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Infiltration (Target: T-Dawg)
|I wrote this as one of CYOC's picture stories, so quality-wise I'd say I aimed rather low. It ain't great, I gloss over the physical transformation in order to get at the mental transformation, and as a story it could use a little fleshing out. It also may lose something without having the pictures to go with it.
However, with all these flaws, I still hope you enjoy. Let me know if you do.
Oh, lastly, it hasn't been proofread, so there may be an errant typoÖ
|"I don't care what they say...I think you're perfect, Mark." His voice echoed against the bathroom tiles, and I could feel it vibrate through my back.
I held back the wince. I could hear in the tone of Andrew's voice that it was partly a last-ditch effort to get me to back out of the plan. I couldn't hide my irritation when, looking over my shoulder at my long-time friend, I responded:
"Yeah, well, I don't have to put up with that shit any more." I glared at my reflection. 'That shit' was the T-Dawgs, a group of gym thugs and frat boys that had practically taken over the local Y. They would saunter into the weight room, spend half the time lifting too-heavy weights with too-poor form and the other half bullying anyone smaller than them.
I was smaller than practically everybody. But not for long, and that's where the plan came in.
Andrew gave me a tight squeeze, forcing me to look back at the mirror. "I still think it's really drastic, even if it works." Andrew had never been convinced on that point.
"Was it Shakespeare who said that revenge is a dish best served cold?" I asked, shrugging out of the embrace and leaving his slender friend in the bathroom.
"I think that was Khan. On Star Trek." Andrew answered absently, following me into the living room. "And I don't know what a cold dish has to do with this revenge."
I stopped and was looked at the coffee table. More specifically, at what was on the coffee table.
It was a pill. Or a candy. Or something. The old lady who'd sold it to us had said she had to dip the concoction in chocolate to make it edible. Her shop had smelled foul enough that I worried about what was inside that small, brown lump.
"I'm going to do it." I said. I looked at Andrew, saw the worry there...but resignation, too. Andrew could rarely put up much of a fight.
"But..." The attempt was half-hearted.
"Look, it's simple. The pill turns me into one of them, I infiltrate their friendly club, get them drunk, and put them in compromising positions. Then I snap the photos, take the antidote, and they'll never know who, exactly, made them near celebrities in the adult website markets."
"If they find out..."
"They won't find out! The woman said it would change me completely! And the risk is worth it." Andrew's shoulders slumped, and I knew I'd won. I walked over to my friend and gave him a hug. "And in a day or two, I'll take the antidote and you'll have me back as you want me." I said quietly.
Andrew held me tight for a moment, but then stepped back. He took a deep breath, looking stoic. "Okay. Do it." He said.
I smiled a nervous smile and then reached for the chocolate pill.
* * * *
The pill worked overnight, while I was sleeping, and since Andrew had his own bedroom, no one saw the transformation.
All I knew was that when I woke up the next morning, I felt great!
I lay in bed for about two seconds, realizing that I was grinning, maybe even leering...I'd had amazing dreams, hot dreams. I'd dreamt about the T-Dawgs. The biggest problem about the T-Dawgs was that they were so hot. Every one of them, bad form working out or no, had a kick ass body. They were big, they were handsome, they were strong. They were completely my type, from the jock-like attitude to the way they bulged in their gym shorts. They were everything I was not.
They must have caught me staring one day, because shortly after they started working at the Y, they started giving me an extra hard time. One of them 'accidently' shoved me to the ground in the shower room, another always seemed to drop the heaviest weights as close to my eardrums as possible whenever I was doing a bench press. Three times this year, I'd had my locker broken into, smashed into, really. I couldn't prove anything, but I had my suspicions. All of them called me "Shorty."
But I wasn't a shorty anymore. Whatever had been in that old lady's pill meant that for the first time in my life, my feet poked out over the edge of the bed. Looking down on at myself, I could see a beautiful body, hard and swollen with muscle. My cock was hard and swollen, too. It was bigger.
"Fuckin' A," I said, feeling a surprising pleasure at how deep, how rough my voice was. I sounded as strong as I looked.
Reaching down, watching my now-muscular forearm flex as I reached, I took my thick, hard cock into my hand and started to stroke, loving the feeling of it. When I came, I knew I had to jerk off again, so I did. This time I let out a triumphant grunt when I came. Next time, I thought, I might roar.
* * * *
Until Andrew spoke, I didn't even notice that he was staring at me. I'd walked (sauntered, really) across the kitchen floor, my bare feet slapping against the cool tile. I was wearing only a pair of ratty boxers, mainly because I loved feeling my newly large, plump cock and balls swinging free. It was a new sensation, and I couldn't get sick of it.
I grabbed my coffee and the paper and sat down, grunting something at Andrew.
"Mark, is that you?"
"Yeah. But call me Matt. I think it sounds better." I loved my new voice! I didn't look up from the paper. "Will the Cup come back to Canada? Iginla might make it so..." it read.
"Okay....Matt. But holy shit, will you look at yourself?"
"It's the shit, isn't it?" I grinned, leaning back in the chair, rubbing my hand against my pec. Shit it felt good to be in this body. And I was getting horny again!
"It's breathtaking." Andrew said. He trembled, and then reached forward tentatively.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," I said (feeling more like 'Matt' by the second). Andrew jerked his hand back, and I realized that I'd sounded a little more threatening than I had intended. I smiled, hoping to take away some of the sting, but Andrew only flinched.
"I'm sorry...just...it's an amazing transformation." Andrew said.
I understood. "Look, we're best friends, and I wouldn't want to change that, okay?" I said softly.
Andrew swallowed. "I know...it's just that, you know I might have considered something more with you if you'd been my type," he said, sounding embarrassed, ashamed. "And I guess that maybe things might change..."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you've changed!"
"...But you haven't." I said, trying to be gentle, but really I just wanted to go back to reading the paper.
Andrew didn't say anything for a few minutes, but when he spoke, his voice was slightly clipped. "You haven't just changed physically."
"You're right." I said. "I feel great. I feel...like I take up so much more space, like I'm important. I feel..." I growled, and mocked gnashing my teeth. "I feel like I could take on the fuckin' world."
"It's more than that. You're swearing more...you're more aggressive-"
"Of course I'm more aggressive!" I said, setting down the paper. I looked right at him, flexing my arms. "Wouldn't you be with a bod like this? Fuck - sorry - but my cock is fuckin' bigger!"
"Just...you're reading the sports pages, Mark!"
"Call me Matt."
"You never read the sports pages!"
I wasn't worried. In fact, it was kinda cool. I hadn't noticed it, but I knew a lot more than I had before...in my mind I suddenly has stats, scores, a favourite hockey team (the Bruins, knocked out in the first series this year)...even vague memories of a past I'd never had.
"The ol' lady said I'd change completely. Look, I gotta infiltrate these guys, so I gotta act the part."
"I didn't think it would change your mind, your personality," Andrew said, but the fire in his voice was dying.
"Look, bud, I'll snap the photos, and take the antidote and I'll be back to being 'Shorty'." I said, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice. I stood up. "Anyway, I've got a big day...I want to enjoy this while I can. See you later, Andy!"
I went back to my room to prepare for the day, and moments later I was out the door, about to experience my first day as a T-Dawg.
* * * *
"CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" Their voices roared around me and I opened my mouth, feeling the beer swirl through the hose and down my throat. Their voices carried me, buoyed me, and I felt like I could chug forever. Beer spilled out of my mouth, running down my chin and over my red tank, I grinned and shook my head out of the stream of beer. Lifting my arms over my head, I let out a roar of triumph.
"YEAH!!!" I screamed, my voice hoarse. The other guys were shouting with me, too, slapping my back. I totally belonged.
It had been easier than I thought to infiltrate. I showed up at the gym, wearing clothes I'd just bought to look more like them. I'd thought I might be nervous, but instead I felt confident. I swaggered up to them, grinned a shit-disturber grin, and started with the shop talk.
I knew what I was doing in the gym, dodged the weight-machines that I used to use, and went straight to the freeweights. I showed them some moves, let them show me some of theirs, and we hit it off.
It was amazing to hang with them. As rude as they'd been to me when I was Mark, it was a completely different experience to be on the other side. I felt powerful with these guys. Confident and cocky. I felt a swing in my step as I comandeered a bench from a few scrawny runners, swinging my muscular torso to greatest effect.
The guys would clap me on the arm or shoulder, encouraging me when I put in a few extra reps, and I learned they liked it (and I lifted more) when I just let loose and growled, grumbled, and roared my way to the top of a lift. By the end of the workout, my body was so pumped, I just let out a shout "FUCK yeah!", scaring a few old ladies on the PowerCycles.
I can't say I was really focused on the plan, but it was totally with the plan in mind when I took the T-Dawgs up on their offer to join them clubbing that night. I'd get them drunk, snap some pics, and then...well...I guess I would take the antidote and go back to the scrawny, picked-on Shorty again. The idea seemed less and less appealing.
The guys took me to a couple bars, where we talked, our voices getting louder as the beer kept flowing. I hadn't really planned to drink, but the first round was on them, and the beer looked so good. I tasted it and it was better than I'd remembered...before I knew it, I was keeping up with the 'Dawgs, belching and laughing and telling stories about the good ol' days.
I donít know if it was the beer or the new body, but I was buzzed, I was flying. I felt rockin', like I could do no wrong. I didn't even mean to get in that fight, but the pencil neck at the next table was lookin at one of the boys funny, and we just ended up in a rumble. The T-Dawgs had my back, and when we were kicked out of the club, I think we waited around, drinking from the case until the pencil necks came out. I can't remember - I was fuckin' blitzed by that point - but I think we beat 'em up pretty bad. We taught 'em not to fuck with the big 'Dawgs. And that's how I got here, with the room spinning, and beer dripping down my chin, and my muscular arms flailing around as I try to reach a fuckin' wall. That's how I got to be a big fuckin' jock with his jock buddies, all of them laughing with me, at me, who the fuck cares? I think I'm about to pass out.
* * * *
I wake up at dawn, my eyes caked with god knows what, and make my way home on the first subway. I feel like shit. I climb the stairs, not caring if I wake up anybody. If they want to cause trouble, they can try. My knuckles are tender from last night, but they wouldn't mind teaching a lesson so long as I got to beat off afterwards.
No one bothers me and I fall into my bed, fast asleep.
* * * *
Andy (a better name for him, don;t you think? He's so fucking skinny) comes into my room later that day.
I'm in a better mood, the hangover having disappeared in the first few hours of my nap. Now, I'm just waiting to get this over with so I can go meet the T-Dawgs at the gym, have a killer work out, and then go out with the boys, maybe get some pussy. I don't know when I became fuckin' bi, all I know is that I'm so fucking horny half the time. All I want to do is work out, drink, and fuck and for anyone smaller than me to stay the fuck out of my way.
"Mark, we have to talk."
"Yeah, we do, bro," The affection in my voice was fake. I wanted to mock him. "I'm movin' out, little man. The 'Dawgs are letting me room with one of them. I'd ask if you could come too, but...you aren't our type."
It felt so fucking good to say "our type." It meant I was almost one of them. It meant that I belonged. I leaned back, resting my leg on the table before me, flashing Andy with a sight he'd never see again. I smirked at him until, stunned, he walked out of the room.
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