Bro-Job

The Driver: Richard

--- Originally posted on 2018-01-13 by dumbmusclejockboi ---

“And I will need that report on my desk ASAP! Do you hear me?!” Richard said, talking to someone on his cellphone as he entered his Uber car.

“Richard?” The driver asked. “Says here you’re going to 5th Ave and 52nd St. Is that correct?”

“That is correct,” Richard responded. “And I will also need the Rosier files sent by fax to my hotel room..” he continued on his cellphone.

The driver had had many people like this enter his ride share vehicle. Though seldom did they exit the same person. Richard didn’t know it yet but he had hit the jackpot, or was he about to be eternally cursed? I guess it depended on one’s perspective.

“David, David? Can you here me? Hello? Anyone there?” Richard said shaking his cellphone and then slamming it down onto his thigh letting out an irritated sigh. “Fuck!”

“Cell troubles?” The driver asked.

“Yes. And it’s at the exact wrong time too. I’m working on a huge project at work right now. Very important. My boss has been riding my ass about it. It just gets so irritating sometimes! I wish I didn’t have to carry around all this stress. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this? “

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Many passengers say that they sometimes need an objective listener to just listen to their problems. Wouldn’t it be great to have an objective listener to hear what’s bothering you?”

“Yes. Having an objective listener would be great. Thanks you…” Richarf glanced down st his Uber app and for the drivers name. It only said ‘driver’ for his name.

“My name isn’t really important,( Rich. You don’t need to concern yourself with that. Don’t worry about it.

“In fact I think you will find that you are feeling nice and relaxed. The stress of the day is leaving you, and you don’t have any cares in the world. “

Richard, or was it Rich, could feel something was wrong, but he settled down into his seat anyway. Taking a few deep breathes and letting his shoulders droop.

“Rich, I think that jacket and tie are starting to feel a little constructing, don’t you? Doesn’t it feel like it’s choking you? Stifling you? Perhaps it would be better to take them off? Wouldn’t it feel nice and relaxing if you took them off?”

“Stifling. Choking. Feels better to take off,” Rich mumbled to himself as he removed his jacket and tie.

“Yes, that’s much better. Feels so good, doesn’t it?

“Now, I think you will find that you’re feeling warmer and warmer. Maybe you should take off your shirt and pants. If you take off your shorts and pants you wouldn’t feel as warm as you do now. I’m sure you want to feel cool and comfortable, and the only way to do that is to take off your shirt and pants.”

Beads of sweat had started to form on Rich’s forehead. He looked uncomfortable, until he started unbuttoning his shirt. The moment his shirt was off he let out a sigh of relief. But his legs were still very warm. Better to take off his pants too! With a deft motion, Rich let his pants pool at his feet.

“Hmmm…” The Driver thought to himself.

“I think you need to get down to five percent fat.”

“What the fuck?” Rich swore.

“Oomph!”

Rich’s body sort of sucked I’m on himself. His fat melted away, and like a vacuum-sealed package, revealed the contents below. He became instantly ripped. Well, as ripped as an office worker with no real muscle tone could look.

“What the hell?”

“And, you work out five days a week, sometimes twice a day. You’ve been doing this since you were 15.”

Rich suddenly felt all of his muscles fill with energy and begin to ache.

And Rich’s body expanded in a flash. It was like in those old cartoons when the bunny blew his finger, and suddenly inflated. But this inflation was not air. No, it was 15 years worth of solid muscle. Hard-wrought, well-earned traps, lats , pectorals, biceps, triceps, abs, quads, glutes, and calves.

“You bet I’ve been working out for 15 years,” Rich said as he flexed his 21-inch biceps.

“ think you’ve only been doing this for 5 years. You’re only 21.”

“Bro, I don’t know what I was thinking. Duh, I’m only 21.”

“And I think you need to convert IQ points to penis size. Maybe lose ten points to gain every inch, so you’re gonna ditch 50 IQ points to gain 5 inches of dick. You’re gonna have a foot long cock, when it’s hard, that is as thick as a beer bottle.”

“Ugghhh,” Rich groaned as a dumb smile appeared on his face.

“And your name is Buck Hardwood, a Southern stripper and porn star.”

“Yes, Sir, I work at the best club in New York City, Adonis,” Buck drawled.

“So, Buck, where are you from?”

“I’m from the great state of Alabama,” the newly minted Southerner replies.

“ I know I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Driver says.

“Well sir (pronounced sah), I’ve been is a few pornos. My favorite was ‘Two Bros, One Hole’. That one was super fun to do. Probably my most popular one was ‘Frat Bros are Easy’,” Buck replied.

“That’s great, Buck. And look! Here we are! Adonis nightclub, NYC.”

“Woo-hoo!” Buck cheered. “Wanna come in and watch me strip?”

“I’ll take a raincheck,” The Driver replies as Buck leaves the car. “Enjoy your new life, Buck.”

Meeting Your Idol: Alex Crockford

For years now, Philip had been a big fan of fitness guru Alex Crockford. Not only did he love to watch the man’s IG workouts, but he also found himself incredibly attracted to the man. His body was incredibly impressive, so along with the tattoo on his left shoulder and his gorgeous face, it was a no-brainer as to why Philip was so drawn to the man. This attraction had only increased when he discovered that Alex lived somewhat close to where Philip resided. So when Alex stated on an Instagram story that he was going to do a free fitness class at Philip’s local gym, you couldn’t believe the excitement he felt about meeting his idol! He wanted to make a great impression so badly that he desired to dress well for the man. However, upon considering the idea, that thought quickly flew out of his head as he thought about working out in his best suit and soaking it in his sweat. 

On the day of the event, Philip was a nervous wreck as he entered the room and gained a spot in the front row of the class. Not only was he going to be super close to his idol, but he was also going to basically be face-to-face to the man’s body. Just the thought of Alex’s body getting caked in his own sweat throughout his intense workout left Philip’s dick quickly trying to showcase itself from inside his black athletic shorts. With such an over-eager dick already trying to make its presence known, Philip was unsure how he was going to be able to keep it together for the whole event.

Upon Alex’s arrival, Philip couldn’t help but let a slight gasp escape from his mouth upon catching the sight of Crockford. Luckily, there were a fair amount of women who gasped as well, so Philip’s high-pitched gasp was able to be properly concealed in secret. “Let’s get to work guys!” Alex said as he quickly turned on some sort of workout mix and began to teach his class. To Philip’s surprise (and relief), as the workout progressed, he found it hard to pop a boner when he was doing such intense training. He knew that Alex tended to do hardcore workouts, but he foolishly thought he would be able to handle it. Not even halfway through it, Philip was growing incredibly overwhelmed and worn out. Hell, he was too tired to even get hard as Alex accidentally bumped into him as he walked past while checking on other members in the class.

Once the class was over, just like Philip, a fair amount of his classmates stayed behind to try and talk to the hunky trainer and his assistant, who was annoyed from being stuck taking photos of them together. Wanting to have some alone time with his fitness idol and crush, Philip stayed in the back of the room as he watched Alex deal with all of the flirtatious women who didn’t care that he was a married man. Sure, Philip could understand the attraction to the man, but he would never openly flirt with someone who was clearly straight and in such a happy relationship.

Letting the last woman walk out, Philip gingerly began to step forward to Alex as he was putting away his remaining gear. “Hey there man, did you enjoy the class today?” Alex asked, which caused the fan to nod his head. “Yeah, I was a big fan of it. It was intense… but it was incredible!” Philip stated, which caused a chuckle to escape from Alex’s mouth. “You’re right, but that intensity is the best way to get jacked right?” he responded, which caused a smile to form on Philip’s face. He couldn’t believe he was really talking with his idol like they were friends.

“So, uh, I just wanted to say that you’re a big inspiration for me!” Philip said, which caused Alex’s head to perk up as the man continued. “Like, I’m still building my body to look like how I envision it, but I’d love to have a body like yours!” Philip said, which caused the trainer to smile. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I think you’re already off to a great start!” Alex responded, which caused Philip to feel butterflies in his stomach.

“Would you like to take a photo?” Alex asked, which made the eager fan grin and nod his head up and down in approval. Eager about the opportunity, Philip quickly unlocked his phone and handed it to Alex’s assistant as the two men wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and began to pose for a couple photos. After the second photo, Alex suggested they do a pose of them flexing, which Philip quickly agreed to with a big beaming smile. As they each threw up an arm and flexed, the camera flashed a bright white light that completely enveloped the two fit men.

As the light receded and revealed the empty gym room once more, Philip felt strange as he suddenly realized that his right arm was up instead of his left. Looking over to it, his face went into a look of confusion as he was greeted to the sight of a bicep that seemed bigger than usual. To add to his perplexity, his black shirt was now a blue shirt, just like Alex’s…

Turning his head to his left, Philip jumped as he caught sight of his own body still holding up his left arm in a flex. “Hey…” Philip said, poking his body in the shoulder and watching as it suddenly returned from its dazed state. To his surprise, his body didn’t have an equal look of shock manifested across his face upon turning to him. Instead, it was a look of… nervousness and admiration. “Thank you again for taking a photo with me Mr Crockford…” his former body said as he took his cell phone back from the assistant. Scrolling through the camera roll, Philip watched his former body smile and wave goodbye before moving towards the door. He couldn’t believe it, Alex didn’t know that they had swapped bodies! “Hey Philip!” the new Alex called out, which caused the real Alex to stop and look back at him with wide eyes upon the mention of his name.

Standing there looking at his former body, Philip weighed the options of his situation. He could inform the man that he was the real Alex Crockford and they had swapped bodies… or Philip could keep this body and secret for himself. It wouldn’t be a bad life to have, becoming his fitness crush and living a life of wealth with a wife. In fact, that seemed quite better than the alternative he originally had. “Oh uh” Philip said as he made up his mind. “Tag me in those photos when you post them!” he continued, which caused his former body to nod before walking out of the room and into his new life completely oblivious about who he used to be. 

With his assistant asking if he was ready to head home, Philip smiled as he said yes and grabbed his materials. He was unsure of what home was entirely, but he was excited to find out what it was as Alex Crockford. Despite his slight guilt for leaving the real Alex trapped in his former body, Philip’s conscience wasn’t too affected given that the man clearly had no idea. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…” Philip said under his breath as he took one last selfie before exiting the gym and entering his new life as fitness legend Alex Crockford.

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--- Originally posted on 2023-08-16 by shapedbydesire (breedertfs)

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

Shady Unit

ϟ gay to straight tf, muscle growth, cop tf, forced tf, changed by surroundings, mental tf, reality tf, breeder/conservative tf

Peyton accepted his friends' dare against his better judgment; the gaggle of gays had been walking home from their early morning brunch, mimosas fizzling inside their dizzy heads, when they noticed the parked cop car with a wide open door. No pigs in sight, only an abandoned police unit just begging them to come over and snoop around. "Ohhh my god, you have got to let us take a picture with you sitting in the driver's seat, Peyton! That would be so funny!" This made the boy in question frown, blonde curls hanging in his face and obscuring his narrowed, baby blue eyes. Looking at the group, the least straight OR cop passing of the whole bunch would be Peyton, the twink runt, so that just made his friends laugh louder at the thought and push him closer to the unguarded vehicle. "Come on, Peyton, do it! You've got this!"

Making sure once more that the coast was clear, he decided that there was no harm in it. All he had to do was run over, strike a cute pose, and then get the fuck out and go home! He marched his way over, struggling a bit as he pulled the heavy, solid door a little further away so that he could squeeze inside, and then he turned to smile at his friends with flushed cheeks, hands lifted up in a double thumbs up pose. It was just a shame that the car door slammed shut before his buddies could snap their pictures, a faint murmur of gasps and sounds of confusion behind the thick shell of steel as Peyton found himself trapped and silenced within the car, panic rising in his system as he tried and failed to get the door to budge as he pressed and yanked trying to open it. All to no avail.

That was when he heard the rustling on the dashboard, the bulky pair of black sunglasses rattling in place, as if charged with energy and about to combust. He was staring at them in shock and fear when they suddenly leaped forward, opening their hinges and sliding right onto his frightened face, covering his shocked vision in a shield of dim, repressed light. Honestly, the jumping object would have been the most frightening part, if not for the pain that suddenly flared in the space between his temples. He gasped out in pain, muscles tensing, spine locking in place as shocks began to pulse through his body.

Little thoughts began to dance with his begs for mercy, his brain was a battlefield of trying to rationalize what was happening to him, and trying to ignore the presence that was steadily making itself known inside of himself. Another man's casual thoughts were overlapping his own, overpowering them. "Fuck, I can't wait for this shift to be over so I get home to my girl." Peyton grimaced, another shock rolling through him, his jaw stinging as it cracked outward into a chiseled, strong, pitch black stubbled line. The twink was confused and alarmed to hear this gruff voice speaking, especially one that gave a shit about getting home to a girl.

He reached up to pull the glasses off, trying to exert control over his spasming limbs, but then he could feel the muscles in his arms tearing apart and stitching themselves back together in an instant, his spindly arms vibrating in the air as suddenly they ballooned out into firm, solid, vascular biceps that were swollen with raw strength. Except now they were forced into a double bicep pose and no longer reaching for the glasses still trapped on his head.

"Fuccck, I just want to get home and flood her cunt. The good book says to be fruitful and multiply, my only purpose in life is to be a traditional man, to fulfill my duty as a male," the low, bovine voice kept talking despite Peyton's inner protests, his newly large and calloused hand reaching down to cup his bulge, lithe fingers fattening into sausages. His rough fingertips could feel a different and more durable fabric where his mesh shorts had once been. But that all paled in comparison to the heat radiating from his crotch, the trembling of his little nub cock as it began to engorge, fattening into a thick, girthy, vein covered shaft.

His cock head flared out into a large purple mushroom that was already leaking pre into his tight and sweaty boxers, a sun kissed hue washing across his pasty skin with every twitch of his bulking up body. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His firm jaw itched as black, wiry beard hairs burst through the coarse skin, making look him manly and intimidating. His blonde curls retracted into a dark black, traditional cut.

With what little control he could muster, he reached up to the driver's side mirror, pulling down the flap and gasping in absolute shock. Or at least he meant to, but now his permanently fixed cocky smirk could only speak with the same voice that was inside his head. "Fuck, I look clean as shit! My bitch is gonna be dripping all over my cock all night long." He watched clear as day as his now douchey, older, masculine face moved on its own accord, speaking without his say in the same dumb, harsh, jock voice he had heard earlier. Now looking at himself in the reflection, unable to control the posing body of the conceited bodybuilder cop he was trapped within, he could see what had become of his clothes. His little rainbow buttons and badges were now deadly gear strapped to his vest and belt, and his cute outfit was now a traditional and crisp police uniform.

Nothing that made up Peyton was left once that door slammed shut, leaving behind a smug and newly minted Officer Dickson sitting inside his very own unit. Flipping on the siren lights, he popped open the car door with a casual lean of his bulky body, Peyton wailing inside his mental prison at the sight of his former friends. This was their idea, and they needed to help him! He just wanted to be set free, safe to go home and far away from this awful, backwards minded brain his essence had now been shoved into.

But the massive man only sneered and glared at the group of fairies behind his dark black, emotionless lenses. "Clear the fuck out, or I'll take you all in for processing." He was okay watching them sprint to run away, vowing to deal with their presence another day. As much as he loved bringing alpha men into this world by changing gay men to serve the police unit, repurposed to better suit traditional society, he would always have a fondness of doing it the old fashioned way. And his wife was certainly gonna end up inflated with a few alpha sons in her belly once he was finished with her tonight. Peyton would just have to get used to the countless flashes of bouncing tits and squirting pussies inside his new cage. Officer Dickson wasn't going to change his mindset for anyone, let alone the skinny little queer he didn't even remember being.

Originally posted on 2019-09-12 by dumb-and-jocked.

Comradirization

Jacob woke up with a start. His eyes were groggy, adjusting to what he assumed was the morning light. He shifted his arm, trying to scratch his head, but found he couldn’t move it. He flopped over, a little annoyed, and was surprised to find his arm handcuffed to one post of the bed. He tried to swing his other arm over, but found that it too was cuffed. He raised his head to look at his legs to discover that they were also chained to the beds. His whole body was locked to the four corners. Before he could panic anymore, Jacob realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Chacoob Kooglerr?”

In a chair next to the bed sat a young, rather handsome man. His defined body and proud beard made him look to be approaching his 30’s. He sat there confidently, his large thighs spread out as he sat there in just a small pair of white briefs. A small tattoo adorned his right arm, while the rest of his body looked as pure as an angel. Although he looked stunning, he didn’t smell it; Jacob noticed the lack of hygiene rather quickly. The man was trying to smile, but it looked more like an awkward smirk. What Jacob didn’t see coming was his thick Russian accent ruining his name. Jacob hadn’t done anything illegal or wrong, at least nothing that he thought would attract a Russian man to kidnap him.

“Vow do yoo zay eet?” the man asked, scaring Jacob. Jacob slowly pushed himself up to a comfortable sitting position, not knowing how to respond. He was too frightened to think of anything else. He had heard of people getting kidnapped before, but usually not by men who wore just their briefs.

“Ya get vaht I mean, yeh?” the Russian added. Jacob slowly shook his head, not knowing what else to do. The Russian grunted angrily, obviously irritated, before speaking again.

“Yoorrr name?” He tried to say it as clear as he could, but the exaggerated “oo” and rolling r’s brought him right back to square one.

“Oh,” Jacob replied, “Jacob Kugler.”

“Chacoob Kooglerr.” The Russian brought a hand to his face, smiling almost proudly, not realizing he had butchered the name the same as before.

“You Amereeican zand zyoorr dumb names.”

The Russian got up and walked throughout the apartment, grabbing items along the way. As he searched, Jacob took his time to figure out where he was. The room was fairly small, housing everything from a kitchen to a bedroom in it. It looked to be some sort of hotel suite, but Jacob couldn’t find any windows to tell. Jacob also realized that as he looked around the room, he found he probably wouldn’t be staying here long. The room looked clean and devoid of any decorations, in fact it barely seemed like a home at all. No photos, no scattered laundry, and Jacob quickly realized that his bed looked to be right after the staff maid had stepped in. He also discovered that he too was in a pair of small white briefs, not at all like the boxers he had last remembered wearing. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized his barren body had been exposed to the world.

Speaking of memories, he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before waking up. He remembered walking out of his office early that morning to catch a meeting on the other side of town. That lead him to a train station, where he bought his tickets and went to the bathroom. Once he was in the room, the memory went black. Jacob was rather ordinary; he worked as an accountant, lived alone at 24, had a moderate build. His blond hair and blue eyes weren’t as appealing as they could have been. He wasn’t fat or skinny, tall or short, but he didn’t have enough muscularity to attract anyone of the opposite gender. In fact, the last time he had a girlfriend was in highschool. Jacob hadn’t really done much with his life yet, so he couldn’t figure out why he - out of anybody - would be kidnapped.

“I am Pasha Vajda,” he said, bringing over everything he had gathered, “Eet ees time to zbegin procezz.”

“What process?” Jacob said, shivering out of fear and being cold from his lack of clothes. Pasha slowly gathered his things and dumped it on a table behind the chair he originally sat in. First, Pasha brought over what looked to be a virtual reality headset, but it looked different than what Jacob was used to. First off, it was a dark red color, with yellow stripes across the back side. The straps that were meant to go around the head also looked different, being shaped more to look like a helmet. Jacob tried to fight back, but Pasha easily placed the device over his head. As soon as the goggles went over his eyes, Jacob felt the harness tightening, so hard it felt as if it was digging into his skull.

As Jacob sat there in quiet fear, Pasha placed the other items in their proper places. He brought over a small tube and linked one end over Jacob’s nose and mouth before hooking the other to a small tank with multiple compartments. He quickly placed two earbuds in Jacob’s ears while connecting the cord to an old iPhone, one that still even had the headphone jack. The last thing Pasha did was jump on the bed between Jacob’s legs, switching on the phone before opening a Russian music app.

“Zee,” Pasha began, “Eez my chob to zhelp creehte new comrrades.”

“New what?” Jacob said, still confused and struggling to escape.

“Eez zimple,” Pasha said, “ve need morre comrrades, yoo’ll be ze comrrades.”

Before Jacob could ask any more questions, Pasha tapped the first playlist that had appeared on his phone, titled “товарищество.” The playlist’s title was rather obvious, for Pasha knew the two would be sharing comradery very soon. Once it began to play the first track, Pasha tapped a button and switched on the VR headset. He leaned back and sat there with the phone in hand, his cocky smirk returning as the process began.

Jacob tried to protest again, but before he could his eyes were blasted with a bright light. As soon as they refocused, all he could see was a red and yellow spiral. Jacob tried to look away, but he was sucked in mere seconds. He didn’t even hear the playlist beginning, starting with the National Anthem of the USSR playing quietly. He also didn’t register when words slowly began flashing on the screen, flying in and out before his conscious mind could register anything, or when he had started to breathe the air being fed to him. A deep melodic voice also entered, saying the words that were disappearing fast, but only in Russian. Jacob tried to ignore everything that was happening, but it was all too easy for him to succumb. The process began smoothly, easing Jacob’s mind open for comradirization. The first set of messages flashed quickly on the screen.

“Real Men have facial hair.”

“Real Men do not clean themselves.”

“Real Men put brothers before others.”

“Real Men listen to other men.”

“Real Men only trust Russian Men.”

The messages were repeated for almost an hour before the first track ended. As soon as it was finished, Pasha pushed the headset up on top of Jacob's head and removed the tube from his face, allowing him to see and breathe fresh air again. Pasha pulled up a different app on his phone, showing the procedures of what to do after each segment of the playlist.

Jacob sat there dazed. He knew his mind had been flooded with certain commands, but he had no idea of what. He was still in the weird apartment, still kidnapped and in white briefs. He was still tied up, both of his hands still cuffed to the bed; the only difference from before was that Pasha now sat right in front of his crotch. Strangely, he was fairly comfortable with the situation. It must have been the essence of the Russian Man sitting in front of him, Jacob could only trust Russian Men after all.

“So,” Pasha began, “khow long ya khad ze faczial khairr?”

His accent was still as thick as ever, but Jacob understood what Pasha was asking fairly well. Jacob brought a hand to his face and itched his subtle beard. It wasn’t large, but definitely worthy of praise.

“Ever since I could grow it.”

Pasha smirked and looked at his notes before continuing, “Ven Vas ze last zime ya zhowyerred?”

Jacob thought back to the last time he’d been in a bathroom, or water for that matter. The rising stench around him suggested it had been a while, but Pasha had a noticeable funk too. Jacob didn’t care that he smelled however - real men were supposed to reek.

“I don’t remember.”

Pasha smirked again before he leaned over and placed the equipment back on Jacob. The Russian Man told him to stay still, and Jacob, knowing to listen and only trust Russian Men, did just that. Everything was loaded back on and set to its proper settings before the second track begun. New words flashed along the screen with a new scent. The last one was plain, filtered air, but the one being fed to Jacob was now raunchy, sweaty, and extremely pungent. Jacob would have vomited at how odorous the new scent was, but he was too busy absorbing the new Russian commands to care.

“Real Men work out every day.”

“Real Men are proud of their bodies.”

“Real Men only respect Russian Men.”

“Real Men are only comrades with Russian Men.”

“Real Men wish to be Russian Men.”

The second track played for a little longer than the first, causing Pasha to get a little impatient, so he began to pleasure himself. Once it had ended, Pasha awkwardly found himself halfway through trying to bust a load. Not having time to finish, he quickly removed Jacob’s gear and began the next set of questions. As he asked away, he non-subtly stroked his massive steel rod, knowing Jacob was far enough along that he wouldn’t mind.

“Ya verrk out?” Pasha asked. Jacob looked down proudly at his built body. Of course he had worked out, you couldn’t be born with a body like this. He had large pecs, beautiful abs, strong biceps, and don’t even start him on his sculpted legs. Jacob made sure to always get every part of his body, ranging from the sculpted shoulders to sculpted buttocks.

“Of course I work out, bro! I always know when to get in a sesh,” Jacob replied, not noticing the jockish gym lingo influencing his deeper voice.

“Goud,” Pasha replied, “Vat do ya zink of Ruzjians?”

“I think they’re incredible. In fact, I’d say there the best!” Jacob had greatly adored the Russian race as long as he could remember. It was a deep passion of his.

“I’d be a Russian and only be friends with them if I could!” Jacob exclaimed excitedly, allowing Pasha move onto the next part of the process.

Pasha swiftly tilted himself up and once more placed the gear upon Jacob’s head. As he did, his exposed, leaking cock rubbed up against Jacob’s torso. Jacob shivered, the touch of a real, Russian man thrilling him. Once Pasha was finished, he leaned back and activated the next stage. Russian commands were fired through the earbuds again, but this time the words in front of Jacob’s eyes were now in Russian too. The gas from the tube was also replaced, now filled with a dark, yellowly liquid that flowed down Jacob’s gullet. The burning pain of the constant piss wasn’t even enough to take him out if his comradirization.

“Real Men have Russian as their first language.”

“Real Men do anything for Russian Men.”

“Real Men only love Russian Men.”

“Real Men are gay for Russian Men.”

“Real Men are Russian Men.”

After another hour of pounding commands into Jacob’s skull, Pasha removed the gear. This time, Jacob’s head really hurt, like he had just studied hours for a hard test. He brought up his hands to rub his temples, also itching at the short, brown-colored sports cut. When he opened his eyes again, Pasha sniggered as he noticed their new, dullish brown tone. Once the headache had passed, Jacob made eye contact with Pasha, feeling flushed as he observed the beautiful man in front of him. His cock began to inflate in his tight briefs, a full three inches longer due to his improved, Russian heredity. He was so infatuated with the male in front of him that he didn’t even realize he was no longer imprisoned, or the lukewarm cum drying on his pecs.

“Who do you love most in your life?” Pasha asked, speaking in full Russian.

“Um…” Jacob answered back in Russian, his thought process noticeably slower, “I dunno…”

Pasha wasn’t satisfied with his answer. As if a lightbulb flashed in his head, Pasha popped up with an idea. He leaned over to Jacob, giving his cock a quick tug. Jacob moaned in response, before muttering out, “I love other Russian Men.”

“Good,” Pasha said before continuing, “Where are you originally from?”

“Russia,” Jacob announced proudly, and as soon as the words were said, the equipment was replaced for the final part.

Pasha clicked a few apps on his phone before sinking up the last section of the playlist. The end of the comradirization was always the most difficult, as so many important parts were involved. First off, two new machines were added: a milking mechanism and an infusion pump. Pasha carefully placed each of the objects in their respective locations; one would inject the Russian sperm and the other would make room for it. The other component that made the ending the hardest was that if it didn’t go absolutely perfect, the whole process could fall apart. Pasha had to make sure everything was ready as he began the final section of the process. The final words flashed on the screen and paired track began to play. This time, lots of messages flooded the screen, while the rest of the equipment pumped Jacob’s body into the prime, Russian Man he was soon to become.

“Russian Men obey the stereotype.”

“Russian Men love football.”

“Russian Men drink vodka.”

“Russian Men love to smoke.”

“Russian Men have deep voices and are dumb jocks.”

As the new reality set in, Jacob’s mind became flooded with new memories. Memories of growing up in Russia, going to school with Pasha, learning how to be an incredible forward in soccer football, and making out with other hot, Russian Men in the locker room. The smell of vodka and nicotine always on their breaths as they passionately kissed.

“Russian Men never smile.”

“Russian Men reminisce the USSR.”

“Russian Men are Orthodox Christian.”

“Russian Men are abrasive, arrogant, and rude.”

“Russian Men are alphas.”

The milking machine chugged away, pulling out every bit of Jacob’s cum as the better, more powerful Russian semun was pumped into his veins. Pasha loved seeing the man become a comrade right in front of him. Jacob’s growing body pulsated out towards Pasha. Jacob’s once-scrawny legs not stretched over the edge of the bed, his feet bloating to a massive Size 16 - just like Pasha’s.

“Russian Men are superior above all other men.”

“Russian Men want all men to be Russian Men”

“Russian Men want to comradirize all other men.”

“Russian Men want to make all other men their Russian brothers.”

“Russian Men are Vadja Men.”

Once the final track had ended, Pasha removed all of the gear and towed it away. He placed the white briefs back over the now goliath dick and tucked the large, Russian Man into the bed. The new comrade had passed out, the final part overloading his smaller brain. Pasha cleaned up before leaving, his job done. He was ready to find the next person to comradiraze.

— —

Yakov woke up in his small apartment, the smell of a smoky, alcoholic locker room pleasantly filling his nose. He flipped over and slapped his large feet on the floor, the meaty sound echoing throughout the small room. He walked over to the dirty kitchen, grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter, and turned on the small television to reveal a Russian football game.

As he took a swig, he picked up his old phone and looked through his notifications. He had forgotten to close out of the comradirization tracks; he could be such a dumb jock sometimes. As he scrolled through a Russian, gay dating app, a text popped up at the top of the screen. He clicked it, seeing that it was his brother: Pasha Vadja. He clicked the tab as the first set of Russian letters filled his screen.

Pasha: hey brother

Yakov: hey comrade

Pasha: how’s my little Vajda doing

Yakov: its Yakov Vadja, not little, I’m as big as you

Pasha: yeah whatever. hope you’re ready to go make some comrades

Yakov: yeah, I’ll get to it real quick

Pasha: send me a pic of you first, for fun

Yakov: alright, just a sec

Yakov heaved off the couch, mad that he had to tear himself away from the intense football game. He crouched down in front of the mirror by the bed and posed, making sure to get the best angle. Yakov knew that his brother would nut over this, and he knew he probably would too later. First things first, he had to go make some more comrades first. He was excited just thinking about it. He looked in the mirror and then at his phone before taking the pic. He was so glad that he couldn’t smile, it made him look much sexier. He quickly sent the pic to his brother, ready to go comradirize.

Blog update

Hi everyone!

First of all, thanks for the insane amount of likes and reblogs on my first story! As a new writer, it's really motivating to see!

Now, for the actual announcement:

I am going to be doing a slight blog rebrand.

I will keep reposting hot stories that I managed to archive/find,

However, any (new) original stories you will on my side-blog:

-> Derek's TFs

Hope to see you will all follow me there as well.

Thanks again for all the support

You might like this, @mrrharper

Growing into it

Andy was a skinny gay kid. New in the college scene he asked your help giving him a makeover. Looking into his closet, you were dismayed to only find cargo shorts and graphic tees. No way you guys were going to the club wearing that. You took him to the local goodwill and told him to bring you stuff he liked. 5 minutes later he comes back with a red flannel shirt four or five sizes too large. This kid was hopeless. But you weren't going to give up that easy. Hoping he'd see how ridiculous he'd look in that oversized shirt, you took him to a trying booth and asked him to try it on. For some reason he took off the basic tee he was wearing to try the flannel on. Just as expected it looked silly. Like a boy wearing his big brother's clothes. The sleeves flowed way past his hands. Half of his thighs were covered by the shirt.

"Maybe something a bit smaller, buddy. Guys wanna see some skin." You said.

But before you could say something else you notice something happening. Were you getting shorter? No. It was Andy. You'd figured you were both the same height but now you saw he was taller. Suddenly way taller. In the seconds you stood in awe, Andy's body had apparently extended itself to over 6 feet.

Despite still fitting largely, the shirt's sleeves were now the correct length.

"I don't know, man. I kinda like it." He said. His voice sounded deeper. More masculine. "You think I should show some skin, though?" He asked as he undid the first two buttons. You couldn't help but feel a twitch in your crotch from hearing his new voice.

As he finished undoing the buttons and studied his reflection again, you noticed the changes weren't over.

His face became more angular, more handsome than his usual cute.

With every breath Andy took, the shirt's fabric pushed further out, as big meaty pecs formed underneath. Round thick shoulders pushed the shirt into shape and now the sleeves were taught with bulging biceps and forearms.

"Uhh. Maybe tie it around the waist to see how it looks." You suggest. "The club can get really warm."

He nodded and began disrobing, giving you a smirk. You just wanted to see the results of his transformation, of which he seemed mostly unaware. As he slid the shirt off you witness 8 solid abs popping out as the process continued.

"Dude these shorts you got me are way too small." Andy said as he fumbled to unbutton his cargo shorts with his now bigger hands, the waist of which seemed really close to bursting from accommodating the swelling of his thighs and the appearance of a voluminous and bouncy bubble butt.

Huh... Somehow he thought his shorts came from the store instead...

As he ties the shirt at his waist you see the rest of his body bulking up as well. Feet extending and widening, calves tensing and swelling. The final growth happens as the vague silhouette of his dick through the fabric of his boxers became longer and thicker and then started bulging indecently out as the pouch became fully packed.

You just then realized the throbbing hard on you had after seeing your friend hulk out into this muscle god.

"I think I look great! Don't you?" He asks you, flexing and posing.

"Ye-yeah man. You look great actually." You stutter.

"I knew this one was just perfect for me! I can't wait to show it at the party." You just don't know if he means the shirt or his new hot body.

"You sure you don't want to pick something for yourself?" He vacantly asks, still absorbed by his own reflection.

Looking at Andy and then at yourself you quickly reply.

"Actually, can you show me where you found that shirt?"

Drawn

--- Originally posted on 2024-06-29 by breedertfs ---

I find myself getting drawn to your stories more and more often, it's scary! It's like I go into a trance anytime I'm horny and find my way to your blog

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

All guys need a strong, masculine presence in their life. Someone who will guide them and mold them, and I can tell this is attracting you. Do you want someone to talk about what a big, powerful, bad mannered straight man you are? Did your parents fail to set you down the path that now excites you to no end? It’s not your fault, it’s not even theirs.

Sometimes, life isn’t able to give us the tools to become the men we want so badly to be. Maybe you’re a little heavier than the average, maybe you’re too delicate, but something in your upbringing has set you apart from the men that are making you shove your hand down your shorts, stroking your shaft to mental image of musk and muscle and douchebag behavior.

If it sounds so appealing, that’s because your deeper being is begging you to realize this is what you want. It makes you so hard, huh? When I describe a thin guy’s shoulders spreading outwards, broad and strong with bouncing pecs. Beefy arms, tree trunk legs, thick beards reeking of dried pussy juice. The men I specialize in are a special breed, the elite. Of course you’re attracted to them, of course your little brain goes fuzzy and dizzy when you start to jerk it to the idea of a fag becoming a conservative, straight man.

Your cock throbs in your hand, each jerk like a flash in your mind, urging you to look through the illusion you’ve created and see the truth. You get so turned on by these stories because you wish it would happen to you, as if these changes need any magic. Imagine a beautiful woman cupping her fat tits, her slender fingers squeezing her nipples, her body jiggling and shivering with pleasure.

If the idea of sliding your fat cock between her boobs excites you, thrusting until your seed coats her bimbo face, then I’m sorry to tell you, my friend: you’re a straight man. And your body, your former values, are clouding your former rationality and urging you to recognize the kind of man you should allow yourself to become. Just stop taking everything so seriously, allow your thoughts to slow, stop worrying about manners and woke views.

Just think about those huge tits, bro. Think about a squirting pussy, imagine your thick tongue sliding up and down her folds, plunging into her. Imagine your strong hands on her tiny waist, your own stubble on your chiseled jaw growing slick with sweat and juices. Lick your lip, listen to yourself growl, your voice is low and powerful and so demanding. This isn’t a story, this isn’t a wish gone wrong, this is a human male realizing how badly he wants to be a traditional man. No more holding in your farts or belches, no more caring about people’a opinions, no more seeing this woman as anything more than a sex toy to blow your load into. She’s not wife material, brah, but that doesn’t mean she’s not ready to be a mother. Women should know your place like you know yours.

Your bones crack and shift, your expression turns to a sneer, your smile is always so cocky. You are thick with muscle, a cloud of body odor lingering around your glorious muscles, and your fat nine incher is already oozing pre. This is the life you want, the version of you that you want so desperately to take the steering wheel. So let him, bro, let that lustful trance take you where you need to go. Hit the gym, change your political opinions, accept that your cock wants to be deep inside a warm, wet cunt.

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

There’s nothing more magical than a man who knows his place: and you’re never going to forget where you stand. At the top of the ladder, biceps flexed and your grin smug. Lesser men will wish to be like you, fags are gonna jerk it to your pictures. You just focus on the finer things in life. Sports, cigars, letting your nasty habits be heard and smelled.

Like pulling that blonde bimbo closer, your huge cock thrusting inside her slick folds, her silicone filled tits jiggling from the force. She moans, and you echo the sound with a low growl. You’ll never need to stroke your cock again to my stories — knowing you’ll never run out of fresh, tight pussy to ruin.

Let the trance win, brother. Let the better version of you free.

If you had one word - just one word - to describe yourself, what word would you use?

Man, that’s a tough one, bro, I dunno.  I guess alot of my friends would say I’m a typical bro, you know, I like all the bro things that bros do, I kinda bro out alot, especially since I met him, yknow?  Even though it don’t really feel like it’s only since I met him, it’s more like it’s been happening in slow motion for my whole life, if that makes any sense, you know?  Like a sleeper thing, like it was asleep in me, and just like, woke up, sorta, when I met my bro.  So I guess I’d say bro, that’d be a good word to describe me, cuz it doesn’t only describe me but it describes my bro too.  Two halfs, one whole.  You dig?

Okay, sure.  I’m not really sure I - exactly follow your train of thought, but okay.  Next question.  With whom in your life would you say you are closest?  It could be a roommate, or a –

That’s a easy one!  Totally my bro.  We do fuckin everything together.  We even share clothes.  Work out together, climb shit together, go hiking, play ball - football, baseball, basketball.  He says he’s gonna teach me how to skate, too, so we can even play hockey together.  How fuckin sweet is that?  We’re gettin big together, like crazy.  Already pretty ripped.  Been takin these awesome supps that my bro gave me.  You outta try em, bro.  You work out?

I, sure, yeah.  Go to the gym.  Not real regular, but I work out some.  But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.

Oh yeah.  I forgot again.  Just sayin, bro, you could probly use some of these awesome supps.  You look like you could be pretty big.  If you wanted to, yknow.

Have you always been such a workout junkie?

Huhuhuhuh workout junkie.  That’s a funny way to put it, bro.  Dya mind if I call you bro, bro?  I guess I just kinda call everyone bro now.  Huhuh, even chicks.  It’s cool though. 

So …

Uh, sorry bro.   What was the question again?

Have you always been such a … uh - did you always, yknow.  Uh, workout.  Alot.  I mean, your guns are fuckin huge.

Fuck yeah, right?  Look even better when I flex.  Been workin the bis extra hard lately with bro.  See?

Wow.  Fuck.  That’s, uh, yeah.  Fuck.

Yeah bro!  Uh, you sportin a little wood there, bro, huhuh, you like what you see?  Yeah, it’s cool, bro.  You wanna just kinda stick your hand in your shorts and mess around a bit, that’s cool, bro.  How ya feelin?

Uhhhh … fuck … good, bro … real fuckin good …

Fuck yeah bro!  Maybe you can come workout with me an my bro sometime, shape up your guns.  Hey, so what’d you say you were interviewin me for anyway?

Uh, the school … paper.  Fuck.  Fuuuuck.  Your friends, they wanted to know … fuck …. where you’d gone …

Yeah, bro.  Uh, what friends?  What paper? 

Yeah … what friends.  What paper.

Yeah bro!  Hey, I got a hat for you.  It’s just like the one my bro gave me when I met my bro.  It’s cool, right?

Fuck yeah …

Says “REBORN.”

Reborn, bro.

Fuck yeah!   

Unseen Self

--- Original author: brounderconstruction ---

bro’s got a tension inside himself. still thinks of himself as a writer and a rebel, even after he’s bulked up, inked up and started wearing his cap backwards with a white tee, just like his bro wants. looks like tough guy trash, but he thinks it fits his image. doesn’t take no shit, works in a proud proletariat tradition. it’s been a long time coming. he doesn’t see himself much anymore. sees one reflection, and another. his face looks better in profile. but those arms, bro? those arms are fuckin tight. back is really filling out. the way the white cotton clings to his body, hugging every bulge and contour. he wants this to happen. he’ll tell himself anything. every day it’s a new excuse. he’s not getting dumber, he’s just living in the moment. he’s not becoming an aggro meathead, he’s learning to stand up for himself. the man he really is? that’s out of frame. washed out. guess it’s gotta be that way, bro. like the light glowing on that tee, our identities aren’t fixed. they oscillate, wave, reveal by what they obscure. whoever you used to be? is that you? does it matter? don’t put the focus on him. look in the mirror and see your true self. see every aspect of the man you were born to become