That’s him, Coach. That’s the one who’s been saying all those nasty things about the dumb jocks. You wanted us to point him out – now we want to see you blow him up into a big dumb lineman and make him join the Team.
“Fuck yeah bro, killer fuckin workout today, u work those fuckin quads? Bet u did can see em from here, ur paper thin bro, u been cuttin? Fuck yeah, u look fuckin awesome bro. Hey, u see that guy over there, the one watchin us? Yeah, I seen him around too. Shy guy, trains once a week and been comin in every other day too…”
“U thinkin what Im thinkin Bro?”
“Fuck yeah bro. It’s startin.”
“How long was it for u?”
“Like two days. Lost my fuckin job and my fuckin girl but it was totally worth it. Nothin beats the pump, Bro. Nothin.”
“Fuck yeah Bro. Nothin beats the pump. Im thinkin gettin that inked on me somewhere.”
“Yea? Fuck yeah bro lemme know when you go Id be down for that.”
“Unngh.”
“Did u hear that Bro? Its fuckin startin. You wanna watch?“
“Fuck yea. Hey lil Bro, just dont fight it, you’ll see, nothin beats the pump bro.”
“Unnnnnnngh.”
“Check it out, Bro. Fucker’s gonna be huge.”
“Won’t be bigger than us, we’re fuckin beasts.“
“Fuck yeah. Fist bump, Bro!”
“Fist bump!”
“Aw, he fainted. Poor lil bro.”
“Aint gonna know who he is when he wakes up, hur hur.”
“Let’s put him in the sauna hur hur it’ll be so fuckin funny when he wakes up and looks in the mirror.”
When the PE teacher made you wrestle Chet Stockman for a round, it was no surprise when you got pinned by the 3-sport athlete in 20 seconds. With a smirk, Chet maintained the headlock he had on you between his boulder-like arms. Moments after he finally released you, you realized in horror that he’d managed to rub his dank pit sweat all over your face and neck. You panicked contemplating the worst consequence of Chet’s humiliating pin: fuck, you’ll have to shower now.
In your class, only the jocks are comfortable enough with nudity to take showers after PE. You’d sometimes overhear the echoes of their bro-ish banter and roughhousing as you’d quickly change for your walk home, hoping to avoid anyone seeing your flabby frame. But now, you have to take off all your clothes and follow the jocks into the locker room shower. You feel their leers as they size you up and laugh among themselves. You suspect they have something planned for you. You start to soap yourself as fast as possible.
Suddenly, you feel hands grab you and lift you off the ground. Is this it? Are you getting a beatdown? You’re lain on the floor and someone lifts up your legs. You feel strips of fabric grasping your crotch before something snaps against your waist: you’re now wearing a jockstrap. What the fuck? You look up at the jocks standing over you in a circle.
“Enjoying my cologne?” says Chet, as he leans over your body, flexing his beefy bicep while pointing underneath to the armpit that got you in this situation. You grimace in disgust.
“I marked you with my smell so the bros would know you’re in for a jocking. You don’t get to wash it off, not yet. Not until you start making this stuff on your own. Right now, you’re nothing. Your body is weak and useless, when it should be in its prime. But because Coach chose you, we’re fixing that. Once the jocking strap is done with you, your balls are gonna be brimming with jock juice, and they’ll be pumping it into your bod and your brain. After the changes, you’ll look like one of us. And smell like one of us tool: a studbeast football player.”
Your balls feel warm and heavy, and a sensation like static electricity starts to build up inside them. Your dick rises. Sweat drips off your flushing face and your heart beats faster, and with each pump, the electricity spreads to the rest of your body: down your legs to your heels and through your toes, up your belly to your chest and out to your arms, back, neck and head.
Heat and electricity consume your whole body as each muscle tenses, twitches, and flexes uncontrollably. For what seems like an eternity your head is filled with nothing but a white hot light that washes out every other thought.
A spray of cold water hits your chest. You open your eyes. You’re still laying on the slick tile floor of the locker room showers, but something about your situation there seems different. Your skin feels tighter and every single movement of your muscles–flush with blood–has a certain power behind it. You try to look down at your own body but it’s shrouded by steam. You close your eyes. After a while you start to get numb from the cold water.
“Looks like his jocking’s leveled off. He’s not making any more steam.” “Yeah, bro, he’s ready.”
You feel someone grab your hand. “Get up, bro,” he says. You pull yourself up and follow him out the showers. There is nothing in your head but the sensation of water dripping off your body, and the need to follow your bro. You don’t even remember your own name.
Still naked, you follow your bro out the opposite door from where you came in, into the athletic locker room. Your bro pulls the jockstrap off you and hands you a duffel bag. With your brain so blanked out, you can’t tell that it has “TIGHT END” written on it.
“Open it, bro.”
You open the duffel bag and find a gold-colored football inside. Something about it calls out to you, and you instinctively know that it will complete you. You grab it and hear a voice tell you that Coach needs you as a vessel for his will. He needs a body for his team, to play as a tight end. Meanwhile, you have no will of your own now, and you need a purpose to serve, and the skills to fulfill that purpose. This football contains the talent, the drive, the experience and the training of many tight ends from the past. This football-playing spirit will inhabit your body and make it a part of Coach’s glory and legacy. Then, once it retires football (usually after college, but sometimes after pro ball) it will go back to the golden football and leave you blank again. But don’t worry, Coach takes good care of all his jocks, even the blanked-out ones. So do you accept the position on his team?
Yeah, bro.
Sometime after the football finishes filling your brain with your new self, the PE teacher–now your Coach–walks in on you admiring your own reflection in the locker room mirror. You can’t wait to get out and play Coach’s offense, which is pretty much the only thing you have any knowledge of now (except for how to lift and train and stuff). Coach tosses you a white pair of shorts. Before you can practice, first Coach will have to see your 40, your jumps, and all your drills. But you’re confident that you’ll clear all your tests like a beast. Coach leaves you to continue processing your new life, and you resume staring at the massive, finely-tuned jock body in the mirror.
Slipping the jersey off felt amazing. He’d never felt pleasure so intense before and as it ripped it’s way through his body it took all his will power to keep himself from doubling over and coming right then and there. Which is why when Coach give him another order he obeyed as fast as he could. He had nothing else left to fight with. And if obeying felt half as good the second time he’d never want to fight an order again anyways.
‘Shit, it’s happened again!’ I cursed under my breath as the jogging pants I’d been wearing as I ran laps suddenly morphed into revealing running shorts and my t-shirt vanished into thin air.
Examining my exposed torso nervously for changes, I nearly freaked when I saw a huge expanse of inked skin where the tattoo of an eagle soared majestically across my serratus and abs. The tattoo looked as though it’d been there for a few years but like the abdominals it covered, it was really brand new, yet another effect of Justin’s fucked up fag-magic.
When me and my bros mocked him and his blimp of an emo fag hag at the mall last week, I’d had no idea they were into that fucking voodoo-bruja shit but when my board shorts transformed into a faggy white speedo at the beach the next day and my usual gym gear of ball shorts and tee turned into shiny spandex tights, a stringer tank and backwards ball cap that evening in the middle of my workout, I knew some weird shit was up. The really fucked up thing was that I couldn’t seem to take the clothes off or break out of my routine until I’d finished what I was doing which meant I spent the whole day at the beach being called a fag and got hit on by roided out gym bunnies all through my workout at the gym that night.
I began to join the dots the next morning when I saw one of my buds, Brody on his way to class dressed up like some Ivy League grad student in chinos, button down shirt, tie and blazer. His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment but like me the previous day it looked like he was forced to continue his day as usual while everyone else seemed oblivious to the changes.
It was three days later when I noticed the first physical changes. I was at the mall picking up some new threads when my jeans, tee and sneakers transformed into the kind of fruity outfit that would make even the most hardcore gym bunnies blush with shame.
Catching my reflection in one of the store’s mirrors as the transformation completed, I’d been horrified to see that I was now dressed in revealing lime green spandex compression shorts, a blue stringer tank, fluorescent yellow running shoes, red fanny pack and a white and yellow trucker ball cap. What freaked me out most though was that I’d hulked out with muscle. Dressed up in that faggy workout gear, I looked like one those douchy meatheads that can only hold a conversation if it’s about macros, lifting or fucking but I reluctantly had to admit the muscle was pretty cool even if the threads weren’t.
The next morning Brody turned up at class in a three piece suit and tie with one of those preppy side-parting haircuts. The combination made him look older and when I asked him about it in private after class he told me anxiously that according to his driver’s license, he’d aged fifteen years and was to all intents and purposes thirty-five. Worse still, he told me blushingly, his voice sinking to a whisper, his cock had shrunk two inches and he’d discovered he could only get off by sticking one of his ex’s dildos up his ass.
Eventually we and a few of the other guys worked out who was behind the changes but for some reason, none of us seemed to be able to get near enough Justin and his fag hag to confront them about it. As my entire wardrobe was gradually replaced by revealing workout clothes in hot, bright colors and synthetic fabrics, I realised, I was beginning to accept and even enjoy exposing my new physique to the world and found myself spending more and more time jerking off in front of the mirror in my room or skipping classes to hit the gym and work on my bod.
As I thought back on the past week and my gradual transformation into a narcissistic gym bunny, I spared a thought for poor Brody, or Broderick as he now preferred to be called, who’d yesterday sprouted a thick grey mustache that worked surprisingly well with his newly receding hairline. With the tweedy suits he was now wearing day to day, he looked more like one of the professors than a college student and who knew, by this time next week, he might actually become one.
I continued pounding out the laps, conscious that I wouldn’t be able to get out of these shorts until I’d done at least fifty circuits of the track and consoled myself with the thought of a slow jerk off in front of my reflection in the locker room mirror afterwards. At least I still have that… Brody’s dick’s so small now he’s had to start bottoming for dudes into old men that he finds on Grindr. Poor fucker!
My day has been rough, and it’s only going to get worse. It is noon and my first football game in this body is tonight. Yes you heard me right. This used to be me:
Ya I hated my old body. I was on the football team but only played in blowout games. I am a senior in high school so this is my last year. I asked coach after practice today why he didn’t play me and he responded with “You suck you little twink. One good hit and you are down.” Well fine whatever I thought. We are not supposed to argue with coach so I just walked away trying to figure out how I was going to fix this but I couldn’t. Or at least that’s what I thought until I went into the lockeroom to change. By the time I got in there every one else was gone but there was a pair of used, wet, sweaty, smelly blue and yellow under armour compression socks. I picked them up and smelt them. OOH man they smelt so good!(yes I am gay). I quicked shoved them into my gym bag and showered and got dressed which didn’t consist of much. A pair of basketball shorts and a T-Shirt. (yes I was freeballing) When I got home I noticed I was alone (which was odd) I ran upstairs to my room and took my clothes off and imdeiately slipped those socks on. I got rock hard in an instant ( which wasn’t much. I had a 5 inch hard dick.) Then I could feel my body tingling. Then I blacked out and woke up in a different room. I looked down and I was still wearing the same socks but along with compression shorts football pads and knee pads. I thought that’s odd cuz the game isn’t for 4 hours yet. Then I looked at the clock oh shit! The game starts in 1 hour! I gotta get their for pre-game!I looked back at myself and I felt strange. My bulge was a lot bigger than normal. Then I looked in the mirror and realised what happened and had to take a picture:
I was Collin! The star running back of our team! My new cock got instantly hard. I whipped it out to jack off but I couldn’t handle it. It was 10 inches long! Holy shit I am going to love this new body! Shit I gotta go to make it to the game. I actually will get to play now!
Oh I never told my old name. It was…uh…Shit Im losing my memories and Collins are becoming mine. Wait why am I talking in the third person? Where was I again?
Tom was happy when it finally downloaded. The chronivac program had a lot of rumors floating around about what it was capable of. Tom finally found a few website posts that gave him links to each other and once he was deep enough in the Internet he found a place to buy and download it. He nervously opened it up and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the program, half worried it could have been a virus or something.
The screen said “subject located: Tom” and then listed his stats
Name: Tom West Age: 24 Species: human Race: Caucasian (white) Sexual orientation: bi IQ: 115 Weight: 150 lbs (mostly fat) Height: 5’4 Body type: average (slightly overweight) Social status: unpopular college student (nerd subcategory)
“Yikes it can really know all that?” He wondered. Next to all the info was a picture of him and he had options to change all that himself, or let the program randomly decide.
He was sick of being nerdy so he looked through the social options and saw “popular college student (jock)” and choose that right away. Since it was a whole category it changed all the stats for him and he pressed “go” before he saw all the changes it made.
Name: Johnny West Age: 21 Species: human Race: Caucasian (tanned) Sexual orientation: heterosexual IQ: 95 Weight: 140 lbs (mostly muscle) Height: 6’2 Body type: muscular (sports and gym goer) Social status: popular college student (jock subcategory) Mental changes: yes Awareness of change: none
He caught a glimpse of that when the picture change. “No wait I didn’t want to be stupid!” He shouted but the changes started before he could grab the keyboard. His skin tingled and tanned nicely. His muscles pulsed and hurt and started to balloon out, especially his upper body but he didn’t forget leg day either. His brownish hair got shorter and styled itself as his too tight clothes changed into a black t-shirt and some athletic shorts.
His mind started to dumb down as he forgot a lot of info from college and high school. But he remembered a ton of info about football plays. He gave a dumb grin as he flexed his big bicep and admired it. Forgetting why he was in front of a computer, that shit was for nerds! (Sorry if it’s so long winded, I saw this pic and just had to do a story, but this is my first chronivac story)
Nobody at the gym could quite explain what happened to your personal trainer Chet. He’d just gone home with some big-titted bimbo at the bar and come in the next day a little unfocused, unable to remember the routines.
You knew something was definitely up when the day after Chet kept giggling uncontrollably and you had to practically lead him to every machine to spot you. Not only that but he had a hell of a pec pump considering it wasn’t chest day and he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off his nipples.
By day 3 Chet was just mostly staring blankly as you worked out. His pecs looked massive and bounced with each of your reps, sometimes eliciting a small pleasurable grunt from him. Part way through the bench press you realized he was just staring at your crotch and drooling. You put down your weights, this had to stop.
“Listen Chet I’ve got a girlf-” you put your hand on his chest and felt it sink into his massive hairy pec flesh. You swallow dryly as his other hand tugs one of his fat nipples and you’re drawn to the hairy gulf between them. When you notice Chet’s rock hard in his gym shorts you peel away and head home.
On day 4 Chet doesn’t show up for work. The guys at the gym ask you to swing by his place and you know you shouldn’t but you can’t help yourself. Last night your girlfriend had so many problems and ideas and her body felt so flat you couldn’t even get it up.
The door to Chet’s apartment is cracked open and a groaning sound is coming from inside. All it takes is seeing Chet on his couch, sucking the nipple of his own massive pec as he rubs one out for you to strip off your clothes and forget your girlfriend. You need this big-titted himbo for yourself.
Of course a full day of fucking makes it pretty easy to not notice how light headed you’re getting…or that tingle in your nipples.
Muscle Tf Lover 