Ice Bath

 

It is said to be drawn from ancient spring waters dating all the way back to the time of the pharaohs. The clear blue ice which gives the bath its legendary chill supposedly originated from a meteor that struck the Earth thousands and thousands of years ago.

To you, however, it looks like your ordinary ice bath, no different than the dozens you took when you played sports back in high school. But it’s been so long since dipping your toes in such freezing cold water. Just staring at the mystical bath sends shivers down your spine.

Impulsively, you remove your clothes, as if the very water is calling out to you, overwriting your fears and amplifying your curiosity. It is said that the bath can rewrite the very fabric of your existence, a sort of bridge between possible lives and infinite existences. 

Which new existence awaits you? 

As you lower yourself into the glistening pool of diamonds, as that cruel cold stings your feet like angry wasps, you allow your mind to wander, imagining all the different ways the bath may transform you. Will it give you a perfect body? Perfect hair? Will it bring you money, fame, and renown? 

Or perhaps, all of the above.

But your fantasies begin to fade as violent shivers wrack your naked body. Not even the chilliest baths from your athletic days hold a candle to this unique breed of cold. You feel as if you are trapped inside a glacier. You shake, and shake, and shake, until the very tendons holding your muscles together seem to break loose and rearrange themselves.

And just like that... it stops. The shaking, the cold. All feeling in your body vanishes as you enter a stage of total transformation. A piece of clay to be molded and shaped as the ice bath sees fit. 

You see yourself reflected in a thousand different ice cubes, your face shifting and contorting as the water literally rebuilds your DNA from the ground up. In an instant, your vision becomes clear as crystal, and two sapphire gems stare back at you from the bath. With your brand new eyes, you study the dark, handsome visage filling each tiny reflection, hues of golden brown speckling your chin… your upper lip... 

Facial hair. You can see it sprouting up at the very bottom of your vision, just beneath your cheeks. You’ve never had much facial hair, and seeing it grow out of your own skin is strange in a way you struggle to comprehend.

But past the reflections — under the ice — is a sight even more impossible to wrap your mind around. At first, you think it must be a trick of the light, distorted by all the chunks of frozen water between you and your body. Skin isn’t supposed to move like that, like the thin rubber of a balloon as it fills with air. 

And yet: it is. Bubbling and bulging, an ever shifting pattern of flesh, muscle and bone, at once grotesque and astonishing. If you could still feel, you imagine it would be like being torn apart, disassembled and reassembled at lightning speeds. But you’re still numb, as if your mind is off in some distant space watching your body through a television screen. 

You take a breath, and with it, two fantastic pecs emerge from the bath like islands. Your pecs, hard and solid as the ice being pushed aside to make way for them. You can see your entire body hardening now as the water continues its work: biceps thrice the size of your original arms, legs dwarfing their original length, and an ass so magnificent, it raises your entire upper body an inch above the water line. With a vast, rippling back and two quarterback shoulders sandwiching you between each side, you have become so large that you can’t scarcely move around in the tub. 

You are frozen — literally frozen, witnessing your body transform into that of a god’s. Though still submerged, you swear you see your torso contort into a six pack and adonis belt: an elaborate array of hills and valleys leading down to the only part of your anatomy the ice bath has yet to alter.

And that’s when the first sensations begin to arise, the first tangible awareness of your new form. It starts as a quiet heat, burning in your chest like a lone candle before spreading around your entire body. When the heat reaches your crotch, it becomes something else, something stronger, more primal: arousal. 

The bath is making you horny as fuck, as an intense desire to be touched, to explore your new body fills you with white hot yearning. Your hands glide over your new skin, feeling every nook and cranny under the ice. Your fingers trace the lines of your obliques all the way down to your cock, and you begin to stroke, feeling it get longer, harder, and thicker with each tug.

You have now entered the final stage of your transformation, the one where the bath washes away your old self and fills you with new purpose, new memories. In this case, memories of growing up in Australia with your two brothers, of playing one of the most iconic movie characters of all time. Of getting married, getting more roles. Getting jacked. 

Getting hard… 

So, so hard…

Warm cum erupts into the freezing cold water, and with it, any trace of your old life. You are now Chris Hemsworth. Always have been, always will be. 

“Ready?” Your trainer calls from beside you. “You’ve been in there for ages.”

With his voice comes that all-too familiar feeling of cold. Now, this might as well be any other ice bath. The work is done, the fabric of reality properly folded. 

It takes you a moment or two to remember what you’re even doing in here. Right: you’re training for the new Thor movie, giving yourself a much-needed ice bath between sets. As exquisite as your body may be, you’ve still got a lot of work to do. After all, if you’re going half-naked on camera again for the whole world to see, you just need to act like a god. You need to actually look like one. 

If you ask me, you’re pretty goddamn close. 

You emerge from the water, shivering slightly as the fresh air kisses your skin. Though in your head you know this is just an ordinary ice bath, no different than the hundreds you’ve taken in the past, something about seeing your body rise up out of the icy water and into the sunlight makes you feel triumphant. Alive, like a new man. 

Your trainer offers you a towel, but you wave him off. “I’m fine, really,” you say in a deep, Aussie accent that feels at once familiar and alien in your mouth.

“Crazy bastard,” he laughs, shaking his head. And you do feel a little bit crazy for missing the freezing water and the biting chill of the ice. 

Perhaps, it’s not the ice you miss so much as the effect it had on you. Perhaps, you miss the feeling of being made new, of watching your body burst forth with growth, of feeling your muscles with new hands. Of knowing you are being made new.

Perhaps, this won’t be the last time you visit the ice bath. There are infinite futures awaiting anyone who enters the legendary waters, and I have no doubt they will call to you once more. 

But not today. You’ve got a movie to shoot, big guy! Not to mention a shit ton of training left. The life of a celebrity sex symbol is always busy, but I think you’re going to enjoy living it. Perfect job, perfect house, perfect body… it really doesn’t get much better than this. 

Go get ‘em, tiger.

Oh Snap! (ASK)

 

Thank you so much! A Chris Hemsworth transformation, you say? 

Well you’ve cum to the right place! Hemsworth transformations are my specialty, my bread and butter, so to speak. If I had a dime for every time I’ve turned someone into that man—or turned that poor man into something else—I’d probably be about as rich as him!

Now let’s see, you want Chris to be your dumb boyfriend, is that right? Ha! I could do that in my sleep! All it takes is some simple mental rewriting (and perhaps a little extra muscle) and presto! I’ll have it done in a snap…

… Literally!

Oh shit.

Um… so… here’s the deal: there’s a chance I might have spoken a little too soon. Oh don’t worry, everything’s fine! No one is getting dusted. Your request just got a little… um… how to put this delicately…

Let’s just say I might have gotten a bit cocky and mixed up “who” the subject of transformation was. Again: nothing to worry about. There will be a dumb, extra large version of Chris Hemsworth standing in this room momentarily.

There’s just a tiny chance that it might be… you.

Oh please don’t be mad, I know this is not what you signed up for. But as someone who has turned into Hemsworth many-a-time, I can promise you: the process is pleasurable and painless, though your difference in body types will certainly make for a... *ahem… drastic change.

And hey, look at the bright side! You’ll have guys literally crawling over your big, muscular body. Trust me, I know from experience. The downside? Well, you did specifically ask for him to be “dumb,” so I can’t say you’ll be the sharpest tool in the shed, and that’s to say nothing of—

You’re not even listening to me anymore, aren’t you?

Things are looking a bit different, aren’t they? Bigger arms, smaller waist. It feels pretty freaky, I know. We haven’t even gotten to the changes below the waist, and believe me when I say that Hemsy’s biceps ain’t even his biggest asset. 

But you gotta admit… it also feels pretty great. All that muscle packing onto your skeleton. All that power surging through your veins. You’re probably finding it hard to think about how much you’re changing, about the man you are becoming.

Fuck, you’re probably finding it hard to think period! I’m so sorry, man. This never happens… okay, it rarely happens. There was that one time I accidentally turned a guy into a cock ring for his crush, but that’s a story for another day. Besides, he ended up really enjoying himself, and I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy yourself too. 

I can see that horny fog descending over you now, that desire to fuck above all else. I can see that extra muscle I talked about packing onto Hemsworth’s frame, making you look more like a pinup model than a Hollywood celebrity. What’s the term you used? 

Right: “himbo.” 

Well, congratulations: that’s exactly what you’ve become. At least try and keep it in your pants, Hemsy. Not that that’s even possible with your massive new tool.

Smooth Sailing

 

This is a terrible idea, James thought to himself, the “idea” here being a body swap with the captain of his parent’s prized yacht. Then again, if he hadn’t lied to that smokin’ hot chick from the party about knowing how to drive a boat, he wouldn’t have had to swap bodies with the old fart in the first place. 

Conversely, captain McFadden was having the time of his life. He’d always had a soft spot for the Thurston’s incredibly dumb — and incredibly hot 27-year-old son, though “soft” wasn’t exactly a good word to describe the captain’s feelings for James, since it was difficult to stay “soft” whenever James would stumble into the bridge, drunk, half-naked and asking for some stupid shit like “can I snap a pic with the big wheel for my insta?”

But what James has asked for that day exceeded even the wildest expectations of the horny, middle-aged captain. “It’ll only be for an hour,” James pleaded (as if McFadden needed convincing) “just make it look like I know how to sail, and then we can swap back. I promise!” James spoke as if he were getting the better end of the bargain. This girl must be really hot, the captain thought, though he might not be the best person to judge that. He was very, very gay, and getting to spend some time in the young man’s photo-ready body had been a fantasy he’d jerked off to many-a-time.

So they came to an agreement: one hour in each other’s bodies. The cap would show off his “legendary” sailing skills, while James would stand back, and wait until his girl was properly impressed. They’d swap back, and it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

But things rarely go according to plan when it comes to swapping bodies. Because who’s to say which parts of you get swapped… and which parts stick around?

Everything seemed normal at first. Well, as “normal” as things could be after a body swap. McFadden felt incredible: the first thing he noticed was how much lighter he was. He’d jumped from 270 pounds to 185 — and lost all of the body fat he’d been accumulating from sitting behind the wheel for the last forty years. He must have spent five full minutes just posing in the mirror, running his hands over James’ muscles. 

“Stop that!” James pleaded in the captain’s raspy old voice. He, on the other hand, felt weird as fuck. He gripped his fatty, flabby new body with a mix of wonder and disgust. The captain had really let himself go, and now James was paying the price. He also had to keep itching and adjusting McFadden’s package; turns out his body wasn’t the only thing about him that was “big.” 

Jesus, James thought, I didn’t need to know how big this guy’s dick is. Gross! He kept reminding himself that this was a means to an end, that in less than an hour, he’d be back in his cabin, back with is girl, and balls deep inside her. 

And that’s when James began to notice something was wrong. Because all of the sudden, the thought of fucking his girl made his dick shrivel and shrink (which, thankfully, made it easier to walk around). But every time he looked at his own body behind the wheel, sweaty and smiling and shirtless, he had to struggle to hide his erection. Maybe I’m just a little obsessed with myself, James reasoned. But this was no ordinary narcissism; James and the captain hadn’t just swapped bodies…

They’d swapped sexualities. 

“Where’s the horn?” Jame’s girl asked in a dumb, airy voice. They were all three in the bridge now: McFadden at the helm, his girl on his lap, and James standing awkwardly behind the E.O.T. in an attempt to hide his criminally large boner. 

“You wanna hear it?” McFadden said seductively. Never in a million years would he have expected to be turned on by such a ditsy, feminine presence. But the way she studied his body with those “fuck me” eyes made a tent in James’ $100 board shorts. As he reached up to blare the fog horn, he let his erect cock brush against the side of her thigh. With one hand, he honked the horn, forcing James to jump back in surprise. With the other, he slipped a finger under her hot pink bikini. Just as he suspected: she was wet as the ocean. 

“Thanks a bunch cap,” McFadden said as he hoisted the giggling girl over his shoulder and made for the door, “I’ll be in my cabin if you need me.” He gave her ass a hearty slap, causing her to squeal.

“W—wait!” James stammered, sweating like a stuck pig. “Y—you said—“

“Said what?” The captain smiled. Then, he leaned in and whispered: “it’s only been twenty minutes, son. I’ve still got forty. That was the deal, right? One hour?”

As much as James hated to admit it, the old fart was right. McFadden pointed down at his former crotch. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun taking care of that.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving James alone, frustrated, and horny as all hell. Just as the captain had been every day sailing on the Thurston’s yacht.

He spun around and dropped his pants. McFadden’s dick was even bigger than it felt, near the size of a beer can and leaking fresh pre all over the spotless deck. James wanted to feel disgusted. He wanted to gag at the sight of the fat old captain’s hairy bear cock — his cock. 

But more than anything, he wanted to stroke it. He wanted his own, hot muscular body to get down on all fours and suck it dry. He wanted to bend over the radar and let his own body take him from behind. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be used. He wanted… to… oh no… 

“GAGHHH!” James growled as he soaked the bridge with his cum. Turns out McFadden was a grower, a shower, and a shooter. James would never look at the salty sea captain the same way again, not now that he knew what the poor guy had to endure watching him strut around the boat half-naked all the time. Sometimes, it takes walking around in someone else’s shoes to learn some decency and respect. James had to learn that the hard way. 

The very, very hard way.

The "D" Word

 

The cap was working, as far as Russ could tell.

Not one hour ago, he was 20 going on 21, hovering below 140 lbs with nery a hair that wasn’t on top of his head.

But that had all changed. Russ wasn’t going to wait for a body that would never come; he wanted to feel the power and authority that came with maturity, he wanted guys to faun over his muscles, to worship the very ground he walked on, and present their asses for fucking. He wanted to be called… well… let’s just say this cap was the solution: a powerful magical object that would turn him into the very word printed across the top.

The first part of the transformation was all about aging him up. Moments after first putting the cap on, Russ felt his head fill with memories, memories of a future he had not yet experienced. Over the last hour, Russ remembered hitting the gym hard throughout his 20’s and 30’s. He remembered even entering some bodybuilding competitions when he was in peek form. He remembered getting married, having a kid, working out, getting divorced, retiring early, working out, getting a tattoo, finally coming out, and working out some more...

Now, his body was beginning to remember too. Russ groaned in both pleasure and agony as his muscles underwent decades of growth and development in a matter of minutes. Pecs that were previously non-existent now swelled to the size of footballs, forcing poor Russ to lay on his back and writhe as his frame struggled to accommodate for all the new mass. He could scarcely bend his arms now that they were ripe with hard muscle. Russ watched with a mix of horror and amazement as his biceps inflated like bubbles, the taut skin revealing tapestries of veins underneath.

A loud crack as Russ’ new skeleton finally snapped into place. The growth proceeded at a much quicker pace now. Russ craned his muscular neck just in time to see his abs appear beyond the canyon of cleavage obstructing his vision. But when he looked back again a moment later, they themselves had vanished into a huge muscle gut, which was now rising as high as his pecs.

Perfect, thought Russ to himself. He continued to watch as the view from the top of his chest got darker and darker... while hair had been gradually appearing all over his body since the transformation began, what Russ witnessed was nothing short of an eruption, as a forest of bristly black scruff completed the awesome landscape on his chest. No sooner than it appeared did it turn a silvery grey.

Perfect.

Russ was able to stand now—though barely. He couldn’t tell if his newfound soreness was a byproduct of magically gaining over a hundred pounds in ten minutes, or just getting old. Russ vaguely recalled surgery on his lower back sometime in his 40’s. Sciatica? He couldn’t remember. Whatever it was, it had worked; Russ had an impressive, full range of motion for a 55 year old.

Or was it 56?

Russ lumbered to the bathroom, every bit of furniture wobbling a bit as the floorboards bent with his incredible new weight. Though when Russ turned on the light and stared at his reflection in the mirror, there didn’t seem to be anything “new” about him. He was a grizzly, middle aged bodybuilder. A bear. A brute. A…

“HMMMFF!” Russ gripped the edges of the counter. The cap wasn’t finished. He panted, struggling to stand as his legs doubled in size. The marble edge of the sink seemed at least several inches further away. Had he gotten taller too?

As if Russ didn’t look intimidating enough, his tattoos finally came in. As he watched the ink trickle down his thick, round shoulders and hug his biceps, Russ remembered the pin-prick pain of the needle under his skin as if it was yesterday.

He also felt a strange sensation in his ass cheeks, a faint heaviness. Russ spun around just in time to see the two globes jiggle with their final bout of growth, another dusting of silver hair following suit.

It was the ass Russ had dreamed of his entire life. The only thing missing was a hungry twink buried between those cheeks. Just imaging it was enough to make him—

“AGGGH!” It was like getting the blow job of his life… except with every suck, Russ’ dick grew another centimeter of girth. The cap didn’t make Russ’ cock “longer” (he was still the same, proud 7-incher) but it almost tripled in weight, completing the transformation into his ideal, 58 year old self. This was the kind of dick that would make guys scream, the kind only a skilled bottom could fully take.

Now, it was just a matter of finding one…

It didn’t take long; within moments of setting up a new dating profile, Russ’ inbox was flooded with pictures of pretty pink assholes, ready to swallow his colossal cock. But Russ was picky. He didn’t just want a guy who could take his dick; he wanted someone who would worship it.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Russ commanded in his booming voice. It was the first time he’d really gotten to hear it come out of his mouth since transforming, and it was one of the sexiest things he’d ever heard.

His new partner seemed to agree. The handsome twink was already undressing at the sight of Russ, himself naked, waiting on the couch and stroking his beer can cock.

Russ stood and pulled the young man into his chest, and those silky white hands made quick work exploring the peaks and valleys of his physique. Russ had never actually been touched like this before… but in his memory, this was how every guy had touched his body for the last 25 years.

After all, how could they not?

“You gonna let me take care of that ass?” Russ growled as he grabbed each of the twink’s cheeks and spread them wide. Between their sloppy, wet kisses, he heard the young man whisper…

Rewind (ASK)

 

Ah yes, it’s always the decisions we didn’t make that sting most. You could have become a huge fitness freak in quarantine… you could have spent all this free time building your dream body… instead, you vegged, you over-ate, you watched TV for hours and hours on end.

Trust me, I can relate.

If only there were some way to turn back time, to rewind and return to those very first choices — the ones that really mattered — between reaching for that bag of chips or reaching for the protein shake, between hitting the “snooze” button on your 7 A.M. workout alarm or actually getting out of bed. If only you could change the past, then everything would be different now, wouldn’t it?

Oh hey, what’s that we’ve got here?

No, it’s not a sex toy! Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a remote control, obviously! 

Okay to be fair, this isn’t like any remote control you’ve ever seen. Because this remote doesn’t control your TV. It controls your whole life. Yes, just like that Adam Sandler movie, how astute of you.

So, say you wanted to go back to the start of quarantine and change your decision to work out at home. Let’s say… a couple hours every day? It’s not like you didn’t have the time. All I gotta do is change some settings here… tweak a couple presets… aaaaaand…

Voila! 

WOW. That’s a lot of progress for just under one year! Turns out only a couple hours of home workouts every day is enough to make you look like a meat headed bodybuilder.

But it’s not enough to look like a meat headed bodybuilder; you want to become one. And speaking of “meat,” how was your diet over the last eleven months? Not very good I assume. Yes, that would explain why you look so bulky. 

How about we go back to the beginning once more? Start a brand new set of eating habits, shall we? Keep that calorie count nice and high, but swap out all those fatty potato chips for some nice, hearty protein… sound good?

Good.

Yes, those are real abs appearing on your torso as we speak. Yes, you can touch them; they’re yours! This whole body is yours, so you better take care of it. I don’t wanna have to break out this remote again in another year. You’ve got no excuses now.

Besides, nothing beats the satisfaction of showing off at the gym, pumping those rock hard pecs in full view of all the guys you’ve envied for so long. Trust me when I say you’ll be the one getting jealous looks from now on… and lustful looks… a LOT of lustful looks…

Needless to say, I think you’ll have plenty of motivation to keep this body in shape.

Have a nice week!