Tyler Hoechlin, Motorcycle Cop by The Craftsman

thanks to Mark I found a Craftsman story I didn’t know I was looking for!

the-craftsman:

“Look officer, you clearly don’t know this but I’m Tyler Hoechlin and I don’t-”

Tyler couldn’t believe this! After years of successful acting and modelling, here he was celebrating that success with his new Ferrari, a true testament to all the hard work he’s been through.

Driving around the streets of Los Angeles, it wasn’t uncommon to see a celebrity here and then, and the people loved him, if not for his talents, then his looks.

He knew that he was a sexy guy and so when this old bearish cop comes up to him with his squeaky leather gloves and a cigar tucked between his teeth, he didn’t care.

But when he was told to get out of the car for his rudeness, he was angry. He was a celebrity, he couldn’t be treated this way and he wasn’t going to take this guy seriously, not until he started smoking.

As Tyler smelled the smoke that surrounded him, his eyes glowed blue suddenly changing as Tyler felt an odd pleasure racing through him as he continued to stare at the man, blinking hard and trying to stop whatever was happening as his vision blurred to focus on the man.

“That’s it, you fucking celebrities always treat us like dirt for doing our jobs. Now it’s time for a little payback,” growled the cop as he continued to blow smoke in Tyler’s face. Tyler couldn’t deny how good it felt to smell as he was backed up against his car.  “So tell me Ty, tell me how good you are, how famous you are, come on.”

“I’m-I’m Ty-Tyler Ho-Hoechlin, y-you’re gonna be i-in trouble i-if you hurt me,” growled Tyler as he continued blinking, trying to focus.

“Oh nobody’s hurting ya, Ty. That’s your name after all, isn’t it? Ty?” said the officer as he blew more smoke into Tyler’s face. Tyler struggled to even move, staggering and limping against his car.

“N-No, I’m T-Ty…err…Ty…Ty-” Ty grunted at himself in frustration, trying to remember his name as he glared at the officer. “What are you doing to me?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all you just look a bit uncomfortable Ty, that’s all,” explained the officer as he looked down at Tyler’s shoes, still smoking. “Why are you wearing size 11, boss? Thought you were always 13.”

Then and there “Ty” looked down to see his own toes ripping through his shoes, his own feet expanded outwards destroying his expensive trainers as the soles continued to lengthen beyond their means and tore through the entirety of his famed footwear. His toned toes were shown wriggling through before suddenly something else encased them. 

Much like the smoking officer in front of him, Ty watched his shoes become darker and larger as they turned into the same leather boots the cop was wearing, keeping his large feet stuffed inside.

“No! S-Stop!” growled Ty as he tried to step away but realised he couldn’t move at all, his own feet heavy and stuck to the ground.

“Stop what Ty? There’s nothing wrong with being big…watch,” said the officer as he touched Ty’s legs.

Ty’s jean instantly ripped to shreds as his own thighs began to thicken through the worn material, now growing so large that they couldn’t help but burst from their confines and continue to grow longer and larger than ever before. 

The feeling of growing muscularity was nothing but pleasurable to Ty as he tipped his head back, enjoying the raw strength that was emanating from his own new legs as the calves grew against his will and formed an Adonis-like physique far superior than his own.

“F-Fuck! Please! I’m sorry, I won’t be rude again!” promised Ty but the officer wasn’t having it as he smiled to see the remnants of Ty’s jeans become the leather pants he was wearing now.

“Now, now, Ty, I don’t believe you. Let me help…” exclaimed the officer as his hand approached Ty once again. Ty struggled to get away, the smoke making him weaker by the minute.

“No! Not my abs! Please anything but-” The officer’s gloved hand stroked the tip of Ty’s stomach through his shirt and Ty could already feel it. 

His stomach bloated with muscle but of a different kind and a different build. He looked down in shock as he felt his own abs disappear and instead feel his stomach growing out as the shirt ripped to shreds down the middle to reveal the new muscle gut, broad and with the perfect amount of fat to make him still big but ripped. 

He felt his back stretch taller as the same racing pleasure was now doubled from his legs to his chest, his pecs growing sharper and more revealed as brown hairs started to sprinkle itself amongst the skin. 

“Fuck! My abs! Worked so- fucking hard at the gym for those!”

“Aw, don’t worry Ty, you’ll grow to love it, just like this,” the officer explained as he touched the tip of his finger to Ty’s shoulder. Ty thought about pushing him away but those thoughts quickly disappeared as he was almost pushed back to the car with more pleasure than he could ever imagine as his biceps continued to grow and grow and grow even more. 

Ty didn’t realise it but he was grabbing the officer by the shoulders and the more he continued to hold on, the thicker his own arms grew, the biceps doubling, tripling in size.

It’s only when the officer brushes them off that they stop growing, throbbing with muscle as the leather outfit can barely contain them.

“You feel so good, don’t you Ty?”

“Please…please…”

“What’s that? Please? You beggin’ for more? You got it!” The officer smirked as his hand went towards Ty’s hard cock.

“No! I didn’t mean- OH!”

Ty grabbed the car, looking down at himself as he felt his cock throbbing like a heartbeat, becoming bigger and bigger with every second, the head becoming bulbous as the bulge looked like it would rip through the leather. One inch, and then another, and then another, each moment that passed by was another moment that the cum was filling up and ready to burst through the dam that was Ty’s mind.

“NO! AW FUCK! FEELS SO GOOD! M-MAKE IT STOP! I’LL BE GOOD! I SWEAR! PLEASE I’M GONNA-”

The cock finally came, ribbon after ribbon of cum flooded Ty’s leather pants and dripped down like a river as it splashed over his own underwear and thighs. A pool formed underneath Ty filled with his draining mind, memory, as his face shifted and he grew older by the minute, his own self faded from reality and into nothing more than a puddle of cum and the Ferrari behind him became his police cruiser.

“How are you feeling Ty?” asked the officer.

“That’s sir to you,” growled Ty as the cum was soaked up by his leather and he stepped out of the puddle, he pulled out a cigar and lit it up, beginning to soothe himself with smoke scratching his own chest “Let’s go, boy. I got a job to do and some celebrities to catch. Time to teach those privileged guys some manners.”

“Right away sir.”

Ty had to admit it, as he climbed into his new police cruiser, it felt good to be a cop and it would feel a whole lot better with celebrities under his thumb. 

His new plan to establish police dominance over the men of LA was just beginning, and the people would thank their new chief of police.

Sentenced to Grow 2 by jd07201990

Repost because I think this story is hot!

(First Pic by @texanstrong)

Trevor might not have been the humblest dancer at the school, but he was the most talented. The dance academy he was attending was mostly for the rich, but he’d managed to get in on skill and talent, having been seen practicing at a park in town. However, because he was middle class, while the rest of the boys were quite well off, he tried too hard to stand out. Being cocky, arrogant, putting the other boys down when they’d make a minor mistake. One of the boys he targeted most was his rival, Kyle.

Kyle was of equal talent, but came from the most powerful family in the city. Rich, spoiled, he was used to getting everything he wanted, and when Trevor would one up him, or steal the attention with some flashy show of skill or prowess, he would fume, sometimes even exploding into a signature rich boy tantrum. He vowed he’d get rid of Trevor, one way or another.

His chance came one day while Trevor was practicing alone in the open studio. Twirling, jumping, going into hip crushing splits with ease, he wasn’t paying attention, the music too lout for him to hear the door open, and footsteps coming closer. Trevor Started to whirl around on his toes, lifting his leg up at a 90-degree angle to gain speed, when his foot collided with something solid and he went crashing down to the floor. He found Kyle, sputtering next to him, blood gushing from his face. His nose looked crooked, with a harsh bump in the bridge. Obviously Broken, Kyle was screaming, hurling threats, when the security guard on duty came running in.

Kyle immediately found his opportunity! His demeaner changed instantly, from rage to painful, desperate plea. The guard asked what happened, and before Trevor had a chance to explain he accident, Kyle said that Trevor had roundhouse kicked him in the face, after he’d tried to help him with his balance. He told the guard Trevor flew into a rage, and broke his nose, telling him he was a pretty boy and needed to be taken down a notch.

Of course the Guard, being employed by Kyles parents, believe the story. He called the police, restraining Trevor until they came to arrest him. He spent days in the county jail waiting for his court date, not being able to afford bail. His public defender was useless, and so, with all the money and power backing Kyle and his family, Trevor was sentenced to, “1 year – 175lbs” Neither His parents or Trevor knew what this meant. Only finding out when He’d been bussed out of town to a remote facility that looked like an old Military base, hauled inside, and met with the people who’d be running his life for a year.

He’d been shocked at first to see that all the other inmates were massive. The entire building reeked of stale locker room funk. They ranged in age from 18-25, but looked to be the size of a professional, and sometimes offseason lifetime bodybuilder. Some where shy, some more aggressive. Some seemed to change, their personality being warped by whatever was happening to them. Trevor would find out exactly what that something was.

Given his uniform, He went through the orientation, they explained that, by the time he left, he’d be 300lbs. The weight the judge had sentenced him to finally made sense. He’d be turned into one of these massive muscle freaks! Losing his cool, he fought, screaming about his future dance career, how this was illegal and so on, until they sedated him, put him into his cell, and started the Hormone infusion. A cocktail of drugs designed to speed up growth, send his body into a second puberty of sorts, and coupled with his new routine, He’d grow into the hulking brute this facility specialized in.

He had moments where he’d lose it, crying, or screaming at his instructors, he learned quickly not to, as the punishments were brutal, often life altering and permeant. His first, was a dose of something they called B-O 120. It was a set of shots given under the arms, and just above his cock. For days he had no idea what it’d do, but after a week, he realized its effect. He woke up one morning in a cold sweat, shivering, but noticed immediately the funk that filled his cell. He thought maybe one of the other boys had come in, they always seemed to stink. But realized with horror, it was him. He was sweating like a pig, and the musky scent was coming from his underarms, which, even more to his horror, were filled with a dense wiry bush of matted hair.

Another punishment had been less physical. A few months in, after he’d gained a considerable amount of bulk, he threatened the laundry attendant, because his clothes always came back with the deep pit stains he’d grown accustomed to. This got him a week of “classes” which was really him, sitting in a cold metal chair, staring at some stupid movie about behavior. However, he never really knew what the movie was about, always waking up yawning when the instructor slammed a ruler on his desk. The effects were slow, but soon he realized what they were doing.

The movie was changing his natural behavior. He was starting to walk differently, swaggering, swinging his arms heftily, and worse, scratching at himself unconsciously. A grope at his shorts, or a quick pit scratch, even a long scratch or pulling at his shirts where they’d crawl up his newly beefed up muscle butt. Worse, He vocabulary seemed to include more than his typical level of cursing. Nearly every sentence riddled with swearing, like the dumb meatheads he hated from school. Finally, the words Dude, Bro, Bruh, and so on became common, he knew it, heard it, and hated it, but he couldn’t stop.

One final infraction, against another inmate, had sent him to the facility barber, who sat him in the chair, strapped him in, and lowered what looked to be a hair drier helmet down over his head. The barber himself never touched his head, but with a few buttons, the machine went to work. His head felt on fire, heat spread over his scalp, while tingling sharp pains shot over his skin like 1000 mosquito bites. The barber had to gag at one point as his yelps and shrieks of fear were getting too loud. An hour later, the helmet released, lifting off his head, to reveal a brutal new haircut, and his hair was a totally different color. No more classic dark wavy locks. Now, he had his hair in a brutish fauxhawk style, longer and floppy, and brightened into an orangey brown color. To his horror, he was told this was permeant. He’d be able to grow it out, but the color was his forever.

The year went on. He’d outgrown his uniforms like clockwork. Week after week, having to be issued new, larger sizes. The jockstraps and boxers they forced him to wear seemed to be the fastest to be replaced. He wouldn’t admit it, but he knew his cock and balls were growing. He’d been average, not small, but now he had a salami and two large chicken eggs dangling between his thickly beefed thighs. He blushed every time he sat down, having to immediately go onto a lewd, “man spread” legs held wide to not crush his goods.

He smelled worse than some of the boys, obviously the result of his first punishment, and he was only allowed to shower at the end of each day. Having to go through classes, morning workout, the hard labor in the yard, more classes, another workout, and dinner before having 5 minutes to shower under the cold water and go to bed.

Finally, his year was nearly up. He’d gained all the weight he’d been sentenced to. The instructors had even followed the side notes in the court order to focus attention on his legs. He was massive. Bulky, his thighs as thick as a mid-sized tree trunk. His calved were like footballs. His torso was not spared though. HE was built bigger than most NFL players. Arms like ham hocks, hands calloused from all the lifting. His tshirt sleeves seem to always bunch up under his arms, soaked in reeking sweat. He was forced to lumber around, almost waddling from the sheer bulk of his body. He was eating like a starved man, easily consuming enough to easily feed a family of four. He was a brute. A big, smelly, brute. Although he hadn’t lost any of his intelligence, his personality and mind were his own, you’d never know it from the swearing, crude Bro-talk he’d been programmed with, and his ever-present lewd gestures of scratching at his mass. Groping his massive cock, adjusting his lemon sized balls. He was, on the outside, the epitome of what he hated most. A big, Dumb, Meathead.

A week before his release, he was brought to a room with an obvious one-way mirror. Told to stand still and left alone for 20 minutes. On the other side of the glass, Kyle, his accuser, was cackling at what had been done to his rival. There was no way he could dance, that talent scout was going to pick him now that the best dancer in the school had been bloated up into a monster. He was delighted, but his cruelty was ever growing. He gave Trevor a once over, head to toe, then smiled up at the Facility manager, handing him an envelope with cash, and a letter promising more funding from his family if his demands were met.

“I think Trevor needs one more thing, just to make sure he can’t manage to learn to dance with that bulky body. Is it possible to make his feet, more, disproportionate? Bigger?” Kyle asked with malice.

“Of course. We’ve got compounds and treatments that can do just about anything. This,” The manager waved the stack of cash, “should cover it.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand and left, while Trevor was collected from the room and brought to the Facility treatment center. He was told to relax, as they strapped him onto a table, locking his legs in stirrups. He struggled just a little but was too afraid to misbehave. He asked questions, what was happening, why, but no one talked to him as a few of the treatment staff put an IV into his arm, and then started to strip his sneakers, socks, then started to rub and massage his already large size 17’s with a warm grey looking goop.

It took no time at all for him to feel the dull, aching pain he’d come accustomed to, as “growing pains” from his year of forced growth. His toes splayed, and he grunted, as the IV pumped the activator through his veins. The goop was soaking into his feet, his muscle, his bones, and was starting the near instant process. He felt his bones pop, then crack, screamed at the sudden sharp pains, but watched horrified as his feet grew, and grew. 18, 19, 20, 21, stopping, minutes later, at a whopping size 22 wide. The second side effect took only a few seconds to manifest. A sudden, musty, strong stink filled the room, as the goop soaked in and forced his feet to sweat profusely. He’d soon find that he’d be going through several pairs of socks per day, drenching them, and filling his sneakers with foot stench, no matter how clean he kept them.

He cried, his deep voice bellowing dumbly as he wiggled his thick sausage toes now and knew for certain he’d never dance again.

It took the rest of the week for him to readjust to his massive new feet. They made him clumsy, oafish, and he knew if he ever tried to balance and spin on his toes, they’d snap under his immense bulk. They released him back to his parents, who cried and threatened to sue for what they’d done to their baby, but it was no sue. Trevor was shortly picked up by the local college, and had no choice to bot give up dancing, take the scholarship they offered, and play football as the big, bulky brute he is.

Try not to lose yourself: Luke’s downfall

rozza22365:

‘Ok, so the plan is, go to college, join Army office job thingy, get college money, finish college and then get out of army. Don’t get too involved in it, don’t think about. Remember it’s a patriarchal institution that furthers US imperialism.’

That was the plan me and my bros… sorry my friends had before shit went downhill. Now I’m stuck in this room turning into some dumb bro patriot. It all started weeks ago. Me (Brent), Luke and Tyler. Before we joined the army, we were good friends. Our main chain keeping us together though was politics. We all aligned politically, we were hard leftists. We protested when we could, staged walkouts, chanted for America’s death, did what we could for every minority in existence which was pretty much shutting up and listening because we were white males and full of privilege. However, once we finished school, we wanted to go to college and do gender studies so we could learn more about power, privilege and how this country oppresses minorities. However, we had one problem. The bank didn’t want to give us a loan to pay for it. The only other options we had was two do Manuel labor in our hometown until we made enough money, but who honestly has the time for that shit. So, we were left with no options, until Luke came to us saying he had an idea. He told us that the US Army gives out college money for part time work. Cute little Luke, telling us this great idea, except for the whole furthering US imperialism. It took a while but he convinced us into it. We went along to enlist and then to the base. We got on a bus with a bunch of other guys, mostly bro’s and dumb patriots. All smelly and blind to their oppressive nature. Once we got on the bus that was it, this is where the story starts and our downfall begin.

————————————————

It was dark outside and the recruits were all chatting away on the coach as it made its way to the base. Luke, Tyler and Brent had all been split up and were all at different points of the coach. Brent was at the front of the coach next to a very loud group of guys mocking left wing politics and talking about how proud they are to serve, Brent kept silent throughout and ignored them. Tyler was in the middle of the coach, arguing about politics but failing every time, usually Brent would support him but due to his absence Tyler gave up and accepted defeat. Luke was at the back, he sat quietly but found it difficult to resist not looking at the guys around him as he found them all very attractive. The guy next to him introduced himself as Jack. He was nice broad guy, he was already in shape for the Army. He asked Luke to introduce himself, Luke gave in and conversed with the group. Luke fitted in well with them, even though he made a lot of stuff up so no one would know him politically or figure out he was gay, although he felt that the guys were cool and would accept him into their group anyway.

Once the bus stopped the men all got out. Oddly enough though this was a marine base. They were lined up and told to do 100 press ups. The three failed at this horrendously. The rest of the men mocked and laughed at them. Until the main Sergeant walked out and looked at them.

“Dear God useless maggots, getting you into marine shape is going to be difficult. Why did you sign up maggots?” Said the Sergeant aggressively

“College money… and marines we signed up for the army” said Brent

“That is the wrong answer both times maggot and you did not address me as SIR”

The Sergeant walked off and pointed at an American flag

“That maggots, that is why you enlisted. Because of America, the greatest country on the planet, home of freedom and the brave. And you have come to be brave, however, If I am to make you brave so you can serve this country then you need to be in shape, body and mind. AM, I UNDERSTOOD.”  

Brent muttered something about how the US was an Imperialist state, the Sergeant heard this.

“Oh, I see, you’re one of them anti American lefty retards. Well I got news for you, you will be broken here and you will fall in line regardless of how much you resist. Now get some sleep tomorrow you begin training”

The men all walked into the building. They were all given uniforms, which they were required to wear. However, when the three boys got theirs, they were ripped and broken. Then they were paired off and sent into dorms. The three were split up, and Brent wasn’t having it, he demanded they be kept together but the marine talked him down. Luke was paired with the guy from the bus, his name was Jack. Tyler with some Pussy hound called Ben. And finally, Brent was paired off with a hardcore patriot called Jason.

The boys struggled in the first week of training, their tiny bodies were no match for the training forced on them. Although Luke kept pushing on trying to impress Jack. Brent and Tyler kept waiting for them to be kicked out, but The Sergeant didn’t want them out, he kept them in and kept pushing them. The other men disliked them all for failing and being anti American. Luke and Jack got on well at first, but due to his political views and his association with Brent, it went downhill. Brent would-be all-over Luke knowing he would most likely fall into the army mindset. Tyler couldn’t stand the misogyny of ben. Ben would talk and joke about his bedroom conquests and also talk about how he hated feminism, to combat this Tyler brought up every bit feminist and gender study quotes and knowledge. But without Brent to support him he failed. And Brent was hated the most, due to his righteous complex which was brought on by his left-wing politics, he put himself above everyone else and the military. He made enemies with The Sergeant, who was oddly enough quite calm around him and the other two, sometimes it was like he was analyzing the group for weakness or potential. Brent would also go on long rants about US imperialism, oppression and making everything a problematic issue.

By the end of the week Brent had fully had enough, he decided it was best that they left, deciding for both Luke and Tyler. However, The Sergeant’s refused to let them leave and instead kept them for a second week, however this time he split them up.    

————————————-

Try not to lose yourself: Luke’s Downfall

At the start of the second week Luke had been moved in to an alternate group with Jack, who was now talking to him again, but weirdly enough he was talking just about how great the military and America are. This group was getting ready for training, but before they did the Sergeant gave Luke some new boots, which he accepted and put on.  The training for the day was running. Luke thought he would fail at this but oddly enough he excelled at it, beating everybody else. Afterwards the guys all cheered on Luke, they started accepting him more.  

“Who’s our lil bro” chanted the men

“Come here, boy” Said the Sergeant, Luke walked up him with his head down.

“You impressed me today, I think you deserve a little reward for surprising me” The marine next to the Sergeant held a marine uniform, Luke took it.

“Go put it on and come see us when lunch is over.” Said the Sergeant menacingly, with a grin on his face.  

Luke went back to his empty dorm. He took off his boots. And quickly switched his old broken uniform for the new one, he then went to put on his boots. His feet however were much bigger. What had happened. He thought they had grown due to the running and so continued to put the boots on, then he put his army cap and looked at himself in the mirror. A wave of admiration, confidence fell over him. He was proud of himself. However, as he was admiring himself his clothes felt tighter than before. “What? These weren’t that tight before?” he thought, he soon realized that the clothes weren’t getting tighter, his arms were growing, becoming bigger and more muscular. His legs were extending out, growing until he was 6’4, then his shoulders and upper body expanded, broadening out. Two large pecs formed out of this and underneath there were rock hard abs. His dick also grew in size becoming 12’ long. He looked up and saw his face becoming dumber, his recruit cut, started changing, the hair on top started growing out giving a spikey look.  

“How do you like it boy?” Said the Sergeant loudly from behind him, Luke turned and to see him and Jack looking at him with grins. He couldn’t bring anger or hatred against him, only obedience and admiration.  

“What is happening to me…S…s…s…s…ssSIR” Luke said uncontrollably

“Well I saw how much potential there was in you. I couldn’t let you be wasted by some lefty dipshits, so I sped up your training a bit. You should also start to think more like us as well” As he said that Luke’s head became foggy, he felt like he was being drained of all the politics he knew. Feminist and gender theory knowledge started slipping from his head in to a whirlpool of idea’s which went into a nothingness. He started remembering all the things Jack and The Sergeant said about America, obedience, the military. Those things slowly became knowledge and then fact. Luke also began creating a hate of anyone anti American and anti-military, that included his now former friends. Luke’s mind was now of a standard marine. He lifted his head and looked at The Sergeant.

“You ready to what your told, soldier”

“Sir Yes Sir” Luke shouted back, In a new deeper and masculine voice  

“Good, soldier. What is the greatest country on the planet”?  

“United States of America Sir”

“who is our enemy at the moment”  

“Anti-Americans Sir”  

“Good, soldier. Jack you make sure he is fully committed to our cause.” The Sergeant left. As he did Jack and Luke began making out. Jack secured Luke by making him his boyfriend as well.  

“one down, two to go” said The Sergeant menacingly as he walked out

A Bad Spell

jakelandry:

Kyle always thought
of himself as smarter than the rest of the transformation class that he was in.
The teacher had finally had asked him to wait to answer the questions so the other
students could have a chance at answering them as well.

 Professor Hearth called Kyle to his office to talk about his issues. But before he could really get to talking a student rushed into the room and smoke trailed behind him. “We still need to talk. Don’t go anywhere,” his teacher warned, rushing out of the office.

“Dumbass,” Kyle cursed as the
teacher left him alone in his office. Looking around the cramped office he got
his eyes on something he’d been looking for since he’d started this school. It
was one of the forbidden transformation books. He knew if he got his hands on
one of those he’d be able to practice spells the other kids hadn’t even known
were possible. He grabbed it and tucked it into his backpack.

Professor Hearth wasn’t back yet, so
he just took his leave. Even though no one knew he had the book he still ducked
in the shadows and tried to avoid people as much as possible. If anyone found
out he’d taken something like this he’d be in huge trouble. But he’d made it to
his room without any trouble.

Kyle tossed the book on his desk
and instantly starting riffling through it. He knew exactly what kind of spell
he wanted. The girls in class had never paid attention to his higher intellect
so he had to get them something they’d be more interested in; jocks. Kyle found
the spell he was looking for and read it a few times. He needed to make sure
that he did everything right. One small mix up and he wouldn’t know what he’d
turn into. With a deep breath he started chanting the spell. It took a lot of
concentration and he did his best not to mumble or slur any of the words.

The only thing he had to do was
think of what he wanted to be; a big, dumb jock. Well not the dumb part. He was
perfectly happy being smarter than everyone else. It’s just that being smart
didn’t get the ladies as well as being muscular.

The spell finished after about a
minute of chanting and he looked over his body. He could see something
happening. It started with his clothes. The long sleeve button up shirt was
starting to change. He could see the sleeves pulling in on themselves. The same
went for his black pants. They were pulling up around his knees and changing
into something far more comfortable. Instead of a stuffy formal clothes they
looked far more relaxed fit. He watched as they changed into a sweat stained
sleeveless shirt and shorts. A backwards turned hat on his head completely his
attire.

“What?” he turned through the pages
looking for an answer. It didn’t make sense. He was supposed to be a jock. Not
just wearing jock clothes. He found the spell again but for some reason it was
harder to read. “Yo! This is fuckin bullshit!” he shouted.

The sudden outburst gave him pause.
He wasn’t someone who talked like that. He turned back to the mirror and caught
his body starting to change. He could see a stubble growing on his face. It was
growing into a full beard. He ran his hand across it feeling the thick forest
of hair grow even more. “Woah,” he laughed stupidly. “This is crazy.” The dark
brown hair filled his face. He looked down at his sleeveless shirt and saw more
growing across his chest.

“Fuckin A,” he ran his hand across
his chest. Underneath it though he could feel muscle starting to grow. The flat
chest had some muscle that was pushing up against the fabric of his shirt. His
eyes caught the round muscle of his bicep. It was rapidly gaining shape. He
flexed it seeing the dense muscle bounce. “Yeah man!” he celebrated watching it
grow even more. His arms were growing even thicker as the tricep filled the
bottom of his arm. He flexed again looking up and down his thick forearms.

“This is fuckin crazy…” he grinned.
But as he said it he realized it was getting harder to think. For some reason
he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be thinking about. He was supposed
to do something about something but right now all he could think about was his
body. He wanted it to be big. He wanted to be strong. His eyes caught his huge
body and he had to throw up another flex seeing the muscles bulge out. “So
fuckin hot!” he said as sweat started to drip from his body. He could smell the
musk from not showering after a workout.

It filled his nose. He took a deep
whiff of his BO. “Damn that’s some good scent,” he laughed. In the other room
his phone vibrated.

‘Hey Kyle have you worked on the
homework yet? I’m stuck…’ the text message read.

“Homework?” Kyle wondered. “Fuck
that I’ve got a workout to do.” His eyes caught the book again. “Or…” a devious
grin crossed his face as he thought what he might be able to do with it. He’d
just need someone smart enough to read it.

                                             —————-

If you enjoy my stories, there’s more over on my Patreon. Just $2 a month gets you a bonus story every Saturday.

How can you spot or defend against the COVERT2JOCK thing? I’d like to know if it was on my files, just in case…

playernumber37:

bodriversblog:

The virus that replaces all your audio files with CONVERT2JOCK.mp3 has never been countered as far as I know. The best way to avoid getting The Voice’s virus is to avoid his hunting grounds, i.e. places frequented by young men who build their identity around their cultured tastes (e.g. coffee houses, record shops, book stores) or their intellect (e.g. board game stores, university libraries). It’s most satisfying for him to erase such identities while creating his dumb jockbeasts.

I don’t know what The Voice looks like, but he often sends his jockboys to do his work. So if you’re in one of the aformentioned hunting grounds and you spot a blanked out meathead, shut off and hide your electronics, throw away all food and drink (it might be drugged), and get out ASAP. If the meathead follows you, chances are you’ve already been marked for conversion, and your days as a thinking, independent man are now numbered.

#Coach’s voice

March 1, 2015.

I’ve been exposed.

This is no joke, guys.  This is real.  This is the end of fucking days.  The rumors are spreading, and the CDC is actually taking an interest.  Researchers and sci … scien … uh, you know.  (Fuck, that’s embarrassing… and it keeps happening.) They’re saying they don’t know how it starts, or where it comes from.  It’s not a real virus, it has no physical presence, it just … insinuates, gets down into your brain.  So far, only smaller cities have been attacked.  No one is saying this is a biological weapon, but, uh, yeah.  Technology, once our greatest asset, is suddenly becoming our greatest liab… um.  Downfall. 

I had just ignored it, laughed at it.  I mean, seriously?  CONVERT2JOCK.mp3?  Some stupid prank, right?  One of my friends must’ve gone in and changed the filenames the last time I was at the café with my laptop.  I mean, who passwords their screen?  I was only gone a minute.  To the bathroom.  I had noticed that there were a lot of uh, muscleheads, around that day, but that’s no big, you know, there’s a World Gym right across the street, and who doesn’t need their coffee in the morning, right?  I had a big project I was working out.  I love to work out.  I fuckin love to work out.

Wait.  No.  Sorry.  See, that’s how it starts.  Certain words trigger it.  Like if I were gonna say … it was so cold out yesterday that I had started to protein shake.  Fuck.  That’s fucked up.

Guess it makes me sweat a bit more too.  Sweat feels good.  Sweat means the muscles are workin.  Workin out.  At the gym. 

Fuck.  Sorry.  See, I meant to type “swear” but I typoed, and then all that.  ANYway.  If I could just get back to my point …

You know how they say never click on a link you don’t know?  That it might be malware, and apparently nowadays all it takes is one click for someone to infiltrate your computer, your phone, your head.  Anyway, I’d just come back from the bathroom, and I sat back down with my laptop and my coffee, and I just stared at the screen.  My Finder window, clicked to Music, had nothing but a whole array of the same file over and over again.  Someone must be playing a prank on me, I thought.  Looked around for a friend, or someone I know. 

Didn’t see anyone.  That was when I made my mistake.  I put my earbuds in and clicked on the first file, double-bis, flexing in front of the mirror, flexing is fucking awesome bro. 

Dammit.  Sorry.  The file started playing, and, well, that’s how it started.  I don’t really remember what the file sounded like.  At first I thought it was a deadlift, deadlift, i mean, fuck, like, broken link, you know?  Nothing happened.  But then I was suddenly standing in front of the coffee shop, staring across the street.  Cars rushing by, over the crossfit.  Crossfit.  Crosswalk.  The gym is my home.  The gym.  Uh, fuck.  Let me –

This is getting harder.  Like my muscles.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the gym.  The gym is my home.  It was like one of those spirals you see online, on Facebook, just for laughs, you know, look at this for 30 seconds, then look at this other thing.  It almost seemed to pulse, but that was dumb.  Dumb is good.  Fuck smarts.  Smarts suck.

It’s gotta be an associative virus.  One word keys into another word.  It’s like the virus is rerouting your brain through your vocabulary.  Then, like lights on a strand of Christmas lights, all the bulbs blow.  I forget what that’s called.  Some kind of circuit training. 

It would be a lot easier to just give up.  I’m not sure there’s any help for me.  It’s not like I can just go to a doctor and try to explain that I’ve caught a virus that is slowly (or quickly, now I’m not even sure) rewriting my personality.  I won’t give up, though.  I won’t.  I’ll fight it.  But for the sake of experiment, let’s see what happens if I type uh … one of “those” words, on purpose.  Maybe if I do it on purpose, the virus will be confused and won’t be able to think straight.  Except for lifting duh.  lol.  lifting rules. 

It’s getting harder.  I have to be done here soon.  I have to hit post, I have to let people know that this shit is for real … you HAVE TO BE CAREFUL or youll end up like me bros.  me and all the other jocks.

why would u wanna be anything else rite?

gym flex lift jock muscle lksdafj;lkasjdf;lasdjkf;asbhf;ab4r;basfdl;adjsfs

hey sorry bros i gotta go.  its liftin time lol

later

papermoon357:

The cap was doing its job. Sucking up brain power to fuel the new muscle blooming across Joey’s once bony pale frame. He could feel his head emptying filling with a new cocky alpha persona, he couldn’t resist, pain turning into intense pleasure as dark sexy stubble filled his maturing cheeks and a thick new piece of meat swelled to life in his shorts. New memories pumped into his head- sports, muscle, sex- and his new bro that gave him the tank, shorts, and perfect cap that went along with it

Instajock

papermoon357:

Nate was helping tutor some of us Psi Alpha Alphas. He was a good dude and smart ass tutor too, but he was all stressed out all the time about making enough to meet the next tuition bill. So awesome guy that I am I decided to help him out. One quick pic in my new app was all I needed.

I’m still getting the hang of the settings but it helps if you turn on the “naked filer” first. Makes it easier to check the progress, and damn did this scrawny ass dude need my help. I switched on auto correct to make things faster and started typing away. F-R-A-T-B-O-Y. With each letter his body stared to morph appropriately, putting on height and pounds that looked like they came from both pumping weights and chugging beers. In seconds a beefy new frat brother stood where the scrawny as Nate used to be. He was perfect but I couldn’t forget- he wanted some extra income and I knew just the thing. 

As I typed he morphed again. While before he gained masculine mass, now he got both bigger and leaner. Pizza and kegstand body fat melted away into a fitness model physique perfect for his new gigs gyrating and thrusting at sorority girl houses, bachelorette

parties, and local clubs. His ass also got noticeably rounder and cock massive enough to split out of any costume or thong. To finish things off I maxed out the “sex drive saturation” and watched as his already impressive cock became even thicker and permanently semi-hard. Finally for extra fun I dulled down the already low “cognitive brightness” to an extra low and grinned as his frozen features melted into a dull grin. Hit save and a backwards cap appeared on his head. The new Nate, fratboy stripper stud was good to go.

I’m still craving to try out all the app settings so let me know if you want to apply.

itsflyinglikeadragon:

Your friend had dragged you out shopping for the day. He was acting a little strange lately, always outside and playing sports and such, when you remember him mostly as being an indoors kind of person like you usually on the internet probably trolling some forum somewhere.

He claimed you needed to “get out more” whatever that was supposed to mean. You let him get his way, at least you’d be able to figure out what was going through his head at least.

Almost immediately you regretted it when you were taken into the large sports shop. He was staring, almost blankly at the Nike stuff in the shop before deciding he needed to try some stuff on. You could almost see the cogs go round in his head. Well underneath the baseball cap he persisted on wearing.

While he was getting changed you blankly stared at the hats near the changing room. Why were there even so many of them?

An orange one stood out to you, and there was a mirror, so why not try it out. Almost instantly after putting it on, you felt a cloud. A thick foggy cloud envelope your mind.

It kinda felt good in a way, in a relaxing, slowing, peaceful way. You saw yourself in the mirror and smirked in an unfamiliar way. But the smirk filled you with confidence bubbling out of somewhere.

After a minute of blankly staring at yourself in the mirror, almost as though the cogs in your mind were trying to process something but were covered in a foggy sticky goo, you realised looked hot in your new tank, the way it showed off your arms. Yeh, those arms were coming along nicely in the gym.

Your bro came out the changing room with his new top. He looked super happy to see you. You high fived each other and dumbly laughed at each other.

jd07201990:

(First Pic by @texanstrong)

Trevor might not have been the humblest dancer at the
school, but he was the most talented. The dance academy he was attending was
mostly for the rich, but he’d managed to get in on skill and talent, having
been seen practicing at a park in town. However, because he was middle class,
while the rest of the boys were quite well off, he tried too hard to stand out.
Being cocky, arrogant, putting the other boys down when they’d make a minor
mistake. One of the boys he targeted most was his rival, Kyle.

Kyle was of equal talent, but came from the most powerful family in the city.
Rich, spoiled, he was used to getting everything he wanted, and when Trevor
would one up him, or steal the attention with some flashy show of skill or prowess,
he would fume, sometimes even exploding into a signature rich boy tantrum. He
vowed he’d get rid of Trevor, one way or another.

His chance came one day while Trevor was practicing alone in the open studio. Twirling,
jumping, going into hip crushing splits with ease, he wasn’t paying attention,
the music too lout for him to hear the door open, and footsteps coming closer.
Trevor Started to whirl around on his toes, lifting his leg up at a 90-degree
angle to gain speed, when his foot collided with something solid and he went
crashing down to the floor. He found Kyle, sputtering next to him, blood
gushing from his face. His nose looked crooked, with a harsh bump in the bridge.
Obviously Broken, Kyle was screaming, hurling threats, when the security guard
on duty came running in.

Kyle immediately found his opportunity! His demeaner changed instantly, from
rage to painful, desperate plea. The guard asked what happened, and before
Trevor had a chance to explain he accident, Kyle said that Trevor had
roundhouse kicked him in the face, after he’d tried to help him with his balance.
He told the guard Trevor flew into a rage, and broke his nose, telling him he
was a pretty boy and needed to be taken down a notch.

Of course the Guard, being employed by Kyles parents, believe the story. He
called the police, restraining Trevor until they came to arrest him. He spent
days in the county jail waiting for his court date, not being able to afford
bail. His public defender was useless, and so, with all the money and power
backing Kyle and his family, Trevor was sentenced to, “1 year – 175lbs” Neither
His parents or Trevor knew what this meant. Only finding out when He’d been
bussed out of town to a remote facility that looked like an old Military base,
hauled inside, and met with the people who’d be running his life for a year.

He’d been shocked at first to see that all the other inmates
were massive. The entire building reeked of stale locker room funk. They ranged
in age from 18-25, but looked to be the size of a professional, and sometimes
offseason lifetime bodybuilder. Some where shy, some more aggressive. Some
seemed to change, their personality being warped by whatever was happening to
them. Trevor would find out exactly what that something was.

Given his uniform, He went through the orientation, they explained that, by the
time he left, he’d be 300lbs. The weight the judge had sentenced him to finally
made sense. He’d be turned into one of these massive muscle freaks! Losing his
cool, he fought, screaming about his future dance career, how this was illegal
and so on, until they sedated him, put him into his cell, and started the
Hormone infusion. A cocktail of drugs designed to speed up growth, send his
body into a second puberty of sorts, and coupled with his new routine, He’d
grow into the hulking brute this facility specialized in.

He had moments where he’d lose it, crying, or screaming at his instructors, he
learned quickly not to, as the punishments were brutal, often life altering and
permeant. His first, was a dose of
something they called B-O 120. It was a set of shots given under the arms, and
just above his cock. For days he had no idea what it’d do, but after a week, he
realized its effect. He woke up one morning in a cold sweat, shivering, but
noticed immediately the funk that filled his cell. He thought maybe one of the
other boys had come in, they always seemed to stink. But realized with horror,
it was him. He was sweating like a pig, and the musky scent was coming from his
underarms, which, even more to his horror, were filled with a dense wiry bush
of matted hair.

Another punishment had been less physical. A few months in,
after he’d gained a considerable amount of bulk, he threatened the laundry
attendant, because his clothes always came back with the deep pit stains he’d
grown accustomed to. This got him a week of “classes” which was really him,
sitting in a cold metal chair, staring at some stupid movie about behavior.
However, he never really knew what the movie was about, always waking up
yawning when the instructor slammed a ruler on his desk. The effects were slow,
but soon he realized what they were doing.

The movie was changing his natural behavior. He was starting
to walk differently, swaggering, swinging his arms heftily, and worse,
scratching at himself unconsciously. A grope at his shorts, or a quick pit
scratch, even a long scratch or pulling at his shirts where they’d crawl up his
newly beefed up muscle butt. Worse, He vocabulary seemed to include more than
his typical level of cursing. Nearly every sentence riddled with swearing, like
the dumb meatheads he hated from school. Finally, the words Dude, Bro, Bruh,
and so on became common, he knew it, heard it, and hated it, but he couldn’t
stop.

One final infraction, against another inmate, had sent him to the facility barber,
who sat him in the chair, strapped him in, and lowered what looked to be a hair
drier helmet down over his head. The barber himself never touched his head, but
with a few buttons, the machine went to work. His head felt on fire, heat spread
over his scalp, while tingling sharp pains shot over his skin like 1000 mosquito
bites. The barber had to gag at one point as his yelps and shrieks of fear were
getting too loud. An hour later, the helmet released, lifting off his head, to
reveal a brutal new haircut, and his hair was a totally different color. No more
classic dark wavy locks. Now, he had his hair in a brutish fauxhawk style,
longer and floppy, and brightened into an orangey brown color. To his horror, he
was told this was permeant. He’d be able to grow it out, but the color was his
forever.

The year went on. He’d outgrown his uniforms like clockwork.
Week after week, having to be issued new, larger sizes. The jockstraps and
boxers they forced him to wear seemed to be the fastest to be replaced. He
wouldn’t admit it, but he knew his cock and balls were growing. He’d been
average, not small, but now he had a salami and two large chicken eggs dangling
between his thickly beefed thighs. He blushed every time he sat down, having to
immediately go onto a lewd, “man spread” legs held wide to not crush his goods.

He smelled worse than some of the boys, obviously the result
of his first punishment, and he was only allowed to shower at the end of each
day. Having to go through classes, morning workout, the hard labor in the yard,
more classes, another workout, and dinner before having 5 minutes to shower under
the cold water and go to bed.

Finally, his year was nearly up. He’d gained all the weight
he’d been sentenced to. The instructors had even followed the side notes in the
court order to focus attention on his legs. He was massive. Bulky, his thighs as
thick as a mid-sized tree trunk. His calved were like footballs. His torso was
not spared though. HE was built bigger than most NFL players. Arms like ham
hocks, hands calloused from all the lifting. His tshirt sleeves seem to always
bunch up under his arms, soaked in reeking sweat. He was forced to lumber
around, almost waddling from the sheer bulk of his body. He was eating like a
starved man, easily consuming enough to easily feed a family of four. He was a
brute. A big, smelly, brute. Although he hadn’t lost any of his intelligence, his
personality and mind were his own, you’d never know it from the swearing, crude
Bro-talk he’d been programmed with, and his ever-present lewd gestures of
scratching at his mass. Groping his massive cock, adjusting his lemon sized
balls. He was, on the outside, the epitome of what he hated most. A big, Dumb, Meathead.

A week before his release, he was brought to a room with an obvious one-way
mirror. Told to stand still and left alone for 20 minutes. On the other side of
the glass, Kyle, his accuser, was cackling at what had been done to his rival.
There was no way he could dance, that talent scout was going to pick him now that
the best dancer in the school had been bloated up into a monster. He was
delighted, but his cruelty was ever growing. He gave Trevor a once over, head
to toe, then smiled up at the Facility manager, handing him an envelope with
cash, and a letter promising more funding from his family if his demands were
met.

“I think Trevor needs one more thing, just to make sure he can’t manage to
learn to dance with that bulky body. Is it possible to make his feet, more,
disproportionate? Bigger?” Kyle asked with malice.

“Of course. We’ve got compounds and treatments that can do just about anything.
This,” The manager waved the stack of cash, “should cover it.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand and left, while Trevor was collected from the room
and brought to the Facility treatment center. He was told to relax, as they
strapped him onto a table, locking his legs in stirrups. He struggled just a little
but was too afraid to misbehave. He asked questions, what was happening, why,
but no one talked to him as a few of the treatment staff put an IV into his
arm, and then started to strip his sneakers, socks, then started to rub and massage
his already large size 17’s with a warm grey looking goop.

It took no time at all for him to feel the dull, aching pain
he’d come accustomed to, as “growing pains” from his year of forced growth. His
toes splayed, and he grunted, as the IV pumped the activator through his veins.
The goop was soaking into his feet, his muscle, his bones, and was starting the
near instant process. He felt his bones pop, then crack, screamed at the sudden
sharp pains, but watched horrified as his feet grew, and grew. 18, 19, 20, 21,
stopping, minutes later, at a whopping size 22 wide. The second side effect took only a few seconds to manifest. A sudden, musty, strong stink filled the room, as the goop soaked in and forced his feet to sweat profusely. He’d soon find that he’d be going through several pairs of socks per day, drenching them, and filling his sneakers with foot stench, no matter how clean he kept them.

He cried, his deep voice
bellowing dumbly as he wiggled his thick sausage toes now and knew for certain
he’d never dance again.

It took the rest of the week for him to readjust to his
massive new feet. They made him clumsy, oafish, and he knew if he ever tried to
balance and spin on his toes, they’d snap under his immense bulk. They released
him back to his parents, who cried and threatened to sue for what they’d done
to their baby, but it was no sue. Trevor was shortly picked up by the local
college, and had no choice to bot give up dancing, take the scholarship they
offered, and play football as the big, bulky brute he is.

Hey! I was wondering if anyone has taken the khaki shorts yet. If not, I’d love to have them!

casualpatrolperfection:

You wouldn’t believe it, but you were the only one who wanted to take khaki shorts. I am genuinely surprised by this fact, as I myself adore the military theme. Someone might argue about the color of these shorts, but my first thought when I saw them in the suitcase: it definitely belonged to a hot soldier. I give you. Wear it with pleasure. And the pleasure will not take long. As soon as you put on their strange desire overtook your mind. The desire to Flex your muscles. That’s crazy. Your physique doesn’t look like anything you can brag about. But you are subject to this desire. Just bend the bicep and feel the years of training fill your body. It swells, grows and fills. Huge muscle hills grow under the skin.The back is expanding, the shoulders are doubling in size, and the biceps are now the size of my head. This set of 6 abs packages could be put on the podium. Your cock in your pants grows with a vengeance. 6 inches is reached, 7… 8… 9… 10… 11 inches! This is the biggest cock in your military unit. Your face grows a three-day-old stubble, and your hair is pulled back into your skull, forming a sexy buzzcat. You are ready for your new life, you are ready to serve the Motherland, you are ready for the army…