Best Costume

This was it. This was the year Andrew was finally going to win the costume competition.

It was a stupid game he and his friends had been doing since they were fifteen. Well, to them it was stupid. But they were all insanely handsome guys with insane amounts of time on their hands to make insanely cool outfits every Halloween. Andrew, on the other hand, had neither time, nor money, nor a particularly good body. So he always lost. To him, the contest was always a huge disappointment. 

Not this year.

This year, Andrew hit the gym. HARD. He worked out in every second of his spare time, and picked a costume that would rely more on his looks than any intricate prosthetics or outfits. All he needed was some body paint and a trident. Man, he thought, my pals are going to freak when they see how much I look like Aquaman.

Little did Andrew know, his friends would never get to see him in costume…

He was just preparing to leave the house when he first started to feel strange. At first, Andrew thought there was something in the body paint he had used to draw on all of Aquaman’s tattoos. His skin felt oddly rough, and though he looked fine when he checked himself in the mirror (very, very fine, if he said so himself), he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was living in someone else’s skin. Literally.

Andrew locked up the house and walked to his car. He wasn’t used to walking around shirtless. He wasn’t used to having a body he was comfortable showing off in the first place, but now that he did, he felt a new sense of confidence that made him keep walking even though he continued to feel weird as hell.

Something was very wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it; it was like his entire body was rejecting… him. He was caught somewhere between his normal, timid, over-worked self, and the mind and body of someone like a superhero. Someone who didn’t need to stress about something as menial as a costume contest.

But it wasn’t just mental; Andrew could feel his body getting ever so slightly bigger. He wasn’t even puffing his chest, and he could barely see his feet under his pecs. He’s gotten shredded, but not that shredded.

He got in the driver’s seat and reached to turn on the ignition. And that’s when he got a glimpse of his skin in the light of the porch. Only… it wasn’t his skin. It couldn’t be, his hand was a darker olive color, not his usual cream, and the body paint was impeded in the flesh like an actual tattoo. It couldn’t be…

Andrew rushed back inside, panting. He sprinted to the bathroom, turned on the lights, and stumbled back. The person standing in front of the mirror was NOT him. Andrew wasn’t this tan. Andrew wasn’t this jacked. And most importantly, Andrew’s hair wasn’t black!

And yet it was. In fact, Andrew’s ever changing body was making him look more and more like the real Aquaman every second. There was a part of him that just considered driving to the party anyway. If anything, this would give him a better shot at winning that stupid competition.

But the more Andrew thought, the less he could remember about the competition. About his friends. What was I doing? he asked himself, struggling to get a handle on who “he” even was as his body continued to transform before his very eyes. Muscles getting bigger, skin getting darker, hair getting coarser.

He could smell the sea wafting off of his thick, sweaty skin, pulled taut across his gigantic muscles. He longed for water. He needed to feel it run between his fingers, across his natural body.

He drew a bath, tearing off his pants, socks, and underwear with astonishing force and speed. He’d never been so relieved to be naked. He couldn’t get in the water with all these peaky clothes in the way. Besides, he got to admire himself a bit in the mirror as the bath filled up. He looked incredible; a body even Poseidon would envy.

If only Bruce could see me now. He thought. Wait a second… who’s Bruce?

Water touched his toes. The bath was overflowing. Andrew stepped into the tub and submerged himself completely, allowing the warm liquid to seep into every crevice. He was hard within seconds. It was like he was a beast in its natural habitat, a beast ready to fuck.

He dunked his head bellow the surface, feeling as the reality around him shifted and warped. The water went from warm to frigid. The tub went from tiny to endless. And his dick went from hard to rock solid.

He tensed. White hot cum rocketed from his cock into the water around him as his head breached the icy surface of the ocean.

“Having fun Arthur?” he heard Bruce say from the shore. This was Bruce Wayne, of course. The two were taking a Halloween “vacation,” which amounted to a lot of drinking, and a lot of fucking.

Arthur Curry  laughed, the tip of his still iron-rod dick just bobbing under the water. “A lot, actually,” he said with a wink. “Care to join me?”

Transformation Tuesday

You didn’t think your life would end up like this: a construction worker making pennies while you struggle to pay rent. You can’t even afford a gym membership, and have resorted to doing pull-ups on steel beams at your construction site.

It isn’t very effective.

So when you’re challenged to post a “Transformation Tuesday” picture, you begin to reflect on how little your situation has changed. And if it has, it hasn’t been for the better; you’re not as attractive as you once where, not as wealthy, not as happy.

You snap a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror. It’s lunch break at work, and you think: why not? No one has to see it, you don’t have to post it. Just keep it as a memory for yourself, a snapshot of where you were at this point in your ever crumbling life.

But as you look down at the photo, you notice it start to change. Suddenly, you’re not wearing your construction hard hat, the clothes starting to vanish off your body like someone undressing a Ken doll.

Now you’re looking at a photo of your naked body. Pathetic, you think. You used to be in such good shape, now your tattoos are stretched lazily across your arm, across your legs.

But the photo starts to change again; like someone pumping air into a balloon, your body starts to grow slightly bigger. You laugh as the image changes, almost like a cartoon, muscles blowing outward so fast and so exaggerated you can almost hear rubber sounds.

But as funny as it is, it’s also deeply arousing. As you watch the image change, you’re reminded of how fucking swole you used to be, about how much ass you got. You used to jack off to your own body after every workout. Yeah sure it was a little vain, but it was also a good motivator, to stay fit. To stay healthy.

You look down. You’ve been jacking off this whole time and you hand no idea. You consider stopping—someone might walk in on you. But you’re already so hard, and the picture on your phone just keeps getting hotter and hotter.

So you keep beating off, watching as the “you” in the picture starts jacking his own cock, a thick member the size of a baby’s arm. You realize you’re not looking at a photo now, but rather a live image of yourself.

You cum, just as this realization hits. Hot spunk plasters the bathroom mirror, and you look up in astonishment. Muscles you didn’t even know you had cling tight to your body. Your dick, longer than it’s ever been, throbs in your tight grip, your tattoos contracting against your thick, muscular body.

It wasn’t just the picture: YOU were transforming. And you’re not even finished.

You feel clothes wrap around your body. Familiar clothes, your old gym clothes. Your sweat drenched tank top, skin-tight Lycra pants. Not only that, but you see the bathroom shift around you. You’re no longer at your crappy construction site, you’re in the locker rooms at your favorite gym.

It’s impossible, yet so immediate. This is your life—your real life. The one you’ve always dreamed of having. You’re not a dead-end construction worker, but a wealthy contractor. You don’t live in a shitty apartment, but a beautiful condo overlooking the city.

But you really live at the gym, where you spend hours working on that incredible body of yours. Give it a flex, and give us a smile. It’s Transformation Tuesday, and this selfie is gonna be bomb.

A Big Birthday (ASK)

Tonight, you’ll go to bed with the same thought you have before every birthday: it’s just another day. And sure, there’s nothing truly “special” about a birthday. You don’t look or feel any older than the day before. Nothing really changes… except for the date.

But tomorrow will be different. Because tomorrow, in the wee hours of the morning, something is going to happen that will change your life forever.

It’ll start with a dream. In the dream, you’ll be walking in a thick forest, dense trees on either side. Mist will start to rise off the mossy ground, rising to your knees, then up to your waist. Before you know it, you’ll be submerged in a powerful, purple haze, seeping under your clothes and tickling your pores.

You’ll fall back against a tree, panting hard as a feeling of arousal overtakes your body. As you look down through the haze, you’ll be able to make out skin rippling and rising like a tide across the surface of your body. Only when you run your hand across it will you be able to feel the muscles building inside, will you be able to grasp the extent of your rapid change.

Your knees will shake. Unable to hold the weight of your new muscular body, you’ll collapse onto the forest floor, where the mist is at its thickest.

The changes will increase. Hair sprouting from every inch of you, until you’re covered in a thin carpet of tiny black fibers, each so sensitive that one brush of your own hand will send you writhing in pleasure.

You’ll start to think of the ramifications of this transformation; about how sex will feel with the body of a hyper-masculine god. Your mind will go to the dozens of partners you’ll have, the harem of men lined up in worship of your body. People will come from miles around to feel you flex, to touch your thick hairy pecs, and feel your heart fluttering as gallons of cum spew from the tip of your cock.

Speaking of cock, I almost forgot about your last change. In the thick of the mist, you’ll feel a strain against your pants, An insatiable urge as primal as hunger or thirst, a desperate need to release your seed.

With one violent tug, you’ll tear your jeans to shreds, unleashing a freshly grown 12-inch dick, and with one powerful thrust, you’ll shove it into the ground like a pike in fresh soil. The first orgasm will hit you. Then the second. Then the third. Each time you’ll worship your own body more passionately, caressing and groping and slapping your hard hairy flesh until you’ve got no more cum left to give. Until you’re nothing more than a panting, sweaty mess, thrusting into the forest floor like a wild animal.

And then you’ll wake up.

At first, everything will be sore. Your mind will drift to memories of last night’s dream in wistful longing. If only it were real, you’ll think. You won’t even notice how disproportionate your body will feel as you stumble to the bathroom to get a look at yourself in the mirror.

That’s right; it wasn’t a dream. For your 25th birthday, you’ve been given the gift of pure masculinity. The body some guys will work their entire lives for yet never achieve. The body Greek poets wrote entire volumes about.

And what will you do with it? Beats me, though I suspect you’re going to spend your big 25 with a guy who can take that foot long cock. Maybe even several of them. Who’s to say. All I know is that you’re going to have a very, very happy birthday. 

How’s that for “just another day?”

Play Ball

 It was hot. That was the first thing that went through your mind as you stepped up to the plate, the metal bat slipping in your sweaty hands. But you weren’t just hot; you were nervous. Because this was your first time ever playing baseball—any sports for that matter.

The game was your friend Connor’s idea. He worked for a non-profit, and everyone at the office was pretty athletic, so why not hold a baseball game as a fundraiser? Not a bad idea, right? But unlike Connor and the rest of his work buddies, you’re about as far from athletic as a guy could get. So when Connor approached you about coming on Sunday to help out the team, your gut instinct was to stay on the bleachers.

But this was Connor. The same Connor who you crushed hard on through all of high school. The same Connor who lived with you Sophomore year of college, the same Connor you jacked off to all those times, ear pressed to the wall as he nailed some chick in the room next door. You wished it were you he was nailing… and you still did.

So there you found yourself, sweaty, hot, and totally lost as the pitcher stared you down from across the field. You could feel Connor’s eyes on your back, hear his encouraging calls from the stands: “YOU CAN DO IT MAN!”

You didn’t want to let him down. So when the ball started flying at you at lightning speed, you closed your eyes and swung.

“STRIKE ONE!”

At first, it felt like you threw your back out. Had you swung too hard? If not, then why was every inch of your body aching like all hell? Your sweaty shirt clung tight to your chest. This was not normal.

You tapped the plate, trying to remain cool. But you could feel your muscles practically erupting from your clothes. Judging eyes turning to those of lust, as the female co-workers from Connor’s job started whispering to themselves. It wasn’t just getting hot: YOU were getting hot.

As the pitcher wound up for another curveball, your tore off your sweat-soaking shirt. Literally tore, causing an audible gasp from the crowd. Even from Connor.

You blushed. The body you were once so keen on hiding away under layers of clothes was now wet and heaving for the entire world to see. It was embarrassing… and thrilling. You bounced your pecs—something you were never able to do before, as a cocky ego rose to match your thick, athletic body, a toothy smile to match your rippling back muscles and washboard abs.

You were too busy admiring the baseball-sized biceps now flexing instinctively on your arms to notice the actual baseball zoom past your face.

“STRIKE TWO!”

And that’s when things got out of hand. Because your body couldn’t stopgrowing. You felt the sweat gather on your brow as you felt your thunderous thighs brush up against each other, creating friction around your nether regions. You shivered as your butt cheeks grew tighter and tighter, your glutes expanding past what was considered a “normal” sized ass for an athlete.

As a matter of fact, you were beginning to look less and less like an athlete every second… unless the sport was go-go dancing. Your pecs were comically large, your feet ridiculously big, your arms absurdly thick.

But the worst part? You were getting INSANELY horny. Right in front of everyone you knew. You knew you should have been disgusted by your body, morphing and changing like you were being photoshopped in real time by a horny slut. But fuck did it turn you on…

You could feel the pants straining on both sides: in front, trying to contain your rock hard dick, now just as big and meaty as the rest of your hysterically hot body. In the back, your ass crack creeping out the top of your gym shorts, which were several sizes too small for those titanic jugs of jiggly flesh.

There was nothing you wanted more than to tear it off—just like your shirt. To let it all hang out in hard, sweaty glory for the whole team to see. For Connor to see. But there was a part of you, small as it was, that tried to keep composure as the pitcher reeled up for his final throw.

Focus… focus…

There was a loud CRACK as the bat made contact with the ball, sending it flying over the fence on the other side of the field. Somewhere in the background, the umpire was yelling “HOME RUN!” and the crowd was going nuts, but you didn’t hear any of it.

Because the final stage of your transformation had taken effect. Now, it wasn’t just your body chemistry that was changing: it was your brain chemistry. As you watched that ball zoom over the fence, you also felt the last bits of inhibition leave your mind—along with a fair share of logic. From then on, you weren’t hiding anything. Not your gayness, not your love for Connor, and certainly not that ass of yours.

Murmurs struck out amongst the crowd as the elastic of your shorts gave way and slipped down over your butt, coming to rest just beneath your trunk. But you didn’t mind. If anything, you relished in the attention. Especially from Connor, who’s eyes you could feel slipping from your back down to your crack.

You gave it a playful itch, sending him absolutely wild. You just couldn’t wait until the game ended and you could take him home and shove his face down there and let him go to town on your hungry hole. You couldn’t wait for him to fuck you silly like all those girls in college, grinding up against his hips and milking his cock with your big stripper ass.

And that’s exactly what you did. From that day on, things would never be the same for you and Connor. He would never know a day when he didn’t think about coming home to that delicious body of yours. But your changes were far more extreme. All you could think about now was showing off your “assets.” It might have gotten you kicked off the baseball team, but you’ve been making bank down at the local strip club.

Besides, sports was never really your thing anyway, right?

30 Years Later (ASK)

A dangerous thing, messing with time like that… it’s not enough that I’d be turning you into a 50-year-old man—that would be easy. No, you want to see yourself in 30 years. That kind of transformation can be tricky.

Why? To put it simply, I won’t have very much control. See, if I start advancing your body clock, I can only make small adjustments along the way. Like the color of your hair, the size of your cock.

The fact is, I don’t know what your behavior is going to be like over the next 30 years. You could be working out consistently, or decide to stop working out altogether. You could decide to get piercings all over your body, or a tattoo or a mermaid on your ass.

These are all decisions you will ultimately make, but you might not necessarily mean to make them now, and there won’t be anything I can do to stop them from happening.

Still interested? Of course you are. That’s why you’ve come here. Well, at least you want to start slow. This means the transformation won’t hit you all at once. God willing you won’t be able to even tell you’re changing until a week or so in. If anything, you’ll just look like a slightly more mature version of yourself; more vascular, maybe even a few gray hairs…

I’d say 30-year-old you seems to have taken nice care of himself, wouldn’t you? Looks like you were going to keep up your workout regime, maybe throw in some more weights. Wow, this looks to be going a lot better than I expected…

Now, the next week, you’ll start to notice more concrete changes. People make a lot of lifestyle changes in their 30’s; they get married, start a family, settle down. Don’t be scared if you put on a little weight, maybe start to loose some of your hair. This is natural.

In your case, I wouldn’t be too worried. If you’re in this great shape at 30, I think 40-year-old you is gonna look even sharper.

Uggggghhhh… maybe I was wrong.

Nothing to be alarmed about! Again, you’re still looking nice and muscular, although you seem to have put on more weight than I expected. Not to worry, like I said, 30’s can be rough on people. And you seem to have *ahem* let yourself go a bit.

You still look like you work out, but you’ll probably end up eating a lot more, which would explain why your six-pack is looking more like a one-pack. But look at the bright side! I bet the girls love that grizzly-man beard of yours…

What do you mean girls won’t talk to you anymore? That’s absurd! College girls can be so picky with their guys. If they’re not young, they’ve gotta be jacked. And while you’re certainly “jacked” you’re looking more “dad-bod” than “beach-bod” at the moment.

But you’ll be entering your 40’s next week. And in their 40’s, guys tend to start hitting the gym A LOT more, not to mention improving their diets. Call it a mid life crisis, if you will.

Now THAT’S more like it! Turns now that mid life crisis served you well: you’ve made it to 50 a bonafide bodybuilder. I’m sure it wasn’t easy… for your future self that is. Speeding up your body clock was a piece of cake, and I’m sure you enjoyed waking up every morning to find a new pound of muscle added to your frame, a new maturity to your gait and a depth to your voice.

Now, the bad news is that I couldn’t find any of your female peers who were willing to hook up. Sadly, it appears older guys don’t hold much appeal once they’ve past 35, and you look a solid 53 right now (but a handsome 53, if I do say so myself).

But you said you didn’t mind guys, right? Well, I sure hope you did, because as it turns out, the guys at school have gone even more crazy for you once you’ve started rapidly aging. There’s a whole line of horny college twinks waiting to get their hands on your “dad-bod” though I don’t think it would be fair to call it that anymore. I think “daddy” will work just fine.

Better get used to hearing that, bud.

Possess, Hypnotize or Transform 2 (ASK)

Possess and hypnotize would be easy: Henry Cavill’s body would make an excellent vessel (though it might take a while to adjust to walking around with so much pure, hard muscle), but once I’ve got the hang of it, I’d hypnotize Evans into being my sub. I bet he’s a top, so his ass is probably tight as all hell.

 But the real question is: what would I transform Hoechlin into? A real werewolf? A new harness? Maybe merge him with Evans’ ass? But then I thought… two asses are better than one, right?

So I think I’d transform him into another partner. One more suitable for my powerful, dominant body.

It wouldn’t be easy… for him, that is. Having all that muscle sucked back into your body, shrinking by a full foot, loosing almost all you hair, on your face, on your chest…

But by the time he’s finished, I’d have my very own bottom twink to fool around with, his ass tailored to my swinging, superstar cock. It would be nice to have someone I can pick up and toss around as I’m fucking, and with a super enhanced sex drive, I doubt Hoechlin would miss his old body.

Tease

Fuck me… so… sensitive… god I can’t take this anymore. What the fuck are you waiting for? You’re driving me insane! Can’t… think… need… cock… inside me… NOW.

Ten hours ago, Dylan would have never guessed he’d be in this situation. It all started like your average Grindr hookup: it was a Friday night and Dylan was horny—as he usually was on Friday night. He hopped on his app, and within minutes, was chatting with this guy who called himself “Alan.”

“Alan” was cute as fuck, and had one hell of a dick. The two agreed to meet at a bar near Dylan’s apartment, as he was hesitant to jump into some random guy’s bed without having a drink first, no matter how horny he was.

The two hit it off instantly. Dylan had only anticipated having a beer, but before he knew it, they had been talking for hours, and both were a little tipsy.

The conversation started to get more and more sexual. Dylan and Alan talked about their preferences: who liked to be on top. Who liked to be on bottom.

“I always top,” Dylan said. “I’m really not a bottom.”

“That so?” said Alan with a wink and a smile.

Dylan decided to play along. “Oh,” he said, “you think you can change my mind?”

“Let me just say this: by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for me to shove my cock inside you.”

Dylan blushed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one heard them. “Don’t believe me?” Alan said. Dylan laughed.

“It’s going to take a lot for me to get that thirsty,” he said.

Alan smirked. “I don’t doubt it.”

Needless to say, they were back in Dylan’s apartment in no time. Dylan was practically tearing his clothes off, but Alan stopped him.

“Patience,” Alan said in a soothing voice. But Dylan wasn’t patient. He wanted to fuck Alan. Now. “Just give me a minute to freshen up,” Alan said, and he disappeared into Dylan’s bathroom.

Dylan flopped down on the couch. Patience was not his strong suit. And Alan was taking forever. If he didn’t get off soon, he thought he was going to burst.

After a good twenty minutes of no Alan, Dylan said “fuck it,” and whipped out his dick. He came within seconds, and passed out right there on his couch, exhausted and drunk.

---

When Dylan awoke the next morning, something hot and wet was caressing his face. At first it felt like a dog licking his cheek, but something was different. Whatever was caressing his face was also caressing his asshole. And his dick. And every single part of his body. And it was driving him wild.

What the fuck is going on? Dylan thought, and why the fuck am I so horny? And that’s when he heard an all too familiar voice call out from above him.

“Someone was impatient last night.”

It was Alan. Dylan tried to say something, but his mouth couldn’t move. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t move period.

What did you do to me?? Dylan thought. Alan laughed, as if he could read his mind.

“You just couldn’t wait to get yourself off last night, could you?” Alan said, “it’s typical of you tops, always needing to stick your dick in something. I don’t blame you; I’m having loads of fun teasing you with my cock right now.”

Knowing that it was Alan’s dick gently rubbing his body only made Dylan more horny. He was getting wet with Alan’s warm pre cum, each soft touch of his penis head driving him closer and closer to the edge. And yet, he couldn’t cum himself.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” Alan continued, “not being able to rub your dick, but so desperately needing to be filled with one? I told you I’d have you begging, that is, if you could even beg.”

As much as Dylan hated to admit it, Alan was right: he needed that dick inside him, and the more Alan teased him with his head, the more primal his urge became. This wasn’t just any kind of horny; Dylan was hungry for Alan’s cock, starving for it. He would have swam through an entire ocean if it meant just the tip of Alan’s dick parting the walls off his ass… or his face…

Alan laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not going to leave you like this forever. But once I turn you back into a human, you’ll never be the same. You won’t be able to get off unless there’s something in your ass. Preferably a dick… and preferably mine.”

Wait… human again?

“You heard me!” Alan said, “Although I must say; you do make a pretty killer fleshlight.”

Dylan panicked. His Grindr hookup hadn’t just made him immobile: he’d turned him into a sex toy. He’d never felt so powerless in his life. Not only because his body had been replaced with plastic, his mouth and ass morphed into one long, rubbery slit, but because Alan was depriving his new body of its one basic need: cock.

Please, fuck I’ll do anything. I’ll stay with you forever, I’ll stay your fleshlight. Just part my lips and feed me your meat RIGHT NOW. fuck me with that dick and fill me with your cum. FUCK, I can’t take it. Can’t… take it. Need… cock… please… please…