The pics that inspired the story:

Note: This is probably one of my most perverse and twisted stories yet. Proceed with caution. You’ve been warned! 😉

Themes: Muscle growth, weight gain, steroids, hair loss, nonconsensual, humiliation, tattoos, hyper cock, silicone, rubberization, race change, dumber, curse, incest

Quick Links

• Chapter 1 – Scroll down!
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3

***

Chapter 1

Clayton Vandenbosch didn’t know why he’d let his younger brother talk him into going to a gay strip club. He was a straight jock who had no interest in seeing naked men, especially not in a seedy, garishly lit club on the wrong side of the beach from their resort. There were plenty of other bars nearby where a guy could drink a beer and hang with friends. Why ruin the vibe with drugged-up, oiled-up, roided-up strippers? He only agreed after his brother, Charles, promised to pay for his drinks.

As soon as they entered the club, he knew it was a mistake. The place was crawling with girly fags, not a real man to be seen, and he felt distinctly out of place. Not only was he the only straight guy present, he was also older than the others by several years. At twenty four, he was a six-year college senior who was only a month away from graduation. He might have taken a long time to graduate but at least his grade point average was good. So good, in fact, he’d already landed a killer job. Yeah, the day after graduation, he was scheduled to start working for a venture capital firm in New York City. He had it made!

The trip to the beach resort over spring break had been his idea–a last, big bash before he joined the workaday world. He didn’t even mind when Charles invited himself and his gay friends along. Everything was going swimmingly until Clayton’s girlfriend and three best friends bailed at the last minute. Suddenly, he found himself faced with the prospect of sharing a hotel room with a squealing bunch of queens. When he balked, Charles pleaded with him not to cancel and he reluctantly caved. It didn’t take him long to regret this decision. Within an hour of arriving at the resort, he was already gnashing his teeth in frustration. And, after six excruciating days trapped with the squealing fags, he’d had enough and couldn’t wait to fly home.

He just had to get through one, last night and then he was home free!

At the bar, Clayton stood at the front of the line with Charles and his friends, hoping no faggots hit on him. Charles and ‘the girls’ craned their necks, trying to see into the poorly-lit club while Clayton held out his driver’s license. He was dressed as conservatively as possible; he didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. Wearing a baseball cap over his blond locks, he had on a baggy pair of cargo shorts and a voluminous football jersey. Anyone looking at him would know instantly that he was straight. Or so he hoped!

Lurking beneath his formless attire, though, was a killer bod that put every other male present–including the strippers–to shame. Clayton worked out tirelessly at the gym, sculpting his long, lean physique. He was at the end of his cutting cycle and his muscles popped beneath his porcelain skin. Nothing marred his beauty, not even a tattoo. His reddish blond beard was close-cropped and his dense body hair was well-trimmed. He had chiseled features, piercing green eyes, and a macho bravado to match. When he strutted around on the beach in his board shorts, he wanted every woman to see how perfect he was.

Using his perfect body for advertising had already worked several times during the trip. Clayton had enjoyed four casual hookups with married women who took him back to their hotel rooms while their husbands were out snorkeling. His big, thick pecker had gotten quite the workout and he was proud of himself. The illicit fun had helped make up for the fact he was stuck with a bunch of faggots the rest of the time.

“Lemme see dat!”

The bouncer snatched his ID out his hand, leaving Clayton to gape at the freakish monstrosity. Was that thing even human? And what the fuck was going on inside the dude’s thong? He looked around, realizing all of the club’s bouncers were built exactly like this roided muscle bull. That is way overbuilt, way overweight, and way over-tattooed…not to mention way overhung. 

Clayton caught himself gaping at the immensely distended pouches of the bouncers’ thongs before he realized that the bulges couldn’t possibly be real. No way a dude could have a fourteen-inch cock with the girth of an eggplant! No way! The bouncers’ over-inflated packages sagged down between their huge, shaved thighs like misshapen elephant trunks. He shuddered and looked away, annoyed with himself for even looking.

There were at least five of the bestial bouncers hulking around the club, leering down at the girly, cackling gay boys who comprised the clientele. Charles and his simpering friends fit right in, Clayton thought with a sneer. He didn’t know what was worse: The sleezy strippers, the catty fags or the bloated bouncers. None of them looked like people he wanted to hang out with. And yet here he was!

“Look, Clayton!” Charles teased behind him. “They’re hiring! You should apply.” He pointed at a tattered sign taped to the wall beside them. It read, “Bouncers needed. Apply within.”

Without thinking, Clayton curled his lip and spat, “Haha! What do I look like? An ugly apeman freak with a peanut for a brain?”

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. There was ominous silence during which the big galoot with his ID turned back to him. Clayton was the same height as the man but he felt tiny in comparison to the brute’s massively ‘roided muscles and fat, bloated belly. The guy’s entire body was shaved and obscene tattoos covered his torso, back, legs, neck. Even his shining, bald pate was tatted up!

“Whadiyasay?” the blimped-out ogre demanded, dangling Clayton’s ID just out of his reach.

“Nothing!” Clayton chirped apologetically. “I didn’t say anything!” 

He reached out to pluck back his ID but the bouncer snatched it away, saying, “Sorry, Pretty Boy. Need ta check on sumthin’. Follow me.” When Clayton hesitated, the beefy bruiser looked over his mounded shoulder and barked, “You, come with me! The rest of yer friends can go on in.”

Clayton looked to Charles for help but he was already heading into the club. Charles patted him on the shoulder as he walked away, soothing, “Go on, bro. I’m sure if you act nice, he’ll give it back and everything’ll be fine. We’ll be waiting in there for ya.” He jerked his head toward the stage where the next round of strippers were already oiling up their unnaturally buff and bulging bodies.

Clayton opened his mouth to object but Charles had gone. Stomach clenched, he looked over to find the immense simian freak waiting for him, a very unhappy expression on his ugly, pockmarked face. He held up Clayton’s ID, face breaking into a toothless leer. The message was clear: You want your ID, you come with me.

Shoulders hunched in defeat, Clayton turned and followed behind him. He tried really hard not to notice the way the dude’s flabby muffintop sagged over the waistband of his blue thong or the way his ponderously blobby buttocks wobbled heavily with each step. He clenched his jaw and stared fixedly at the floor, hating Charles and his faggot girlfriends for talking him into this. It was their last night! He was almost home free! Why, why, why did this have to happen now?

He’d scarcely set foot inside the back office when the door closed behind him and someone threw a hood over his head and wrestled him to the floor. He cried out but already the fumes of some noxious gas had filled his lungs and he became lightheaded. A moment later, his body went limp and he lost consciousness.

***

“Alright, we gotta make dis quick,” a gravelly voice croaked when Clayton came to a few minutes later. “We need ya out there on da floor tonight. Da place is hoppin’ and we needs all the heavies we can get!”

Clayton struggled but realized his arms were tied behind his back. And a rope was tied around his ankles, making it hard to keep his balance. He would have fallen forward if his wrist restraints hadn’t been tied to a steel pole. 

What the fuck!?

He gave a start when a cool breeze caressed his private parts. He was naked! They fucking perverts had stripped him naked!

His eyes flew open and he tried to cry out but the bastards had stuffed a dirty rag down his throat and all he could do was grunt helplessly. Thrashing around, he saw that he was confined in a bright room with a full-length mirror on the wall before him. Two of the biggest, ugliest trolls he’d ever seen were stationed on either side of him. They were even more bloated and disgusting than the ‘roid beast who’d led him back here.

He looked wildly around, fighting with all his might to get free. He couldn’t believe this was happening! He’d been fucking kidnapped in a gay strip club! What the fuck did they want with him? Were they going to rape him? He clenched his tiny, tight, hetero pucker in alarm, all his straight-boy nightmares swimming to the surface of his mind. He couldn’t be raped! He was a man!

As if reading his mind, one of the big oafs chuckled and reached back to pat him on the ass. Clayton braced, eyes going round with alarm. “Hehe,” he belched in a dumb voice, “we’s not here to fuck ya, Pretty Boy. We’s here to fuck ya up!”

Both men guffawed as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Clayton struggled, body going rigid with alarm a second later when one of them held up a syringe. “Dis here,” the big behemoth grunted, “if for yer cock. If yer gonna play with da big boys, ya gotta have a cock to match!” 

Before Clayton even had time to figure out what he meant, the guy had jabbed the syringe into the base of his cock. He screamed, or tried to, but all that came out was a muffled whine. Staring at himself in the mirror, he watched as the man emptied the needle into his cock and then withdrew it, tossing it into the garbage.

Clayton had a larger than average dick. Flaccid, it was more than five inches long and plenty fat enough for him to proudly strut around the locker room like a young god. Erect, he was over eight inches and close to a beer can’s thickness, the perfect size to get the attention of the ladies (and arouse the envy of other guys)!

Compared to his hulking captors, however, he was decidedly tiny. The bloated outlines of their ridiculously-inflated genitals were emblazoned against the sheer fabric of their blue thongs. Those appendages hung down to their knees and were fatter than a stovepipe. Yeah, those monster cocks looked grotesque but, worse, they were clearly useless. Clayton knew without a doubt that those tubes of distended flesh could never grow hard. And, even if they could, there wasn’t an orifice in the human body that was big enough to take them. Oversized and useless. Just like the men they were attached to.

He struggled when one of the beastmen reached out and tied a five-pound weight to the head of his circumcised cock. “Hehehe,” the beast chortled, “let’s stretch it out, huh?”

Stretch it out? Clayton thought. There’s no way–

Then his eyes went round in disbelief.

Holy fuck!

What the fuck is happening to me?!

What the FUCK was in that fuckin’ syringe???!!!

He stared in horror as the impossible happened: When the apeman dropped the weight, Clayton’s precious manhood hung limp for a moment before slowly lengthening. He watched in utter confusion as his cock stretched to six inches, seven, eight, nine, ten…more than twelve inches and showed no signs of stopping. By the time the weight had settled on the floor, his cock was more than fifteen inches long and thin as a straw!

His jaw would have fallen open if not for the rag stuffed in his mouth. His cock! His beautiful, thick eight-incher! What the fuck had they done to it!

“Don’t worry, Precious,” the big ape teased, “Yer gonna be hung like us in a sec. Juss wait.”

Once again, Clayton struggled but to no avail when one of the men took hold of his newly deformed, strawlike cock and jabbed an IV needle into it. At the same time, the other apeman wheeled a stand holding a big bag of a yellow viscous liquid. With an awkward flourish, the brute attached the tube to the needle on Clayton’s dick.

Clayton whimpered in agony, staring up at the ‘roid brutes pleadingly. They guffawed at him, punching each other on the bloated arms and howling with laughter. “Too late, Blondie!” one of them heckled. “Ya shoulda kept yer fat mouth shut! Now yer gonna be one of us!”

The sickly yellow liquid trickled slowly out of the big, plastic bag down the long tube and into his stretched-out cock. Clayton whined in pain as he felt the stuff enter his shaft. It burned! He struggled fiercely, tears filling his eyes, but it was no use. He was tied firmly and couldn’t do anything to stop the horrible stuff from filling up the slack straw of his cock.

It sank ponderously, thick and heavy, little by little filling up the empty bulb of his cockhead. His deflated glans swelled and swelled, inflating two, three, four, five, six, and then more than seven times as big. He goggled at it in horror. It looked like a fucking melon! A fucking melon on the end of his elongated, pencil-thin cock. He only had to wait a few minutes, though, before his now melon-sized cockhead finally filled to capacity and the liquid began to rise up into his limp, thin shaft.  

Clayton wanted to weep when he saw his beautiful shaft growing ever wider, ever larger and ever girthier, eventually exceeding even a firehose’s thickness. When, ten minutes later, it reached its maximum capacity, he had a true stovepipe for a cock. It hung like an overfilled balloon, a swollen sausage of laughable proportions. And it was heavy, too! He whimpered miserably when he felt the full weight of his new twenty-inch monster cock sagging down off his crotch.

But it wasn’t over. He quailed, knees shaking in revulsion when one of the brutes pulled out a long, tubelike clamshell. Clayton stared at it for a moment before he realized what it was: A mold. It was an enormous penis mold! Even as he recognized what it was, they were closing the clamshell around his bloated organ. He screamed–or tried to–when there was a sudden, painful shock and he smelled something burning. And then it was over and they released the halves of the clamshell mold and his newly transformed member sagged out.

A troll cock!

He had a fucking troll cock!

He gaped, swallowing bile, as he beheld the ugly monster cock hanging down to the floor at his feet. It was all covered in veins and colored a mottled brown. Worse still, warts and blemishes had blossomed like a fungal forest over his formerly smooth, perfect skin. He now had a hideous ogre cock for a penis!

His captors roared with laughter when it was done and he was now the ‘proud’ owner of a freakish cock. Clayton hung his head, tears streaming down his bearded cheeks. What the fuck had they done to him? What the fuck had they done! How would he ever get hard like this? How would he ever have sex? And who would ever even want to get close enough to have sex in the first place? No one! The answer was no one because there wasn’t a person alive who would want to see his ugly, knobby, warty, monster cock! He sobbed, inconsolable.

They weren’t finished with him, though.

Still chuckling, one of the goons removed the IV from his bloated cock and wheeled it away while the other jammed another needle in his ass.

“Hair remover,” the ape grunted. “This stuff’ll make ya bald all over!”

Clayton’s head snapped up at this, eyes going round. He tried to plead but couldn’t because of the sock stuffed in his mouth. Besides, it was too late anyway. Shaking all over, he stared back at his reflection in the mirror, taking note of his furry, reddish blond pubes and hairy chest, his thick beard and the artfully sculpted mop of blond hair on his head. As he stared, he felt his entire body prickle as his thousands of hair follicles vibrated for a moment before going utterly still.

And then every single hair on his body fell to the floor.

Clayton wailed as the hair sloughed off of his body, piling up around his feet on the floor.  He wept when he looked back up and beheld his completely bald body in the mirror. It was bad enough losing all of his pubes and his thick beard but seeing the pale, shiny cue ball of his head nearly made him pass out. He looked hideous! Fucking hideous!

This was soon to get worse.

“Haha! Not such a pretty boy anymore, huh? Too bad ‘bout da hair! It’ll never grow back, ya know,” the goon taunted while his buddy snickered, wheeling over a huge vat of pinkish goo. 

The bloated goon brandished what looked like a gas mask connected to the vat by a long, fat hose. Before Clayton could react, he’d plucked the sock out of his mouth and strapped the mask over his face. Clatyon gurgled as the feeding tube inside of the mask forced its way down his throat and into his esophagus. He tried to gag but couldn’t, the feeding tube was too far down his throat!

“This here’s full of super-high calorie sludge and lotsa ‘roids,” the goon chuckled evilly. “Lots an’ lotsa ‘roids!”

Clayton gurgled helplessly, eyes bugging out of his head in alarm as the big brute spun a valve on the vat and the disgusting pink goo came pouring down the big hose. In no time, it filled the mask and began emptying into the feeding tube lodged down his throat. His stomach lurched and he tried to vomit the stuff back up but it was no use. The nasty goo kept pouring and pouring and pouring, filling up his taut, flat stomach until it was stuffed.

“Ha! Dis shit stim-uh, stim-, uh, stim-u-lates yer tummy’s acid,” one of the brutes explained. “An’ ya di-di-di–” he broke off, looking over helplessly at his bro. “Hey, brah! Whut da fuck’s da word I’s lookin’ for?”

“Di-gess-shun?” his dimwit pal answered.

“Uh, dat word!” the goon grunted, grinning like an idiot.

Clayton braced, biting down on the tube and trying to stem the flow but the mask was jammed against his jaws, keeping them wide open. He was utterly powerless to stop gallon after gallon of the awful sludge from emptying into his suddenly ravenous stomach.

All he could do was stare wide-eyed at his reflection in the mirror.

The changes were subtle at first. His perfectly defined and proportioned muscles plumped up ever so slightly, growing larger and heavier. Then the effect accelerated. He watched in complete stupefaction as his elegantly defined abs, pecs, bis and tris expanded, going from lithe and lean to bloated and distended in no time. His traps and delts followed suit, swelling until he felt their immense weight crushing him. His traps spread out like ugly wings from his back and his deltoids grew bigger than bowling balls. His neck muscles vibrated, engorging before his eyes and swallowing his head. Behind him, he felt an unholy tremor pass across his backside and then his tiny, tight glutes blew up, massing up with heavy, puffy muscle tissue until he felt like he was carrying two immense cement blocks back there. He whined deep in his throat when his hairless butt cheeks began slapping and clapping together with the slightest movement.

His lower body wasn’t spared, either. His quads inflated to the size of sandbags and were just as heavy, protruding off his thighs and giving him a distinct pear shape. His calves swelled and his knees grew thick, followed soon by his ankles.

And then the fat started to accumulate. He gaped at his reflection as his muscular stomach began to expand, pushing out from within as he amassed pound after pound of subcutaneous fat. The same thing happened to his buttocks and they grew softer and rounder. He whimpered when he saw them protruding like an obscenely fat, wide shelf behind him. His face was the last place where the fat accumulated and he cried silently as his cheeks plumped like a chipmunk’s. The sides of his bald head swelled up until he was left distinctly melon-headed.

When they removed the feeding tube and mask, he thought the worst was over but he soon discovered that it would only get worse.

His body responded to the massive dose of steroids with the usual side effects, only they were even more pronounced. He clenched as he felt his testicles contract, shrinking down to the size of cherry pits as the chemical castration set in. And then his nipples puffed up and swelled, eventually drooping over in the biggest pair of bitch tits he’d ever seen. Breast tissue followed and he flinched, looking away from the mirror, when he realized it looked like he had boobs.

He couldn’t tear his attention away from his ignominious transformation for long, though. Soon, he noticed an angry carpet of acne had bloomed over the top of his shoulders and was spreading down his back. His skin grew thin and papery. And his muscle gut, already sizable, pushed out before him, larger and rounder than a beach ball.

And it wasn’t over yet.

Clayton had always been vain about his appearance. When the cartilage in his body began growing in response to the human growth hormone in the sludge, he whined in despair as his ears, nose and lips swelled, giving him the visage of a baboon. His nose turned into a red bulb and his ears flopped over as they grew bigger and fleshier. His unfortunate simian resemblance only increased when one of his captors injected filler into his forehead and molded it into a giant brow ridge. He blinked, seeing the vacant face of a slope-browed caveman peering back at him with beady eyes.

By the time it was over, there wasn’t any trace of the old Clayton at all. In his place was a hulking, bloated he-man with ridiculously overblown muscles, a fat ass, a fat stomach, and the dumbest face on the planet. He stared back at himself with his giant shoulders slumped and his heavy jaw hanging open. Holy fuck, was he uglier than shit!

“How ya feel now, Pretty Boy?” one of the goons goaded.

Clayton’s fat tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth. He tried to suck it in but found it had grown too large and filled his mouth. It made it almost impossible to talk. And when he did finally manage to speak, he sounded completely devoid of any intelligence.

“UHHHHHHH,” he slobbered. “DUHHHHHHHH! ME LOOK THOOOOOOPID!”

“Ah, hahahahahaha! He DUMB! He sooooo DUMB!” one of his abusers rumbled, slapping his massive thigh with a big mitt. “Not so fulla yerself now, is ya, Pretty Boy? Now yer juss like us! ‘Cept for the tats, ‘course!”

That didn’t take long to fix.

Soon, his skin was covered in ink. These weren’t immaculate works of body art by any means. The goons weren’t interested in style. In fact, the cruder and uglier the tattoos, the better. They covered his cheeks and face and the top of his head with black ink and then moved down his arms and chest and belly. Nothing was spared and his entire body was covered from head to toe in bold, black ink. Most of the poorly rendered designs were obscene but some of the heavy lettering was sort of legible. “ROID BEEST” was clearly visible along the top arc of his ‘roid gut. And “COCK SLUT” was stenciled across his forehead. He couldn’t see it but they gave him a prominent tramp stamp over his ballooning buttocks that read, “HEIFER HOLE,” along with a big arrow pointing downward in case the words weren’t clear enough.

Clayton gaped at the puffy-nosed, slope-browed, fat-headed, bald, tattooed, ‘roided freak staring back at him. In less than two hours, his entire body had been completely remade. His perfectly defined all-American jock body was gone forever and in its place was a simian muscle freak covered with tattoos. Oh, and with a completely useless cock, too. Can’t forget that!

His jaw hung open and his fat tongue lolled out of his gaping maw. “ME UGLY!” he bawled. “ME FREEEEEEK!”

“Dat’s right, ‘Pretty Boy’!” a goon replied, slapping his knee. “An’ now ya gotta get to werk! Out on the floor now! You gots to pay off all the money ya owes to da owner!”

Clayton was in such a state of shock, these words took a while to register. When they finally seeped through his thickened skull, he rumbled, “Huh? Me owe mon-ee?” He paused, beady eyes squinting. “Whyze dat?”

“Ya think all this wuz free, ya big dummy?” The goon chortled, gesturing to Clayton’s completely remade body. “Nah, it costs lotsa dough! It’s gonna take ya yeerz to pay it all off. Hahahaha!”

Clayton tried to protest but he couldn’t think of any words and he ended up just sagging there, still chained to the pole, completely confused and demoralized. What did they mean? He had to work? He had to pay off his debts? For what? Why? They’d done this to him without his consent! How could they charge him for it?

But the goons were already untying his hands. He toppled forward, nearly collapsing under the massive weight and flab of his new body. Only by windmilling his ungainly arms and falling to his knees was he able to avert catastrophe. Had he fallen flat on his face, he never could have gotten back up!

“Oh, here,” a goon said, holding out a long strip of transparent blue fabric. “Yer new uniform. Put it on. Ya don’t wanna get in trouble with da boss. All da bruisers gots ta wear a uniform!” 

He laughed and tossed the thing on the floor. Clayton’s heavy brow furrowed when he realized it was a blue thong. A blue thong like the two goons beside him were wearing. Just like all the bouncers wore.

He whimpered pitifully, tears sliding down his bulging cheeks.

He was a freak.

A complete freak.

Gone was any possibility that he could ever graduate from college.

Gone was any possibility of being a hot jock.

Gone was any possibility of ever fucking again.

Gone was any possibility of a prestigious career.

He was worthless.

Completely worthless.

There was only one job now that he was suited for.

A bouncer.

A bloated, ugly, apelike, tattooed bouncer at a seedy gay strip club.

These fucking goons had done the unthinkable and turned him into one of them.

“Here,” a goon said, thrusting something in his face after he’d somehow managed to pull on the obscene thong. The string in back hurt his tender straight-boy butthole and the waistband dug into his flesh, his huge love handles spilling over the top. His bloated behemoth of a cock stretched the pouch of the thong to near its breaking point. The warts and knobs on his ruined shaft pushed out from the sheer fabric like lumps of cottage cheese.

Clayton looked at the object in the goon’s hand, belatedly realizing it was an ID card. 

“Yer new ID,” the beast pronounced, holding it up in front of Clayton’s face. It was a picture of a grinning apeman with a garishly tattooed face. It was a picture of him. The new him. “Yer name’s Bruto now. Welcome to da club, ‘Pretty Boy’! Hahahaha!”

***

Chapter 2

Bruto lurched out of the back office clad only in the humiliating thong, his massively bloated cock sloshing back and forth in front of him. He was so overloaded with fat and muscles that he could barely stagger. Every movement was difficult and he would never be considered graceful even after he somewhat mastered the ‘art’ of movement in this horrible prison of a body. People stared at him, covering their faces and laughing. Some of them openly taunted him, calling him a stupid meathead and a gorilla. His big lower lip thrust outward and he kept his gaze straight ahead. The other bouncers kept shouting at him, slapping him hard on the ass, and pushing him around. He had no idea what he was supposed to do and kept getting lost.

The club was dimly lit and the furniture was too close together, especially now that he was as wide as a truck. He kept tripping over tables and chairs and flailing helplessly, trying to regain his balance. His mind was blank with horror and shock. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and was convinced it was all just a horrible nightmare. It had to be! There was no way he could have been transformed so completely in such a short time!

Just when everything felt lost, he spotted his little brother, Charles, from across the room. Grunting like an eager bull, he swayed to and fro, staggering toward his beloved brother. Tables, chairs and guests went flying as he lumbered onward. A bouncer bellowed behind him but he ignored him. Charles turned to look at him as the commotion from his rampage grew nearer. His eyebrows went up and his mouth fell open. His eyes were round with disbelief and…disgust.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed when Bruto loomed over him, panting. A huge smile of relief on his lopsided mouth. “Get the fuck away from me, you ugly ‘roid monster!”

“CHAR-WEE!” Bruto bawled, reaching out to take Charles by the narrow shoulders and shaking him. “IT ME, CHAR-WEE! MEEEE! CL-CL-CL-CL–” His guttural voice broke off as he found himself completely unable to remember his previous name. Just like that! It was gone from his mind, expunged forever.

One of Charles’ friends looked up at Bruto with a furrowed brow. “How’s he know your name, Charles?”

Charles shoved Bruto’s hands off of him, lip curling in distaste. “Ugh! He smells! He even smells like ‘roids!”

“How do you know what ‘roids smell like?” his friend challenged, a nasty smile on his pursed lips. “You take ‘em?”

Charles laughed. “Hardly! But Clayton does. I mean, do you think he got that bulked up without some help?”

Bruto opened his mouth, wondering who this Clayton was. The name sounded so familiar but he came up dry. He stood there, simian brow scrunched up as he stared down at this gay guy and his friends. Who was this guy again? Oh, yeah! It was Charles. His brother, Charles! He took the guy by the shoulders again, begging him to listen.

Finally, Charles had had enough. Shaking Bruto’s big mitts off of his shoulders one last time, he said, “You want my ‘help’, huh?”

Bruto nodded frantically.

Charles sighed. “Ok, I’ll take care of ya. Here, follow me.” He pushed himself out of his chair and headed across the club, motioning for Bruto to follow him. When Bruto continued to stand there stupidly, Charles looked over his shoulder and barked, “C’mon, Fucktard! This way!”

Bruto grinned stupidly and lurched after him. He was hopeful that Charles was taking him back to the hotel room where he would help him figure out what had happened and maybe help him regain his old body again. For some reason, though, Charles led him into the men’s restroom.

Bruto wobbled through the doorway, hitting both of his shoulders hard. He was too wide now to even fit through the door! Charles waited for him, reclining against the sink with his arms crossed. There was an evil smile on his face. Bruto opened his mouth to talk but Charles silenced him. “Just keep yer fat mouth shut,” he ordered. Bruto obediently clammed up, standing there swaying from side to side. Then Charles did the strangest thing.

He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down his thin thighs. Beneath the jeans, he was wearing a sheer pair of yellow briefs.

Yellow briefs with a very, very full pouch.

Bruto’s mouth fell open when Charles yanked down the briefs and his huge, fat cock flopped out. It was throbbingly erect and more than ten inches long.

“You wanted me to take care of ya, huh?” Charles said as he slicked up his hulking cock with soap he squirted out from a dispenser. “Well, I’ll take care of ya, alright. Turn around and bend over, Freak!”

Too late, Bruto understood what his brother had in mind. He had no intention of helping him! In fact, Charles didn’t even know who he was. He had no idea that Bruto was his older brother!! Instead, he thought that Bruto was just a dumb, horny bouncer. Bruto panicked, holding up his meaty hands and begging but Charless would have none of it. Forcefully spinning Bruto around, he smothered his hairless ass cleft with soap and then pushed his melon head forward. Bruto’s back arched and he felt his mountainous ass cheeks part.

He froze, panicking. What the fuck was happening!? Charles wasn’t really going to–?! No! Bruto was his brother! His brother! 

Charles didn’t hesitate. He immediately bucked his hips forward and thrust his long, fat tubesteak into that massive cleft. Bruto’s fat lips parted and he bellowed when his tender, virgin pucker gave way. Charles’ cock was in his ass! 

His own brother was fucking him up the ass!

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! went Charles thighs against Bruto’s massively swollen buttocks. With each slap, he drove his cock in deeper. It hurt like hell! Bruto’s tiny, virgin pucker was tender and unbroken. He wailed in agony when his sphincter gave way and blinding pain washed over him. Charles didn’t give a fuck. He pummeled Bruto’s prostate, savaging his hole over and over until he came in a volcanic climax. Bucking fiercely, his thick, long cock pumped load after load of hot jizz into Bruto’s aching butthole. 

“Jesus, you big ape!” Charles gasped, sagging over Bruto’s broad, fleshy back. “Ya sure are ugly! At least yer hole is tight. Well, it was tight anyway.” He chuckled to himself. “Not anymore, though. I left ya gaping.”

He was going to say more but the bathroom door swung open and a man walked in. He took one look at them and his face twisted with outrage.

“Ay, pendejo!” he called out in a corny caricature of a Mexican accent. “Joo get da FUCK off a heem!”

He grabbed Charles by the shoulders and yanked him off Bruto’s ass. There was a loud slurping sound as Charles’ softening member pulled out. Bruto whined, his asshole burning. Soap was not good lube! It hurt like hell! He could feel Charles’ semen trickling out of his savaged asshole. Somehow being raped by his little brother was even worse then being turned into a vapid muscle freak!

The man shoved Charles violently out of the restroom even before he could even stick his cock back in his underwear. Charles protested but the guy was too strong and locked the door behind him.

Turning to Bruto, he asked,  “Joo Ok, amigo?” Even to Bruto’s dull ears, the guy’s Mexican accent sounded laughable. “Deed ee juss fuck joo? De customers no ‘sposed to touch los bravucones! Only los estrippers are up for grabs. No sé where da fuck Guillermo ees tonight. Ee’s ‘sposed to be keeping an eye on joo guys. Eets too easy for los clientes to take advantage of joo!” 

Bruto’s lower lip thrust out and he reached back to rub his aching butthole, tears sliding down his face. The man–a young guy with impossibly good looks, Bruto realized belatedly–frowned and gestured to the sink. “Ven aquí. Te ayudo.” He put a hand on Bruto’s mounded shoulder, soothing. “Dat’s eet. Lemme take care of joo, Grandullón.” 

He pulled out a wad of paper hand towels and, wetting them in the sink, commenced cleaning the cum and soap out of Bruto’s deep ass crevice. He was slow and methodical, his hands confident and strong. He smiled when he caught Bruto staring at him in the mirror. “Joo new, es verdad? Me llamo Ken Ortiz.  Ken, como un Ken Doll.” When Bruto’s thick brow furrowed at this, he added, “Joo know Ken and Barbie, right?” Bruto gave him a blank stare and he smiled again. “No es importa. Dey juss made joo over, right?” He shivered in disgust. “Eet’s creemeenal what dey do to make los bravucones. If yer lucky, joo’ll forget all ‘bout yer old life and juss be a dumb meathead from now on. Si no tengas suerte, joo’ll always remember un poco of who joo were before.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest, adding, “Como yo.”

Bruto didn’t understand any of this but he did understand that Ken was a good guy and he could trust him. He found himself studying the young guy’s appearance as Ken cleaned him up. It helped distract him from the throbbing of his butthole where his brother had just fucked him.

Ken was incredibly youthful, handsome and athletic. His thick, black pompadour was styled heavily with gel, giving it an almost shellacked appearance. His honey-chestnut skin glowed and he was perfectly clean shaven. His jaw was square and his lips were full, cherry red. His nose was wide and his nostrils were flared. His skin was unlike anything Bruto had ever seen. Smooth and soft-looking but also kind of rigid as if it had been molded. 

Ken’s features were perfectly proportional, almost too perfect. He looked like he’d been manufactured to look as generically handsome as possible. In fact, the longer that Bruto looked at him, the more robotic Ken became. His face was frozen in a perpetual smile, only his golden brown eyes were truly alive. In contrast to the fake smile plastered on his lips, those eyes were soft and achingly sad.

Having just gotten done with his strip show, Ken was wearing baggy sweatpants and a formless hoodie. Even so, Bruto could tell that he was well-muscled, lean and defined. His hands and fingers were long and elegant. His neck was corded with just the right amount of muscle. There wasn’t a trace of chest hair to be seen in the narrow V of skin exposed by the zipper of his hooded sweatshirt.

The more he watched his rescuer, the more he realized that Ken’s movements were somewhat off. He moved sort of stiff and jerky like a wind-up toy. This, along with his perfect face, blazingly white teeth and molded skin, made him seem somehow uncanny. Bruto found himself both attracted to and repelled by him.

“Sí,” Ken said, catching him staring. “I’m juss as much of a freak as joo are.” He looked at his face in the mirror, smilingly winsomely. The smile never touched his eyes. “Guillermo took every-ting from me and now I’m a rubber fucktoy.” The smile faded from his rigid face and turned back to Bruto. “Cómo te llamas, by de way? Joor new name, dat ees. I know joo doan remember who joo really are.”

“B-B-B-Br-Br-Bru-to. Me Bruto.”

Ken’s eyes softened. “Con mucho gusto, Bruto. Joo wanna come home weeth me? I doan have much pero mi casa es tu casa. Joo probably doan have nowheres to stay, do joo? Now that joor juss a beeg freak.”

For some reason this made Bruto cry and he stood there bawling like a stuck bull, mouth gaping open and beady eyes screwed shut. His whole mountainous body began shaking like he was in an earthquake and he would have collapsed if Ken hadn’t stooped under his arm and braced his body against him. Bruto weighed nearly four hundred pounds but somehow Ken was able to buttress him. 

He let Bruto cry until his tears ran dry and he had nothing left but a dull, hard ache in his chest that matched the throbbing ache in his butt. Then Ken patted him on the back and helped him out of the bathroom. When the other bouncers tried to stop them from leaving, Ken merely told them to fuck off and kept moving toward the exit. Soon, they were out of the horrid bar and staggering across the parking lot towards Ken’s little Ford Escort. Bruto was nearly too big to squeeze inside but somehow Ken helped him fit. They drove off into the night with Bruto’s side of the car listing heavily downward.

***

Ken lived in a small basement apartment on the wrong side of the beach. The place smelled like mildew. Cockroaches skittered across the kitchen floor when Bruto lurched inside.

“Sorry, eets not very nice,” Ken said, looking sad–or at least as sad as his perennially sunny visage allowed. His face seemed frozen in a perpetual mask of vacant euphoria with a dash of seduction. “No tengo mucho dinero. I’m still payin’ for all my surgeries.”

“Huh?”

Ken helped him over to the kitchen counter and Bruto sagged down, his massive ass melting into the hard surface. Gesturing at his perfect body, Ken explained, “Dees ain’t real, Grandullón. I’m juss a bunch a see-lee-cone gel and plastic.” When Bruto was still confused, Ken sighed and lifted his hoodie over his head, exposing his perfectly tanned, perfectly chiseled, perfectly proportioned chest. His skin was devoid of any trace of body hair. It looked fake, like a mannequin.

“Tócame.”

Bruto blinked.

Ken smiled. “Go ahead. Touch me. Ees Ok. Me body ex-eests only for de enjoyment de los hombres.”

Bruto reached out with a big mitt, his sausage-like fingers poking into Ken’s flesh. It was rubbery and kind of hard. Like plastic. His big maw fell open and Ken laughed.

“And joo thought joo had eet bad. Imagine eef eenstead of juss joor penis being feeled weeth silicone, joor entire body ees one beeg blob of molded rubber.” He held out his perfectly toned, muscular arms. “Dees ees me! Dees who I am.”

The silence stretched between them as Bruto’s thick skull struggled to process this information. In the end, it proved to be too complex and he just stood there, his giant ass flopped on top of Ken’s kitchen counter and his mouth hanging open.

“Here,” Ken said finally. “Gimme a sec.” He stood there with his eyes closed for a long time, breathing deeply. He’d inhale slowly and then exhale, taking a long time between breaths. Finally, he opened his eyes again. When he spoke, it was the strangest thing, there was no trace of his corny Mexican accent.

“It’s the hypnosis,” Ken explained in a completely different voice. “If I fight really hard against it, I can go back to my old identity for a short time. It takes a lot of concentration, though. I’m not sure how long I can do this. Maybe someday you’ll be able to break free of it for a little while, too? And then maybe you’ll remember who you were?”

Bruto merely gaped back at him dumbly. None of this made the slightest bit of sense.

Ken ignored his confusion, continuing with effort, “Lemme guess. Until a few hours ago, you were an arrogant jock with a killer bod and an attitude to match, right?” Bruto stared blankly and Ken smiled, shaking his head. “Well, ten years ago I was just like you: An arrogant, rich asshole who thought I owned the world. I was poised to begin a stellar career as a lawyer at a top firm in DC and came here with my fiancée for a celebratory vacation before I started my big job. 

“While we were here, I happened to meet the owner of the strip club, Guillermo, on the beach outside our hotel. He made the mistake of flirting with me and I made the mistake of punching him. The next thing I knew, I was strapped down on a hospital gurney, heading into an endless series of surgeries that left me completely unrecognizable. By the time they were finished with me, I’d been transformed into a walking Ken Doll. Well, a Mexican Ken Doll, that is. Shit, dude! I’m not even Mexican! I was white-bread as they come!” He laughed ruefully, shaking his pompadoured head sadly. “Well, now that’s all gone. My old life is over. I’ve been a stripper at Guillermo’s bar ever since, getting groped and fucked by any guy who pays my fee.” He paused, smirking at his misfortune. “To add insult to injury, I’ve been on the hook for all those medical bills for the procedures that made me into this total freak of nature.”

Bruto stared at him, maw still gaping open. He only closed it when a rope of drool slid down onto his big ‘roid belly. He could only comprehend a little of what Ken told him but it was enough to make him want to start crying again.

“Aw, Big Guy!” Ken soothed when tears filled Bruto’s eyes again. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t–I mean, that was cruel of me. I’ve been living like this for so long that I forget what it’s like for a newbie. It’ll be Ok.” He came over and put both hands on Bruto’s massive arms and squeezed. “We’ll get through this together. I’m here for you!”

When the tears trickled down Bruto’s big, swollen, tattooed cheeks, Ken did something surprising. He reached out and hugged him, enfolding as much of Bruto’s oversized body in his arms as possible. His body, though hard as rubber, also possessed a reassuring bulk that made Bruto feel marginally better.

They hugged for a long time in the kitchen, Ken’s arms around Bruto and Bruto’s arms around Ken’s lithe, lean, square body. Finally, Ken looked up at him and offered, “Wanna shower off?” He pulled a little face. “Not to offend you but you kind of smell like ‘roids.”

Bruto nodded, sniffling, and allowed Ken to guide him out of the kitchen and into the bathroom off the small living room. His body felt heavy and thick and he stumbled more than once. He was so tired! Ken was right there the whole time, though, propping him up and leading him onward. Bruto got the feeling that he could face just about anything as long as Ken was there with him.

He stood in front of the shower, frozen. He was already basically naked, wearing only the obscene thong, but he didn’t want to take it off and be forced to look at the mutant tube of silicone that had replaced his once proud manhood. Ken helped him by taking it off for him, peeling it with difficulty over Bruto’s gigantic ass cheeks and down his tree trunk thighs. When he’d finally stepped out of it, he stared pathetically down at the bloated stovepipe sagging off his crotch like a tumor. He felt like crying again.

“Hey! Don’t!” Ken said, patting him fondly on the bare ass. “It’s not that bad. At least you can still feel it.” When Bruto looked over at him, lower lip protruding, Ken pulled down his sweatpants and then shucked the jockstrap he was wearing underneath. Bruto’s eyes went round when he saw that Ken’s super huge, super fat, super uncircumcised cock was throbbingly erect and pointing up at the ceiling. Like the rest of his body, his pubes were completely smooth which made his cock look even more impressive. Even his heavy pair of low hangers–each nut bigger than an avocado–was perfectly hairless. 

The more Bruto stared at it, though, the more he realized something wasn’t quite right with Ken’s giant cock.

It looked like a dildo.

Well, make that exactly like a dildo. Even his balls didn’t seem real and looked more like bags of silicone than a real pair of testicles.

“Yeah, it’s fake,” Ken confirmed. “Just like the rest of me. I’m always erect. Always just like this. I never go flaccid. I can’t even cum. I’m surprised I can even piss out of it.” He paused, rubbery lips curving upward. “And talk about pissing, have you ever tried peeing through a hard piece of rubber? It ain’t pretty, lemme just tell ya!” He laughed, reaching down to slap his dildo cock. It vibrated just like a thick piece of silicone. “I can bend it into different positions, though. There’s a piece of wire in there. Look.” He took the more than fifteen-inch cock in his hands and flexed it, leaving it curving back on itself. 

All of this was making poor Bruto’s head feel like it was going to explode. He couldn’t stop staring at the dude’s massively fake appendage, though. It was as creepy as it was mesmerizing. He’d gladly trade Ken for the useless, warty appendage hanging heavily between his legs.

“Let’s get washed up.”

Ken stepped into the shower and held out his hand to Bruto. Bruto accepted it, taking those somewhat rubbery fingers into his own and lurching in behind the lithe dancer. Ken’s bottom was beyond perky. He had the biggest, fattest and bubbliest ass that Bruto had ever seen. There were even fake tan lines etched into his mocha skin in the stark pattern of a thong. And, because that big ass was pure silicone, it bounced and swayed alluringly behind him as the water trickled down his smooth, muscular back. Bruto leaned forward without thinking and pressed himself against those giant, soft globes. Ken stiffened but then relaxed when Bruto lifted his big mitts and cupped his soft, rubbery pecs. He squeezed.

“You like my tits and ass, huh?” Ken said, laughing. “That’s no accident, Big Guy. You probably weren’t gay before but you will be soon enough. No one stays straight for long in Guillermo’s club. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be attracted to women. Fuck, I was almost married to one, too!” He shook his head, looking back at Bruto over his toned shoulder. “It’s probably a good thing, though. Makes getting fucked by the clientele more bearable.”

Bruto pressed up against him, burying his monster schlong in the very generous cleft of Ken’s backside and hugging the man to him. Ken didn’t resist and even leaned back against him, turning his head and kissing him softly on the lips.

“You’re very sexy, Bruto,” he murmured. “You can stay with me as long as you want. I’ll take care of you.”

***

Chapter 3

Ken’s Mexican accent was back in the morning. “No tengo el poder,” he explained with a shrug. “Ees too hard to reseest dee eep-no-sees.” He rolled off of the mattress that he’d moved onto the floor to make it easier for Bruto to sleep. (Bruto was so big and heavy that Ken worried he’d break the bed.) “C’mon, Grandullón! Es tarde. Tenemos que trabajar.” He stooped down, his giant, fake cock bobbing before him, and helped Bruto onto his feet. 

Bruto stood there, wobbling back and forth, as he rubbed the sleep from his beady eyes. His brain felt thick and it took him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream; he really was an ugly, ‘roided muscle freak. When the reality of his situation finally hit him, he started to cry.

“Oye, Grandullón!” Ken soothed, standing before him and putting his hands on Bruto’s massive shoulders.  “No te preocupes! Ees Ok. Really, ees Ok!” When Bruto still continued to cry, he sighed and, standing on his tiptoes, kissed him.

Ken’s mouth was soft and warm and welcoming. The softness and warmth were so startling that Bruto stopped crying and opened his mouth, inviting Ken’s delicate tongue inside. Ken obliged, swallowing Bruto’s own tongue and soon they were making out passionately. Bruto lost himself in this new and unexpected experience. Other than the tender, chaste kiss they’d shared the night before, this was the first time he’d ever made out with another guy.

Bruto wanted more but Ken pulled away. “A trabajar,” he said firmly. “Guillermo no like eet when we’re late!”

***

And so Bruto settled into his new life as a bouncer at the gay strip club. Ken did his best to look out for him, training him for his job and staving off the advances of the customers. Bruto soon discovered that all of the dancers at the club were named Ken. There was Ken Jackson, the black Ken Doll, and Ken Huong, the Asian Ken, and Ken Sarkarov, the Russian Ken, and so on. They were the exact same height and build, the only difference was their skin tone and facial features. All of them had fifteen-inch dildos in place of their penises and huge, voluptuous asses. 

What was even weirder was that there were at least five of each type of Ken. The first time he met another Ken Ortiz, he made the mistake of kissing the guy on the lips. The dude pulled away, a look of confusion and disgust on his plastic face. He would have punched Bruto if the ‘real’ Ken Ortiz hadn’t shown up right then.

“Lo siento!” he apologized to his identical twin. “Ees new! Ee no understand yet!”

The other Ken shook his head and shouted something in Spanish that Bruto didn’t catch before stalking off. When he was gone, Ken put his hand on his shoulder. “Ees Ok, Grandullón. Ee no understand. Joo need to learn how to tell us apart.”

From that point, Bruto did. Or tried. After a few missteps, he realized that only his Ken had golden brown eyes. He made sure to squint at their faces before he did anything like kissing or fondling them again.

Every day, he grew more and more used to his new identity. In a week, he’d all but forgotten his old life as a hetero jock and embraced his new role as a bestial thug. He enjoyed being a thug so much that Guillermo even taught him how to lure unsuspecting straight boys to the club and trap them, transforming them into ugly ‘roided and tatted trolls who looked just like him. Guillermo called these ‘freak-making sessions’ and soon Bruto proved to be his most effective bait. The straight jocks couldn’t resist belittling him when he waddled down the beach in his obscene thong. This was the last thing from their old lives they remembered before they woke up trapped in a bloated apeman’s body.

He really got off on injecting their cocks with silicone until they dragged on the floor between their legs. It was almost as much as forcing the feeding tube down their throats, watching as their expressions turned from defiance to disbelief to horror and finally to revulsion as their bodies and muscles swelled, transforming their former jock bodies into hulking monstrosities. He’d chortle loudly, slapping them on their bloated, tattooed buttocks and taunting them as they wailed, struggling to pull their new ‘uniform,’ the indecent blue thong, up their mounded thighs.

The first time he orgasmed while filling a frat boy’s cock with silicone, he stopped, thick brow furrowing. When he looked down, there was a dark stain spreading on the front of his thong. His cock was completely useless, he realized, but apparently he could still cum.

“Haha!” his buddy, Brutus, laughed, noticing the stain. “Ya like, huh? Ya like watchin’ ‘em change?” He gestured to the distended pouch of his own thong, laughing. There was a big, dark stain on it as well. “Me, too!”

The frat boy whined but Bruto just increased the flow of silicone, giving the poor guy the biggest, ugliest, veiniest cock yet. They guffawed when the boy protested, begging them to let him go. He and Brutus made out afterwards, groping each other’s saggy tits and slobbering profusely as they rubbed their useless tubes of silicone together. It was fun! Soon, they were doing this after every freak-making session.

***

Ken was quiet after Bruto told him about his exploits with Brutus, struggling mightily to get the words out. When he was done, Ken sat in bed next to him, elegant eyebrows drawn together. Finally, he sat up and hopped off the (reinforced) bed. He was gone for a minute, returning with his smartphone and a couple of IDs. 

He tossed the IDs down on the bed next to Bruto. “Here,” he said in his American accent. “Take a good look at these.”

Bruto picked up the little cards, staring dumbly at the pictures. He could barely read but he was pretty sure that the name on one of them was ‘Justin Hightower.’ The other name was harder for him to read but he finally decided it was ‘Clayton Vandenbosch.’

Justin and Clayton looked almost like they could be brothers. Clayton was a little beefier and his jaw was squarer. Also, there was a confidence in his gaze that verged on cocky. Justin was a little less built and his face wasn’t quite as angular as Clayton’s but he was nonetheless very handsome. Both had blond hair and reddish blond beards. Both looked like they were in their early twenties.

“Recognize them?” Ken prompted when Bruto had studied the photos for a few minutes. “That’s us, bro. That’s who we used to be.” Bruto looked from the photos to Ken and back, his big mouth gaping open. Ken sat down next to him. He was naked like Bruto, his giant cock bent into an S curve. “You’re getting off on doing the same thing to other guys that they did to you. Are you sure that’s who you wanna be?”

Bruto sat there, peanut brain struggling to fully comprehend what Ken was telling him. Was that true? Had he really looked like the guy in the photo? It seemed completely unbelievable. He’d always been a tattooed ‘roid freak, hadn’t he?  He’d never been smart and lean and handsome. No, that wasn’t possible!

While he perseverated, Ken picked up his smartphone. After a minute, he held it out to Bruto. “Here, Clayton. This was your Facebook page.”

Bruto accepted the phone, maw gaping wider when he beheld the guy on the screen. There were all kinds of photos and videos. Pics of the ultra-ripped, ultra-handsome Clayton lifting weights shirtless, tossing the football with friends, running marathons and competing in cross country. In each one, Clayton had a shit-eating grin on his face. It was abundantly clear that he thought he was God’s gift to women, the cockiest stud in the world.

Ken took the phone back and did another search, finally handing it back to him. “Your OnlyFans page, dude. Look. I just subscribed.”

He pressed the play button and Bruto goggled. There was Clayton, completely naked, standing in front of a mirror with his jaunty erection bobbing before him. He possessed the body of a young god, his white, unblemished skin etched with muscles. As Bruto watched, Clayton flexed, thrusting his hips forward. A thick drop of precum hung off the tip of his throbbing dick.

“This is man’s cock, bitches!” the Clayton in the video bragged. “I know you fags don’t know what it’s like to be real men so I’m showin’ ya! Haha!” He turned to face the mirror and the glob of pre dripped slowly downward, finally landing with a splat on the floor. He paraded around, laughing for a long time before doing the unthinkable: He turned around, bent over and spread his furry buttocks, exposing his tiny, tight, pink hole.

“Bet you fags wanna see me take a cock up my ass, dontcha?” Clayton jeered, looking back at the camera from between his hairy thighs. “Well, I hate to disappoint ya but my ass is a one-way street! Ain’t no man cock that’ll ever touch this straight boy’s bussy! Nope. Never! Haha!”

Bruto stared, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He watched more and more of the videos with Ken sitting next to him, feeling heat creep up his neck. Soon, he was having trouble breathing and started panting. He played video after video, watching the cocky little fuck taunt the audience with his perfect body and huge cock. Finally, Bruto realized he was getting hard. Well, as hard as his silicone-filled cock could get now.

Ken looked from the phone to Bruto, noting his glazed expression and red face. He seemed to war with himself, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he shrugged and set his qualms aside. Smiling winsomely, he asked, “You like that, dontcha?” It was amazing how good he was at mimicking Clayton’s cocky tone. “You like that big, hung, confident hetero bro, dontcha?”

Bruto’s tongue fell out of his mouth and gurgled incoherently. He was burning with shame and humiliation but he couldn’t deny that Ken was right. He couldn’t get enough of the hot jock on the screen. He wanted him in the worst way.

“You want that big, fat cock stretchin’ out yer ugly, gaping bussy, dontcha?” Ken continued, grabbing Bruto’s hulking cock in his hands and stroking it. Bruto grunted, slobbering all over. He wanted a cock up his ass! He really wanted a big cock inside him!

“You dumb baboon! Get on yer hands and knees!” When Bruto hesitated, Ken slapped his cock hard, making him cry out. “Get on yer knees, ‘Roid Freak! Now!”

He did.

Rolling onto his hands and knees and arching his back, he stuck his big, ‘roided ass cheeks outward and spread his legs wide, exposing his bull hole. It was long and wide and gaping, just the way his brother had left it. 

There was a wet, sticky sound behind him as Ken squirted lube into his hand and then he was oiling up his big dildo cock, getting ready to ram it into Bruto’s hole. “I wantcha to beg me for it, ‘roid bitch!” Ken taunted. “Yer juss a big, ugly baboon!”

“Fuuuuck meeee!” Bruto wailed, opening and closing his gaping man-cunt. “PAH-LEEZ FUCK ME! ME DUM COCK SLUT! ME A BIG, DUM COCK SLUT!”

Ken laughed behind him and, grabbing him by the wide hips, thrust forward, ramming his giant dildo into Bruto’s eager hole. Bruto bellowed at the top of his lungs, eyes rolling back in his head, and then he was grunting in wild delight as Ken rode him like a true Mexican vaquero. Ken fucked him hard and long, finally managing to bring Bruto to an explosive orgasm.

It was then the truly miraculous occurred: Ken Ortiz exploded inside him, pumping him full of his first load since he’d been turned into a silicone fuck doll. He hollered, thrusting and thrusting as his pent-up seed filled Bruto to capacity. Soon, his milky white jizz was dribbling out of Bruto’s ‘roided ass cheeks and running down his bloated thighs. 

Ken collapsed on top of him, his rubbery skin pressing into Bruto’s back. His dildo cock was still reverberating with the aftereffects of orgasm and he was gasping for breath. Finally, he leaned forward and bit Bruot’s ear, murmuring, “Eh, Grandullón, I’m gonna fuck yer trasero raw con mi pollón cada día from now on.”

And that’s exactly what he did. 

From that day forward, Ken and Bruto formed a perfect team, each working to trap unsuspecting jocks and turn them into towering slabs of ‘roid muscle or plasticized Ken Dolls. Then, after work each night, they’d look up their victim’s Instagram and OnlyFans accounts, using them as foreplay for a debauched fuckfest. Sometimes, when they were particularly horny, they’d bring home their latest victim and have him watch the videos from his previous life with them. And then they’d fuck him raw.

They never talked about Clayton Vandenbosch or Justin Hightower again and soon forgot their names entirely.

***