Wesley Bracken
patreon
A Cheaper Option (Suggested Story)
🕑 Added 2024-02-09 18:06:38 +0000 UTCThere were a few suggestions based around jockstrap transformations. I kind of mashed them all up together into something--enjoy!
***
Carl had just finished his Freshman year of college, but his thoughts were already focused on the Fall semester—particularly football season. Carl had been the best football player at his high school, and he’d been scouted by this college, and collected a substantial athletic scholarship. When he’d arrived though, he rapidly discovered that his skills were deep in the middle of the pack. He’d tried his hardest all season, and while he’d shown some improvement, he’d felt like there was just no way he’d be able to become one of the college’s starting players, and certainly didn’t think he’d have an opportunity to go pro, which had been his dream since he was a kid. He’d worked his ass off in the gym all Winter and Spring, done his best to work on some drills with his coaches, who praised him for his focus, but he just couldn’t seem to push past his plateau. Now, he was heading home for the summer, with passing-ish grades, and wondering if he was really cut out for this.
It was around then that he heard the rumors, about the strange shop that had opened up in the rundown main street of the little town where the college was. Apparently, according to what students were saying to each other, the guy who owned the shop wasn’t just selling weird curios, he was selling stuff that could literally change your life. Of course, no one could seem to pinpoint any of the people of these supposed miracles happened to, and the stories they told bordered on the fantastic and the impossible, but that was enough to spark Carl’s curiosity. He got the address, and the following weekend he took a trip into town to see what the stories were all about.
The shop was easy to miss, tucked away with a small sign between an aging apartment building and a restaurant on the corner. The narrow front was deceptive though, because the shop went very deep into the building, a little deeper than it seemed like it should have been able to, without running into the shops on the street behind this one. It looked like the same old thrifty, useless, vintage junk to him, as he’d seen elsewhere—and the prices were all astronomical. There was an older gentleman sitting at the counter, reading the town newspaper, who kept looking up at him occasionally, but only when Carl was about to leave did he acknowledge him, and ask him what he’d come in looking for.
Carl gave him a vague answer, a bit embarrassed that he’d thought this might actually be the solution to his football woes, but the older fellow pulled him into a conversation, and it wasn’t long before the truth came spilling out. The older man grinned, and told him that he could help Carl become a star player of the college, and get him a pro career even. Then, he told Carl the price, and Carl’s face went white, and then red. Clearly the fellow was messing with him on purpose. The conversation they’d been having now felt mean and spoiled, and he turned to leave without another word—but the man came around the counter and tugged on his sleeve.
“Now, I’m quoting you the best package—there’s many ways a young man can get what they want, if they don’t mind being a little flexible, and a little patient.”
“Look, you got your laugh, I’m not interested. This is all bullshit.”
Then, something strange happened. One moment, Carl was standing there as himself, the next, he was…someone else. Four years down the road, star athlete, running back for a pro team, about to take them to the Super Bowl. He felt it—the possibility, the certainty of it, fate lining up to give it to him. Then, it was gone, and he was back in the shop with the little old man, who just smiled up at him. “I admit that the premium package is quite nice, but I understand if you don’t have the funds. That said, I do have some…cheaper options. I promise you this—you’ll be a champion.”
Carl’s mouth was dry. He could still taste it, feel it—it was everything he’d wanted, and even if he could get close, why would he ever say no? The shopkeeper told him to return the next day, and he’d tell him all about it. Carl stumbled out of the store, the old man watched him go, and then went to his phone. He dialed a number, and it picked up in a few moments. “Hello Sir, I told you I’d keep your number in case there was an opportunity. Now, as you know, the cheaper options can be a bit uncomfortable, but—well of course, yes—Come here tonight. As soon as you can, really. I’ll give you the details then.”
***
“I have to wear…this?” Carl said, holding up the jockstrap in front of him that the shopkeeper had handed him. He’d been feeling butterflies in his guts since the day before, but now he was just confused. “I don’t get it.”
“It is magical, you see,” the man said, “But the magic…takes a while, and requires contact. It will give you very good results, but it will take a year’s time to get there.”
“I have to wear this every day for a year?”
“Ah, yes. You have to wear it the entire time.”
“What? I can’t take it off at all?”
“Yes—otherwise, the magic will be ruined. You’ll have to keep it on the whole time.”
“Can I…think about it?” Carl asked.
“No—you need to decide now, unfortunately, and you’ll need to leave with it on. If you decide to take it, it requires an incantation to begin the process.”
Carl wished he’d felt more hesitant, but he took it, got dressed in the back, the old man spoke some strange language while he was wearing just the jock, and he…felt something, a strange connection form between him, and the clothing, or maybe he was just kidding himself. He paid the fellow his money—the down payment, he said, and the rest would be due if Carl was satisfied with the results in a year’s time. Carl sighed and left the shop, adjusting his cock in the pouch, and already feeling a bit foolish—but what was the harm, right? He knew what he’d seen, what he’d felt. This is what he’d wanted, and he’d do anything to get it.
***
Carl held out for eight months—to February. All through the summer, going to the gym five days a week, the jockstrap growing increasingly dank and musky, he resisted the urge to pull the thing off his body and chuck it across his room. Mostly, he did this because the results he was getting were amazing. He’d always been a fairly slender fellow, which made him good as a running back, but he didn’t have the mass or the height to really push beyond everyone else in ability. Now though—he was taller. Taller, and broader, and faster, and every day he was blowing past his old personal records in the gym, and it felt amazing.
He got back to football camp in August, before classes started, and the coach’s were blown away by his improvement over the summer. He thought for sure they’d accuse him of using drugs, but they all just took it in stride, and come the team’s first game, he was a starter, and carried them to their first victory. It felt amazing, better than he’d imagined it might, and that euphoria carried him through, even as some more troubling symptoms began to develop.
There were the dreams, first of all. He didn’t remember them clearly, but he knew there was a man in them. A big man, burly and chubby in equal measure, with a big beard. He couldn’t remember his face, but he knew it was him, every night, talking to him, whispering to him, and half the nights, he’d wake up, humping his mattress in the dorm, about to explode into the pouch of his jockstrap. He’d never been horny like this ever in his life, but his body was changing in other ways too. Hair was growing in everywhere he looked, more than he thought should have been possible. He tried to shave it off at first, but it was pointless. He hated it, but that, he supposed, was the price he had to pay for taking the bargain.
Then, he started to get hungry. He was growing more muscle than he needed for his position on the field, and soon, he was packing on weight too. So much weight, that by the end of the season, the coaches were talking about how if he didn’t lose some of it, he’d have to be moved to the defensive line instead of offense. The season was success all the same, he carried the team to the championship, and they won, and he knew he was being talked about as someone who might be a draft pick when his time at college was over. It felt good—and then it was over, and the changes just kept coming.
He was struggling in class even more than he’d been before. It was so hard remembering things, and he was so horny all the time, he couldn’t focus at all. Then, one night, he had another intense dream with that strange man, and woke up with two of his own fingers shoved up his ass as he shot one of the biggest loads of his life—and that, he decided, was all he could take. He got up in the middle of the night, tried to take off the jock—and discovered that he couldn’t. It was like the straps were adhered to his body, but even though he could put a finger in between strap and flesh all the way around, when he tried to take it off, it refused to come away.
He took his concern to the shopkeeper, who just shrugged at him, as Carl complained.
“If you recall, I did say that you can’t take it off. I meant that literally—it’s not my fault you didn’t ask for clarification. Like I said, the cheaper options are…sometimes unpleasant, but I saw you on the TV—you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
Carl couldn’t object to that, he supposed. Besides, it was just a few more months, right? He’d figure it out soon enough.
***
Those four months did not pass quickly. The man in his dreams only seemed to grow more intense, the whispers louder, even though Carl couldn’t recall a thing he said to him. He noticed that his cock was shrinking now, and soon, it was just three inches—which looked even punier on his massive frame. Then, he got fucked for the first time in real life. Even worse, it was one of his coaches, a man he knew was straight as an arrow, but one day after practice, it was like something came over them both, and there in the locker room, the older fellow bent Carl over and fucked him—and it felt more amazing than anything Carl had felt in his whole life.
Soon, school took a complete back seat to Carl’s sexual cravings. He was constantly hunting for men to fuck him—preferably older men, and the rougher they were, the better. He’d loiter around truck stops and let the bikers and truckers pick him up all night long, and then sleep, and the strange man would fuck him in his dreams too. His body wasn’t changing so much anymore thankfully, though at this point, he looked nothing like the young man he’d been before. He was six foot five, nearly 400 pounds of solid muscle and fat, and hairy all over his body, like a pelt. The occasional change still managed to shock him on occasion, like when he woke up with his hair suddenly styled as a trashy looking mullet. His grades were horrible, and when the school caught wind of his…extra curricular activities around town, he was expelled before the press could catch wind of anything, and just like that, Carl’s dreams of going pro were crushed.
He packed his things and got ready to go home—only to realize he had no idea where his parent’s lived. He couldn’t even remember their faces, or the city he’d came from. Instead, he heard a voice whispering to him, giving him directions, and he drove a little ways out of town, pulled into a trailer park, and pulled up in front of a derelict looking single wide. He found a key hidden under a rock in front, opened the door, and it looked like no one had been inside for a long time—and whoever had been here, they’d left in a hurry. It was somewhere though, and when he checked his calendar, he saw that in three days, he’d finally be rid of this jock for good.
He spent those last days getting fucked by anyone who came near him, and when it was finally time, he tore the thing off and hurled it across the room—and as it flew, the jockstrap began to shift, and change shape, and before it could even hit the floor, there he was—the massive roughneck from his dreams, in the flesh before him.
“D-Daddy?” Carl said, not even sure why he called him that, though he knew it was right, his hole already twitching at the thought of his daddy’s big cock splitting him in two.
“Fuck boy, that was a rough fuckin’ year, but fuck, was it worth it,” the man said, “I told that dang shopkeep I wanted a sexy bottom pigboy tah live with me out here, ‘n fuck, his prices were expensive. Luckily though, there was a cheaper option, right?”
Comments
Wesley Bracken
They can always end up feeling the same, so I tried to put a different spin on this one
OU812
I don’t usually like inanimate stories, I’m pretty sure this is the best one, ever! Awesome!
