went back again and again, sneaking in, trying to find a way to undo it!  They destroy any technology that could undo the transformation, it changes everything!  It makes you like the transformation, it makes you want it.  I don’t know how I survived with my mental faculties intact.  I think it’s because I’m an off-worlder at best, a jumper at worst.  I don’t know.  It... it changed Marylin.  She went from screaming and fighting to loving it.  To wanting to give it to her own kids when she had them.  There’s a mental component too.  I really hope I’m not delayed onset with this shit so I’m not taking the chance.  I’m quitting, resigning, whatever floats your boat.”

“I cannot accept resignations under extreme emotional duress.”  The Captain said.  “Look, if I get you to medical, without Miss Leah finding out, and it truly cannot be undone, I’ll entertain the idea.  But not until then, okay?”

Tristan nodded.

“Alright, let’s clean you up.  I know you said you didn’t want your father to see you, but I’m not leaving him to think you don’t want to see him again.  I’ll tell him that you’re here, and you need some time alone, okay?”

“I don’t think he’ll accept that.”  Tristan said.  “Last time I wanted time alone, I O.D.ed.”

The Captain frowned.  “As a father, I can’t leave him to suffer like that.  He’s losing his mind looking for you.  You and he are so close, if you ask it, I’m sure he’ll respect it.  I won’t let him see you, if you don’t want, you are one of my crew, but I cannot let him suffer.”

Tristan sighed.  “Fine.”

The Captain offered a hand and Tristan took it.  The Captain helped him stand, half-walked half-carried him to the nearest bathroom.  The bathroom near the cargo hold was almost never used, honestly most of the crew forgot it was there.  So it was the only place he would’ve felt comfortable going.  It was a single use so he could lock it and keep everyone else out, including his father.

The Captain let go of Tristan, letting him rest on the sink.

“Wash your mouth out, clean your face, and take a few deep breaths.”  The Captain said, gently brushing away a couple stray tears.  “I’ll keep your father outside.”

Tristan nodded, leaning heavily on the sink.  He looked up and found someone else in the mirror.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought I was alone.”  He turned around, ready with a friendly smile.

There was no one there.

He was alone.

Oh fuck.

That was his reflection.

He turned back to the monster in the mirror.  Short and straight brown hair, slicked back with a phantom gel he didn’t quite understand, very different from his original curls, blue eyes as opposed to his warm brown, a flatter, wider nose as opposed to his own, lips that were pinker, no widow’s-peak, his piercings had healed, and a softer jawline that his original so sharp he could cut glass.

Cut… glass…

He couldn’t bear it.  He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d been turned into.  He had to stop.  He had to get rid of it.  He couldn’t do it.  He just couldn’t.

Cut… Glass…

He had always wanted to stand out from the crowd.  It was one of the reasons  he loved his face, he wasn’t one to fit into normal societal boundaries of attractiveness, he looked the way he wanted to look.  He had always wanted to stand out.  He needed to stand out and be noticed for being unique.  He was his own person and no abusive grandfather was going to tell him he had to be just like his father, like his mother.  He was his own person, he answered to his own name, he made the choices over what went into his body be they good or bad, it was all him.  He was a person.  No one could tell him any different.  He wasn’t like the other kids.  He’d never been like other people, conformists were complicit in their own oppression.  Individuality was all that mattered to him.

CUT… GLASS…

His hand hurt.  He looked up and saw his fist in the mirror, cracked and bleeding, with glass shards embedded in his fingers.  Not his fingers.  Someone else’s fingers.  They weren’t his, they didn’t belong to him, there were no small scars where he had once accidentally gotten it stuck in a gate, no mole on his thumb.  The blood running down the fingers wasn’t his.  The pain felt distant, like he was sharing a mind with someone else’s body.  He had to hurt them.  He had to get his fingers back.  He picked up a fallen shard of glass and brought it to the edge of his right eye, right below the eyelid where it met the nose.  In one fell swoop, he tore up the face that haunted him, but he couldn’t keep the scream of pain inside him.  Whoever this face belonged to didn’t want him cutting it up.  Well, they’d just have to suck it up or give him his face back.  He brought the glass now to the other edge of the eye, he made another cut, parallel to the first, going from eye to chin.  Another scream.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Tristan, that you?”

His father.

No.  He couldn’t see his father until he got his own face back.  His father wouldn’t recognize him.  He never wanted to make his father doubt.

“Jewel?  Answer me!”

Hard knocking, trying to break down the door.

Maybe not his father.  Maybe the owner of the face.  Well, they weren’t stopping him.  If he had to live with this face, he was living with it on his terms.  He was going to make it his.

He brought the glass to the edge of the nose, and sliced open the cheek to the chin, three lines now parallel.

A third scream.

“Baby, baby, please!”

That sounded like his father.  His mind must be playing tricks.  His father wasn’t assigned to this crew, he’d taken the posting because of that.  He loved his father, would do anything for his father, including getting clean for him, but his father, so nervous, so anxious, so afraid all the time.  After his grandfather had fucked him up, his father was so afraid of losing him.  He didn’t understand.  His father had saved him, saved him and taught him how to be his own person instead of a personal attache to his grandfather, to be more than his father’s copycat.  He knew his father had sent him there to try to raise him better than a constant running around from base to base, chasing after those who suffered from the Breach.

“Baby, please, open the door.  Don’t make me break it down.”

He clutched the glass harder, cutting open the fingers.  Pain didn’t register.  Not his fingers.  Not his pain.

The door rushed in, knocking him down.  The Captain was there, his father too.  They looked horrified, so horrified that the Captain dropped the battering ram he’d used, some type of round metal.

“Baby…”  His father’s voice was weak.

“It’s okay, Dad.”  He smiled, ignoring the protesting cheek.  “It’s not my face.”

maybe something where two guys hang out and then one drinks something and anything he says becomes the truth?

“A truth serum?” John asked.

“Yeah!” Mark replied, “except it’s not what you think. Instead of making you tell the truth, it makes everything you say become the truth.”

John looked down at the small green bottle. “Sounds a little dangerous.”

“It doesn’t last that long, and you can always reverse whatever you say.” Mark saw the hesitation in his friend’s eyes. “C’mon man, all I need for you is to make me jacked. You can do it to yourself too! C’mon. Please?”

John looked down at the bottle then down at his body. He could do with some more muscle, and it wouldn’t hurt Mark either.

“Fine,” he said taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap, “but just to get us jacked.”

“Totally bro,” Mark said, and with that, John drank. The bottle was so small, the entire thing went down his throat. “Well,” he said, “feel any different?”

“Not really…” John said, “how does this work?”

“Anything you say becomes the truth. So… say something!”

John cleared his throat. “Right… well… we’re jacked. Both of us. Nice and muscular, but not too muscular.”

It was instantaneous. Both boys felt their bodies balloon out with muscle, causing their loose, dangling clothes to grow tight and fitting around their new, jacked bodies.

Mark didn’t waste any time. Within seconds, his shirt was off, and he was looking at himself in the mirror, eyes wide with shock.

“Fuuuuck dude! It worked! It really worked!!” John was barely listening. He was feeling up his own muscles through his t-shirt. They didn’t even feel real, but when he gave one pec a hearty squeeze, he knew that this wasn’t a dream. “Say something else!” John ran back in, practically jumping up and down.

“Like… what?”

“ANYTHING! Like… give me a huge dick.”

“A huge… what?”

“C’mon dude,” Mark was back to pleading, “my girlfriend would get a kick out of it.”

“Fine,” John said with a grin, “Mark has a a giant monster cock that’s so big, he can’t even fit it into his girlfriend’s pussy.”

Mark felt a huge tugging at the bottom of his boxers, and looked down to see his cock growing and growing, so much so that he was fighting to keep his shorts from just falling down. By the time the damn thing was done expanding, Mark guessed it was at least 11 inches long.

“Jesus man, what the fuck??” But John was cracking up. Mark looked back down at his dick and started to imagine what life would be like with a shlong that long. “You’re so fucking gay man,” Mark said.

“Right,” John scoffed, “I’M the gay one.”

He didn’t realize what he had done until after he’d done it. Apparently the serum didn’t take to sarcasm too well, because after saying the words “I’m the gay one,” John started to look at Mark differently. He started to lust after his muscular physique with an animal passion, caressing the curves of his biceps with his eyes, practically tasting the precum dripping out of the wet patch in Mark’s skin-tight boxer shorts, where his massive dick was twitching relentlessly.

“Dude… you okay?”

He didn’t know how long he was staring. Only that he wanted more than to just stare. He wanted Mark. He wanted him now.

“I think we’ve had our fun,” Mark said, starting to feel his nerves unwind, “let’s change back, okay? John? Can you change me back?”

“Okay,” John said with a smirk, “I’ll change you… but I won’t change you back.”

Mark’s face grew pale. “Wait, what?”

John cleared his throat, “Mark has a giant body to match his giant dick. He’s a fucking muscle beast with humongous arms and a giant pec shelf.”

Mark didn’t even have time to speak before his body shot out in all directions. What was previously handsome and toned was now obscene and large. His legs grew like tree trunks bursting through his underwear and sending his monster cock flying out into the cold air. He could barely see below his bulging pecs, and his arms had grown so large in the span of a few seconds, that they had rendered a lot of previous movement impossible.

“What the fuck man?!” Mark said. He gripped his dick. It felt normal sized in his otherwise abnormal hands. “What did you do to me?”

“I only made it so that you’d be able to have a regular dick again. Well… regular compared to the rest of your body.”

Mark’s head was rushing with thoughts. What was his girlfriend going to say about this? What was his family going to say? His job? How was he going to live his life when he couldn’t even fit through a proper doorway?

“Change me back,” he said firmly.

John smiled. “Of course I’ll change you back. But not after I’ve had some more fun.” Mark was about to lunge forward when John said: “Isn’t that right, mister Robbie Amell?”

Mark exhaled deeply. As he did, he felt his muscles subside, his body shrinking and leaning out into the chiseled physique of Robbie Amell. His hands reached for his face, and he felt the bones shift and rearrange themselves under his skin, which became smooth and soft to this touch.

“What is happening to me?” Mark said, his voice now noticeably higher. His bewildered blue eyes shot to John, who was rubbing his own dick through his skin-tight jeans. Just as soon as he saw this did a pair of tight gym shorts wrap themselves around Mark—or Robbie’s—defined hips. In the nylon pouch, he saw his dick return to normal size. Normal, that was, for a Hollywood celebrity.

Robbie smiled. “Yeah,” he said feeling his washboard abs, “I could get used to this.”

“Better not,” John said with a smile. He was becoming mad with power, and he was sure that his next transformation would be his hottest. “You’re not actually Robbie Amell. You’re a hairy Spanish bodybuilder.”

The second the word “hairy” crossed John’s lips, Mark’s chest started to grow itchy. He looked down to see his previously spotless chest dusted with little black hairs. What was more, his pecs were starting to come back in. With a vengeance.

“Que es esto?” Mark said. Though he could understand the words that came out of his mouth, he knew they were not in English. As a matter of fact, the more he thought about it, the less he knew of the English language at all. “Yo no enteindo…”

“It’s okay,” John said as he walked up to his friend, “you don’t have to say anything. Just look at yourself man!” He pointed to Mark’s bicep, which Mark instinctively flexed. The thing must have been 17 inches, at least. He followed it up to his broad, thickening shoulders, down the hairy cleavage of his new pecs, and across the landscape that was his muscle gut.

Mark—or Manuel—gave a deep groan. He was so enamored with his own body, he didn’t have the energy to even be mad at John. “Flex,” he heard his friend say, and Manuel placed his hands on his hips and flared his bodybuilder muscles out.

“Very good,” John said, running his hands over the rough mounds of stone.

“NOW can you change me back?” Manuel asked, only the words came out as “Ahora puedes cambiarme?”

John gave him a confused look. “Sorry? I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Ahora puedes cambiarme?!” Manuel repeated, but it was no use. He was running out of time. If John didn’t turn him back soon, he was going to be stuck as a hulking hispanic bodybuilder for the rest of his life.

He dove for the little green bottle, brining it to his lips in the hope that there might be just a drop of the truth serum left.

Nothing. He shook the bottle pathetically, but not a single drop came out. He heard John laughing behind him.

“Sorry Mark,” he said, “you should have taken the serum yourself. But you trusted me, and I suspect I’ve got time for one more transformation left before we run out of time…”

Manuel couldn’t understand the words John was saying. He understood only one single word: “briefs,” and made one more pass at the bottle.

But his hands were disappearing. As a matter of fact, his whole body seemed to be shrinking down, the mass of his muscles vanashing into thin air as he felt wind rush through the silky sheen of his skin.

He collapsed onto the floor, immobile, and felt the bottle topple down just a few inches away from him. He could see John walk over to his limp body. His friend towered over him, his toned and perfectly round muscles seemed colossal compared to whatever it was Mark had become.

He watched as John removed his clothes, revealing every inch of the body he had wanted in the first place. Not too big, not to muscular, but just sexy enough to get every guy in a two block radius hard as a rock.

Even Mark felt a flash of attraction as John pulled him up his legs and over his ass. But as he felt his best friend’s cock fill out what used to be his face, he knew that his life was going to be different from here on out.

John rubbed his dick through his brand new briefs. “Damn man,” he said to Mark, “you fit pretty well.” He knew he should feel bad, having just turned his best friend into a pair of underwear. But he suspected there was plenty more where that truth serum came from. He was sure he would turn him back… eventually…

The Whole Truth...

(A sequel to “The Truth Serum (Ask).” Sorry this took so long! The story ended up getting bigger and bigger, but I didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer. This is Part 1 of the sequel, and Part 2 will be released next week. Hope you enjoy!)

This is John and Mark. John and Mark have been best buds since they were sophomores in high school. Inseparable, some might say. They’ve grown even closer in recent years. So close, in fact, that Mark seldom leaves John’s side… or sides.

Confused? I would be to. There’s only one man in that picture after all. You see, John turned his friend Mark into a pair of briefs a while back. Turns out that the boys had gotten ahold of a rare bottle of truth serum—the kind that makes everything you say become the truth—and someone got a little too creative.

John promised it wouldn’t be permanent. He promised he would only keep Mark in this humiliating state for a few days. But a few days turned into a few weeks. A few weeks turned into a few months. And now, one year after drinking his first drops of truth serum, Mark isn’t any closer to being human again. After all, he is John’s favorite pair of briefs.

But Mark hasn’t forgotten. Each day he waits, patiently cradling John’s massive package. He waits for an opportunity that he’s not sure will ever come, the opportunity to get revenge.

Fortunately for Mark, that opportunity is about to arrive. The Changing Room still has big plans for these two. All we need is just a few drops of truth, and a few simple words…

Blake already knew the rules. He’d read extensively about the “truth serum” online. He’d heard about the hot games people had played, the hot fantasies that had become reality, he’d read about the hot accidents that became irreversible once the effects wore off.

But Blake wasn’t here to play any games. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly how much of the serum to take, the exact words to say, and the exact order to say them in. He couldn’t screw up; this plan was foolproof.

And yet, as he stared down at the emerald green liquid, fear gripped at the corners of his mind. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he did screw up? What would that mean for him?

“BLAKE!” He jumped. The voice came from a few inches below him. Great, he thought. It was Stan.

“Man, the gym is pretty crowded today, huh?” Stan said, motioning to the other guys in the locker room. He was right, the little dork. The gym was bustling with post-thanksgiving stragglers, looking to drop those couple of pounds they gained over the week. Only these guys didn’t have “a couple of pounds.” Most of them were fat, old, objectively unattractive (at least to Blake). By and large, the gym wasn’t populated by the most attractive guys. Blake lived on the outskirts of town, and there was a retirement home just a block away from the gym. Blake didn’t consider himself very attractive—average by most standards—and yet he looked like a bodybuilder next to most of these guys.

Stan was a prime example. Stan had been Blake’s lab partner freshman year of high school. They ran into each other at the gym a couple months ago, and Stan had been following him around ever since. It was obvious how attracted to Blake he was, but Stan was not his kind of guy—at all. He was short, pasty, and had a nasally, high picked voice that rang around the locker room like a high pitched bell.

“Blake, did you hear me?”

“What—yes. Sorry, I…” his mind was elsewhere. Blake was thinking about what was waiting for him outside that locker room. He was thinking about what he was going to say to transform him. What were the words again? “It must be thanksgiving, you know.”

“RIGHT!” Stan said with an obnoxious laugh, “it’s that pumpkin pie. I’m telling you. My grandmother makes the greatest pumpkin pie…” as Stan continued to rant about his “epic” thanksgiving dinner, Blake saw a flash of skin from the corner of his eye.

It was him. Alex. God, he looked incredible. Even by the rather lax standards of their gym, Alex was one of the hottest guys on the planet. How he had even ended up training at a dump like theirs was a mystery to Blake, but he didn’t care. He got to be blessed with the glorious sight of Alex’s perfectly toned muscles, his soft cream skin and warm welcoming eyes every Tuesday and Thursday. After all, he was Blake’s personal trainer.

“Blake!” Alex spotted the two from across the room and sauntered over, beaming. “How’s it going bro? How was thanksgiving?”

Blake froze. The words caught in his mouth. The bottle of truth serum gripped tight in his fist. “Good!” was all he was able to get out.

Alex turned to Stan. “And you name was…?”

“STAN!” he said, a little too loud. If he had a crush on Blake, he was absolutely in love with Alex. He grabbed the jock’s hand and shook it. “We’ve met a couple of times. You just probably don’t remember. It’s okay. I forget things too. It’s fine.”

“Right,” Alex said. He turned back to Blake. “See you out there? Ten min? It’s arm day today! Gotta get those biceps nice and big.” He patted Blake’s sad excuse for an arm, and Blake had to hide his blushing face.

“Arm day, yeah. See you out there!”

Alex was gone as soon as he came. Stan made an exaggerated sigh. “Why are all the hot ones straight, know what I mean? Like if only he was gay…”

If only. Blake gave a little laugh. He laughed, not because of how improbable that was, but because by the end of their session, Alex was going to be very gay. More than that, Alex was going to be his boyfriend. It was the truth he had concocted in his mind when he had purchased the serum online. All he needed was a couple of drops and the confidence to say the words out lout. But if there’s anything Blake was sorely lacking, it was arm muscles and confidence.

“Hey, what’s that bottle you got there?” Stan pointed to the serum, “is that a supplement? You know my grandma said those can make your balls fall off.”

Blake pulled it back. “No, it’s… um…” and then an idea started to form. A small, sinister, brilliant idea. “Actually,” Blake said, “it is a supplement. But a very special one. Want me to show you how it works?”

Stan nodded vigorously while Blake looked around for an empty changing stall. There were too many guys around to do this in public, and Blake only had ten minutes.

There’s a lot I can do in ten minutes, he thought to himself, and the two disappeared into the showers.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” The clerk looked up at the large, muscular man as he walked into the store. He was looking around at all the supplements, the vitamins, the protein shakes. But John wasn’t reading any of the labels…

“Yeah,” John said with a charming smile, “I was wondering if I could get a few drops of the… um… ‘special’ shake.”

A flash of confusion across the clerk’s face. Then, recognition. “Right away,” he said, and disappeared into the back. The second he was gone, John stuck a thumb into his sweat pants and pulled them open.

Mark was writhing and squeezing on his junk. John winced. He was starting to get more violent, and if he didn’t put him to rest soon, there would be another grown man standing in the middle of the shop with them.

By the time the clerk returned, John had shrunk a half foot, and his muscle tone was going down. Fast. “Thanks,” John said, grabbing the tiny green shot from the clerk’s hands and throwing it down his throat. He rushed out of the shop, where no one could hear him, and said out loud to himself:

“I am a jacked up muscle god, and Mark is my favorite pair of underwear.”

He felt himself grow taller, the lost muscle mass returning in a matter of seconds. And Mark stopped writhing. He was back to being just another pair of cozy briefs.

John sighed. He had to find out about the hard way: the truth serum’s effects eventually did ware off. It started about a month ago, when he started loosing muscle, and Mark’s reflexes started to return. He had an arrangement with the store owner: just two drops of the truth serum a month. Enough to keep his body hard and Mark at bay.

But this was the second time he had gone this week. Though he puffed out his chest and put a smile on his face, deep down John feared that the effects might ware off altogether, and nothing would be able to stop Mark from being human again, and enacting his revenge…

“What are we doing in here?” Stan asked as Blake closed the shower curtain.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered. Stan looked taken aback. Then, he blushed.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” he said as he peeled his shirt off. Blake winced at the sight of his lumpy, pimply chest. He wouldn’t have to look at it for much longer. “Aren’t you going to get naked too?” Stan asked.

But Blake was already unscrewing the cap to the bottle. He knew he needed to save some for Alex’s transformation. All he needed now were a couple drops. He savored their sweet taste as they slivered down his throat.

“Um… Blake?”

Blake grinned. He could almost feel the power pulsing through his veins, the words like fire as they came off of his tongue.

“I really love your chest, Stan,” Blake said.

Stan blushed. “Y—you do?”

“Oh yeah, all that hair, all that muscle. You’re a real daddy, you know that?”

Flattered, but confused, Stan opened his mouth to speak, and that’s when he started to feel it. A soft rumbling under his skin. The prickling of hairs poking out from his pores.

“What’s… what’s… is that my voice?” It was rich, deep. It echoed off the walls of the shower and made Blake’s dick jump in his gym shorts. He stood back to accommodate for Stan, who’s size was increasing by the second.

It was his muscles, mostly. In just under a minute, the young man’s muscles had swelled to bodybuilder proportions. The veins bulged under his skin as hair continued to grow in fields across his chest, over his arms, and down his legs. Blake had to resist the temptation to reach out and rub his thick carpet, to smell his hairy pits, growing ever thick with hair and musk.

“Grrrrrrr…” Stan growled. He brought both colossal arms up over his head and flared out his pecs. As he did, a fresh crop of hair covered them, all grey.

Blake looked to to Stan’s face. Sure enough, he was aging rapidly. The young man who had just turned 22 several months ago was now encroaching on 45. Stan closed his eyes and gave another hearty growl as a silver daddy beard burst through his chiseled chin.

“Fuuuuck this feels good,” he said, bringing one hand down to grip his package. The second his hand touched the silky sheen of his underwear, Blake saw the bulge inflate and swell. So much, that he was beginning to see the head of his mature, beer can cock pressed against the soaking fabric. “Fuck, I need to release,” Stan continued, “get down on your fucking knees, boy.”

But Blake was still admiring his creation. Only now, Stan’s transformation had far surpassed the limits of his simple statement: he was looking closer to 55 than 45, many of his hairs turning grey. His skin grew rougher and looser around his muscles, and the veins were no longer visible under the pounds of access fat and flab that he was putting on. He was still muscular, very much so, but he was more sugar daddy than pro-bodybuilder.

Blake shook his head. “I… Sorry… I’ve got…” But Stan was advancing on him, stepping forward with a seductive glint in his eye. Apparently all of his attraction for Blake was still there, and only heightened by the increased testosterone.

“Boy, I said get down,” Stan continued with a stern, fatherly gaze. For Blake, it was insanely hot, and he was just about to drop down and unveil that beast of a dick when he remembered Alex, waiting out on the gym floor. His perfect muscles, his dreamy eyes.

No. He couldn’t get distracted. Not now.

In one swift movement, he slipped past the muscle bear and out the shower door. He didn’t even look back. He booked it out of the locker room and into the gym.

Alex knew he had to be stretching. He knew he had to be getting ready for his training session. He knew he should be doing anything but staring at the guy who just walked into the gym.

And yet he was. Not in a sexual way. Alex was straight as a nail, of course. But there was something about this man, how he just sauntered in and commanded everyone’s undivided attention. Perhaps Alex was just used to being top dog at the gym; we was objectively the hottest guy, and he wasn’t naive about that fact. But when John walked in, with his jacked up muscles and cocky swagger, he put Alex to shame.

Alex was so focused on John lifting on the other side of the room, that he didn’t even notice Blake talking right next to him.

“Alex… Alex?”

“What? Sorry I… sorry. Just thinking.” Alex shook off the image of John and turned to his client. “Now, you ready to get those arms nice and big?”

“Actually,” Blake cleared his throat, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah sure, what up?”

Blake took a deep breath. He was so focused on the image of Alex as his boyfriend, so distracted by the image of Stan transforming in the shower stall, that he didn’t even notice until right then:

The bottle was missing.

He bent down frantically, scanning every conceivable inch of gym mat to see if he dropped it. “Hey Blake?” Alex asked, “bro, is everything okay?”

“Fine I just… sorry… have you seen a little green bottle lying around anywhere?”

Alex cocked his head. “Sorry man. I haven’t. Hey, what was it you were going to tell me?”

Blake looked up. Perhaps there was a chance the serum was still in him. That he could still say anything and have it be the truth…

“I was going to say, how does it feel to be my boyfriend?”

Alex’s stare grew glazed, his mind running wild behind his wandering eyes. And then… he laughed.

“You’re a funny dude,” Alex said, shaking his head. But then he stoped. Blake could see that his eyes were fixed on something—or someone—all the way across the room, over by the lockers. “Who on earth is that?” Alex said. Blake knew instantly: it was Stan.

Everyone gawked as this giant muscle bear, wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of briefs, sauntered out onto the floor, grinning from ear to ear like he was hiding some big secret. Blake could smell the musk coming off of him yards away, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was a huge turn on.

“Morning boys,” Stan said as he approached the two.

Alex searched for recognition in the man’s eyes. Blake thought he saw the slightest hint of genuine attraction. “Do—do I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

“Why of course you do,” Stan said with a sly wink to Blake, “we’ve been going out for almost two years now.”

Blake’s jaw dropped. It was him. Stan must have taken the potion when he dropped it on his way out of the shower. Only he couldn’t, there was no way…

But when Blake turned back to Alex, he knew the change had already begun. It was the slight glint in his eye, the way he caressed Stan’s muscular body with his gaze. But most of all, it was the obvious boner Alex was popping in his shorts.

He was gay as hell now. And gay for Stan, out of all people.

The horny trainer jumped up and embraced his new lover, furiously making out as his hands ran all over the man’s furry muscles. “Whoa,” Stan said with a laugh, “slow down there tiger. Let’s wait ‘till we get back to the house.”

“But I don’t wanna wait,” Alex whined, stroking his daddy bear’s beard. “C’mon, let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

Blake was seething as he watched Stan slip a finger down Alex’s shorts and tickle his puckering hole. “Well, I’ve always wanted to do something public…”

“Wait, no. STOP.” They both stared at Blake, who marched up towards them. “Give me back that bottle,” he demanded, “that serum is MINE.”

“What serum?” Alex said, toying with Stan’s nipple as the burly man gave a hearty laugh.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he said with a scoff, “he’s just a dumb horny twink. Isn’t that right Blake?”

Blake shook his head. No. This couldn’t be happening. But he was already stating to feel himself shrink down. His skin grew softer as he lost about two years, and his voice grew high pitched as he pleaded: “Stop… no… please…”

“Oh yeah,” Stan said with a sick grin, “you’re a stupid daddy chaser with a giant ass and an insatiable need to get fucked. But I ain’t gonna fuck you. Alex, would you fuck him?”

Alex cocked his head, “eh, he’s a little skinny for me. LOVE that ass though.”

Ass? Blake thought. And then he felt himself swat, instinctively, letting his bulbous butt explode out of his gym shorts and jiggle up and down as a tingling feeling overtook his now tiny body.

“No… stop… fuuuuuuuuuck.” People from all over the gym were beginning to stare. Blake needed to get out of there. Fast. He ducked his eyes down and rushed back into the locker room. As he ran, his butt grew even larger, forcing him to waddle rather than walk.

The second he had a shower to himself, he slammed the door and shoved two fingers up his ass. “OH,” he moaned, violently pawing at his throbbing boy pussy as the need to be fucked grew like a primal urge inside of him. It was like being stranded in a desert without water, and his two, skinny twink fingers just weren’t cutting it.

Blake rubbed his ass up against the tile wall. Fuck, he thought, this is humiliating. Here he was, a stupid horny twink, resorting to twerking up against a shower wall because no one would fuck him. And oh how he needed to be fucked. And not just by any dick. Stan was very specific with his wording; Blake wouldn’t be satisfied until he had a massive bodybuilder dick shoved up his pulsing asshole. And where on earth was he going to find one of those?

“Need some help?” came a voice from Blake’s right. He turned to see one of the single most gorgeous guys he had ever laid eyes on standing right there, rubbing his cock through his blue briefs.

“My name is John,” the man said, “looks like you might need some help with that.” Blake wanted to say no. He wanted to find that bottle of truth serum and wreak havoc on Stan and his new boyfriend.

But he also needed to be fucked. And he was the most gorgeous specimen on the planet offering to pound him silly. How could he refuse?

Blake turned around and bent his back, sticking his bubble but straight in the air and flashing his hole. “Fuck me daddy,” escaped his lips, and he didn’t even have time to process those words before John took off his briefs, threw them aside, and reared up behind his victim.

He was already hard as a rock. Seeing Blake transform into a hungry bottom slut was one of the hotter things he’d ever seen. Now, he was ready to give that ass the pounding it deserved.

“FUUUUUCK!” Blake screamed as John’s 9 inch cock slid into his ass. There was a moment of brief pain before Blake felt his muscles relax, his sphincter clutching the veiny dick as it slid in and out, in and out, each time with more ferocity than before.

“Yeah, you like that boy?” John said, giving the jiggling piece of meat a hearty slap. Blake let out another moan. At this point, he was practically grinding down on the John’s cock. Both of them were so enamored, they didn’t even notice the fact that John was getting thinner, his hair getting darker and shaggier, or that his underwear had vanished from outside…

Blake closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Cum was spewing from his dick, but the orgasm wasn’t even close to being over. If anything being fucked put him in a place of perpetual orgasm, wherein the pleasure was so intense, that the world around him vanished into a whirlwind of color and sound. Nothing mattered but the dick slamming into his ass, and there was no way for him to notice that the guy who was fucking him was no longer a jocked up meat head, but an average college guy named…

“Hello John,” Mark said from the doorway. John spun around to see his friend, human once again, and twirling a small green bottle in-between his fingers. The spell had worn off. It was official.

Panicked, John made to move when Mark said, “oh no, you won’t stop fucking him. You’re going to keep going until I say ‘stop.’” Sure enough, John continued to pound the hungry twink’s ass, despite him being oblivious to the entire situation.

His voice was shaking as he pleaded with his former friend. “Mark, please, just let me go. I’m sorry, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

“Oh I’ll be seeing you for a long time,” Mark said with a sly smile, “why would I give you up? After all, you are my favorite dildo.”

John could feel it coming, the sinking feeling that not only had he failed and would spend the rest of his life paying for it, but that his entire body was collapsing into itself. He felt his insides compress and turn to hard silicone. He felt his hands and feet disappear into his shrinking rubber body. He tried to let out one more scream before his face was swept up into the twink’s steaming hot hole, where it would fulfill itself as the penis head to Mark’s favorite sex toy.

The very last thing he saw was Mark’s proud face, and then everything went black. Just as it did, he felt a rush of pleasure overcome him, an orgasm unlike anything a human body could experience. He screamed internally with extreme pleasure as the walls of Blake’s ass enveloped him, and within seconds, John’s body was frozen solid. Nothing but hard rubber slathered with sweat and cum.

“FUUUUUCK!” Blake let out one final shout as the last bit of cum erupted from his dick and coated the shower floor. He pulled the dildo out of his ass and looked at it, confused. That’s when he noticed Mark standing there in the shower door, smirking.

“It’s a shame,” Blake said, “I thought he was really cute.”

“Yeah,” Mark said, “but he’s always been kind of a dick.” He winked, taking the dildo from Blake’s hands and replacing it with the green bottle. “I think this belongs to you.”

Blake looked down at the truth serum. Mercifully, Mark had only taken a few drops, and though Stan had drunken two thirds of the bottle, there was enough to do a number on him—and possibly get Alex back.

“Wait,” Blake said, “where are you going?” Mark was already halfway to the exit.

He turned back. “I’ve been gone for almost a year now. I have to let everyone know I’m okay.”

“Sure… but…” Blake held up the bottle with a grin. “Don’t you wanna have some fun first? There’s enough in here for two.”

Slowly, Mark began to walk forward. “What did you have in mind.”

“The same thing as you,” Blake smiled. “Revenge.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

... And Nothing But The Truth

(You can read Part 1 HERE)

“Well, how do I look?”

Blake might have been too modest to say it, but he had done an incredible job transforming Mark. The two had decided to have a little fun with the truth serum before going back out to punish Stan. Blake had started by turning Mark into the best version of himself, which meant perfect hair, perfect muscles, and the perfect dick. He hadn’t seen it yet, but he desperately wanted too. He was still a cock-hungry bottom slut after all.

“Still horny?” Mark said, taking the words right out of his head. Blake nodded. He didn’t want to say anything out-loud in case the truth serum was still in effect. If there was anything Blake had learned today, it was to be extremely careful with this powerful elixir. Just one sip, and anything you said became the truth. Anything.

“Here,” Mark reached out a hand, “I’ll turn you into something good. Not this twink bullshit.”

“Really?” Blake said, relieved.

“Of course!” Mark said, “it’s the least I could do. You’re the reason I’ve got this incredible body instead of being wrapped around John’s disgusting ass.” He laughed as he gave a little flex, sending a fresh blush across Blake’s face.

He handed the bottle to Mark, who popped open the cap and took a couple of drops. Blake felt a pang of fear as he saw the contents of the bottle: there were only a couple of small sips left.

“Alright,” Mark said, “who’s your favorite actor?”

“Sorry?”

“Actor, celebrity, ANYONE! Someone you find hot. Someone you’ve always wanted to be.”

The question stubbed Blake. Who wouldn’t he want to be? Anyone but the flimsy, fat-assed daddy chaser he was now.

“Can it be an athlete?” Blake asked.

“Anyone,” Mark said.

The image of him had crossed his mind briefly, before sticking and growing into swarm of fantasies that were now swirling around his head. They were about to become a reality.

“Well… I’ve always thought Gus Kenworthy was really hot.”

Mark gained. “Well today’s your lucky day, because you ARE Gus Kenworthy. Pro Olympic Skier, social justice champion, and handsome, hairy, and huge piece of man meat.”

The words felt like candy to Blake’s ears. Immediately, he felt a warmth overtake him, flooding his veins like adrenaline. This was nothing like the last transformation, which felt cold, humiliating. At that moment, Blake felt like he could fly.

“Ooooohhhh…” the young man moaned. His body shivered as the flab from his over-sized bottom ass vanished, transforming into solid muscle with the perfect amount of fat. The muscle ran down his thighs, bulking them to ham-size and pressing them against his formally loose briefs. Now, the fabric highlighted every curve of his astonishingly toned lower half, hardened and chiseled from years of skiing on the slopes of Colorado.

“Is… is that my ass?” Blake stuttered.

Mark laughed, “I think the real question you should be asking is: are those your abs?”

Blake looked down. The flood of adrenaline had made its way up to his torso, where he could feel his chest tighten into a solid rack of abs, his obliques turning to hard lines leading down to his crotch.

Muscle mass filled his pecs like two sand bags, and the sudden addition of weight to his frail frame caused Blake to stumble back. By now, his whole body had gone numb. He couldn’t feel himself fall to the floor, he couldn’t even hear himself moaning and screaming in intense pleasure. He could only feel the heat and the testosterone as it continued to shape and expand his muscles, broaden his frame, and cover his skin with a fresh layer of dusty blonde hair and tattoos.

“FFFFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK.” His hands were running wild across his body. His arms had just finished packing on lean muscle when the final muscle began its long awaited transformation. Blake had never seen Gus’ dick. He could only imagine the meat that guy was packing under all those snow clothes. But when Mark had said “huge piece of man meat,” he wasn’t just talking about his body…

It started out like the beginning of an orgasm. All the muscles around the base of his dick tense, all the blood went from his muscles down towards his crotch, sending fresh shivers throughout the rest of his body.

His head jerked. His mouth dropped. And Blake—or rather Gus—let out one final moan before firing his load off into his underwear. As he did, his dick grew by a full four inches, almost bursting the seams of the wet boxers as his tiny twink cock transformed into a true Olympic penis.

It was a full minute before Gus’ eyesight returned. The intensity of the orgasm was such that he could barely see anything. When he finally did, the first thing he saw was Mark, his gorgeous jock body hovering over him. He reached out a hand, helping Gus to his feet.

“Here,” he said, handing him a bottle of water, “you need to replenish.”

Gus took a big sip, and handed the bottle back to Mark. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his sweaty, bulging muscles sending a fresh rush of lust through his newly transformed body. He couldn’t stop looking at himself, admiring his olympian form, his handsome scruff, his irresistible smile.

“Fuck man… I’m hot as hell!”

“You must be,” Mark said, “neither John or me ever came like that when we transformed. As a matter of fact… we never came at all.”

“Well,” Gus said, “I guess it must have been how you said it.” He leaned in to give his new friend a kiss…

…But he pulled back. “Um… sorry.” Mark gave a nervous laugh. “I’m straight, actually. I’ve got a girlfriend. Well, I had a girlfriend a year ago. God knows where she is now.”

“I’m sorry.” Gus said, visibly disappointed.

Mark gave a weary smile, “I just don’t feel that way about guys, you know?”

A light went off in Gus’ head. “Do you want to?”

“Sorry?”

“Be gay. Or bi. I mean… wouldn’t it be nice to broaden your horizons?”

“I mean sure but, I can’t just choose to be gay.” At the same time, they both looked down at the truth serum, then back up at each other.

“You’re not suggesting—“

“—It would be totally up to you!” Gus said, defensive. “I know you were forced to change in the past. I don’t want to force you to do anything now.”

Mark looked into Gus’—or Blake’s—eyes. He saw a man who he admired, even if he wasn’t attracted to him per-sea. But deep down, he knew that he wanted to be.

“Sure,” he smiled, handing Gus back the bottle, “why not?”

No one in the gym ever used the sauna. It was relatively tiny, tucked away in the back of the locker rooms, and the temperature controls never really worked. However, this made it the perfect spot for a late night hookup, which was exactly what Gus anticipated would happen.

He closed the door behind Mark. He paced around in eager anticipation. “Did you drink it?”

Gus nodded as he held up the bottle. “There’s enough for one more sip after this,” he said with an air of gloom. After a moment of silence, Gus smiled cleared his throat. “Well, by order of the truth serum, I hereby declare you, Mark, bisexual.”

Silence. Mark looked around the room, then down at himself. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” Gus said, “that’s a question only you can answer.”

But Mark didn’t feel any different. He always thought changing his sexuality would come with fireworks, images of big wet dicks flooding his mind, but none of that was the case. Instead, he found himself taking notice of different things. About Gus. The way his muscles got all sweaty and glistening in the heat of the sauna, the way his pecs heaved up and down as he breathed in the hot air, the way his trail of hair pointed down from his six pack abs to his…

“Oh—“ Mark stumbled back onto the bench. His dick was hard as steel, fighting to get out of his underwear. He looked up at Gus, almost as if for approval. He smiled, nodded, and Mark got to removing his briefs.

It was the first time Gus got to see the dick he had created. It flopped out of the black fabric, a tiny bit of pre cum flicking out onto Mark’s sweaty chest, and waved in the air, unbalanced by its own weight. And as he watched Mark start to play around with it, he felt his hand instinctively move down towards his crotch, where his own dick was starting to awaken.

“Fuuuuuck man,” Mark said as he continued to beat off. He closed his eyes, focusing on the pleasure while Gus removed his underwear and got on his knees. He didn’t notice the olympic athlete’s mouth above his cock until he felt something hot and wet swallow all 8 inches of his salty stick.

He opened his eyes. Gus Kenworthy was on all fours, chocking on his dick like a pro. Mark gasped. The image alone was enough to send him over the edge, but with the intuition of someone who’d been doing this a long time, Gus took the cock out of his mouth and stroked it, slowly.

“I got you pretty close, didn’t I?” Gus said, a little bit of cum dripping from his smiling mouth.

Mark could only nod. “I… I didn’t know liking guys could be this much fun.”

“Oh and it only get better,” Gus said. He grabbed Mark’s ass and flipped him over. Mark gasped. The strength with with Gus was able to maneuver him around was so hot, that he found himself flashing his hole even before Gus reared up behind him.

The heat was so intense, both from the sauna and from inside of him, that he found himself saying and doing things that he never thought. “Fuck me,” Mark whispered, shoving his ass up against Gus, and twitching as he felt the weight of his meat slap on his exposed hole.

But Gus wanted him to enjoy this. Instead of shoving it right in, he grinded his cock up against Mark’s crack, feeling the warmth in-between his cheeks, and letting his sweat and pre cum lube up his continually flashing hole.

This drove Mark nuts. Within moments, he was moaning, loudly, begging for Gus’ cock. So much so, that Gus was scared someone would walk in at that very second. He leaned down and whispered to Mark, “you ready for this dick?”

“Yes… yes…” Mark said in-between groans. Gus smiled, leaned back, and slid himself inside.

Mark screamed. He was tight as hell, which was to be expected. He’d never had anything up his ass before, but when the sharp feeling of pain had passed, a euphoria unlike anything he had ever experience swept over his body. Gus’ dick was so long, it went straight for his prostate. With every thrust, Mark felt himself grow hotter and hotter, the sweat coming off his his muscles in sheets.

“FUCK!” He was cumming. Already. They had been fucking for less than as minute when Mark’s cock started to spew seed all over the bench bellow. It just kept coming, the cum, and the sheer image of Mark creaming over his dick was more than enough to send Gus over the edge as well.

“Fuck I’m… I’m… UGGGGHHHHH!” Gus thrust forward, freezing as his body tensed and shot yet another load, this time straight down Mark’s formally straight hole. Mark could feel Gus tense and writhe behind him, his body slammed up against his ass and hamstrings, sending more warmth throughout his ever scorching body.

The orgasms lasted longer than the actual fucking, but once both boys were done, they flopped down on the bench, panting hard.

“Better than straight sex?” Gus asked.

Mark laughed. “I’ll tell you next time I see my girlfriend,” he said, and patted Gus on the leg. “Thank you,” he looked into his eyes, “for everything.”

Gus smiled, nodding to the door. “Want to watch me turn Stan into something crazy?”

“Oh yes.”

Frank checked his watch for the third time in an hour. The hands on the little metal face seemed to be crawling towards the “12:00,” and he knew when they did, he would finally be able to close the gym. Normally, most of the people left by 8:00, and he would get to close early, go out drinking with his friends, and relax at home with some Netflix. But tonight was different. Tonight, he had to stay ‘till the very last second because, remarkably, the gym wasn’t empty. Remarkably, Stan—or the aging bodybuilder who referred to himself as “Stan”—and Alex were still there, pounding out reps at the benches, feeling each other’s hot, sweaty muscles and exchanging long, impassioned kisses in between sets.

“Can we go home now?” Alex whimpered like a little girl. When he heard this, Frank sat up in his seat. Was this finally it?

“Just a few more sets,” Stan said patting his boyfriend, each one landing on Alex’s thick chest with a loud *thud. “I wanted that ass pumped and plump by the time we get to bed.” He slapped Alex’s butt. Frank rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and preparing for another half hour of gay smooching.

And that’s when he heard a voice come from the locker rooms. “HEY!” someone called. Frank looked up to see two new guys standing out overlooking the mat, eyes glued on Stan with righteous fury. Frank didn’t recognize either of them, and all he could think as they walked forward was: how the hell did they get in here?

Stan threw up his arms. “You boys wanna join the party?” he said with a jolly smile. But Blake—or Gus rather—was not smiling.

“Oh come on Stan,” Gus said, “don’t tell me you don’t recognize your own freshman year lab partner.”

Stan’s brain worked like molasses as he put all the pieces together. First Blake, then Gus, and now… the truth serum. He frantically patted around his pockets for the small green bottle, but then he realized he didn’t have any pockets; he was wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of briefs.

“Looking for this?” the guy next to Blake said, holding up the small bottle. Stan lunged forward and grabbed it out of his hand. He uncorked the top and put it to his lips. Nothing. He shook the bottle. It was empty.

“Look’s like your luck has run out Stan,” Gus said, “I took the last sip.”

Stan reached over and grabbed Alex’s wrist. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Right now.” But Alex was transfixed on Gus’ body, lust burning at the corners of his gaze. “ALEX!”

“Alex,” Gus said, “don’t listen to that cranky old man. He’s not your boyfriend. I AM.”

In an instant, Alex pulled out of Stan’s vice grip and huddled behind Gus, feeling up his toned muscles and staring at Stan in fear and confusion. Suddenly, he was alone.

Stan dropped to his knees. “Please,” he pleaded with Gus, “just turn me back to normal. Please, I’ll be ugly again, I’m so sorry. Just make me normal.”

“I you will be normal,” Gus said, “in a few days, all of this will be just a strange bad dream. But until then, I think you’ve got to spend some time thinking about what you’ve done. And since you were so obsessed with getting into Alex’s pants, that’s where you’re going to spend it.”

Stan gasped. The air sucked right out of his lungs. He looked down to his chest to see that he was getting thinner. Flatter. He looked back up at Gus, a silent plea to reverse the transformation, but it was too late. He was shrinking down his face hollowing out and becoming white and silky.

His arms turned back and elastic, his legs sucking back up into his chest to form two large holes, and his back ballooning out into the shape of an ass, only to grow hollow and airy, just like the rest of him. By the time Alex removed his clothes and walked over to Stan, he was nothing but a pair of briefs, which Alex took and slid up his muscular legs.

Though he couldn’t express it verbally, Stan felt an inward feeling of euphoria as Alex’s cock filled up his face, as his pumped up ass pressed against his fabric. Though he knew it was only temporary, he also wouldn’t have minded becoming the hot personal trainer’s underwear. Permanently.

“How do I look?” Alex said, flexing and showing off to Gus, “I’ll let you do whatever you want with his body when we get home.”

Even as Gus imagined how amazing that would be, he knew exactly what he had to do. “Thanks Alex,” he said with a weary smile, “but I can’t. You’re going to go home. You’re going to go to bed, and you’re going to forget this day ever happened. I’ll see you for our training session next week.”

And with that, Alex put his clothes back on, and left.

Mark turned to Gus, mouth agape. “You just let him go?”

Gus picked up the empty bottle from the ground, fiddling with it in his hand. “I can’t have this much power,” he finally said, “nobody can. It’s not fair. It’s fun while it lasts, but you know better than anyone how dangerous it can be.”

Mark shuttered as he remembered all those months plastered onto John’s big sweaty body. “I suspect I’d enjoy it now that I like guys,” Mark said with a laugh, “but I get what you mean.”

They shared a moment of silence. After a minute or two, Gus said, “Alex is going to be pretty surprised when Stan randomly pops out of his drawers in a few days.”

“Yeah,” Mark laughed, “that’ll be something.”

“EXCUSE ME??” Frank called from behind the counter, “DO YOU SEE THAT CLOCK? 12:15. TIME. TO. LEAVE.”

As the two men made their way to the door, Mark turned to Gus and asked: “what are you going to do now?”

“Well, with a body this nice, I suspect anything I want. It shouldn’t be hard finding a real boyfriend at this rate.”

“Well maybe…” Mark stepped closer to him, “maybe you don’t have to.”

Gus looked confused. Then, he realized. “Don’t you have to find your girlfriend?”

Mark shrugged. “She’s probably found some other guy anyway. I know I have.” He smiled, and leaned in to kiss him. It was so passionate, so hot, that Gus could feel his dick sprinting up in his shorts. “Wow,” Mark said, feeling the Olympian’s dick through his pants, “someone’s excited.”

Gus winked. He took Mark’s hand, and they walked off together into the night.

“HELLO?” Frank called, “Anyone here?”

Mercifully, the locker room was empty. Finally, he thought, I can go home.

But just as he was walking out past the showers, he tripped on something. “Jesus!” he yelped, “what the fuck?” He looked down.

“These gay guys, I swear…” he reached town tenderly and picked up the long silicone dildo with two fingers. It wobbled seductively in his pinched grip.

Frank double checked to make sure the room was empty. When he was sure, he slipped it into his bag and rushed out of the room. No one needs to know, he thought. 

Besides, it’s not like I’m going to actually use it… right?

THE END

Are You Sure?

The best part about my boy is the part of him that peeks out, whatever I change him into. He’s always just so eager to play, to learn the rules of whatever role I’ve just shifted him into.

It’s almost a challenge for me at this point, to see if there’s some kind of guy that I can turn him into, where I would actually have a hard time finding him within.

I was astonished how much he just went with it when I first changed him.

“How would you describe yourself, Matt?” I asked him, lying in bed as he poked through out closet, picking out a shirt.

“Um…” he said, not really turning. “To who?”

“What kind of vibe do you give off, if someone were to see you on the street,” I said, staring at his back.

He gave a light laugh and slight shrug.

“I dunno, probably your average Brooklyn hipster, early 30’s, tall, skinny, boy next door in flannel,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I said, and he stopped. “Are you sure they wouldn’t see you as some scruffy jock on his way to the gym?”

And suddenly, he stood all the way up, his arms swelling, his floofy hair shrinking down into a buzzcut. A short beard crept along his face as his chest broadened, stretching out a Nike tee across his meaty pecs. He shrank down a few inches, his loss of height offset by his sudden broadness.

He turned to me. I froze, waiting to see his reaction.

And then, without missing a beat, he popped his arms behind his head and flashed me a grin.

“I can’t help it if people stare at my guns,” he said in his now lower voice, flexing his biceps, and taking a step toward me. He looked down at himself, and then back at me.

“Like what you see, babe?” he said.

I did.

He took a step closer.

“Want a whiff of these pits before I hit the gym then?”

I did.

I kept him as a jockboy for a week. And then, one morning, as he was pulling out a pair of gym shorts, I asked him, “How would you describe yourself?”

He gave a low, gruff chuckle.

“Probably some dumb, scruffy jock,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked, and he froze. “Are you sure people wouldn’t see you as some just turned 19, smooth faced skater boy?”

He looked at me the whole time he shrank, as his frame got leaner and leaner. Years melted off him as his beard and body hair disappeared, and a golden glow ran over his face and skinnier body. His lips got puffier, his eyes softer. I caught a glimpse of his slightly longer, spiky hair as a blue skater cap appeared on his head. The former gym rat, now 5'7’’, maybe 130 pound skater seemed less cocky, more boyish.

“I mean, the skateboard kinda gives it away,” he laughed, light and bubbly, still not breaking eye contact.

I stood up. He came up to my chest now. I wrapped my arms around his now lithe frame and kissed him. He melted into my embrace, leaning into my grip.

Our kiss finally broke and I looked down at him. And there he was, eyes alight. My same boy.

And so it went, for weeks. We would never talk about the change. I never asked him if he liked being one man over another. He had the same eager grin, no matter the man, no matter the role. An older dom daddy: my boy. A twinky porn star go-go dancer: my boy. A chubby chain smoking bear: my boy. A clean cut sailor on leave: my boy.

It’s Friday night. He’s about to cook us dinner when I call out,

“How do you think people see you?”

“I’m sure the glasses and patched elbows on my blazer give away that I’m some kind of academic,” he says, gently.

“Are you sure?” I grin. “Are you sure you’re not a kinky, gear addict slut?”

He adjusts the harness as it wraps around his chest and stares at me, on the bed.

“Dinner can wait, boy,” he growls.

And as he steps toward me, massive dildo in hand, I see it flash in his face.

My boy. I’m sure of it.