I. Will. Always. Reboot. This!!!!! He is not some 20 something and she is not a toothpick. It makes a pleasant change to see photos like this. AND…. the bond that it shows ..is wonderful. ❤️

Yes, his identity has been removed - but it’s only for the season. Creating a team means that there’s no individual who pulls too much focus. Unity. Cohesion. It’s all a part of a winning strategy.

Of course, if he chooses to live this way 24/7, it’s up to him, no?

Why don’t you try putting on some gear, just to see what it’s like? I think you’ll find the helmet veeeeeery comfortable.

Daniel Sprong

You want to become a hockey bro.

You want to wear the gear like a hockey bro.

And glide on the ice like a hockey bro.

You want to be a champion hockey bro.

Playing for a champion hockey team.

And being known as a champion hockey bro.

Because being a hockey bro is everything.

And being known as a hockey bro fulfills you.

I got an AI to illustrate a bunch of prompts of NFL fanatic bromance scenes. . Really loving AI lately tbh. Not perfect, but does the job well enough. . 😈

wedge-shaped calves, tree trunk legs, blocky midsection, bull neck and bulging arms topped with a square jaw and broad cheekbones

the ideal of the male form expressed in a series of rectangles, exaggerated to the point of near deformity by the padding of the football gear

if a bro were to, in the secret frenzy of their unconscious yearning, approach the gear with a pseudo-medieval degree of psychological regression approximating abiogenesis, you might think wearing the tank-like armament of the gear builds a tank-like body. that it contains some innate essence which reshapes mild-mannered boys into functionally muscled beastmen sculpted for power, speed and brutality. rather than the inverse, the rational mind’s more scientific awareness that it’s the associated sport of football–the tackles, the sprints, the drills, the activity–which builds a body that comes to mimic the gear

it’s being vs. doing, in other words. psychological reality vs. lived reality

doesn’t stop the want in your eyes tho, does it bro? the stirring in your loins? the need to put those pads on, feel their weight, heat and encasement. the helmet so fuzzy, holding in all your thoughts, making you go ape. bet you can almost feel that body swelling up. protein diffusion seeping through your pores as you marinate in that game fresh stink. the alpha football jock essence consuming you like the hard plastic petals of a carnivorous plant

as your head begins to swirl and you fall deeper into your new role, it don’t matter much what’s rational or real, does it bro? you’re in uniform now. numbered. trapped. your cock squirming around inside the prison of your hard cup, the strap held in place by girdle and lace-up pants. so many layers, bro. compression base. the pads. jersey. maybe even a hoodie in there somewhere if you’re playing when it’s cold. bench warmer. second stringer. it don’t matter what they call you as long as you get to be meat filling up the gear. slotted into your assigned role on the team. if your coach or your bros were to padlock the helmet to your skull, bolt the pads around your humiliatingly lean flank, pull the straps extra tight to keep em on, would you hesitate? 

you wanna play ball, bro. want the gear to change you. get you in that headspace. make you a big burly brute, running and scoring

if you’re in the gear, day after day, month after month, on the field, cause and effect become matters of speculation. play long enough, you’ll be top dog. be in gear at the periphery of the field, you’ll play long enough. time and effort is transformation. you smell like a man. you move like a man. you dominate like a man. it’s becoming who and what you are. really isn’t a whole lotta difference between being and doing when you get right down to it, is it bro?

embrace the change

be a football jock for life

beast mode  | # | ⟲

he was a layabout, not much of a team player. a second stringer with connections used to getting his way. lack of heart cost his team a couple major early season games, and the guys were gettin pretty fuckin sick of his attitude

the idea was to incentivize a good sweat each practice by spraying down his pads with liquid adhesive, otherwise he’d have to spend the night in full gear. well, bro didn’t seem to give a shit. he wasn’t ready to play by the rules. he was gonna stay a part of this fuckin team, and now everybody was gonna see it. some of the guys started to get wise, and thought, hey. he don’t wanna take off his pads? fine by us. let him stay in his fuckin pads forever if he wants. every practice, they’d spray on a little more of the sticky shit. bro kept not carin for awhile. hell, he’d fuckin challenge ‘em. stand tall, spread out his arms, take each new coatin every day, tellin em to make sure they got it even. soon enough it got the point where his joints were hardened, and he was stiff to move, jerking up and down the field like a marionette. used to be the laces of his pants weren’t sprayed on, so he at least had the chance to get to his dick. nobody wants to be around a dude who’s gonna piss himself, and hey. a bro’s got urges. some things you don’t want to deprive a bro, even if he’s not bein much of a bro at all. problem was, with his arms like that, he couldn’t even manage to piss by himself, and none of the guys were all too eager to lend him a hand

they’d say hey, bro. why don’t you try gettin’ in the fuckin game? but bro’s pores were so clogged with the shit by then, his sweat was sealed up inside of him. he was exhausted, his body heat was spiking, and more and more was coming on each day. after awhile, bro couldn’t move anymore. couldn’t eat. couldn’t piss. he’d just stand there on the field frozen like an action figure, without even a face, there was so much caked on the underside of his helmet. they’d take turns feedin him gatorade through a straw to keep him just barely hydrated, laughin and tellin him how lucky he is to have such an easy ride. wants to yell out, hey guys i’m sorry! i’m real fuckin sorry! let me out! i’m gonna die in here! but his bros don’t care. he can stay on the team, but he’s not gonna cost ‘em any more games. they’ll carry him off the field and leave him on the sidelines. might be useful as a tackle dummy somewhere down the line. finally gonna see some action during practice bro, haha

the sun’s beatin down on him

practice ended hours ago

bro can’t feel the summer breeze on his skin, the varnish is so thick. the shit’s over his eyes now too, water sealing in his tears. a little run-offs trickled down and matted the hair in one of his nostrils. he’s only getting about half the air he needs to breathe comfortably. the spray-on shit’s sweet, too. it’s attracting ants, walking up the sinews of his folded arms. like a liquor figurine, tipped half over on the bleachers, he might start spilling out the sweet. wasps are landing on the cage of his helmet. he can’t talk. can’t blow ‘em away. all he can do is choke on his own muffled screams as they buzz and circle closer. they can’t leave ‘em here. it’s just a prank. it’s gotta be a prank 

out of the corner of his eye, he can see the equipment shed’s still open. that’s where he belongs now. with the rest of the gear. he didn’t want to play football. he was always a big guy, and it just sorta worked out that way. now there’s not gonna be anything left of him but football. who he was before? that’s locked away, under the gear. the gear’s all he is now, thanks to his bros. part of the team, accepted and useful for life. what’s left of it 

Before  and after conversion

After that loss, I was despondent, wondering how long I could continue playing as a man my age. In my mid-50s, most men retired and became coaches or sports correspondences long ago. But I had a love for the game and had to play. If I’m honest, I also had a thing for football gear. The coach invited me over for dinner to discuss the future of my career. 

I have no memory of what happened next. I woke up n a clinical setting to discover I was now more machine than man. I was shocked, surprised, and angered by this, not something I would’ve done willingly. The coach admitted that he drugged me at dinner and dropped me off at the NFL cyborg processing facility after hours.  He had a friend who worked there, he had a little gambling problem, and for a couple of grand, the guy would throw the drugged player on the conveyor belt, start the machinery, and walk away. With a little more money, he would help to forge the paperwork that would make it look like the player had willingly sold themselves to the national cybernetic football league. As Coach showed me my forged signatures, He said that losing my humanity extended my playing career by decades.

In the eyes of the law, I am a machine now and have very few, if any, limited rights; I’m property now. I can be bought and sold. Coach is legally my owner, and I hate him for what he has done to me. Not only did He take away my body, but He also took away my name. I am number 55, which is subject to change, depending on the position I need to play. For now, I am the center. I have no memory of what my name was. When called by my name, my hearing filters it out. His name has also been removed from my memory. I am re-programmed to call him Coach. Respond to in the third person or it, that thing, or player as its pronouns.  55 can be easily reassembled to play whatever position is needed. Coach, as it’s designated as its owner, made sure its operating system was designed to serve his needs as he pleased. As a result, not playing on the field or charging 55  is programmed to be in a three-point stance to be his wide receiver. 

Despite 55’s anger and resentment,55 is programmed to trust and serve Coach. This causes 55 an internal seething that cannot express in any way, shape, or form.55  is now built for three purposes:  play football:  service Coach, get the ball.

55 has access to all of its memories before the conversion. However, as with 55’s name, its memories can be rewritten, erased, or modified as Coach sees fit. He controls 55’s settings with an iPad embedded in 55’s back. Unless playing a game, then the iPad is removed by a coach to keep it from getting damaged. A player is programmed so it can not touch its own iPad. Players’ vision sensors will not allow them to see what is on the screen of their own iPad. It simply appears to be a white screen. Coach is going one step further with 55, and adjusted settings  55’s iPad settings have been set. It will not charge when attached to 55’s back.

When 55 is home. Its iPad is removed and placed in a charging station. Where 55 can see, the iPad and the control over 55 are reinforced. If 55 moves more than a Football field length away from the iPad, 55 drops to a three-point stance and ceases all motor functions until the iPad is back within range. Sometimes Coach puts the iPad on the counter but does not charge it. If the battery drains and the iPad losses power, 55 cease all motor functions and drop to a three-point stance until the iPad is powered on and charged. This is an easy way for a coach to ensure 55 cannot wander too far away or escape. Coach learned to do this with the players he converted against their will. Early on, some tried to escape. These players are trapped. 18, the Quarterback is programmed with more autonomy. He can adjust some settings on teammates’ iPads as well; his own  18 was also unwillingly converted by Coach. As the QB 18 is not bound to the program restrictions, other players operate under. 18 is more equal to Coach but still bound by the program to serve his needs and desires.

Knowing 55 had a very high IQ when it was Human. Coach has dumbed down 55’s ability to speak to a point where Football is JUST about the only thing 55  can discuss.  And just to reinforce his OWNERSHIP, control, and dominance over 55. COACH programmed  55 to say, dude, fuck, or ah practically every fifth word It speaks.  Coach has also inserted a lot of pregnant pauses in 55’s speech patterns. He programmed 55 to be chewing gum constantly unless 55 is on the field. If a human speaks to it or asks it a question, 55 is programmed with a blank stare and a several-second delay to make it appear dumber than it is. Although 55 is Wi-Fi enabled and has access to the Internet and all of the world’s knowledge. Limiting 55’s communication skills and forcing 55 to refer to itself in the third person was making 55 appear to be particularly cruel

all of 55’s emotions are still there but are restricted and controlled by its CPU.

I am his center. We are in almost constant internal wireless communication. 18 will sometimes access my iPad and restore my communication skills. As we share thoughts, he knows how much I resent not being able to communicate fully. We also share the same resentment towards Coach for doing what he has done to us, unable to do anything, as we are programmed to serve Coach. Play football and get the ball. 

When this happens, Coach discovers it. He will bench 18 for a game or two. Being benched for a cybernetic player is particularly cruel. You sit on the bench charging all motor functions ceased. Watching simply the game you are built to play but unable to fulfill your programming. If Coach is irate, he will also surround a team with several footballs within his sightline, completely unable to touch them. This is the worst form of chastity that can be inflicted on a cybernetic player. As for me, he will restore my settings, perhaps make me up here a little bit dumber, and add to make sure that I do press interviews after the game. If I could, I would kill him for this. And he knows it. But again, there’s nothing I can do but comply.

Plays and Coach’s desires are uploaded wirelessly to its CPU. Players are equipped with a GPS and wifi enabled 55  instantly knows the location of its teammates, opponents, and the ball on the field. It can communicate wirelessly with any of its teammates at any given time we are programmed to be a team. Not only are players machines, but they are cogs in a greater machine, the team.  Players have one purpose play football, Service coach, and get the ball.

As a football-playing machine, the ball is programmed to be a fetishistic object to the player. It is their goal to get the ball and protect the ball. When a player has the ball, the player is programmed to be happy. It is almost as if the ball is the only thing in the world in those times. When a player has the ball, the ball is the player’s entire life. The ball is a god to a cybernetic football player. The ball is what they were built for

 Players need and desire it above all else. The ball is its purpose. The ball is its goal. The ball is the center of its existence; possessing the ball gives it sexual pleasure beyond anything we experience as a man.

Off-season or non-game days are the absolute worst. To recoup money, some team owners throw virtual Fantasy football games. Humans remotely control players to play games on the field so that humans can live out their gridiron fantasy without injury 

It is odd, feeling simply being along for the ride 

Using the five players he owns and for an additional charge Coach Host a Postgame Locker room fantasy session  Players are used to fulfilling Humans locker room fantasies.  

Players are considered machines, Not men players have no genitals (No cock, Not Male, Not Gay), So it is easy for the horribly out-of-shape beer gutted homophobic weekend warriors to players to self-justify their actions. Hence, they tend to get players in very sexual situations.  

Occasionally, cybernetic fetishists will show up. Most of them just want to fuck a machine, but Coach is always looking for the guy who wants to become the machine, willingly or unwillingly. He pulls those men aside and tells him about his friend at the NFL cyborg processing facility. 

Sometimes they join the team. The unwilling victims are invited to dinner with the coach. drugged and always wake up as players with heavy restrictions on their programming. These players are sold to other teams or repurposed for another function. They are just a mother revenue stream for Coach.

When 55 was human, 55 was gay, and it, too, was an athlete with a fantastic body. Sometimes it’s enjoyable because real athletes use it to the absolute pinnacle of male physical perfection; it’s an absolute pleasure to be spit-roasted by these men feeling the servos of its body adjust to the Apex of their thrusts. 55 can get into it with the human being strapped to his football gear. A human football player understands the game and can play rougher when his gear protects him. They can’t do any real damage. Players, however, are programmed to operate in safe mode with humans and be submissive.

These are the days and sessions that 55 looks forward to. One of the few pleasures Coach allows it. As a player, it is designed and built to take the abuse. The smell of a human male geared up after a game in the locker room 

55 is being used for heavy play. And it is built to take the abuse. However, players usually serve middle-aged, out-of-shape, homophobic males wrestling with their own homophobic issues. hate and worship us at the same time

After all, the very nature of the game players is built to play masculine sexuality. Some humans simply can’t deal with his reality. 

It Hates being in a three-point stance and getting fucked by one of those self-loathing homophobic use car salesmen who peaked in high school. These humans are the worst. They ultimately treat players as machines and have no respect for them. 

One of the regular humans, a particularly disgusting slob, calls 55 a tin can, a robot faggot, or a cock sucking vacuum cleaner. The last thing 55 is to him is human. He Heaps all of his pent-up, homosexual sexual resentment onto 55, but there is nothing 55 can do but let him pound away and hope he dies from a heart attack due to overstimulation as he erupts cum in 55’s anal port. 

Coach is aware of 55’s feelings about this particular man, and even though Coach turned 55  into a machine and treats it as such, occasionally, Coach will give 55 a ball to focus on human goes about their business.

This is 55s  life now. Not the one it chose. 55 misses its body and autonomy, but it’s programmed to enjoy being part of the team ..55 does not miss the pain. Something breaks now, and they simply bolt on a replacement part. And it is back on the field moments later.

 Today it plays football; it serves Coach’s needs and worships the ball. It is now a machine, a thing, a tool, an appliance built for a purpose. Tomorrow It could be sold, reconditioned, and re-programmed for any purpose. It could be turned into a cybernetic backhoe on a construction site, servicing the needs of the foreman. 

Please, let me go

Warning: The following post depicts erotic hypnotic content and suggestions. Do not proceed if you do not wish to consume or be influenced by hypnotic content.

"Hello?," A voice groggily, sounding somewhat annoyed answered. I shifted uncomfortably in the football gear.

"I need you to say the words 'I release you'." I said gruffly, trying to disguise my voice.

"It's 4 the fuck o'clock in the morning." click. I heard the line go dead. I dialed *67 and AJ's number and tried again. No answer. I tried again. No Answer. Fuck. His number was the last one I knew, and he was the only one who answered. He was my last shot. It wouldn't burn, and no matter what I did, I couldn't destroy it. I tried dialing one more time.

"Who the fuck is this?" Finally, he answered, aggravated.

"Please, I really need you to say "I release you." and then I'll leave you alone."

"Fucking weir…"

"I'm begging you. Don't hang up. I need you." I pleaded, and lost some of the gruffness disguising my voice to my desperation.

"Begging?" his voice switched from aggravated to interested, but still clearly not very awake. Good, because I didn't want him to remember this. "Why.?"

"Look, just say it, please. I swear I won't call back."

"Say what?"

"I release you. Please?"

"From what?"

"It doesn't matter." I lost the remaining gruffness, switching to a full plead as I grew more desperate. "Say 'I release you'."

"I'm hanging up if you don't explain." AJ threatned.

"I… I…." I stammered. I didn't want to say anything." Why couldn't he just have said it.

"You got 5 seconds before I hang up." He interjected.

"I… I made a deal that you… have the ability to get me out of." I stumbled.

"What deal and why me?"

"You… meet the criteria…" I said, because I really didn't want to elaborate.

"And this criteria is?" A pregnant pause followed. "Answer me, directly. No more bullshit or I'm out."

I answered at almost a whisper, ashamed. "You're on the team."

"What team."

"The football team." I answered even quieter.

"What deal? Come on man, spit it out."

"An agreement of sorts… to… do stuff… for the team…"

"What stuff?"

"uhh… I'd really rather not say. Please just let me out of it."

"So, you want me to release from an agreement you made with the team without me knowing exactly what I'm doing?"

"yes." I whimpered in shear desperation, "Please, tell me that you release me."

"No, not without knowing what I'm releasing you from." I dropped my head in defeat, and we sat in silence so long I assumed he'd hung up, before he finally broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me? Or can I go back to bed."

"I… will you keep this private?"

"I don't even know who you are. Seriously, just spit it out."

I knew I had to give him something, and I'd have to own up to what I did. "I agreed to some… enhanced loyalty and service to the team." I swore I heard a snort of a menacing laughter from his side of the line.

"Explain what 'enhanced loyalty and services' means." He said, clearly now wide awake and amused. He wasn't letting me get away with being as sanitized and vague as I could be.

"Umm… wearing a required uniform, following various sensitive obligations, and prioritizing certain items."

I heard another chuckle. "Have you thought about a career in politics? That's still basically saying an agreement doing stuff."

"It's embarrassing." He broke into full laughter. "Oh my god. you know exactly what I agreed to," I responded to him.

"I wrote it, I just want to hear you say it." I could hear the smirk on his face through the phone line.

I mumbled, "I swore to full obedience, subservience, fealty, and fidelity. And to always wear the full team uniform and gear."

"I can't believe somebody actually found it and read it." He laughed, "Dude, how did you even find that in the locker room?"

"please just let me out. I want to take off these pads"

"Oh my god, you're seriously wearing full gear now?"

"Yes."

"And you went along, put on the gear, recited the chant? Why?"

"It uh…. was kind of like a fantasy of mine."

"Let yourself out. I'm not stopping you."

"I can't. I need you to release me."

"Unless you did something stupid, and signed your name on the contract in your blood, it's not valid and has no power." Again, a pregnant pause filled the line. "You didn't… did you?" He asked, his voice almost sounding excited as much as shocked.

I hesitated, but owned up to it. "I… I signed my name in my blood." Another conversational pause. "I… read it, and it was kind of like a fantasy I had, so I was so… interested that I went along with the fantasy." I paused trying to find the right words "I just didn't think a 'blood contract spell' was a real thing." I pleaded again to be let out.

"What if I don't let you out of it? I might want to keep you." My dick stretched against the spandex football pants, and I shifted, feeling the shoulder pads rub against my chest, slightly stimulating my nipples and hugging my body securely. "Aroused, are you?"

"yes." I answered without thinking or any resistance.

"Even though you're begging me to let you out, you're turned on at the thought that you blood bound yourself to the football team?"

"yes." I mumbled.

"come on, say all of it."

"yes, I'm turned on at the thought that I'm fully bound to the team."

"Will you fulfill the obligations of the agreement?"

"yes." I mumbled again. I started almost feeling a little high from the sweaty smell of the shoulder pads.

He asked again, "Will you fulfill the obligations of the agreement?"

"Yes, I will," I said a little louder, reluctance to answer his questions melting away. I involuntarily ran my hand down the front of my shoulder pads, over the jersey covering my chest, and grabbed onto my spandex clad erect dick.

He asked louder, "I asked, will you fulfill obligations of the agreement?"

"Yes, I have no choice." I gave myself a stroke, and felt a power brief jolt of euphoria radiate from my dick to the rest of my gear covered. body.

"No choice?, did you sign the agreement of your own free will?" I said yes, and couldn't help giving myself a few more strokes, each one rocking my body with that euphoria. "Did you understand and read the agreement you signed?" Yes, I reached a steady rhythm, and the waves of euphoria became a cresendo of pleasure writhing against the pads. "At the time you signed it, did you want to sign it?"

I tried not to answer, but found myself blurting out "yes", and with the "yes", an even more intense wave of euphoria went from my cleat covered toes, my gloved fingertips, and my helmet covered head. I was on the edge of an orgasm.

"Stop stroking yourself." I immediately and involuntarily complied, but desperately wanted to reach out and touch myself. "As per your contract, you will follow my orders. Give me your phone number, no more hiding from what you've done." I complied immediately. "I'm assuming you're in the locker room. Grab my gear, grab your contract, and go to the address you receive by text. You will call me when you arrive, and no more hiding behind *67." He'd gone from amused to commanding. I presented no protest, and felt compelled to follow every order without question; just like in the contract.

I bagged up his gear. I grabbed the copy of my seemly invincible blood contract, got in my car, and proceeded to the address as ordered. I called as ordered when I got to the address; I was so tunneled into whatever trance of obedience, I can't remember any details of the drive or the place I was at. I think we were in his bedroom, but it's all a little hazy.

His shirtless body was waiting to greet me. "Jack?!" he said with some surprise, "I thought it was your voice, but man, I was thinking about you when I wrote the the contract." I had no idea I was even on AJ's radar. He was wearing nothing by a set of gym shorts, and I couldn't help but become completely transfixed on his muscular, thick, and fuzzy chest and trace a perfect light treasure train down his partly defined, beefy abs to his shorts. He took his gear bag from me, took off his shorts, and started to gear up. "Get your contract out and read it to me, and then I'll decide whether or not I'll let you out of it." It'd completely slipped my mind that I even wanted out of the contract, but it came back to front and center in my mind.

I started to read the contract spell to him, as he finished gearing up, but he interupted me. "No, on your knees, in front of me." My knees pressed into my kneepads, as I got down in front of him. My helmet and shoulder pads blocked me from tipping my head back much, and I could barlely see his entire head at the very top of my field of vision. I felt complete subservice as I looked up at his geared body towering over me. The shoulder pads broadened his already dominant chest. I was completely lost in nirvana staring up at him, and I felt nothing but a desire to serve him. As quickly as the desire to get out of this had come back, the desire to leave again was gone. I looked down at the contract, and started to read.

I, Jack, hereby give my body, mind, soul and spirit to the Football team forever. I willingly and enthusiastically agree to my eternal enslavement to the team of my own freewill. In becoming subservient to the team, I give the team my freewill and power of consent. I will withhold nothing of myself from the team, and since I now belong to the team, everything I have also belongs to the team. I swear full allegience, obedience, fealty, and fidelity to the the team.

I will seek only sexual pleasure from the football team, and I will not orgasm without wearing gear or from one of the team players. I will fully devote myself to worshipping the team, the players, and the football gear. There is no time or place that I will say no to the team, and I will fully obey any order from any team member.

I understand that my place is to be fully geared, and I will wear full gear at all times, or the amount specified by a team member. I will sleep in gear, and I will not remove gear without permission from a team member. I understand and fully accept that the team may choose to keep me fully geared at all times.

I accept that I exist only for the pleasure and amusement of the team, and the team may do whatever they like with me, since I have given up my individuality to the team. The team may change the terms of this agreement at any time, and I will follow any and all new rules established by the team. I understand that I can't revoke my consent to this agreement. I will continually seek to submit myself further to the team, and I pledge all of myself to the team. My signature in blood below indicates that I enter this blood binding contract with full knowledge of it's implications, and understand the significance of it's permenancy.

One of my hands had found my dick and starting playing while I was reading it. AJ was lightly playing with himself through his shiny football pants, looking up, and biting his lip while grunting quietly with pleasure. He looked down at me, "That's one hell of a contract. God it's hot. You liked it didn't you."

"Yes, I liked it," I said blankly, partly entranced.

"Liked what?"

"Yes, I liked the contract."

"Did you like reading it?"

"Yes, I liked reading the contract." I said, feeling the trance deepening.

"Did you like the terms of the contract?" I felt myself sinking deeper, and feeling very relaxed.

"I liked the terms of the contract." I continued to repeat every answer to his questions automatically and without thought. I was practically melting I was so relaxed.

"Do you want to follow the terms of the contract?"

"I want to follow the terms of the contract." Another deeper wave of relaxation swept over me as I sank deeper into the shoulder pads. It felt like the gear was swallowing my body.

He grabbed my chin with his hand, and pulled me to look directly at him, partially jarring me out of the trance and back into nearly full lucidity. "Jack, it doesn't sound to me like you really want to be released from the contract. Do you want me to release from the contract?" My desperation earlier to get out had completely evaporated. He was right, I didn't want to be released from he contract. "I think you want to stay fully geared and in service to the team." I tried to think about how much I had wanted out earlier and struggled against the pads trying to take them off, but the thought of worshipping him fully geared forever seemed so much more appealing, and didn't feel frightening at all. "So, Jack, what will it be? what do you want?"

I thought about it for another moment. The feeling of pure subservience was intoxicating. His piercing gaze, and the feeling of being swallowed up by the team and gear completely overshadowed my prior desire to try to escape the spell. I said quietly, but confidently, "I want to stay contracted to the team."

"Excellent, because I'm not going to let you go, and the other guys are going to love having you too" He grabbed the back of my head, and pulled me into him. I completely let myself go and gave myself into serving his and the teams every desire, as I had bound myself by my blood to do.

Im your Daddy now

Story suggestion by @mergeatrois

I’ve always been fairly close with my Dad. I really appreciated all the effort he put in to provide a safe home for me! My Dad and I have the same interests but are still way different from each other. We’re both huge Football fans and love the San Francisco 49ers. One of the reasons my Dad and I were totally different from each other was im gay, its not like I made it my whole personality and was pushy about it. My Dad was really accepting and understanding but I still felt like he treats me different.

The next day

I was at home waiting for my Dad to come home when I heard a knock on the door. I looked outside and it was my Dad with another Guy? I opened the door and welcomed them both in with a smile confused. “Hey Lucas! this a friend of mine I go to the Gym with his name is Mike!” Dad said. “Hey dude nice to meet you!” Mike then winked at me with a grin on his face. “Hello!” I said confused. “We’ll both be in my room then we’ll head to the Gym, theres food in the fridge.” My Dad said. “Make sure not to come in unless you wanna see something.” Mike whispered to me. I was so confused but couldn’t help but find Mike really hot. I decided to take a peek inside my Fathers room when I saw Mike and my Dad Making out and having Sex! I couldn’t believe it why would they do it with me in the house?

It was so weird totally hot. My dick starting getting hard and I couldn’t help myself but jerk off while watching Mike dominate my Dad. Oh how I wish I could be my Dad. I starting touching my dick grabbing it and jerking off, I imagined Mike fucking my asshole which made me reach my climax. Once I shot my hot steamy load I accidentally let out a moan which caused Mike to see me through the little open door and thats when he starting thrusting even more causing my Dad to moan like hell.

They finally stopped and I went to my room like nothing happened. My Dad came into my room and said he was going to the Gym with Mike, He then kissed me on my forehead. Before they left Mike said he forgot something and came up stairs into my room. “Hey Luke.. did you enjoy seeing your dad get fucked by a big alpha dominant man like me?” He said. “Why do you want me seeing that?” I said confused. “Here.” Mike said and gave me a bottle of cologne. “See you soon.” Mike said then left. I was confused as why he would give me a Cologne bottle.

Night Time

My dad finally came home from the Gym if he even went to the Gym. “Hey bud how did you like Mike?” My father said. “He was fine I guess.” I said. “Well, I have something important to tell you.” “What is it?” I said. “Mike and I are engaged, and we are getting married in two weeks.” My Father said. “Woah dad you did an amazing job at pretending to be straight!” I said. “Im sorry if you felt like I treated you different because you were gay son.” My Father said sincerely. “Its fine dad im glad you can tell me.” “Well goodnight bud” My Father kissed me on the lips and said goodnight. My Father has never showed me that much affection and I got a little turned on. Oh how I wish I could live as my Dad, being a daddy, old, and sexy. I tried and tried to go to sleep but just couldn’t. I grabbed the cologne Mike gifted me and looked at the back, Wish Cologne: Spray this cologne and wish away! I sprayed the Cologne with hope that I could become my Dad. I waited and waited for something to happen but nothing happened. I went to sleep hoping I would wake up as my Dad.

In the Morning,

As I woke up I felt somebody at my side.

“Hey gorgeous, ready to take my morning wood Lucas?” Lucas? How does he know its me? “Oh i’ve been wanting you this whole time, now obey me and licky my armpits boy.” Luke said. Lukes balls kept hitting my ass like a battling ram while his long thick dick kept inserting my hole filled with his hot steamy sperm. My Son interrupted our personal time, “What are you looking at Richard? Come over here and let your Dad fill your ass with cum.” Luke said. I inserted my Huge manly dick into my son while he moans. “Like that lil boy? Im your daddy now.”

Im really sorry for not posting in a while! I’ll be sure to make more stories and be active! Comment Story suggestions! ❤️

The desired role

I never thought my life could change this drastically. Let me tell you that I once was a strong and fair cop but I lost all of that quickly without fully realizing what I did. It all started a few months ago on this fateful afternoon.

On that day I was on my patrol, driving around in my police cruiser looking for potential trouble as usual.

I had gotten a call from a young woman that it seems like a young man is selling himself for sex to other men in a more remote area of the town. I was driving around there to see if I could spit him and I could after a fee minutes of searching. I carefully parked the cruiser and tried to sneak up on them. They were in the back of an alley. I could see the young man wearing skin tight latex from neck to toes. He was getting fucked by an older man with a beer gut while another man demanded the young man to suck his dick. I came closer but one of the older man noticed me and started to run. I quickly started to run towards them, shouting at them to stand still. The second man pushed the young man towards me and started to run away too.

I catched the young man and could only watch as the two old men ran through a backdoor and closed it. I handcuffed the young man and then walked up to the backdoor, trying to pry it open but to no avail. The thick metal door didnt move a bit. I got back to the young man and looked at him thoroughly. His body from neck to toes was covered in latex, even his hands. The only places free of latex was his crotch area and a hole around his butt. His dick was locked away in a chastity cage. He seemed intimidated by me as he didnt even reach my shoulders.

"Are you even old enough to sell yourself in this 'business'?", I asked him starting to walk him towards the cruiser.

"Is this regarding my size? Yeah I know I look young with my 5' but I can assure you that I'm 26 years old.", he answered cowardly.

"Do you have any ID to back up that claim?"

"No. I lost everything around 4 months ago."

I pushed him into the backseat.

I got into the car on the drivers seat.

"Whats your name?", I asked opening the criminal justice information system.

"Jordan Blight.", he said. I could hear him starting to sob.

I entered his name into the computer and found multiple things about him. It started with him disappearing, followed by multiple offensive crimes.

I exhaled deeply. By the looks of it this guy would now go to prison even though I knew that from the way he looked he wouldnt survive a week there.

Jordan must've had a similar thought as he started crying.

"Please... I'll do anything. I just cant go to prison. Please!", he cried.

"Sorry man, but I cant help you.", I answered looking at him through the rearview mirror.

"Please...", he continued crying. "I'll do anything... do you need sexual relief? I'm supposedly good at it. Do you need someone to talk to? I'm a good listener."

I stayed silent. I felt somewhat pitty for him and his situation.

"Do you need someone to get drugs? I know some who have them.", he continued.

I looked at him concerned.

"Or do you want me as an insider? Or should I be your slave?"

I subconsciously moved an eyebrow and unfortunatly Jordan noticed it.

"What was it? The insider or the slave?", he asked with a grin.

I cleared my throat.

"How did you get in your situation? I mean I wouldnt choose to walk around in a latex suit covering everything but my head, dick and ass.", I asked.

"Changing the subject, I see.", he snickered. "I was drugged by some I considered friends. They stripped me, put me in this latex suit and cock cage. They also made sure that I dont get out by welding the zipper fully into the suit. They then brought me here, into a city I dont know to make me a sex slave. And they succeeded. I got addicted to sex and drugs over the last few months. It feels like I know more about the taste of dicks and cum than real food. It feels like I dont even remember how it feels to wear something else than latex."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I - I dont even know what to say.", I said.

"Say if it was the slave or the insider.", he laughed.

"Neither. Just a weird thought I sometimes have."

"Tell me about it."

I felt torn. He had the right appearance for my weird wish but he was just a stranger, even more a stranger I've just arrested. But I still had this feeling that I could tell him.

"Since I was in pre-school I was the tallest guy and even without working out I was pretty muscular.", I said. "And I dont know why as my family isnt tall at all. Since then I started to get this wish, to feel small. Even get somewhat humiliated."

It was a weird silence.

"I didnt see that coming.", Jordan said. "You, this hunk of a good looking man, wants to be humiliated. You want to be in my position?"

"Yeah, I do.", I said. "I just want to know how it feels."

"Well, I'd do anything to not go to prison but I dont know how much I could humiliate you."

He chuckled.

"I mean I'm 5' and you're like 6'3.", he added.

"6'5 to be precise.", I said. "I could have something that would change this situation. Only if you're down for it."

"I'd be doing it if it means that I wont go to prison, so yeah. Tell me, what is it you have."

I moved around in my seat, fearing his reaction to what I would tell him.

"I have a body swap item with me.", I told him.

He bursted out into laughs. It was almost contagious. Almost.

He slowly caught himself again.

"You cant be serious!", he looked at me. "Oh shit, you're serious."

"I dont know if it works but it could be your way out of prison if you do it with me for a short time. Its said to be reversible so we'd swap back after that session of ours.", I said.

He thought about it for a moment.

"Sure, why not. I always wondered how it felt to have a body as incredible as yours."

"Then its a deal.", I started the engine and drove us to an even more remote area of the city.

When we arrived I turned off the cruiser and got out. I opened the trunk of the cruiser and took a strange needle out of it. I closed it and opened Jordan's door. I pulled him out and pushed him into an abandoned alleyway.

I unlocked his handcuffs and he rubbed his wrists.

"So how does this work?", Jordan asked.

"We have to prick a finger each with this.", I held the needle in front of him. "Then the pricked tips have to touch and then we swap or transform into each other. That wasnt fully clear."

"Then lets do it.", he answered.

I took one of his fingers and pricked the tip. He let out a slight gasp. Then I pricked my finger and held it up. He pressed his finger against mine and I immediately felt a weird sensation, as if a force was pulling my whole body from my finger.

Jordan musst have felt it himself as he pulled his hand away. I looked at him and noticed that he started to grow, not just in height but also in terms of muscles. His latex suit got pulled thinner and thinner before it finally ripped in multiple places. The scraps of latex fell to the ground, revealing Jordans new muscular body that was still growing. I could immediately see that his muscles looked like mine. Jordan marveled at his new body, already smelling his armpits or feeling his abs. I looked down at his dick to see if it was growing too and it did. It was already straining against the cage before the cage sprung open and fell to the ground. Jordan's dick was the spitting image of mine and it was rock hard.

Jordan was almost the same height as me now and only his face looked different. A beard stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks as his bone structure started to morph into mine. His hair grew shorter and his eye color changed. It took only a few seconds and it was as if I was looking into a mirror. A naked mirror.

"This is incredible!", Jordan said feeling his biceps. "We could be twins right now! But shouldnt you look like me?"

"Yeah, I thought I would transform too but until now I only have this strange feeling.", right then the feeling changed and I started to shrink. While shrinking my uniform felt heavier and the gun holster looser every second and suddenly my pants, including my boxers, fell to the ground. My jacket and vest were huge on me, my hands didnt even stick out of the sleeve anymore and my dick was hidden behind the vest but I could feel how hard it was. It was almost painful.

I looked at Jordan and he had a huge grin on his face.

"Your manly face on my body wearing a uniform thats to big for you is just a funny sight to behold.", he said not letting go of his new muscles.

I started to feel my face change. The receding beard as well as the quickly growing hair tickled. With a faint plop I could hear my bones change and then the feeling vanished.

"Looks like I'm the officer now.", Jordan said.

He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up. I could feel my socks and boots slip off my feet before I felt the cold ground beneath my butt. Jordan had dropped me.

"Man this strength is crazy!", he exclaimed.

I coughed a few times, trying to get my throat to feel normal again.

Jordan grabbed my arms and quickly pulled the rest of the uniform off of my body. I was now sitting on the cold floor completely naked.

Jordan dropped the vest, jacket and undershirt. I could hear him breathing heavily.

"I havent worn real clothes for months.", I could hear him say to himself.

He picked up my boxers from my pants and looked at them in his hands. He quickly smelled them and let out a quiet moan before carefully slipping his legs through them. He pulled them up to his hips and took his time to position his new big dick in a comfortable place.

It looked like Jordan quickly forgot about me because of the uniform.

He continued by pulling my socks out of my boots before pulling them over his feet and muscular calves. He wiggled his toes and giggled.

He grabbed the undershirt and pulled it over his broad chest. I marveled at how great it fit him. I now saw that I truly knew how to show off my body.

He removed the gun holster from the belt before stepping into the pants. He closed the belt and added the holster back.

He grabbed the jacket and quickly put it on before adding the vest onto his torso.

The last thing left were the boots. He seemed to almost celebrate this. He grabbed them and slowly unlaced them. He relished stepping into them, I could see it. He tied them again and took a few steps.

"This feels so good. Wearing real clothes, a uniform even. And then wearing shoes again. No more barefoot in latex.", he said.

Standing before me really was the spitting image of me, officer Stephen Benson. An officer with a bright future, thinking about how he could do anything as me now made my dick even harder.

"What are you going to do with me, officer?", I asked trying to get his attention.

He helped me up before pushing me face first against the wall.

"You can be more than lucky I got my uniform back. Impersonating an officer is a serious crime!", he said.

I felt him rubbing his crotch against my back.

"That was all just a big misunderstanding sir!", I answered.

I suddenly felt how he put the handcuffs around my wrists on my back.

"Misunderstanding or not, you're going to jail.", he said.

I got nervous, was he just roleplaying or taking over my life. I wanted to be submissive but I didnt want to go to jail. The thought of him taking over made me even harder. My dick was pressing so hard against the dirty brick wall.

"You're lucky as I'm in need of sexual relief.", he turned me around to face him. "And you may not go to jail if you go down and do a thing for me."

Jordan had a devilish grin on my old face. I went down and he immediately pushed my face into my old crotch. I could smell the fabric as well as the stench of my old sweat. But most of all I could feel the outline of the beast inside the pants that was once mine.

He continued pressing my face into his crotch.

"Worship me. Worship my muscles and uniform!", he said.

I couldnt answer because my face was pushed so hard against his crotch but I managed to move my hands behind my back to get his attention there.

He bent himself over me to unlock one side of the handcuffs again.

I immediately moved my hands to his firm butt and squeezed it. My hands slowly ran down his legs, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric every time he flexed his legs. I knew that it should be wrong, worshipping your real body but it just felt so good.

My hands went down further, now slightly massaging his calves before I ran my hands over my combat boots he now wore. Touching the leather felt surprisingly good so I kept working on his feet. That combined with inhaling the musk of my old crotch and uniform felt intoxicating.

"Take it out and suck it!", I heard Jordan order with my old deep voice.

It sent chills down my spine knowing that I sounded like that before but now I wasnt in control of it or any other part of that body.

I opened the belt and pants and pulled out his dick. It was more than massive from my point of view and it was already throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

I opened my mouth and Jordan saw that as his opportunity to push the full 8 inches down my throat. I thought that I would have to throw up but this body had like no gag reflex anymore. I continued sucking on my old dick while Jordan controlled my speed by having his hands behind my head.

It felt weird and at first I didnt knew what to do but it only took a few seconds before the muscle memory kicked in and I started sucking like a pro. I could feel the veins pulsate in sync with Jordan's heartbeat. I used my tongue to play with it and I heard Jordan moan every now and then.

He suddenly grabbed my head more tightly before I felt his dick erupting in my mouth. I immediately started to swallow and tasted cum for the first time. The salty but still somewhat sweet taste was weird at first but it felt more normal with every string Jordan shot into my mouth.

"Dont spill.", he said panting.

I swallowed everything before he pulled me to my feet again. He turned me around again and I could immediately feel him running his dick along my ass. He pushed it in without warning but it didnt hurt at all.

"Damn, my hole was loose.", Jordan said. "I have more to give to you."

He pounded me hard but it still turned me on more. Knowing that the roles would be reversed in reality. I should be the muscular officer and Jordan should be this twink but right now I was living my phantasy.

His thrusts changed pace and I could feel how he prepared to unleash another load into me. He pushed me tight against the wall, his hands on my hips as I felt him shooting his warm and slimy masculine seed up my ass.

He pulled out and I felt him wiping off his dick on my butt cheeks.

I was covered in sweat but it felt great to have been used like this and I bet Jordan loved being a muscular officer too.

I was awaiting that he would unlock the handcuffs again so that we could swap back but he suddenly grabbed me with full force by my neck and threw me to the ground.

"You let something drip out of your ass!", he said firmly pointing at his feet. "Go on and clean my awesome combat boots."

I got on my knees and licked the cum off of my old boot. It tasted just like before, only that it had now dirt mixed into it. I was almost done licking as I felt a few finger intrude my butt. Jordan pulled them out again and tasted it.

"Damn man, this body tastes good.", he said.

Suddenly we both looked intensely at each other knowing exactly what caused it. It felt like a damn broke in our minds. My mind got flooded with the memories of Jordan and he probably got access to my memories.

"This- this changes everything!", he said.

He pulled me up.

I cleared my throat to sound manlier.

"Are you ready to change back? There are spare clothes in the trunk of the cruiser you can wear after that.", I said.

"No man.", he said.

"What do you mean, no?"

He pushed me against the wall again.

"You wanted to be me. You wanted to be humiliated and I agreed to escape prison.", he flashed me a quick smile. "But I'm the man now. I have the muscles. I wear the uniform. We'll do this my way now."

"But- but you cant just be a cop and do my job. I cant stay like this."

"You enjoyed being like this."

He gestured to my small, hard and slightly leaking dick.

"And I more than enjoyed being you.", he continued. "You have two options now, 'Jordan'. Keep complaining about swapping back and I'll send you to prison. Or get into the car and be me."

I stared at him in shock.

"It's Thursday, right?", he asked.

"Yes."

"Then lets make a deal. We stay like this till Sunday. If you then still want to swap back we'll do it. If you want us to stay like this we'll stay."

"Deal!"

He grabbed my balls tightly and I let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. He laughed.

"Good. I still have to be on my patrol for 2 more hours. So I'll leave you here. You wanted to be humiliated so you have to make a choice. Stay here until I come back to get you or look around searching for clothes. But if you do, time is running. I wont wait here for you when I'm finshed.", he said.

He laughed again and walked to the cruiser. He stepped into the driver seat, started the engine and left.

Only then I noticed that Jordan managed to place his old chastity cage on my dick.

I didnt fully understand how it got this far but I felt good. The humiliation was everything I always wanted but I still felt the urge to get my body back. I was excited to see what the last few days would bring.

Martin doesn’t take off his hockey uniform in the locker room after his team lost a game - he knows what to expect. He was once a popular player, but today he is the reason why his team lost… The coach will come in 10 minutes and take Martin to the secret basement - a secret place under the sports complex, where the players who lost the match are located. Martin will be placed in a large box, he will still have his hockey uniform on. Martin will be tightly chained, sweaty hockey socks coated in a special liquid will be stuffed into his mouth, which will make him live forever and never feel hungry or thirsty. After Martin is chained to the box, the members of his team will come and fill the box with their hockey jerseys, shorts, socks, skates and helmets, all this equipment will be terribly sweaty and smelly. Like the rest of the boys, Martin will resist, but it will all be useless. He will be crushed by a huge amount of thick, smelly hockey equipment for ages. The coach added a special punishment - he stuck a sweaty, smelly hockey glove on Martin’s face. There are 30 boys in this basement, many of them crushed in sweaty, stinky hockey uniforms for many years, in 300 years every boy will be thrown into a huge pit with thousands of tons of full hockey equipment, where he will spend the rest of eternity. Martin will inhale the unbearable stench of sweaty hockey equipment for all eternity, he will never be free, he will hear the groans of other guys who are here, but no one will help him….

It started as a joke.

It started as a joke, kind of. What if we started wearing our hats backwards? What if we started watching sports at home instead of drag queen competitions? What if we started drinking cheap beer on the weekends instead of vodka cocktails? What if we ordered in pizza and wings on a weekday and spent the afternoon in our underwear getting stoned, playing video games, and cussing at the TV? What if we picked favorite sports teams, and bought all of the jerseys and gear we could find? What if we got rid of our old clothes and started wearing only things that had our team on them?

It wasn't long before we started going out to sports bars like this to see if we could blend in, to practice talking like the bros, to mimic their rude expressions and behaviors. It felt like a lot of grunting and humping at first, but it got to be that we started acting that way all of the time. It got to be that it simply felt more comfortable.

So now, what started as a joke between my best friend and I has turned into something better than either of us could have ever imagined. He is my best bro, and I'm his. Together, we've become the best bros we can be!