The Potion Room

NOTE: This story was inspired by multiple different anonymous requests.

Frank was dreading having to go to his grandma’s old house. Buried deep within the southern backwoods, the once tiny, charming mini-mansion had grown derelict over the years, and served only as a reminder of his grandmother’s lavish and secretive lifestyle. For years after her husband died, she had lived alone in the house, leading many of the local townspeople to suspect she’d turned to some form of witchcraft. Frank and his family never entertained this notion, of course, but truth be told, the never saw her often enough to know for sure what she did with her free time.

It had been just a few weeks since she “died.” Though a body was never found, the family could only assume something awful had happened. Perhaps she’d drowned herself in the same river as her late husband, or fell off a ledge on one of her long, early morning walks. Regardless, someone had to settle her estate, and Frank, being the eldest of her grandchildren, was saddled with the responsibility of driving down to that creepy old house to find the will.

It was almost dark as Frank pulled up, his headlights illuminating the dusty living room through a wide, antebellum-style window. The house, like grandma, was archaic yet oddly charming. He felt a tinge of both fear and comfort as he walked up the steps and opened the door. It was unlocked, leading him to suspect that burglars had already had their way with the property. As long as they didn’t take anything important, he thought as he began searching through the house.

Everything seemed eerily sanitized. The house was clean, save for a mountain of dirty pans in the kitchen. Had she been cooking something? Why would the door be unlocked? Why would the door to the basement be so open?

He’d never been in the basement as a child. It was one of the places he and his cousins were forbidden to enter, and he even felt the smallest inclination of guilt as he descended the stairs and turned on the light.

It appeared to be a wine cellar, only the wine bottles were smaller and were all clearly homemade. Grandma’s personal collection. On the table in the middle of the room was a note. Finally, Frank thought as he picked it up and read:

My dearest Frank,

To you I leave my most treasured collection. I implore you to read each label carefully before drinking, for if used right, this room could unlock your greatest potential. But if used incorrectly, it could unleash the monster in you.

Weird. Frank put down the note. He was disappointed. Out of everything she had, this was what she left him with? A dingy wine cellar?

Frustrated, Frank reached for one of the bottles. The label read: “Pinther” in her handwriting. Was it some special kind of brew? Frank didn’t even think. He popped the bottle off and began to drink, hoping to drown out the crushing disappointment that was growing heavier and heavier in his chest.

But it didn’t take like wine. Instead, it tasted like sugar water. It tingled and prickled his throat as it settled into his chest and began to expand. Oh shit, Frank thought, what did I just drink?

He didn’t have time to think because he was already falling backwards into a chair, his body seeming to suck itself in. His breaths became larger and deeper, and his body surged with an energy that he hadn’t felt since he ran track in high school.

His shirt was hanging loosely on his once bulky frame, and Frank tore it off to reveal a slim, runner’s body slowly beginning to chisel itself out of his fat.

“Holy shiiiiiiiooooooohhhhh fuck.” Frank shuttered as dopamine started to flood his system. He felt like he was on the brink of an orgasm, and his hands immediately started to feel up the hard new lines that decorated his body like a greek statue. He felt an immense attraction towards himself, and he stood up to admire his figure as the changes finished running their corse. 

“Fuck me man,” Frank said very literally as he admired his adonis body. He looked like a Calvin Kline model. Everything was perfectly proportioned, his skin perfectly toned and his muscles perfectly shaped. His jaw was chiseled and rough with stubble, and as he ran his hand over it and grinned, he could feel his dick growing ever more uncomfortable in his jeans.

He dropped them down to reveal a true beast of a cock, long and thin, with silvery pre-cum dripping from the tip. He had never been this turned on by his own physique, and the more and more he thought about touching his own body, the more his penis seemed to expand.

But then he remembered what he was doing here. What other potions might grandma have had stored in her collection? After all, it was Frank’s now. He could do what he wanted with it; he could BE anyone he wanted.

He reached for a random bottle on the shelf. Filled with horny excitement, he didn’t even read the label as he popped the cap and took a swig. This one tasted more sour, like tequila, and it burned his throat as it made its way down to his stomach, where it landed like a brick.

“Woah,” Frank remarked. Suddenly he felt very full, like he’d consumed a hefty meal. When he looked down he saw that his gut was starting to come back, but just as disappointment started to set in, he was hit with a tsunami of pleasure.

Frank stumbled around, his vision blurring. A warmth engulfed his body that was very different from the sharp coolness of the previous drink. This one made him feel numb, hot, and much larger. Literally, as he looked down at himself through the haze, he could see not just his gut was expanding, but EVERYTHING was expanding. His arms, his pecs, his thighs, his feet. Even his dick started to gain some chub to it.

“Lo que la cogida?” Frank remarked, than clasped his mouth. He had never spoken a word of Spanish, and yet as the warmth continued to spread, he struggled to remember anything in English. Who was the potion turning him into? He looked down one more time to see a light dusting of dark hair cover his thick, bulky muscles, and send him into a strange state of satisfaction.

When the changes started to subside, Frank began to admire his new body. It was thick as all hell, with bulging packages of muscle that made him want to cum right then and there. His skin had gained a slightly darker shade, and the stubble around his neck had grown into a thick beard. He was a handsome Spanish hunk alright, with a cock that seemed almost alien in its thickness and girth. Frank clasped it in his rough, hard hand, and started to stroke.

He threw his head back. “Ay dios mio…” Nothing compared to the feeling of letting his meaty dick slide through his calloused finders, wet with per-cum. He liked the feeling of letting his wet hands caress his thick muscles, flicking his nipples and toying with his big cushon-y ass.

He could have been perfectly content walking out of that room in his new form, settling down with some sexy girl or guy who’d worship his body every night. But no, Frank wanted more…

Latin Frank sauntered over to the shelf and reached down to the very body. His skin caressed itself as his bulking muscles rubbed each other, and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from shooting his load. Not yet, he thought, and reached for the very last bottle on the shelf.

It was black, and the label had been scratched off. He felt hesitant, that was, until he popped the cap and took a wiff. This potion smelled like night, like cool, crisp evening air, like dark mist forming at the base of forest trees. He didn’t care that the bottle was unwelcoming, or that he might have been overdoing it with grandma’s gift. He simply drank it just like every potion before.

He realized immediately that he’d made a mistake. His body flared with pain, REAL pain, as the liquid, fiery hot and bitter, set his throat ablaze. He dropped the bottle on the ground and growled in agony as his entire body began to seer like it was being doused with gasoline. He’d never felt pain like this, he’d never felt such an aching, burning desire to tear at his skin.

Frank looked down at his hands. He could see the veins popping, the muscles tensing, and the previously dusty hair around his forearms grow thick and bushy. But the one thing he noticed were his fingernails, which were growing long and dark. Like claws.

“Aggggghhhhh!” Frank screamed. His face was starting to shift too, his skin contracting to form an angrier, more canine face. He felt his teeth sharpen and expand, and as the pickle of hair began to erupt from his face, he let out a genuine howl.

Then suddenly, the pain stopped. For a split second, Frank was left in a strange state of fluctuation, halfway between man and wolf, before his hornieness returned. This time with a vengeance.

Frank panted, with each breath his fur-covered muscles expanding and expanding until his massive werewolf body took up the entirety of the basement. His cock grew to colossal size, cum now starting to flow steadily as he became enslaved in a state of unending orgasm. Frank was prisoner to the insanely erotic pleasure of his body. He was a monster, wiped of all humanity, replaced with raw sexuality.

“OOOOWWWWWWWW” Frank howled. Cum rocketed from his monster dick and practically flooded the room, soaking his dark fur and the enormous muscles that pulsed beneath. As he panted, collapsing to his knees, he thought of only one thing: fucking. He needed to hunt, he needed to pound, he needed to empty his fresh load, already filling up his orange-sized balls, into the ass of some unsuspecting guy.

Frank the horny werewolf clawed his way out of his grandma’s basement. It didn’t mean anything to him anymore. All that mattered was fucking, howling, and growing bigger and bigger. As he ran outside into the light of the now full moon, he let out a terrifying howl. He’d become the monster he was warned about. 300 pounds of pure, animalistic passion. And it was only just the beginning…