James waited uncomfortably in the hot sun. Chris was late again.
It was James’ second year working after school as a tennis couch at the local country club and his newest student Chris was by far his worst.
Another one of those rich club kids. Came from money, did anything he wanted, and somehow got anything that he asked for. Not that he didn’t already have it all- good looks, popularity, and even James couldn’t help but notice the large bulge in his shorts. Chris was always eager to show off, and it made James cringe.
James wasn’t even sure why Chris needed a thin pale tennis coach like him- Chris played pretty well already- but Chris insisted that James was going to be exactly what he wanted.
And so James waited, wearing the white headband Chris gave him. He was usually late, but it was getting uncomfortably hot, making him figit in his white tennis uniform.
He was a little envious of how Chris always played shirtless, his glossy muscles flexing and tightening with every swing… James tried to block the image out of his head but the heat made it hard to focus. James was always stuck in his uniform. But then again hadn’t Chris insisted he show up without a shirt today? That seemed impossible, James’ never broke the uniform rule but… there he was shirtless on the court.
James’ brushed the sweat from his eyes. Damn it was so hot it was getting hard to think. It is so hot it must be ok, might as well be shirtless, and besides his body wasn’t all that bad and Chris said James’ pale skin needed some sun.
James rocked back and forth in the heat. Swinging his racket in impatience. For a second he wondered why his tennis shorts felt so tight only to realize he was only wearing a pair of black trunks. He panicked. What was he doing? Chris wears a pair just like these… he must have told him to try them too. He would normally be embarrassed, but in this he couldn’t. It felt good. And so much freer. James’ took a couple practice swings around, enjoying how the trunks seemed to feel even shorter, before he suddenly felt light headed again.
Fucking heat. What was he doing again? Ah right waiting for Chris. Chris and his perfect bod. James ran a hand through his silky hair. Mmm he felt good, he loved to be shirtless, getting a nice tan, showing off in the sun. He was hot and knew it. His face and bod could get him anything he wanted.
Now where the fuck was Chris? He had his favorite trunks on- showed off his round ass, not to mention thick cock as he swung his racket around. Why was that asshole taking so long? Hopefully they’d just skip the practice and move on to the locker room activities. Then James would really give Chris what he wanted.
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.
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Such a waste of talent, I think. A smart, brilliant young man, with skill and potential to be great, all thrown away on a wish for a bit of a break from all the thinking and all of the work. Oh, honey, it’s too late to back down, now. The magic has already been enacted. Just know that there’s a price to pay, though I don’t think either of you would be particularly dissatisfied by what you end up with.
You open your eyes and suddenly you’re standing in front of a gym. Your boyfriend is beside you, but he seems almost different. His formerly bright eyes are dull, and he has a bit of a dopey look on his face. He looks around, but his eyes just glide over everything, almost like he’s not really paying all that much attention. And then he sees the sign for the gym and chuckles, the sound deep and utterly devoid of any intelligence.
“Bruh,” he grunts. “Let’s go in already. Can’t wait to fuckin’ pump these bitches,” he says, flexing his bulging biceps right in front of your eyes. The sight of it turns you on, and as your cock hardens in your track pants, you feel your mind fogging up ever so slightly. “Bro, like come on, we don’t have, like, all day,” your boyfriend insists.
Despite your better judgment, you follow him into the gym, and immediately the sound of pounding music assaults you and your senses. A small, brainless smile spreads across your boyfriend’s face and his eyes go unfocused. He stands there for a moment, mouth slightly agape.
You can hear him breathing through his mouth, and that fact sends another pang of pleasure through your cock. Your mind keeps getting foggier and foggier. You try to grasp for your intelligence, but it keeps slipping away. Your thoughts keep going slower and slower, becoming simpler with every passing moment.
It feels good. So good to listen. You look at your boyfriend as a smile to mirror his breaks across your face. He grabs you by the hand as he strips off his shirt and his pants, leaving him in just his sneakers and snapback. You do the same, going down to your jockstrap as you walk into the next room of the gym.
You don’t find a gym, however. You find a veritable orgy. You see couples, pairs, performing typical exercises but in a much more erotic fashion. A guy is doing burpees, sucking on a cock with every rep, and nearby a man is doing push ups, with his cock sinking into a moaning twink’s hole every time he lowers himself to the ground.
You chuckle dumbly. “Bruh, you should like, probably get on the bikes. You like those, right, babe?” your boyfriend says. You giggle, vapidly. Yeah, you love the bikes. The bikes are great. There are no seats. Instead, there are big floppy dildos that the rider can bounce up and down on while working out.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your boyfriend doing bench presses while a hung personal trainer stands behind him, cock out. Every time your boyfriend does a rep, the trainer lets him suck on the cock resting across his face. It’s so hot you can’t help but spray the bike with your cum, adding to the layer that’s already built up on the equipment.
Your boyfriend and you are definitely not going to have any trouble with stress from now on, and I bet with the guy like that helping him out, he’ll be hot and cut in no time. 😉
See, here’s the problem with you nerds. You think that academics is the be-all and end-all of things. But that’s not really the truth. It doesn’t take a fairy to know that unless you’re going into academia that university grades don’t really matter. It’s good enough to just take the passing grade and move on. But you’re so used to the expectations on you now that you don’t think that’s acceptable, do you? Well, I’m sorry to say, but I think that your jock friend has the right of it. Why stress himself out chasing after a perfect GPA when there are so many other things that he could be doing with his life?
Oh, that’s not to say that I won’t take you up on your offer. I exist to fulfil the hottest, gayest fantasies, after all. I’m just saying, don’t be too surprised if it doesn’t have the effect that you want it to. After all, just making someone more intelligent says nothing about what they’ll be doing with that intelligence. You’re not changing his personality, you know.
Honey, it’s too late to back out now. The process has already started. An equivalent exchange. Some of your smarts for some of his body. And then, on top of that, my price for going through all of this trouble for you. Can you feel it? Yeah, just look down at that homework you have in front of you. What does this big word mean? Oh, you don’t remember? That’s good. I can tell you’re getting nervous, you’re starting to get panicky. Why can’t you figure out how to do this simple division, that basic addition?
Haha. Don’t worry. You’re feeling fuzzy. Your head is starting to get foggy. I can see your eyes glazing over. You feel hot now, don’t you? Horny all over? Can you feel your ass swelling? Yeah, I thought I’d throw in a nice bonus bubble butt. You’re going to need it, after all, with how dumb you’re going to end up being. Little slut like you will be too stupid to work in any industry.
You might think that construction work is pretty braindead, but you’ll be wrong. Your dumb ass would be a liability on those sites, so don’t even think about it. Actually, why don’t you stop thinking, period? It would feel so much better. Yeah, just give in to that pink cotton candy getting shoved in your head. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Just slowing your thoughts down. Making sure you don’t listen to them.
You’re getting so dumb now, aren’t you? Makes it so much easier to just listen to someone else tell you what to do. Makes it so much easier to let someone else think for you. Don’t worry. The jock you’ve been tutoring has always been pretty smart. He’s just never wanted to apply himself. You’ve just made him much smarter. I bet he’ll know exactly what to do with your ass.
And I bet you’ll love what he does. Well, have fun with your new life my dumb slut. I don’t think you quite accomplished what you wanted. The jock seems to want to focus more on fucking you and using you the way you’re supposed to be used than on his academics.
But with all the extra brainpower you’ve given him, I’m sure that he’ll find a way to be successful. After all, he’ll have a pretty slutty ex-nerd on his hands. The perfect camera whore. 😉
I don’t know. I don’t think you like being smart as much as you say you do. I mean, otherwise you wouldn’t be sending me this message. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be saying how hot you think they are, how hard your dick gets whenever you watch them prance around, asses jiggling, giggling vapidly, proving just how empty their heads are after being infected by the virus.
I think, if you really wanted to keep your intelligence, your cock wouldn’t twitch in your pants when I tell you how good it would feel to not have to deal with all of those thoughts in your head. I know your type. I’m like you, after all. Heads whizzing with thoughts and ideas. Not a moment of silence in that stuffed-full skull of yours.
And, anyway, what makes you think that you haven’t contracted the Bubble Boy virus yet? If all of your friends have it, statistically speaking, you should have it, too. I mean, if you can still understand it. Did you really think that any of your friends noticed that they were slowly becoming Bubble Boys? It was easy enough for you to see because it wasn’t your thoughts slowing down. It wasn’t your intelligence getting sapped away by a virus that you could do nothing about.
Besides, I think, if you really wanted to keep your smarts, you wouldn’t be sitting on my couch in just your underwear and a tank top. Much less that tank top peeled back to expose the abs that you could have sworn you didn’t have a week ago, your index finger caught between your front teeth, and a hand down the front of your briefs, rubbing that hard cock between your legs.
Oh. That’s it. You’re starting to realize the truth, aren’t you? Yeah, all those times you had to do any math the past week. You thought you were correct. You thought your answers were fine. But really, they were just getting worse and worse. See, here’s the thing, the loss of intelligence to the Bubble Boy virus? It’s an insidious thing. If you have no one to compare to, you would never know.
And, as you said, all your friends have been infected. All your friends are well on their way to becoming bubble boys. Like a frog dropped in cold water that is gradually brought to a boil, you never even noticed the way that your thoughts got slower and slower, little by little. I’m sure you still have some intelligence in there, but I don’t think you’ll be keeping that for very long, boy.
It started, at first, with occasionally forgetting a period, a comma, an exclamation point, a question mark, in your texts to your friends. It was innocuous enough. It passed under your radar. Besides, your new friends never texted with proper punctuation, anyway. Then, apostrophes went. Then, you started confusing words you never had any trouble with before. To and too. Lose and loose. Your, you’re, and yore. Their, there, and they’re.
You got hornier. And sluttier. But you never noticed. You were too busy convincing yourself that it was just because you found your bubble boy friends so hot. But really, it was your body telling you that it was changing. I wonder how many times you were jerking off in your usual way, either lying in your bed or sitting at your computer, only for you to end up on all fours, fingers fucking in and out of your pucker while you half-heartedly pumped your increasingly more meaningless boy nub?
Oh, and let’s not even get started with the dildo that you told yourself you bought to help out your roommate with the increased appetite of his new ass. You could have volunteered your own hefty cock, but you didn’t. Because you didn’t think of it as a cock anymore. Not really. More like an oversized clit. And, inevitably, you ended up using the dildo on yourself, forgetting all about stroking your nub until one day you had an earth-shattering orgasm just riding the thick dildo that you kept telling yourself you were going to give to your roommate… after you used it one more time. And then one more time after that. And then one more time after that.
You weren’t at all getting addicted to riding thick cock. No. At least, that’s not what you told yourself. You told yourself that you were just spicing up your single life with a little bit of variety. How could you possibly be contracting the virus when you were still every bit as smart as you were before? Only, it didn’t cross your mind that two days before, despite your degree in chemistry, you had panicked over a post on the internet that told you how much dihydrogen monoxide was in your tap water. Nor did it occur to you that that morning you had completely forgotten what T.V. even meant.
Although I guess none of this matters now. Those lidded eyes of yours, that sultry look, the way that you’re wiggling your butt. I bet that all this shocking knowledge has triggered the last steps of the transformation. Oh, don’t mind the big words that I’m using, darling. I’m just talking to myself. A dumb little slut like you doesn’t need to worry about such things.
That’s it, boy. It feels good, doesn’t it? Yeah, fuck that boypussy with your fingers. It’s so sad that you don’t have your dildo here, isn’t it? Well, don’t you worry. There are more than a few real men who work here who would be more than willing to help you with that itch deep inside of you.
I would be, too, but unlike you, I know that I’m coming down with a case of the bubbles. I’m early on in the process, of course. I’m nowhere near as stupid as you are, at this point. Nor am I as much of a pussyboy slut, yet. But I guess there isn’t a better time than now to start, is there?
I might still have some of my intelligence, but I bet those men wouldn’t care if I put on my best impression of your face, entirely devoid of any smarts, nothing in your head but cock and the feeling of cock sinking between those round, meaty cheeks of yours. Oh, yeah, I’m going to enjoy watching you slip even deeper for as long as I can.
And if you want to follow my captions, shenanigans and such on the journey to becoming the dumbfuck himbo pup I was meant to be, then follow me at @DumPupEcho
Cliff thought it was pretty stupid. An urban legend passed around from camboy to camboy because that’s just how things survived. Everyone was terrified of even making the finger-guns on-stream because they were afraid it was going to happen to them. The chats usually offered a lot of money for the camboys to go through with it, though.
Cliff had just finished talking to his chat about it. He’d gone off on a long tangent about stupid people and letting their stupid superstitions cheat them out of their money. A couple of people in the chat were pretty vocal about the urban legend being real, but for the most part Cliff ignored them. At least until they started offering larger and larger tips for him to do it.
So that was how he ended up with a finger-gun to his forehead. If he was being entirely truthful, there was a small part of him that was afraid something was going to happen. There was a small part of him that advised him not to do it on the off-chance that it might work. But he had just gotten an offer of $5000 to do it, and he wasn’t about to waste the chance to get $5000 when all he had to do was prove a stupid superstition false.
“Pew,” he said, making a shooting motion with his fingers. A chill traveled down his spine as he felt something sharp and cold lance through his head. His eyes widened and he looked at his fingers in surprise. He moved to type something to chat, but as he looked at the keyboard, he could only tilt his head. He knew that he should know how to type, but for some reason he couldn’t figure it out.
Cliff looked at the chat and then realized that the words and letters were blurring together. For the first time in his life, his mind was quiet. “Uuugh…” He groaned, feeling his cock growing hard in his pants as he futilely tried to grab at the few stray thoughts making their way through his largely empty brain now.
Maybe he should have listened to his friends. Oh well, too late now. He’s the lucky winner of the himbo roulette, and as his eyes glassed over, and he slipped his underwear down to his ankles to shake his butt at the camera, the chat realized what had happened and cheered. Not that he’ll ever know that, now. And the $5000 he had been offered? He was never going to get it.
And if you want to follow my captions, shenanigans and such on the journey to becoming the dumbfuck himbo pup I was meant to be, then follow me at @DumPupEcho
You don’t remember why you ended up here, only how. You came home with the guy. He was cute. He was hot. Incredibly, even. You would say far above your batting range, but he had taken some interest in you. Not to mention, he’d been so charismatic, so charming, so earnest, that you just couldn’t bear to say no to his cute face.
As you followed him through the pristine halls of his home, you felt lighter, happier, better than you had felt in years. If there had been mirrors around, you would have noticed yourself getting younger, settling down at around what you looked like at 20 years of age. It wasn’t saying much. You were pretty bad at the age of 20, having not a care in the world, not really paying much attention to how you looked or how you dressed, but you were changing.
What fat you had was melting off you, and what you lacked in muscles were beginning to grow in. Your shirt was tight as you started growing, the seams straining as you filled out, as you turned into the idealized version of you at 20. You felt your shirt loosen, but not that much, just enough to accentuate the new muscles that adorned your body. You would have freaked out and run, but you were feeling too good to give up the sensation.
As you walked, you also felt your face shifting around, changing. If you could have seen, you would have noticed the hair on the top of your head changing, growing thicker, healthier. If you had any gray hairs at all, they returned to your natural color. And your face, the asymmetries and the acne and all the pits and scars that had bothered you from your teenage years disappeared, leaving you fresh-faced and clean-shaven.
Your mind also began to regress, losing all your years of wisdom, all the knowledge that you had accumulated. Maybe you try to hang on to some of it, but it all invariably slips through your fingers. It’s at this point that you begin to worry, but you can’t figure out why. Your thoughts flit at the edges of your consciousness, teasingly darting in within reach and then out as you try to grasp them.
You feel slow, you feel dumb, but you also feel warm, light, happy, and fuzzy. It feels good. You’re stupid now, but it feels good. You let him lead you around the house, going around and around in circles, never suspecting, until he seems satisfied with your progress. At that point, he pushes past two large double doors revealing a room with a tiled floor and a large marble tub in the middle filled with foam.
You see wisps of steam rising from the placid surface, and you let go of his hand. You stop. You watch as he descends into the pool, wrapping himself in the foam. You can smell salt in the air, like the sea, and you notice that the pool is actually the lower half of an enormous clam.
You look at the man that had slipped into the tub. He speaks no words. Just looks at you. Watches you as you sway, no thoughts in your head, your cock getting hard. You hadn’t even realized that you were naked. Your cock rises between your legs, but you feel it shrink away, become irrelevant, little more than a nub. Your ass fills out, you feel your hole twitch. His eyes burn into yours with an intensity that makes your knees feel weak.
From the foam, you see his cock rise, breaking the surface of the water, like a delectable pillar of flesh that draws your attention and makes your feet bring you, unbidden, to the edge of the pool. You stop, apprehensive. Somehow, you know that once you bathe in the water, all of this would be permanent. You would be forever in the thrall of the being before you.
But your dulled mind can see nothing wrong with that and you take your first step into the warm water. Your cock spews between your legs, the pleasure overwhelming you, shattering what little is left. You dip your other foot in. You keep shooting as you walk toward the man, your mouth loose and open, drool dribbling from the tip of the tongue that’s hanging out of your mouth.
When you stand in front of him, you sink to your knees in worship and kiss his cock. “Good boy,” he says, rubbing your head. “Good boy.” And you lower your head and envelop his length. It is the most intense sensation you have ever felt. Who could have known worship at the feet of a god, one risen from the foam, could feel so good?
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Rob had worked hard on his body. Fifteen years of training and strict diet had given him a body to die for. Huge arms and legs. An abdomen of steel. It only sucked that he had to make do with a stupid desk job. He was good at it. It paid well. It wasn’t mind-numbingly boring. But it wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing at this age.
He was working when it happened. He had been feeling a bit ill-at-ease even before coming to work. Especially after the gym. He’d seen quite a few of the bubble boys on the treadmills, and they had all looked at him as though they knew something he didn’t.
Halfway through typing up an email, he felt like his clothes were unnecessarily restrictive. He ignored the sensation. It was okay for a while, at least until it felt like his clothes were strangling him. He tore off his shirt, first, not noticing that his broad chest had shrunk, that the sleeves were hanging loosely around his smaller-by-far biceps.
Rob’s pants were the next to go. Then his boxer-briefs. He nearly screamed when he saw himself in the mirror, all the muscles he’d worked on for years gone all of a sudden. All of his body hair had disappeared, too. He nearly panicked, but then a new sensation, a new overwhelming drive took over.
He fell to the floor with a loud thump, unable to help it as his hand travelled down his slender side to cup his ass. He felt like there was a fire inside him. And his throat was parched. He knew what he needed, but there was none of it nearby. He moaned, loudly, like a wanton whore, while he fingered himself. It would have to do for now.
Sudden-onset Bubble Boy Syndrome, it was called, the responding paramedic explained to Rob’s boss, and to Rob himself, while Rob was suckling on his cock and his colleague was ramming the new bubble boy hard. Old Rob would have understood what it all meant, but he was too busy thinking about cock and cum.
He would always be too busy to have another smart thought. For the rest of his life.
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What’s a pool party without bubble boys to fool around with? Ever since the virus struck and spread throughout the population, things have been somewhat different. Looking into the virus, its causes, possible cures, and methods of prevention stopped a long time ago when it became pretty clear that asking too many questions about the virus got you infected with it.
There was talk of quarantine, of course, even after the first few proponents of it ended up brainless sexed-up sluts. But by then, so many were infected and undergoing the change that it was a logistical nightmare that no one wanted to deal with, so it was left alone. The bubble boy virus became just another fact of life, but its pervasiveness brought with it a tide of cultural change.
One of the more dangerous new fads are bubble boy pool parties. Although they started out innocently enough, pretty much as an excuse for the immune to have a bit of fun with bubble boys in the summer. Not that bubble boys needed much of an excuse to have a little bit of sexual fun in any season, but the idea of pool parties seemed to appeal to them in the extreme.
It wasn’t until the uninfected started getting in on the fun that the real trouble started. No one knows how the first uninfected bubble boy pool party started, people think it was men who were jealous that the immune could so freely have fun with bubble boys, or maybe it was someone who just desperately wanted to play with bubble boys, but the end result was the same.
Bubble boy pool parties became a huge fad, especially among groups of the uninfected that had a dumbing down kink that wanted to contract the virus. These days, those parties are a veritable Russian Roulette, and it usually took a few weeks before anyone realized who had gotten infected.
These guys managed to get four bubble boys to attend their pool party, although they couldn’t quite wait for their friends to get there before getting the fun started.
I wonder if they’ll get infected. Oh well, guess we’ll find out soon enough. 😉
And if you want to follow my captions, shenanigans and such on the journey to becoming the dumbfuck himbo pup I was meant to be, then follow me at @DumPupEcho
Ian was a red-blooded man. He knew it. He just knew it. He had fire in his veins and that couldn’t have made him anything more than an Alpha male. It’s why he had chosen to work out on one of the platforms in the gym. Show off for the bubble boys that were busily trying to lift their pansy weights while really just wanting to do squats over the much-contested dildo-poles that made up a large portion of the gym floor.
Near everyone was naked, but that wasn’t much of a surprise anymore. There were still a few holdovers from the old world, pitiful, repressed, conservative men who thought that everyone should wear clothes. Public nudity laws had been pretty much repealed because they became unenforceable. What were the cops to do? Round up all the bubble boys who loved to strut practically or actually naked in the streets? Nah. There were too many, now.
Ian was one of the first generation of men that had never known women. He knew that his father had been an omega, but that didn’t matter. His father had been a surrogate. He had been raised by two Alphas that had, against all odds, fallen in love with one another. He had drank in their masculinity and he definitely had the body to show it. He wasn’t no bubble boy and he made sure the gym-goers knew it.
And he knew that the bubble boys loved men in gear, so he wore some whenever he decided to work out. He had every intention of taking home one of the bitches, bedding them, and showing them how a real man’s cock could make them squeal. But little did he know that there was another man, an actual Alpha watching his displays of superiority from the shadows, snickering.
Mark had amused himself long enough watching Ian pretend to be a real man. He was a carrier for the virus, and anyone who didn’t have the Alpha gene immunity would succumb as soon as he bred them. By the end of the day he was sure that he would have Ian bent over the platform, making the bubble boys envious as he pummeled that sure-to-be tight hole with his large, leaking, superior alpha cock.
When Mark was done with Ian, Ian would realize that muscles didn’t make him an Alpha when there was a dripping boycunt between his ass cheeks. And he was going to enjoy fucking the brains out of Ian a lot. The pretender had liked to boast about his intellectual prowess, lording his superiority over the bubble boys. But not for long. Mark was going to fuck Ian so hard, Ian’s brain was going to turn to mush.
And if you want to follow my captions, shenanigans and such on the journey to becoming the dumbfuck himbo pup I was meant to be, then follow me at @DumPupEcho
Muscle Tf Lover 