Feeling Blue (Patreon)

“Man…you really let that guy have it,” Doug whistled, shaking his head.

“Look what he did to my coat,” Britt fumed, brushing the cement dust from his perfectly tailored blazer.  As usual, the young brunette was immaculately dressed.  His athletic, precision-sculpted frame was expertly accentuated by his fitted suit, the crimson tie nestled just right between his chiseled pecs.  The dusty blazer was tight enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong arms without being too obvious, and the sharp lines of his starched collar paralleled the ones of his strong jaw.  At the same time, Britt’s slim-cut slacks gave a hint of the sizable bulge that lurked in his designer briefs, while leaving nothing about his perky bubble to the imagination.  The deep navy of the suit, coupled with the stark white of his shirt, made the young hunk’s tanned skin stand out, leaving his wavy hair and flawless, moisturized face the crowning jewels of his impressive appearance.

At only twenty five, Britt worked hard to ride the line between youthful charm and intimidating presence.  He needed to be seen as competent and more than just a pretty boy to rocket his way up the corporate ladder the way he had, but his vanity wouldn’t let him completely ignore his above average looks.  Britt followed a rigorous workout schedule to maintain his fit build, and his daily manscaping routine took up a considerable chunk of his morning.  His roommate, Carson, constantly gave him a hard time about it, but Britt would take each of those opportunities to remind his friend of the importance of discipline, and how that discipline was currently providing the laidback jock with a nicer place to live than he’d ever be able to afford on his own.

So, given his polished presentation, when the construction crew outside his office building had sent an ill-timed dust cloud wafting his way, he’d been furious.  The construction zone was clearly marked as such, and it was obvious the crew was working as he’d approached, but Britt still blamed the burly man with the jackhammer.

“Probably didn’t need to call him an ‘idiot ape man’ is all I’m saying…or drop an F bomb on him,” Doug sighed, trying and failing to come up with a reason why he shouldn’t be as resentful of the arrogant young hunk as the rest of his coworkers.

Britt shrugged, adjusting his tie as they stepped into the elevator.  “Please.  I make more in a year than that brute will make in his life.  And it’s not like I’m actually a homophobe…it’s just a word.  I can call him whatever I want.”  Doug shuffled a few steps to the left, hoping he was far enough away to avoid the lightning bolt that surely would have struck the arrogant young exec in a more fair universe.  Britt was too busy inspecting his reflection in the shiny doors to notice.  He’d gotten as much of the dust off as he could, but there was still a noticeable chalky layer.  He was debating whether or not to send it out for dry cleaning when the elevator suddenly lurched, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.  “Whoa!  What the hell was that?”

Doug, still perfectly balanced, raised an eyebrow.  “What the hell was what?”

“The elevator…you didn’t feel it bounce just then?”  Britt shook his head, slow in finding his sea legs.  “Nearly knocked me on my ass…”

“I didn’t feel anything,” Doug said, holding back a grin.  He didn’t know what Britt was talking about, but any opportunity to see the smug punk’s veneer crack was something to be relished.  “Maybe you’re just standing in the right spot.”

“This is what I’m talking about.  Damn thing was probably built by someone like that caveman outside,” Britt fumed.  He stepped off when the doors opened, not bothering to say goodbye to his coworker or note the relief on the other man’s face at his exit.  He was frustrated, and more than ready to take his aggression out on the project waiting for him in his office.  Nailing it would get him even further in the Board’s good graces.  Britt had his sights set on far more than his current position, and he couldn’t get there fast enough.

Unfortunately, as he sat down to get to work, the flustered young hunk couldn’t seem to focus.  He stared at his computer, his leg bouncing restlessly, unable to generate the motivation that normally came so easily.  Fruitless minutes turned into hours, and almost before he knew it Britt was staring at the back half of the afternoon with nothing to show for his time.  At one point he’d even caught himself absently massaging his aching cock through his pants, only catching himself when he felt the pressure build to a dangerous level.  His office door had been shut, but Britt was mortified at the thought of what he’d nearly done.  He blamed it on his bad start to the morning, and an excess of nervous energy.  He was anxious about the project, and he hadn’t gotten laid in over a week.  He just needed to blow off some steam, he told himself.

He hit the gym like always after work, but as with the time spent at his desk, he couldn’t seem to muster his normal enthusiasm.  He went through the motions with the weights, halfheartedly slinging dumbbells and giving a token effort with the machines.  Cardio was entirely out of the question, though, as he barely made it five minutes on the treadmill before calling it quits.  It wasn’t that he was tired or worn out; he just didn’t want to be there.

If physical exertion wouldn’t work, Britt told himself he’d give happy hour a shot.  After a quick shower and a change of clothes in the locker room, he headed for his favorite bar, an upscale cocktail lounge a few blocks away.   The place was exclusive, which fed his ego, and there were usually plenty of eligible young women interested in a hook up with a handsome, wealthy young stud like himself.  “Happy hour” was a bit of a misnomer as the drinks still cost more than what the average person would spend on an entire dinner bill, but that’s what he liked about it.

So when he raised a beer to his lips, Britt was confused.  He didn’t remember ordering it at all.  He was a martini or a Manhattan kind of guy, and he actively judged people who came to such an upscale establishment only to order a beer.  But that didn’t stop him from tilting his head back and downing nearly half of it in one pull.  He caught himself in the act and tried to stop, barely managing to lower the drink before he’d drained it dry.  He blinked at the half-empty glass in stunned silence, feeling a return of his earlier vertigo.  His barstool seemed to shift, as if it was sitting on a waterbed instead of a solid floor, and he leaned forward on the bar for support, his exposed stomach brushing against the underside.

Britt froze at the sensation, letting out a loud gasp when he looked down to see a round little gut sticking out from the bottom of his shirt.  He was mortified, the embarrassment hitting before the fear.  The shirt that should have shown off his tight, tapering waist now rode up on what was a very obvious belly.  There was no other word for it.  When he’d put on the fitted jeans and the skin-tight shirt in the locker room less than an hour before, everything had fit perfectly.  Now, as he tugged the shirt down, hoping in vain for it to stay in place, his fingers bit into the soft new layer that covered his former tank tread and spilled out at his expanded sides.  What should have been ripped obliques with deep trenches pointing the way to his thick hose were now budding love handles.  Giving himself a frantic once-over, the rest of Britt’s body appeared more or less the same.  His prominent pec cleavage still showed through the v-neck t-shirt, and the thin fabric still clung to his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps.  It just wouldn’t stay in place over his impossible new gut.

He had no idea what to do.  Britt could see people giving him a mix of amused and disgusted looks out of the corner of his eye, along with a few hungry stares from some men in the room that provoked a confusing response on his twitching cock's part.  Afraid that he was having some sort of allergic reaction, he felt like he should head to the nearest emergency room, but at the same time he found that thought ridiculous.  He felt totally fine.  There was nothing an ER could do for him, and he didn’t need one anyway.  It was a Friday night after a long week and he was just out for a drink to blow off steam.  He didn’t need to worry about a shirt that was too small.

Britt was back to contentedly drinking his beer before he realized how wrong that thought process was.  Suddenly sprouting a gut he was forced to flash to the entire bar was very much a reason to be concerned, and if he didn’t go to a hospital, he should at least go home and figure things out.  He slammed back the rest of his beer, letting out a belch that was as embarrassing as it was uncharacteristic, and hurried out the door.  He did his best to ignore the breeze against his exposed belly, and to not to think about the scornful looks people were giving him as he awkwardly scampered past.

The walk back to his apartment was torture.  Britt winced every time he stepped too hard and felt a ripple in his softened midsection, or when he saw his warped reflection in a darkened window.  His perfectly-proportioned frame had become anything but, giving him an almost pregnant appearance as his stomach pushed out from his otherwise firm torso.

Though as confusing as the external changes were, the internal ones were even worse.  Britt kept forgetting that anything was wrong at all.  For every reflection that made his stomach turn, he passed one without giving it a second thought.  He wasn’t even embarrassed at letting his gut hang out.  It just felt natural, to the point where he had to force himself to hold onto the humiliation that kept trying to wriggle free from his grip.

Things only got worse once he was back home.  Any refuge he thought his apartment would provide quickly vanished as soon as Carson took one look at him.  His sandy-haired roommate raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his equally prominent chest, a confused grin on his boy-next-door face.

“That’s a look,” Carson laughed.  “You didn’t notice you’d grabbed one of my shirts BEFORE you left the apartment?”

Britt froze.  He didn’t know what to say.  He’d expected his friend to be horrified by the protruding growth where his abs should have been, not to make a joke out of it.  And then there was his own surprising reaction.  One look at Carson’s athletic frame clad in nothing but a pair of loose boxers and a muscle shirt sent his stomach fluttering.  It was his friend’s standard uniform when he was lounging around their apartment, a sight he’d seen countless times, but now he couldn’t look away.  His eyes traced along the cresting edges of his friend’s plump, furry pecs, and down the tapering sides that led directly to the girthy package bouncing against the front of Carson’s thin boxers.  Britt had always given the other man a hard time for the way he let his chest hair grow out, as unlike himself, Carson was perfectly content to sport a wiry carpet.  Now, it was a trait that the confused brunette was suddenly grateful for.  His hands tingled at the memory of the soft hair against them, and he was so focused on his growing thirst that he almost forgot about his inflated midsection.

“Dude, it was just a joke,” Carson said, misinterpreting Britt’s silence.  He walked over and gave the addled man’s stomach a rough pat, his expression softening.  “You okay?”

Britt swallowed hard, too busy staring at Carson’s soft, full lips to pay much attention to the way his stomach shook on impact.  He felt his friend’s hand sink in, but the horror was overpowered by a surge of lust.  “Ye…yeah,” he stammered, nodding.  He could feel himself blushing.  “I don’t know what I did,” he said, looking down at his exposed belly.  It seemed bigger, but all he could think about was how close his hand and the front of Carson’s boxers were.

The sandy-haired stud flashed a smug grin.  “Can’t fault you for wanting to look like this,” Carson said, lifting the bottom of his muscle shirt to expose his ripped, hairy abs.

The sight of what he’d somehow lost, along with the aching surge of lust, hit Britt like a slap in the face.  “I’m, uh, I’m going to go change,” he muttered, forcing himself to not look back at Carson’s muscled bubble as he slipped around his friend and darted for his room.  “What the fuck is happening…” Britt sighed to himself once he was inside, feeling heavier than he should when he leaned back against his closed door.

Though he could already see the round patch of flesh, he was afraid to peel out of the shirt.  In his mind, seeing his entirely bare torso with its warped proportions would make it all the more real.  But he knew he didn’t have a choice.  There was also the matter of the increasing tightness at the waist of his pants.  They’d been biting into his expanding midsection more and more since leaving the bar, and Britt was starting to fear that they’d soon give out entirely.  He didn’t think that was something he could handle.  Fingers trembling, he undid his fly, wincing at the way his hands dug into what should have been firm, muscled flesh.  He hated the relief he felt when the pressure faded, and he went pale at the sight of his tented briefs.  It wasn’t just the confusing cause of his cock’s throbbing that filled him with dread; it was the altered perspective.  For the first time, instead of looking down over a lean washboard, his view was obstructed.  Only the top half of the tent was visible without bending his neck forward, and though the motion was slight, Britt felt like he was having to do yoga just to look at his dick.

His disgust grew when he finally forced himself out of his shirt.  Seeing his plump new midsection in all its glory was more jarring than he’d anticipated.  He poked at it, shivering as his fingers bit into the slight love handles, and feeling nauseous at the way he could grip it with both hands.  When he flexed and squeezed, there was a slight bit of relief at the muscle he could still feel buried underneath, but the question of where the excessive bulk came from remained unanswered.

Britt was afraid the issue was only going to become more pressing.  As he stared at his bloated reflection, he saw that the growth had begun to spread.  The tightness he at first blamed on his throbbing tent was actually due to an inflation of his perky bubble and toned thighs, causing his briefs to bite into his legs just as much as they were at his waist.  He didn’t like what it implied, especially when he opened his dresser and found himself looking down on a wardrobe he didn’t recognize.

“What the hell is all this stuff,” he gasped, pulling out ratty tank-tops and muscle shirts that were two sizes too large.  Instead of the mediums he normally wore they were all extra-large, and Britt had never owned something as beat up and worn out as the shirts he found.  Still, he slipped one on without thinking, a stained, faded blue tank-top from a tacky souvenir shop at the beach.  He recognized the shop, and he remembered the trip he’d seen it on, but he never even would have thought about buying it.  Now, it clearly saw frequent use based on how worn it was, and Britt had to remind himself again that all of this was wrong as it felt perfectly at home against his changing skin.

“That’s more like it.”

Britt turned at the sound of Carson’s voice, reflexively catching the beer his friend tossed to him.  For the second time that night he found himself drinking the unusual beverage, cracking it open and downing half of it before it occurred to him that he was still standing with his tented briefs on display.  As with the bar, Britt let out an echoing belch after slugging back most of the can, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm.  “Thanks,” he said, unable to make any move to cover himself.  He knew he should, but he couldn’t get his brain to recognize it as a priority.

“Looked like you could use one,” Carson said, seeming entirely unbothered by his friend’s aroused state.

“I could use a fuckin’ case,” Britt grumbled before he could stop himself.  It wasn’t just what he said that struck him as odd; it was how he said it.  He slammed back the rest of his beer, screaming at himself to stop when he leaned back to drain the can, thrusting his tent forward in the process.

“Plenty in the fridge…but it looks like you’ve already got one shoved in those briefs,” Carson laughed.

“Wanna crack it open for me?”  Britt felt like a man possessed as he tugged the front of his briefs down, letting the rigid pole spring free.  He wagged it in his friend’s direction, too stunned to stop himself.  It was the kind of crass, juvenile humor his friend enjoyed, but that he’d found annoying even in his younger days.  Now, though, he grinned along with the handsome blonde as Carson fished his own hose through the fly of his boxers.

“Dude, only one of us drinks from the tap around here, and it sure as hell ain’t me,” the fit stud said, an expectant grin on his face.  “But if you’re feeling thirsty…I won’t stop you.”

Britt wanted to protest, but even as he screamed at himself that it wasn’t true, his exposed cock throbbed, his eyes glued to the other man’s thick snake.  He actually felt himself lick his lips as he began to shift his weight from foot-to-foot, squirming uncomfortably.  “Yeah?  Thanks, man, I fuckin’ need it,” he said, his heart racing as Carson sauntered over to his bed.  “Ready to pop over here.”

The ripped blonde stretched out, folding his arms behind his head with a smug grin.  “What else is new?”

Even as Britt clambered up onto the bed, he kept telling himself he wasn’t really going to go through with it.  He’d never fooled around with a man in his life, he’d never wanted to, but now his body was on fire at the mere thought.  Carson’s prone frame was practically glowing as he pushed his friend’s muscle shirt up, revealing the chiseled perfection underneath.  Before he could stop himself, Britt’s face was pressed against the soft carpet on the other man’s chest, his tongue eagerly finding its way to the tiny nipples.

“Whooo,” Carson whistled, “I’m getting the full treatment tonight, huh?”

“Sorry dude, you’re just so fuckin’ hot,” Britt mumbled between mouthfuls of his friend’s chest.  It didn’t make any more sense than anything else that was happening.  The formerly shredded brunette knew that his friend was attractive, but he’d always viewed himself as superior.  Carson was pretty, but he was a slacker.  He was content to waste his potential at a series of dead end retail jobs, caring less about money than he did about his free time.  And with his friend letting him crash at his spacious apartment, he made it work.  Because of that, Britt always looked down at Carson, thinking of him more as a project or a pet than an equal.  No matter what else happened, he could always compare himself to his friend if he needed a boost to his ego, a way to remind himself that he still had the better job and the bigger bank account.  Now, that feeling had clearly flipped.  Britt felt anything but superior as he gazed longingly at Carson’s handsome face, and the smug expression the other man wore told him he’d picked up whatever arrogance Britt had lost.

“Tell me again,” Carson laughed, rubbing his friend’s head.

“You. Are. So. Fuckin’. Hot.” Britt punctuated the sentence by flicking his tongue down his friend’s abs.  When he reached the waist of Carson’s boxers, he nuzzled the other man’s twitching hose for a moment before grabbing the elastic in his teeth and pulling.  His friend didn’t make it easy, but Britt was all too happy for the challenge as it let him spend more time with his face buried in Carson’s crotch, or running down the other man’s muscled legs.  Writhing on his knees, Britt found it more difficult than he was used to, and he wanted to scream every time he felt his unwanted gut squish as he squirmed.  He couldn’t bend as much, and it was taking more effort for his arms to hold him upright.  Still, he writhed until the boxers were free, then reversed course with his tongue up the insides of Carson’s thighs.  He spread his friend’s legs, licking every inch before reaching the other man’s heavy balls.  As if he’d done it hundreds of times already, Britt sucked each one into his mouth, working the churning orbs until his friend’s fat log was hard and oozing.  He swallowed it with the same ease, giving a confused whimper as he bobbed his head.  Though he knew it shouldn’t, it felt wonderful.  The musky aroma and the sensation of his friend’s strapping body against his own were overpowering.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Carson sighed, pumping his hips.  “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.  Who needs rent when I can get this instead?”  Britt paused, the strange words stirring his fear all over again.  For just a moment he was hideously aware of Carson’s cock hitting the back of his throat, and the odd feeling of weights strapped around his midsection.  “Come on, bud, I’m just kidding.  You know I love you even if you weren’t so good with that mouth.  It’s not like I’d kick you out on the street.”  Carson’s purring voice sucked Britt back in before his fear could take hold.  He bobbed his head with renewed vigor, slurping down every last drop when his friend erupted moments later.  He sucked until Carson stopped spasming, reluctantly letting his friend’s hose fall free before sliding up next to him in bed.  “Thanks, man,” Carson panted, giving his friend a dazed smile.

“I did good?” Britt heard himself ask, his own cock still hard and oozing.  “Good enough for…”

Carson laughed and rolled his eyes.  “You are so weird, dude,” he said as he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one arm.  He reached out with the other, sending a shudder through Britt when he began rubbing the other man’s inflated midsection.

“MMMmmm…fuck yeah…” Britt grunted.  Internally he was mortified when he reached down and began pumping away on himself while Carson rubbed his unwanted gut like a dog, but externally he was all smiles as he gazed at his friend’s perfect body.  The jealousy he felt upon looking at the blonde’s ripped frame only fueled the confusing fire, as it wasn’t an emotion he was used to experiencing.  People were jealous of him, not the other way around, but he’d never been more humiliated or turned on in his life. The sensual motion of Carson’s strong hand stroking the soft hair on his stomach was electric.  “NNHHNNnn…” Britt moaned, both out of horror and lust as his last thought finally registered.  He shouldn’t have hair on his stomach.  He lifted his head and looked down, his eyes going wide when he saw the wiry chocolate coating that had sprouted around his navel, and that was quickly spreading to coat the entirety of his newly formed belly.  A similar diamond patch had pushed through the skin in the valley between his pecs, but all Britt could do was stare as his body fell over the edge.  “Shhh…shit…gonna cum…bro…” Carson jerked his hand away just in time, and Britt realized where the stains on his shirt must have come from as he sprayed all over it.  He knew he should have been humiliated at the sound of his animalistic grunts, and the desperate look that must have been on his face as he stared at Carson, but all he felt was an overwhelming bliss.  He barely even registered the continued changes to his speech pattern, with its peppering of profanity and usage of words like “bro” and “dude.”

“Damn, big shooter, you really WERE worked up,” Carson whistled as he looked at the copious spatters on his friend’s damp shirt.  He rolled off the bed and stretched, giving Britt one last glimpse of his smooth bubble before he pulled his boxers back on.  “This was fun,” he winked, leaving the dazed brunette alone on the bed when he sauntered out of the room.

Britt just stared up at the ceiling, tracing a finger through the foreign patches of hair.  Like his midsection, the change should have been impossible.  He always kept himself smooth, and he’d just shaved that morning, so there was no way the carpet should have been growing in as fast as it was, nor should the few patches of hair he did have be thickening.  The dusting on his forearms and calves was growing more dense by the minute, creeping up his arms and thighs to join with the plague of follicles decimating the smooth skin of his torso.  “Fuck is this shit comin’ from,” he spat as he lurched upright, hating the way his gut shifted and squished.  “How’m I turnin’ into a fuckin’ fat…ass…” he trailed off and gasped when he clambered off the bed, the full scope of the changes hitting him.

The growth he thought he’d seen at his thighs had continued, leaving the formerly toned legs thick and beefy, with a set of full, round globes in place of his perky bubble.  Combined with his expanded midsection it left what remained of his unaltered upper body looking small and out of place.  His pecs, shoulders and arms no longer seemed chiseled and strong, but weak and tiny.  As much as he didn’t want them to, Britt started to hope the changes would continue their upward flow just so his body would be back in proportion again.  He knew what that meant, that he’d be lumbering around in a thickened, burly frame, but at least it would match.

“This is some bullshit,” he grunted, trying to get his addled thoughts to gel.  The lack of focus he’d been feeling since that morning had only grown more powerful, and while Britt still knew something was terribly wrong, he was having a hard time holding on to what that something was.  He felt frustrated and on edge, but he was losing the ability to think through the reason why, and to fully express himself.  He pulled open his dresser and slipped on a fresh pair of briefs, blinking at the “XL” tag on the waist.  The store-bought brand caught him off guard as well, he normally only wore designer pairs he ordered online, but the thought was gone by the time he’d pulled them up and adjusted his thick bulge.

He lumbered back out into the apartment, pausing in the doorway when he remembered his cum-soaked tank-top.  He looked down at it, thinking he should swap it out for a fresh one, but was quickly distracted by the thickening tufts of hair spilling out around the edges.  He’d kept walking without realizing it, and by the time it occurred to him that he had in fact left his room, he no longer cared.  He was already at the fridge pulling out another beer.  He slammed it back, downing the entire can in one pull and letting out a now-familiar, echoing belch as he crushed the can and reached for the next one.

“Glad that beer’s so cheap the way you go through it,” Carson said while Britt hissed open the can.

The inflating brunette looked at the cheap, bottom-shelf brand in his hand, still wondering if he should be drinking beer in the first place, let alone something that was less than ten dollars a case.  “I’m not made'a money,” Britt said, wiping his mouth with a hairy forearm.  Before he could process what he’d just said, a musky wave of body odor quickly pulled his attention away.  He winced at it, then felt his stomach drop when he realized he was the source.

“I told you I’d buy the good stuff, dude.  I can more than afford it,” Carson sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Do I look like one’a those fancy fucks in your office,” Britt asked with a laugh, the whole time helplessly aware that he was wearing a cum-soaked shirt and standing in a cloud of his own funk.

“You surely don’t,” Carson said.  “Just be glad your job keeps you busy…I’d balloon up if I drank as much of that swill as you do.”

“I don’t…” Britt’s heart raced at the sudden shift in his memories.  His friend had hinted at it earlier, but now there was no mistaking that he was standing in Carson’s posh apartment, not his own, and that it was his friend who worked in a well-paying corporate position, not him.  Britt sweated his days away as part of a construction crew, using his body instead of his brain.  “…know how you can just sit on your ass all day.  I’d lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“You’d have to have one first,” Carson laughed, his grin fading when he saw Britt’s expression shift.

“Fuck you just say to me?”  Britt puffed his chest out, realizing in the process how thick and broad it had grown.  The last of his definition was officially gone as the once-chiseled pecs ballooned into a meaty slab.  His shoulders and arms had followed suit, both growing thick and round to complete his beefy, bearish new look.

“I was just kiiiiii…!”  Carson was bowled off his feet when Britt darted forward, wrapping his piston arms around the lean blonde and wrestling him to the ground.  “Dude!  Come on, man…you’re getting me all sticky,” the handsome jock whined, trying in vain to wriggle out of his friend’s grip.

Britt responded by letting out another belch, directly in his friend’s face this time.  “Shouldn’t poke the bear,” he grinned, a wave of pride hitting him when he realized how easily he was pinning his friend to the ground.  For all his precision-crafted muscle, Carson was helpless beneath Britt’s brawny new bulk.

“Oh, I’ll poke the bear,” Carson laughed, slipping his hands up under Britt’s tank-top to tweak the hairy hulk’s enlarged nipples.  His smile grew at the burly man’s whimper, and he seized the opportunity to shift Britt over so that he was on top.  “Looks like someone won’t be satisfied ’til they get stuffed,” he purred, letting go of the other man’s chest to stroke a hand through Britt’s shortened hair.

The bloated man's eyes went wide at the feeling of Carson’s hand on his scalp when it should have been weaving through his thick mane.  He frantically looked around for any reflective surface, immediately regretting his decision when he caught a glimpse of his altered features.  Like the rest of his body, his face had lost its sharp edges.  His strong jaw had softened, his high cheekbones swallowed by his round, full new look.  It was all capped off by a buzzed scalp that sported an obvious bald patch, the final blow to the former pretty boy executive who no longer existed.  He wasn’t even Britt anymore, he was Brick, a thick, raunchy bear who, at the moment, only cared about whether or not Carson was going to put his fat cock to work.

He tried to stop himself, or at least Brick told himself he tried, but the inflated bruiser eagerly rolled over at Carson’s nod.  He propped himself up on all fours, his fractured thoughts racing to comprehend the fact that he was about to be fucked by his friend on the floor of an apartment that was no longer his.  He started to feel unfamiliar aches and pains, the result of hours spent hefting concrete and power tools, while one increasingly familiar ache radiated from his plump, hairy cheeks.

“You gonna give me that pretty dick or not,” he barked, rocking back and forth as Carson slowly tugged his briefs down.

The blonde adonis laughed and gave his exposed ass a swat.  “Give me a minute…hard to imagine you’re a hot chick when you smell like a jockstrap.”

Instead of being humiliated, the thought that Carson would be imagining a woman in his place only turned him on all the more.  This wasn’t romantic lovemaking; his friend was using his hairy hole to get off, just like he was using his friend’s thick pole.  Carson wasn’t gay like himself, but Brick was glad that the other man was just as horny and uninhibited.  It also didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.  The beefy brunette knew there were plenty of guys who liked his broad, bulky body, but the thought of riding the straight, smooth jock nearly pushed Brick over the edge by itself.

When Carson finally worked himself in, Brick howled.  He arched his back, his stubby new fingers digging against the smooth wood floor.  The sensation of his recently acquired bulk shaking and bouncing with each of Carson’s thrusts was at once foreign and familiar, just like the feeling of his friend’s hand gripping his altered scalp.

There was still enough of the old Britt left to recognize the irony of how he’d ended up.  He knew it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d blown up at a beefy construction worker that morning, only to end up by the end of the day as the embodiment of the insults he'd hurled.  He didn’t know how it happened, or if it was permanent, but he was having a hard time caring.  He was mortified at the harsh, guttural sound of his new voice, and the constant stink that seemed to be permanently affixed to his inflated frame.  He was still aware that he shouldn’t be so desperate for cock or so infatuated with his friend, and the old Britt clung to the debris of his thoughts like a survivor of a shipwreck.  But it was only a matter of time.  Already the freedom of his new existence was intoxicating.  There was a joy in letting Carson handle the hard stuff while he worked his body during the day, and had his body worked at night.  The lack of effort in his appearance and hygiene wasn’t a curse, it was a gift.  He didn’t need to spend hours keeping himself immaculately groomed anymore because he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.  He wasn’t the one chained to a desk all day, nor did he want to be that person.  He was who he was, and if someone didn’t like it they could fuck right off, he thought.

Or they could always just fuck him instead, as Carson was busy doing.  The blonde hunk rolled his hips like a machine, jackhammering into Brick’s plump cheeks and sending his thick bulk into overdrive.  “Gi…gimme that hammer…” the furry stud groaned, pressing back against his smooth friend.

“What do you…think…I’m doing…” Carson panted.  “I can…only go…so fast…”

“You just need more…practice…” Brick purred, fighting back a shudder.  He was near the edge, trying to hold back because he knew what it meant.  He didn’t know how he knew it, but there was no doubt in his mind that the old Britt would be gone for good, flushed out with the torrent he was about to unleash.  Though it was a life he no longer wanted, it was still his, and he felt like he should at least try and hold on to it.

It was a futile effort.  Brick came so hard he nearly blacked out, finding himself flat on his back, gazing up at Carson when his vision cleared.  His fat cock was flopped up against his hairy belly while his ripped friend smiled down at him.  “Alright, for real this time, no more of that tonight.  I’m gonna have to go wash your stink off me,” the panting blonde said.

Brick grunted as he hefted his bulk upright, his full, stubble-covered cheeks split by a wry grin.  “We’ll see about that.”