Fantasy Football (Patreon)

Steve’s hands clutched the sheets, his sculpted arms flexing as they held his rocking torso upright.  The pecs he’d worked so hard to carefully cultivate, with their equally manicured layer of chocolate fur, bounced with the force of each impact.  The blows were softened only slightly by the plump, ample cheeks that absorbed them, the muscled mounds rippling as Dave’s thick cock slammed in and out of his aching hole.  Steve’s toned thighs burned as he writhed in time with his friend’s thrusting, his own fat, untouched cock swinging wildly and slapping loudly against his firm abs.  The handsome brunette’s broad, dimpled chin hung, his pouty lips parted beneath half-closed eyes, his wavy chocolate crop a disheveled mess.  “Oh fuck…oh fuck…oh fuck…” Steve whimpered, still trying to come to terms with his new role.  The fit 24 year old had hooked up with more women during the course of his virile adolescence and young adulthood than he could remember, but he’d only been getting fucked by other men for a week

He wished he could say it was an adjustment.  He wanted to be embarrassed, or at least ashamed, of the eager and multiple ways he’d taken to dick.  Steve had always joked that gay guys had it easy, that they could cut straight to the chase and not have to play games the way he did with women, and now he was getting to test that theory for himself.  It left the normally-experienced stud feeling like he was starting over again, but with that new beginning came the novelty and ecstasy of previously unexplored pleasure.  Given the young hunk’s superior looks, Steve would have had a line of guys waiting even without the supernatural forces involved, which meant that his current state of inexperience would be short lived at best.  He’d already taken to blowing guys like his luscious lips had been tailor made for that specific purpose, and he was just as quickly learning how to use his ample bottom like a third hand.  Whether the rapid acquisition of skill was due to natural talent or otherworldly influences he didn’t know, nor did he ultimately care.

Which isn’t to say that he wasn’t confused at first.  Steve didn’t actually think the threat was real.  He’d never actually expected to lose something intrinsic whenever his chosen football team lost a game, and yet that’s exactly what happened.  He barely even remembered the argument.  He’d been drunk at the bar with his friends, running his mouth in a way that wasn’t unusual for an arrogant jock like himself when debating sports.  He’d aggressively insisted that this was “the” season for the local team, to the point of bordering on violence when the strange man had disagreed.  This was the part where things became hazy.  Steve remembered putting his hands on a man’s shoulders, though he couldn’t recall much about whoever it was.  And while he didn’t think he’d actually hurt the stranger, the next thing he remembered was the man standing a few steps away, saying that if Steve was that invested he should put some skin in the game.  The intoxicated brunette didn’t know it was a curse at the time.  He’d heard the man say that, since his love for the team was so wrapped up in his identity, he’d lose a part of that identity every time they lost a game.  But he didn’t think it was real.  Not at first.

It wasn’t until a few days later, after his team lost their next game, that Steve realized the truth of his predicament.  He’d felt off all day at the office, an unaccustomed blanket of anxiety having draped itself over his broad shoulders whenever he was around his male coworkers.  At the time he didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered, or the unusual sparks flashing through both his brain and his loins.  He’d simply blamed it on a lack of sleep and a lack of getting laid in the previous few days, not putting the pieces together until he stepped into the locker room at the gym after work.  He’d stripped down to his boxers when, all at once, the source of his anxiety came into focus.  Surrounded by men of varying shapes and sizes in varying states of undress, Steve felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.  His cock rocketed to life, which had forced him to scamper into a bathroom stall to seek refuge, his head spinning.  The musky melange mixed with the astringent smell of bleach, the sight of bare, masculine flesh, the deep voices echoing off the lockers, the hissing showers and what that implied; all were things he’d never paid much attention to until they suddenly made his mouth water.

He eventually got himself under enough of a tenuous control to complete his workout, but it was half hearted at best.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off the other men no matter how hard he tried, and several noticed.  One of them, a shredded, buzzed-haired hunk named Briggs who Steve had always had a friendly rivalry with, seemed especially interested.  They were both committed regulars and would make small talk or sometimes spot each other, but on that occasion the other man was obviously flirting.  Instead of shooting him down or even calling him out on it, Steve found himself flirting back, and almost before he knew it they were in a secluded corner of the parking deck in Briggs’s car, his face bobbing up and down on the other man’s deliciously stout cock.  His own shorts and boxers were down around his ankles, and the flustered brunette felt like he should be embarrassed at the way he so eagerly jerked himself off while Briggs watched, or at how much he enjoyed the sensation of the other man’s hand toying with his hole as he bent over.  He didn’t know what he was doing, why he was doing it, or even how to do it since he’d never sucked a dick before, but his chiseled friend loved every second and, for whatever reason, so did he.  He made up for his somewhat awkward, fumbling technique with an abundance of enthusiasm, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed as Briggs talked him through it like he was giving him pointers on lifting.  Normally the most experienced guy in the room, Steve was a little embarrassed at having to be told what to do, but he was nothing if not a quick learner.  Surprisingly he came first, his muffled, vibrating howl the final straw that pushed Briggs over the edge, and Steve sucked down as much as he could, the warm, salty fluid lighting up his tongue like nectar.

Despite his abundant confusion afterwards, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  He’d never been so turned on in his life, an overwhelming instinct to make up for lost time suddenly becoming his sole motivation.  A few hours later, after a round of drinks with his friend Donny, he had his second opportunity.  Whether it was the effects of the curse or just his natural, handsome charm, Steve apparently had no problem getting men to reciprocate his interest, regardless of their sexual orientation.  As far as he knew the balding, beefy bear was entirely straight, yet it had only taken the faintest suggestion to get his pants down and his fat cock in Steve’s mouth.  The stout stud had been entirely confused, but as soon as the brunette’s pretty lips were gliding along his throbbing rod nothing else mattered.

Fortunately for Steve, it hadn’t taken long for word to spread amongst his group of friends.  The next day he messed around once again with Briggs at the gym, then later in the evening went at both Donny and his friend Brent, a tight, wiry ginger whose slight frame bore an absolutely massive hose.  Much to his surprise, more than the taste of the copious releases, Steve realized he loved getting blasted in the face.  He felt like it should have been degrading, to have been on his knees, lustfully whimpering into his friends’ thighs until his handsome face had been coated by their sticky explosions.  It was nothing like the smug superiority he normally displayed when it came to sex, a fact that was further magnified on the third night when he was fucked for the first time.

He’d been craving it since the first day.  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how it felt to have Briggs playing with his tight hole, and how much he wanted the real thing.  None of his friends had raised the issue so far during their romps, but Carl had it foremost in his mind.  Steve knew the burly brute of a man had always been resentful of his more refined features, so he wasn’t surprised by how much the bulky bull seemed to enjoy fucking his pretty face.  Carl wasn’t being cruel, it was simply obvious in the smug, victorious grin that beamed down at the kneeling hunk from above the bigger man’s prominent muscle gut.  Steve was well aware of the discrepancy, but instead of impeding the flow of things, it propelled them over the edge.  Carl had already made the eager brunette strip before letting him at his imposingly thick pole, which meant there was nothing in the way when he pulled back, raised an eyebrow, and then hauled the kneeling hunk to his feet as Steve nodded.  Before the pretty stud could wrap his head around what was about to happen he’d been thrust onto the couch, his legs on Carl’s shoulders while the boulder of a man lined himself up for entry.

Steve’s vision had gone white.  For a blessedly brief instant he’d been overcome with searing pain, his virgin hole forced open by what felt like a blue whale as Carl’s rigid club inched its way to the hilt.  But as the big man started rocking, the pain began to fade.  Each thrust swapped out a bit more agony for ecstasy, until Steve was wild-eyed and howling by the time Carl’s gentle thrusting had revved to a vigorous pounding.  He huffed and writhed and grunted, anything resembling his normal composure quickly having become a thing of the past.  He’d been well aware of what he must have looked like, and a part of him had wished he’d been on all fours with his back turned so that Carl couldn’t see his desperate abandon, but the bigger man never looked away.  Steve was pinned beneath the thrusting mountain of muscle, his unfiltered desire laid bare before his friend’s arrogant gaze.  He’d felt small and helpless and out of control in a way he’d never experienced, and even before his own untouched cock coated his face, Steve knew there’d be no going back.  And when he felt Carl’s warm explosion filling him from within a few moments later, he couldn’t even pretend that he wanted to.

The rest of the week had passed in a flurry of grunting, desperate fucking.  Steve had quickly adapted to bottoming, becoming specifically proficient in taking a cock at both ends simultaneously.  By the following weekend he’d been fucked by almost every guy he knew as well as several he didn’t, having been taken in a supply closet at work, in the showers at the gym, bent over the trunk of Briggs’ car in an empty lot, and in nearly every room in each of his friends’ houses.  He’d remembered the man and the curse on the fourth day, but already by that point Steve had a hard time viewing the bliss he experienced as a punishment.

He’d become so enthralled by the newly discovered ecstasies that he’d forgotten all about the game that afternoon.  He was much more interested in what Brent’s thick log was doing to his perky bubble.

“Brooooo…I don’t know what…pushed you in this…direction…but…” Brent trailed off in a whistle, his tight hips slamming into Steve’s muscled globes.  “I mean…what?  Wasn’t enough that…you got…more pussy than all of us?  Now you have to go and…be better…than any of that pussy combined?”

“Didn’t…know what…I was…missing out…on…” Steve grunted, his broad shoulders flexing as he arched his back.  Brent had found a sweet spot, and he could feel the pressure welling in the redundant organ his impressive cock had become.  “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck dude…don’t…don’t stooOOOHHHH!”  He wailed and sprayed, throwing his ass back again and again with each spurt until he’d pulled a similar eruption from his friend.  Only when he’d milked out every last drop with his dextrous hole did he fall forward onto the sticky sheets, his wiry friend sprawling out on top of him.

It was the point where things always became awkward.  In the heat of the moment the guys were all too happy to comply, but when they were spent and breathless the spell normally started to fade.  Steve loved the sensation of their naked bodies wrapped around each other for as long as possible, and he’d managed to steal a few kisses here and there, but his friends were usually significantly less enthused about the aftermath.

It didn’t bother Brent.  The toned redhead was perfectly content to catch his breath with the worked-over hunk in his arms.  He absently stroked at one of Steve’s prominent pecs, enjoying the pleasant afterglow as his spent snake softened against his friend’s meaty thigh.  “Oh, shit.  I just remembered what day it was.  You really DO love that cock if you were willing to skip watching the game this afternoon.”  Brent blushed when Steve quickly leaned in for a kiss, catching himself returning the gesture before it occurred to him what he was doing.

“What can I say,” the brunette shrugged when Brent pulled away.  “My priorities shifted a little.”

“No complaints there,” the freckled young man laughed, reluctantly untangling from his friend and sitting up on the edge of the bed.  He grabbed his phone and sighed.  “Looks like we lost anyway.”

Steve’s stomach dropped at the news, a fresh wave of dread slamming into him.  He’d done his best not to think about the implications if his confusing circumstances really were related to a curse, but now he was going to find out for sure.  “Wish I could say I was surprised.  I love ‘em, but…” he shrugged again as he hopped to his feet.  He stretched and scratched at the light dusting of hair on his abs while he looked around Brent’s room, a puzzled expression on his face.  “Uh…you didn’t happen to see where my clothes went, did you?”

The wiry man walked around the edge of the bed with a confused grin.  He nodded at the ground and gave his friend’s pummeled ass a swat.  “What do you mean?  They’re right there.”

Steve bit back a gasp, his eyes going wide as he looked at the small lump of fabric on the ground.  Instead of his discarded shorts, boxers and t-shirt all he saw was a skimpy pair of black satin bikini briefs.  The revealing underwear was little more than two thin straps connecting two equally small panels of shiny material, looking like it would do little to provide any actual coverage.  “But…no, that’s…that’s not mine…” he insisted meekly.

Brent tousled Steve’s hair, his smile growing.  “Did I give it to you a little too hard?  Of course it is.”

The chocolate-haired hunk’s heart started racing.  He wanted to deny it, but he knew what Brent said was true.  What’s more, he began to understand exactly how true it was.  Steve wanted to scream, or at least he felt like he should have wanted to, when it occurred to him that he no longer remembered what it felt like to wear clothes.  He remembered on an objective level that he had at some point in the past, but it had been so long since he’d worn anything other than shoes and tiny underwear that he couldn’t actually recall what being covered on a regular basis was like.

His terrified suspicions were confirmed when Brent held up his phone.  Steve’s head was already filling with images of himself in public, at work, at the gym, and with his friends wearing nothing but items similar to the underwear at his feet, and he saw proof of that on the other man’s screen.  It was a group photo from the week before at their usual bar, only while everyone else was fully clothed, Steve was only clad in a pair of petite gray briefs and sneakers.  As someone who’d only ever worn boxers he had to admit that the revealing underwear did an expert job of accentuating his shredded waist, stuffed bulge, and eye-catching rear; he just didn’t understand why he wasn’t purple with embarrassment at the thought.  He knew he should have been mortified, but already it felt perfectly natural.

“Oh, yeah.  Duh.  Guess you really did give it to me,” Steve laughed bashfully as he slipped the bikinis on.  As suspected the back panel left most of his firm cheeks exposed, while the front pouch was pulled down to just above the base of his cock as the girthy package filled it to capacity.  And though he’d never worn anything like them, Steve had to remind himself of that since his exposed flesh refused to do so.

“Thanks for wearing the sexy ones,” Brent winked, giving the elastic waist a snap before trotting out of the room.

Steve waited a moment for the embarrassment that never came before following his friend and slipping into his flip flops, his heart racing as he stepped outside and started heading back home.  The walk across town in his exposed state was every bit as uneventful as it would have been had he been clothed, save for the increase in attention that came his way.  Now, nearly every man he passed stopped to stare, making it clear that they were well aware of his exposure even though they didn’t respond to it in the way they normally would have.

It was a pattern that continued throughout the week.  Steve tried to be horrified when he made it back home from Brent’s and found a drastically altered wardrobe waiting for him, just like he tried to be humiliated the next day when he strutted into the office wearing nothing but a pair of steel-gray bikinis and loafers.  But in both instances he couldn’t muster the emotions.  He knew it was wrong to be parading around so exposed, and he knew that even a few days prior the thought would have been a nightmare.  He liked showing off his build in tight clothes and in the locker room, but he’d never been one for overt exhibitionism.  It made him feel cheap and desperate, two states that were normally foreign to the smug stud.  Now he felt both deeply, and he loved every second of it.  As with the vigorous way he’d taken to getting fucked, prancing around on display just felt right.  Even when he lost control of his wandering mind at the gym and his pink jockstrap became an open-sided tent, exposing his plump balls in the process, no one did anything more than stare a little longer.  As far as he was concerned he hadn’t been cursed with stolen clothing; he’d been gifted with freedom.

The exposure only helped fulfill his new desires.  Steve had men practically throwing themselves at him, at least when he wasn’t already throwing himself at them.  So many of his friends were constantly coming and going from his house that he’d taken to not wearing anything at all when he was home.  It wouldn’t be long before it was just taken off again, and the difference between a thin scrap of fabric barely covering his lower half and nothing at all was slight at best.

It wasn’t until the following game that Steve’s whirlwind weeks of exposed flesh and wanton debauchery were put into a different perspective.  He was riding Carl’s lap with the game on in the background, more focused on kneading his friend’s plump, meaty pecs than on the television behind him.  It didn’t look good for his team, but instead of fearing the outcome Steve was eager as he bounced up and down.

“Doesn’t look…good for our boys…” Carl grunted, his big hands glued to the brunette’s bubble.  He looked around Steve’s shoulder as the game was finally called for the other side.  “I still don’t know why…you…keep insisting they’ll…win every year…”

“No fairweather fans over here,” the lean jock purred.  “If you only like a team when they win you’re…not…really…a…fan…” he trailed off in a choked gasp and cleared his throat.  As he’d been speaking, his voice had rapidly risen several octaves until his smooth tenor was a light, dainty chirp.  “Do I…oh fuck…do I sound…weird…” he whined, his eyes going wide.

Carl just laughed and nodded.  “Of course you do…but that’s…nothing new…” he grunted.  “It’s…part of your…charm…”

“But…but it shouldn’t…beeeeEEEIIIIEEEE…!”  Steve broke off in a piercing shriek, which was rapidly followed by another, and then another.  The amount of pleasure he felt hadn’t increased by nearly as dramatic an amount, but it was suddenly as if he had to let the high-pitched cries free, obliterating the aura of control he’d managed to recultivate over the preceding weeks.  Now he was like a lustful, chirping bird, the light, soft voice a sharp contrast to the masculine package that contained it.

“Hoooooo,” Carl whistled a few moments later, after pumping several loads into the wailing stud.  “I love how you always bring the enthusiasm,” he chuckled.

“I…I can’t help it…” Steve panted.  He wanted it to sound like a plea for help, but the softened, lilting tone just sounded flirty.  He blushed when Carl reached up and tousled his hair, immediately noticing the condescending edge to his friend’s smile.

“That’s the best part,” the bigger man winked before pulling Steve in for a kiss.  The addled brunette tensed at first, caught off guard by the unexpected move.  Carl had long been a holdout when it came to anything more than raw fucking, so to have the beefy bull’s tongue eagerly thrust into his mouth was the last thing Steve saw coming.

“Wow.  Where’d that come from,” he chirped when the other man finally pulled his mouth away.

Carl just looked confused.  “What?  I’m not supposed to kiss a pretty little thing like you?  Especially after what you just did to my dick?  Feels kinda rude not to,” he grinned, leaning in for another one.

Steve returned the gesture, loving every second of it even though his stomach dropped.  It was clear that something more than his voice had changed, a fact that became abundantly clear over the following days.  As he squeaked and chirped his way through the bizarre routine of exhibitionist lust that was his new life, he quickly noticed the shift in the way people treated him.  They still stared and ogled, but now those leering expressions were twinged with superiority.  Everyone seemed to talk down to him.  He was constantly interrupted, talked at, mansplained to, and generally treated as though he wasn’t capable.  Nothing in his skills, abilities, or appearance had changed, yet in everyone’s view he’d suddenly gone from top dog to little puppy.  Men now used words like “cute” or “adorable” or “pretty” instead of “hot” and “ripped” and “handsome” when talking to him, and while his status amongst his peer group had shifted already over the preceding weeks, Steve now officially found himself looking in from the outside.  At the gym, the men he’d always lifted around treated him like he no longer knew what any of the equipment was or how it worked, and guys he’d known for years now talked down to him like he was some random girl one of them had picked up at the bar.

It was all made worse by the fact that Steve loved it.  During the first few days he’d had a reflexive instinct to balk at the demeaning treatment, but that was a conscious rejection on the part of his old self, not anything close to what he actually felt.  What he actually experienced was a giddy fluttering in his stomach whenever a deep voice talked down to him.  Instead of interrupting and telling one of the guys at the gym that he obviously already knew what he was doing, he’d stand and grin while they over explained until his cock was rigid and tented in whatever little underwear he wore, at which point he’d blush bashfully while they all talked about how cute it was that he was so obviously turned on.  It made the contrast between his heightened voice and the masculine shell that contained it all the more jarring, though that contrast began to soften the following week.

As usual, Steve was spending his Sunday getting railed by one of his friends.  He’d gone over to Brent’s the night before, feeling more like he was on a date than fooling around with a buddy.  The wiry ginger had taken him out to dinner, which he’d paid for, and when they came back to the smaller man’s apartment they’d made out and pawed at each other for what felt like hours before actually getting down to it.  Steve hadn’t planned on spending the night, but he’d drifted off in his friend’s toned arms only to find himself in a familiar scene the following morning, even if he was filling an unfamiliar role.  After another romp and a shared shower, Brent had taken him out for brunch, with Steve fawning, flirting and chirping the whole time.  The bigger brunette knew he was hanging on his friend like a lovesick teenager, but he couldn’t help himself.  He’d started doing it to all of his friends when he was with them.  Steve was well aware of the doting behavior; he just couldn’t do anything about it.  Even though it had only been a few weeks, the world where he’d existed as an arrogant, straight, fully-clothed hunk felt like a lifetime ago, and the distance was about to grow.

They had that week’s game on in the background, but Steve’s focus was solely on Brent’s angular face looming above him.  He had his legs up on the other man’s bony shoulders, his friend’s fat log eliciting an endless stream of high, wailing whimpers.  His own untouched cock oozed and slapped wildly against his washboard, and it was the absence of that slapping which caught Steve’s attention first.  One second his seven-inch club had been thudding into his stomach, and the next he felt nothing.

It didn’t register for several moments, and Steve wished it had taken longer when it finally did.  “Whaaaaa!  What…what is…is that my dick?!” he croaked, his eyes wide when he looked at the oozing nub poking out from between his thighs.  Instead of long and hefty with a set of churning balls, the petite poker couldn’t have been more than a pair of inches, with accompanying mounds that looked vestigial.  “Where…where the fuck did it go?!”

Brent raised an eyebrow, his thrusting slowing as he reached down and fully obscured Steve’s diminished package with a slim hand.  “Little guy’s right where it’s always been,” he said, grinning when his light squeeze brought forth another squeal.

Steve looked over at the TV to confirm what he already knew and saw the official news of the team’s loss, looking back just in time to see Brent tweaking his little nub between a pair of fingers.  Just a few minutes earlier the other man would have had to pump with a full fist, but now Steve’s head swam as he watched the little organ look small even between the slender digits.  With his new love for bottoming he hadn’t even thought about putting the once-proud organ to its former use during the previous weeks, but that didn’t mean the flustered hunk wanted to give anything up.  Especially with his revealing new wardrobe, Steve was mortified at the thought that he’d now be walking around flaunting exactly what he’d lack.  Now when people looked at him, their condescending eyes would travel down his prominent pecs and along his ripped washboard only to land at a pathetic little bulge.

“HHOooooOOUUuuhhh…!”  Steve howled, the image sending a fresh punch of lust through him.  He pictured himself strutting around the gym with his new endowment, the guys’ superior attitudes and superior packages lording over him.  Now, no matter who he was with, the other person would always be the bigger one, further cementing his new role.  It occurred to Steve in that moment just how much he’d already lost, and how much of the season was left to go.

“Damn…looks like we…lost again…” Brent grunted when he finally noticed the results of the game.

Steve only whimpered, his back arching when his shrunken cock erupted.