“Hey bro, do you think you have what it takes to be a firefighter?”
You stop dead in your tracks. Next to the rows and rows of folding tables set up for career day is a big red fire truck. But instead of free pens and buttons to entice you in, three half-naked firefighters stand laughing, rubbing their thick muscles through their loose handing fireproof jackets.
This has to be some sort of joke, you think to yourself with a scoff. One of the meat heads approaches you with a hunky swagger. “So,” he asks again, “you think you have what it takes?”
It’s been a pretty boring day overall, so you decide to have some fun. “Alright,” you say with a sarcastic smile, “tell me: what does it ‘take’ to be a firefighter?”
“Well,” the guy says, “first, you’ve got to be jacked. Like… really jacked.” As he says this, you begin to feel your clothes grow itchy, like they don’t seem to fit quite right.
“Yeah,” you say trying to keep an air of confidence, “and what else?”
“Well,” he continues, “you’ve gotta have tough skin. Tough enough to withstand serious heat.” The itching is insatiable now, and you look down to see a rough callous develop over your hands, which are now bulging with muscle. You frantically look around the room, but no one else seems to be noticing the muscles now begging to escape from your tight clothes.
“You’ve got to have a lot of upper body strength,” he says before you can stop him, and suddenly your arms grow sore, biceps the size of baby heads bursting at the seams of your shirt. “And good legs…” he says, sending your thighs tearing through your jeans. “Not to mention a good core.” And with that, your chest expands into two square pecs and a rack of abs directly below.
“Is that it??” you plead with him, struggling to contain your new body as it continues to grow per his suggestions.
“Not yet,” the guy continues, “you’ve also got to know a thing or two about firefighting. Not much else though, you don’t want your brain getting too crammed if you know what I mean.” You try and resist the overwhelming feeling of numbness that envelops your mind. You feel memories of training and lifting with your fighter fighter bros begin to replace those of your friends, family, and education.
You, moan, trying to resist as a new feeling overtakes your body. “No… please…”
“Oh yeah! And one last thing. You’ve gotta be pretty hung. It can get pretty boring at the station with nothing to do. Some of us like to fool around a little bit. Wouldn’t hurt to have a 9 inch dick.”
You know it’s coming this time. The testosterone, the heat flooding your pelvic region. You look down just in time to see a full, 9 inch penis burst forth from your briefs and unleash a wave of cum all over the floor. With it escapes all your knowledge of your past life; you’re nothing more than one of those meathead firefighters now, nothing else on your mind by saving lives and sucking dick.
“Here,” says the guy as he leads you over back to the truck and away from the crowds, “lets get you into something more comfortable shall we?”
You nod stupidly, eagerly awaiting the minute you can get him into bed with your thick new cock, both your muscle bodies rubbing sweaty together for hours. As he slips you into your firefighter’s coat, you know you’ve chosen the right career. Even if it wasn’t exactly your choice…
He should never have opened that strange mp3 from the mysterious email. When he heard the thump of dance music spill out of his phone, he was irresistibly compelled to start dancing, right there in his room. Before he knew it, he had torn off his clothes and was thrashing around like the world’s sluttiest go-go boy.
Caught up completely in the beat of the music, he never even noticed his body becoming lithe and lean, his skin turning flawless and silky smooth, his facial features rearranging themselves into those of a chiseled male model.
A few hours later, the Club’s van came by to collect him, and take him to start his new life as an exotic dancer and rent boy. He didn’t care – by that time, he lived only for the beat.
Oliver looked down at his phone. He had just gotten a text from a number he didnt know. It was a gif of a hypnosis spiral and even though he opened the text and only quickly glanced at it he was now locked onto it. Then the texts started to come in.
“Why are you wearing a shirt bro?” And suddenly Oliver began to ask himself the same question. He was a little overweight and very pale, he was always ashamed of himself and very body shy, but suddenly he couldnt remember any of that, the question just kept repeating itself like an echo in his mind. Why was he wearing a shirt? He was having trouble thinking of a good answer, it was a hot day and the shirt was making him feel sweaty and constricted so he took it off, not even bothering to hold onto it, he just abandoned it on the sidewalk.
“Don’t you wanna show off your boxers?” The next text said. That was weird Oliver usually hated people who sagged, he thought it made people look so dumb and ghetto, but as he looked at his waist band he wonder what it would look like. He tugged his shorts down, even redoing the belt so they sat that way. Instead of his lagend of zelda boxer briefs though there was a silly pair of purple Calvin Klein boxers. The purple contrasting nicely against his tan…wait what tan?!
“Nice kicks dude” the next text said and as Oliver looked down he saw his boring shoes had morphed into a big clunky pair of size 12 Nike air force 1s. Since when was he wearing those?
“Huhuh since always bruh! I never take these babies off!” He suddenly shouted in a deeper dumber voice than his usual.
“Your one hot skater dude!” The next text said as he felt his sick grow longer and thicker and stiffer in his shorts as his mind was flooded with skater knowledge along with dicks and tits as he became bisexual, a stark contrast to the practically asexual nerd he once was. His face became more mature as a chin strap beard grew, his hair buzzed shorter.
“Nice hat” the next text read as a black baseball hat formed on his head, twisting itself backwards and draining out his intelligence and old, shy personality.
“You know it bro! I’m Ollie, the fucking skater king yo!” The new Ollie texted the mysterious number before putting away his phone and going jogging to the skate park, feeling his pecs bounce as he ran and the sweat getting stuck in the thick hair on his flat stomach as he went to join his new friends.
My heart stopped when I had come home to find my partner, the man I had married, with another guy. They weren’t in bed or anything. It was nothing nearly as simple. Gary was sitting next to the guy on the couch. A blank look was in his eyes with what seemed to be a tired smile on his face. What bothered me though was the fact that the man Gary was listlessly perched next to was his ex-partner, Luke, whom he had a romantic history with that stretched out to be at least twice as long as ours. My heart stopped because I knew. I knew Luke still had a very unique hold over Gary as well.
“You are not welcome here!” I menaced the well-dressed man in a blazer, already ready to throw the man out. When he turned to me from my disturbingly unphased partner I had expected to see some semblance of shock or surprise on his face.Instead Luke’s smile revealed that he was just as unphased as Gary, despite my briskly striding towards him with clenched fists.
I was within swinging distance of the smug man when he calmly said, “Relax, cutie pupper.”
Steve was excited to
see our ad for a musician position at our new amusement park. He had only
played a few gigs in the local pubs, but he was desperate for a big break and
we certainly value spirit. Besides, our flyer promised he would gain more
experience and we assured him he would get a lot of it including a whole lot
more exposure.
We said we really didn’t need him to sing but he
prepared a song he wrote anyway showing off his melodic voice and clever lyrics. So we
said he could give it a try as long as it showed us everything he’s got.
He started off all fidgety and nervous. Playfully
innocent is a plus, but high anxiety isn’t exactly what we’re looking for.
It was a lovely tune about love and heartache,
but the first mistake came on the second chorus. He slipped up on a chord and
then fumbled with lyrics, surprising even himself – it was his own song after
all. Red in the face he mumbled an apology “Im so so sorry” … “I was so
prepared. I swear this never happens” And then despite himself he let out a
small slow laugh- exactly what we were looking for.
We let him start over and sure enough,
ecstatic and grateful, his whole posture relaxed as he took the song from the
start.He seemed to be getting through easier this
time around, but it didn’t take him as long to slip up. It didn’t help that his
arms were a little thicker and his guitar a little smaller. He laughed this
time “Oh shit. Sorry… I uh. I don’t know what came over me.” He figited with his shirt. An extra inch or two in height and his mid-section was showing.
We let him start over. His smile beamed even
brighter. The words were different this time. A lot simpler as
he forgot a few lines and inserted a few new ones, a little more about the physical
and… raw side of love.
“Aww fuck, sorry” he laughed goofily, trying
to reposition his guitar as his shoulders got wider. He was a good 3 inches
taller and his arms were filling out his sleeves nicely. With his thighs
straining his jeans it was also obvious that while his guitar shrank his other equipment was
getting a whole lot bigger.
He kept going, absently stringing his shrinking
guitar with a goofy grin as his body packed on muscle and he forgot his old
words entirely- his deep voice couldn’t hit the same notes anyway. Eventually
his shirt couldn’t handle his flaring traps and bis and split apart at seams.
“Huhu fuck yeah” And with one quick thrust of his
hips his straining jeans also gave way and he ended his set.
Comfortably naked
and golden tanned, “What d’ya think? he laughed dumbly. “And like I can totally play
more than one instrument” he grinned, his mini guitar barely hiding the thick piece
of meat swinging behind it.
And he was exactly the entertainment we we’re
looking for.
Hopefully we can get more applicants with the
same potential. Still have a few positions to fill out before opening.
Update
I am going through some rough times irl and feeling depressed and writing blocked. So updates might be slow or non existent for a while. Sorry to keep you all waiting even longer.
So you want to be a dumb stoner skaterboy, do you? I guess that explains why you made skater culture the subject of the paper you’re writing for your sociology class. Level with me, here, just how fucking turned on did you get when you went to your local skate park and asked some of the guys standing around if they wanted to answer a few questions on sociology?
How hard did your cock get when one of the guys looked at you, chuckled like the only thing that was in his head was smoke and stupidity, and asked, “Sure, dude, but like, what’s saucyology?”
How close to the edge did you get when another answered, “Dude, I think that’s like, the science of sauce.”
Did you cream your pants when the first guy you talked to lit up and said, “Oh, man! Fuck yeah! I loooove sauce.” You noticed it, didn’t you? They way he surreptitiously rubbed his crotch. Let’s face it, you couldn’t resist looking. That skaterboy cock throbbing down one of the guy’s pants legs. Your cock was trying to break out of your pants, wasn’t it?
You tried to explain what sociology was, didn’t you? But you couldn’t focus on what you were saying. Don’t worry. I’m sure they couldn’t focus on what you were saying, too. You couldn’t help but imagine being like them, couldn’t you? Just be laid back and chill, carefree, and too stupid to have a problem in the world other than where to find cock and where to get your next joint. Well that, and the occasional really weird munchies.
But you panicked. As much as you loved the fantasy, you weren’t quite ready to give up your promising academic career and what you believed would be a great professional one after that. Having your name all over the press was a bigger motivator. So you ran away after “interviewing” those guys, which mostly involved staring at their crotches and trying to deflect their attempts to get you to come home with them or have a quickie with them behind one of the nearby bushes.
Needless to say, you got plenty of masturbation material to last you for a while. And just because you couldn’t indulge the whole fantasy didn’t mean that you couldn’t at least indulge some of it. At least that was your justification for buying a snapback, knee pads, and a longboard which you took with you everywhere you went. Oh, that and replacing all of your underwear with jockstraps.
And then you went on with your life. Pretending that everything at the skate park hadn’t happened. Going to uni in the morning. Jerking off to the fantasy of being too dumb to read. That was how it went. At least until you realized that you had been blowing off your paper and now, you desperately needed to get responses to your survey.
So you went back to the skate park. This time on your long board. Wearing your snapback and your knee pads. The guys welcomed you into their circle this time, even though they still turned up their noses at the talk of science. You even laughed along dumbly to one of their jokes, not that you ever realized it.
Well, as you handed out sheets of paper to be filled in. The first few guys that finished were surprisingly eloquent in their answers, but they also didn’t look too close to the “skater boy” fantasy that you had always had. You could see some of the guys clearly struggling, but that was fine. You had specifically set aside this time to account for that.
One of your dudes from the first time you had come to the park came up to you after throwing away his paper in disgust. He sat beside you. Told you the words were too big for him. That he hoped you weren’t angry as he placed a hand on your thigh. How hard did your cock get, I wonder? This was the kind of guy you were looking for. Dumb as rocks. This was your fantasy.
The two of you sat there for a little while. Just observing. Then he lit a joint. You wanted to tell him to take it elsewhere, but you got a whiff of what he was smoking and it smelled so good you couldn’t find the heart to tell him to go. When he offered it to you, you didn’t even think twice about taking a long drag from it.
You felt a tingle run up your spine. Your cock throbbed in your pants. It was like the smoke was filling your whole body, especially your head. You felt hazy. Your thoughts were still there, but they felt distant and slippery. You were afraid, but it felt like the fear was someone else’s. It felt so good you took another drag and your thoughts slipped further away.
You didn’t even notice your companion lean up against you, whispering in your ear, over and over again, “Breathe in stupid, breathe out mind.” That was it, you realized. Every time you breathed in your mind was being flooded with just haziness. And whenever you breathed out, more of your smarts went the way of the dodo.
“That’s it dude,” said your friend, “Get rid of all those smarts. You want to be like us, don’t you?” You couldn’t help but nod. He fished your cock out of your pants. He was stroking it out in broad daylight. You couldn’t help but buck and whimper. The blunt that was between your lips felt like it was lasting forever.
“That’s it, man,” said another skater nearby. “Give in.”
By then it was too late for you. Any part of you that was trying to get out of what was happening was already being drowned out by the feeling of your cock throbbing in your dude’s hands. By the blood pounding in your ears. By the repetition of that phrase in your ears.
You barely registered when someone took the joint from you, but you started repeating that mantra. “Breathe in stupid. Breathe out mind.” You stripped off your shirt and grinned, stoned stupid. The skaterboys were surrounding you. Many of them had their cocks out. They were naked except for their hats and their kneecaps. You wanted to be like them. You took off everything except your shoes and your kneecaps.
You chuckled, stupidly, when they pushed you to the ground. You were so fucking horny you couldn’t think of anything but cock. You took one cock in your mouth just as you felt another rubbing up and down your crack. You blacked out when the guy behind you pushed in to you, but when you came to, you could taste cum on your tongue and you could feel it leaking out of your boypussy.
You were naked, lying down on a striped blanket. You grinned, grabbing your clothes and putting them on before going to join your buddies. It never even crossed your mind to go anywhere but the skate park the next day. And then the next. And then the next. You didn’t want or need to do anything except hang out with your buds.
Well, to be perfectly honest, you were too dumb to do anything else, anyway. When one of your friends from university came around one day, asking around if anyone had seen a guy doing a sociology survey, you came up to him.
“Dude, saucyology? Fuck yeah. I love sauce!”
Follow @KinkyPupEcho for more stories and captions.
If you want to read more of my work, visit the following links:
As you stand in front of the sex shop that shouldn’t exist, the rain pounding on the awning and the umbrella that you’ve got over your head, you realize that the only thing it takes to be graced by the Pink Fairy is having a deep-seated fantasy and the balls to really wish for it. But as you’ll soon find out, it’s probably not a good idea to come into the shop uncertain about what you want, because if you don’t say what you want, the Pink Fairy will choose for you.
The bell over the door jingles as you enter, and the shop keeper looks up, a small smirk curling the corner of his mouth upward. “Hello,” he says, patting the counter in front of him. Your feet take you to the counter, and you stand in front of it. “So, what are you having today?” he says. You must have hesitated to speak for too long because he then cuts you off before you start speaking and says “Ah. I see.”
It’s unsettling, the way that his eyes seem to burn into your soul, but you’re powerless to resist when he comes around the counter, puts his hands on your shoulder, and walks you to a stool sitting in one corner of the shop. He sits you down on the stool and walks off, muttering under his breath about indecisive people.
He returns with a snapback and he regards you with a cool look. “This is what the boss told me to use,” he says, with a small smirk. He laughs when you ask what the price will be, and tells you not to worry. He says that you won’t be able to worry when he’s done with you, anyway. It’s weird, and it doesn’t make sense, so you just ignore the statement.
He sets the cap on your head and immediately you feel your body changing. Your clothes evaporate off your skin, leaving you in nothing but a pair of briefs that gradually grow smaller, tighter, and sexier. By the end of it, you’re wearing a jock, and the wood of the stool is tickling your hole.
You feel your body swell, your muscles growing. You’ve never been this defined before. You’ve tried, but going to the gym and sticking to a diet is very difficult. Now it looks like you’ve spent your life going daily to the gym and eating healthy. A lance of pain pierces your skull and you realize that that is what you’ve been doing this whole time. You don’t remember where you got the idea that you had been cheating on your diet and missing days at the gym, but that was definitely not you.
You rub your package through the pouch of your jock and groan as you feel the familiar fog of dumbness settle around your thoughts, making them not only much slower, but much simpler too. You grunt, chuckling dumbly to yourself as your brain empties of any semblance of intelligence, but your body continues to grow, shaping it into the perfect twunk form.
“Good boy,” says the shop keeper, patting you on the top of the head as you stare off blankly into the distance, your eyes glazed over, your body burning up with lust and arousal. Drool trickles from the corner of your lips and you suddenly wake up, the changes done to your body and mind in the dream carrying over into your reality.
You moan quietly to yourself as you fall to your hands and knees on the floor, your fingers going around your back to plunge into your hungry hole. New memories slam into your head, displacing your old ones. Memories of hours spent at work become memories spent at the gym and in front of the camera, showing off for the rest of the world to see.
Memories of pining after guys turn into memories of getting fucked in every conceivable position, over every conceivable surface, in every conceivable location. You moan loudly, your finger grazing your prostate, at which point the door to the room opens and a man walks in, chuckling, calling you a good little bitch.
You can’t care less about what he calls you. You just want the huge dick swinging between his legs. You crawl over to him and push your ass out in his direction. It doesn’t take long for him to indulge you.
As his cock slides into your chute, you feel every single dreg of your old life and any intelligence that you once had get swept away in a current of pleasure.
If you liked that story, you can view more of my work at the following links! And I have ebooks, too!
I have a Patreon page now, Patreon.com/KinkyPupEcho so please drop by and see if you see anything you’d like. Please don’t hesitate to poke me about what kind of stuff you’d also want to see as a reward! I’m always open to suggestions.
You paid good money for this guy, they say he’s the best. You knocked on his door, hoping he was as good as they said.
The door opened, “You must be the boy who paid me a hefty penny, come in,” he said.
You hesitantly enter his no bedroom cottage, thinking that you wanted a refund. The wood was aged, the corners of the room had cobb webs and it smelled musky, not musty. You figured you weren’t getting a refund so you followed him in.
“So what are you? Some kind of hypnotist or something?” you queried.
“Yeah, or something,” he smirked. “Been told you got some issue with how you look. You look fine to me, mate,” he said while surveying you up and down.
You found yourself becoming less comfortable by the second. Some predatory looking man might be coming on to you; you felt your cock harden a bit. Trying to adjust your self before he noticed drew more attention to it.
You notice him eyeing you with an intense gaze, you feel the anxiety rising from your stomach to your racing heart.
You turn to run but find yourself frozen in place –”Shit, shit, shit,“ you think. YOu feel like a trapped animal and for whatever fucked up reason it is making you even harder. The man seems to be emanating a red energy and the room is swimming with a haze. Your mind feels foggy and detached, your so turned on and hard at the same time.
He walks toward you, examining you, touching your now immobile body. He runs his hands through your hair, grabs your face and stares into your soul. You feel like a puppet, a puppet in lust or love, or something. It’s like he is touching the core of who you are. He then grabs your shirt with his two strong and impossibly large hands and tears it in two. He rips your pants off like they were trackies, he slides your briefs down your legs, ever so slowly and sensually until they rest at your feet.
The man, god, whatever he is, gets down on his knees and envelopes your 5 inch cock in his perfect mouth, tasting the precum from your shaft. He then moves up your body with his tongue, tasting the sweat from your skin and every thought you have ever had on your lips. Suddenly you find that he has buried his face in your right pit.
“Smart boy, not smart enough to stay away.” he grins. “So, you aren’t happy with the way you look, you are tired of the life you live, you hate your body, and you hate the way you think and how you act. Hmmm, well what do to with you.” he pondered out loud. “Well you are a pretty average white boy I guess, I think I can help you. Now don’t be too alarmed, but I am going to tie you up nice and tight, I want you to be aware of your changes, boy.”
“Now, I have a nice selection of used jockstraps, underwear, and sweaty gym clothes here, and you get to pick your poison.”
“Mmmmmmmppphhhh” you said with terror and anger.
“Ha, yes you should be able to talk, no screaming now.” With a snap of his fingers the gag was gone.
“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLP – mmmmppppppphhh.” the gag re-appeared. “Tod you no screaming, guess I’ll have to choose for you. .
Ah, here we go, this one belonged tp a rather handsome young man, not really all there in the brains department. That is why he came to me in the first place, look weren’t enough, he wanted smarts. So I soaked up his essence into this hat, jock strap and compression shirt.”
The man comes toward you with the items, he wraps the jock around your head so the putrid smell would invade your nostrils, you felt sick. He snaps his fingers and suddenly you are wearing the shirt over the ropes, it felt nice on your skin. YOu could feel the sweat being soaked into your skin. Your muscles began to push against the rope as your pecs bulged and your stomach flattened. You felt your delts and traps brow along with your biceps. Your cock felt heavier and thicker as well. You could feel the energy make its way down your legs, reshaping them because you never missed leg day. As the changes continued, the shirt was pulled into your body, merging the previous essence with your current flesh. you felt your face change, a stronger jaw with the perfect pattern of stubble and a full head of short hair.
As the changes finished, the man slid the hat on your head. It was like a vacuum, pulling your life away from you. You felt your name pop out of existence, family, friends, education, turn ons, turn offs, inhibitions, it was like your very IQ was being pulled into the hat.
Once the hat had done its work, the man had just a few more tasks to complete. First he had to take you old essence, which was simple because once he makes you cum, he will collect your semen and save it for another…guest.
He stood you up and worked on miking the essence out of you.
Once he had relieved you of your old burden, he smiled. The man had one last thing do to. He stuck his hairy armpit in your face, cementing your life as a slutty rent boy/gogo dancer himbo for the club up the street. The Sweet musk of his pit entered your nose and opened new pathways in your brain, making you a stupid sex toy. He also softened your look a bit, he had it in for the cute but slutty boys. He would enjoy you for a long time to come.
1000.00 dollars well spent, or at least you would have thought so if you weren’t just a himbro
Muscle Tf Lover 