The Bet

Hey guys - I got a little carried away with this one. It's about 10,000 words long. I'm also having a few health problems in my family, so I've got to hop on a plane and make sure everyone is taken care of. Might be a few days late with the last chapter of "Day in the Life" for the HornyHimbo tier. Sorry, and thanks! --Derek

-------

The gym was keeping me sane.

My job was boring. My sex life was dead. I had one friend worth texting.

We texted constantly. I’d send him news links and “BRO THE CUBS WON!!!!” and screenshots of disastrous Tindr chats. Cameron sent drink recipes and Drag Race memes and reels of shirtless guys dancing to pop divas. He’s the reason I stan Dua Lipa.

I never thought I’d have a gay best friend – I’m not, if you’re wondering. I like women. The ones with the big tits. And man... gay bars are full of them.

Cameron and I meet up at The Yard every Monday. It’s near my place, and it looks just like those Insta reels. Cam and I have a few drinks and talk shit about work. Whenever some dude hits on me, I wingman him over to Cameron and head home.

He calls me his emotional support straight.

“You’re scowling again,” he said, sliding back onto the stool beside mine. “What is it this time?”

“I’m not scowling,” I said, definitely scowling.

“You’d be prettier if you smiled,” he said, batting his eyelids at me in mock flirtation. “Or if you took a dick. Either/or.”

“You’ve got a one-track mind, Cam.”

“It’s a good track. Very scenic.”

I rolled my eyes. We bantered like that all the time. It was safe. He got to flirt, I got to act too cool for it. But that night he pushed it too far.

“You wanna make a bet?” he asked, leaning in.

I paused.

“What kind of bet?”

“I pick the stakes. You pick the challenge.”

“Isn’t that backwards?”

“Nope,” Cam chuckled. “I trust you to come up with something dumb and masculine. You trust me to make it interesting.”

That should’ve been my warning, but I was feeling cocky. I’d deadlifted 425 at the gym.

“Fine,” I said. “Name it.”

“If you win, I’ll give you a thousand bucks,” Cameron grinned.

“You have a thousand bucks?” I said with surprise.

“Sure. Ish.”

“And if I lose?”

Cameron took a slow sip of his drink.

“You lose, you blow me.”

I barked a laugh. “Dude. Come on.”

“What?” he said with faux innocence. “It’s a bet. And besides... not like there’s a girl at home.”

“I’m not giving you a blowjob!”

“Why not? It’s not like you’d lose.” He smirked, baiting me. “You’ve never lost a bet with me, right?”

“No deal bud,” I shook my head.

“Okay, I’ll sweeten the pot,” he offered. “You see those two blondes over there?”

He pointed across the bar to a table near the door. Two blonde women were sitting there, close and intimate. They were exactly what I liked – big tits, skimpy clothes, and that slutty vibe I couldn’t resist.

One of them saw me staring and smiled, giving me a little half-wave that brought my cock to attention.

“Yeah,” I said, shifting on my stool. “Cam, it’s a gay bar. Those are lesbians.”

“Nominally lesbians,” he admitted. “That’s Tiffany and Kiki, they’ve both got a bi streak, and I happen to know they’re into guys like you... if you win the bet, I can guarantee a threesome.”

He knew how to sell. And I – like an idiot – bought it.

“Fine,” I said. “If I lose, I’ll blow you. But I’m not gonna lose.”

-----

I took my time and came up with an awesome challenge. Hard enough to impress the girls, easy enough I’d dunk it.

> Tyler: ok here’s the bet... if i can do a clean set of five pull-ups, 45lbs clipped to the belt, i win.

It only took a second for his text back.

> Cameron: Done!

That was too easy. I should’ve known something was up.

The next Friday, I made a show of it at the gym. Set up a tripod, loaded the plate, and cranked out five clean reps. A half dozen people stopped to watch.

My lats were on fire, but I didn’t show it. Even threw in a sixth for flair.

I texted Cam immediately.

> Tyler: pay up bro

> Cameron: Meet me at The Yard @ 9. I’ll bring your reward.

When I walked in, the place was already bumping. Friday night, so the dance floor was wall to wall with muscle queens, guys in mesh tops, a few shirtless bros grinding in time with the beat. The mix of sweat and cologne hit me hard.

At least Cam brought the girls. He was seated at the bar, with Kiki on one side of him and Tiffany on the other. Kiki saw me first and poked Cameron in the ribs.

“There he is!” Cam shouted over the noise. “The man of the hour!”

“We watched the video,” Tiffany purred, putting a manicured hand on my shoulder. “Very impressive.”

“Let’s get this boy a drink,” Kiki said, waving for the bartender. “He’s gonna need one.”

I didn’t know the bartender. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a five o’clock shadow. He looked me up and down, gave the girls a nod, and slid a cocktail across the bar. Pale blue, a few drops of white foam floating on top.

First sip? Fucking delicious. Like coconut and mint and something tangy underneath. I downed half of it without realizing.

“You like?” Cameron asked, eyebrows raised.

I nodded, licking foam from my lip. “Surprisingly good.”

“I’m gonna let you hang with these two for a while,” Cam said, giving up his stool. “Gonna go shake my ass.”

“Whatever bro,” I said, sliding between the two blondes. I was almost vibrating.

“So tell me...” Tiffany leaned in. “What happens if you didn’t do five perfect reps?”

“But I did,” I said.

“But what if you didn’t...?” Kiki teased.

“I did.”

“But what if you thought you did, but when we looked at the film...”

I stared at Tiffany, not sure where this was going. She grinned and pulled out her phone. I guess Cameron shared the video.

“Look at that,” she said, disturbingly clear over the music. “Third rep... and the plate barely taps the floor...”

I stared at the screen.

“Are you fucking serious?” I raged.

Tiffany shrugged. “You said clean reps. That wasn’t clean.”

“I still pulled six.”

“Not clean ones.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat. I knew the terms. I’d said them. My rules.

I re-watched the video a half-dozen times, hoping it was wrong. I even pulled up the original on my phone. Maybe Cameron had used some AI trickery or whatever... but no... there it was...

My stomach dropped.

“You like the drink?” Kiki asked, pointing at the blue concoction the bartender had given me.

“Uh... yeah, but...”

“Drink it down, don’t ask what’s in—“ Tiffany said. “That’s how transformations begin.”

Her words echoed. The bar was packed, but all I could hear was Tiffany's voice.

“Your heart will ache, your thoughts unspool,” Kiki said, her voice joining Tiffany’s in the silence. “For the boy who played you like a fool.”

“I don’t...” I choked out. "I won’t...”

“His cock will guide how far you slip,” Tiffany said mischievously. “Each moan and flex a tighter grip.”

“The curse will end the way it’s lit—” Kiki said playfully. She cocked her head and pouted her lips. “Need some tips on sucking dick?”

I bolted for the exit. It was slow going, pushing through the packed crowd, but after a minute or two I started to hear their noise again. The throbbing bass of the music. The shouts of friends who hadn’t connected in a while.

I tasted outside air. The bouncer tried to give me a stamp, but I rushed past.

“Hey Ty, where you going?” Cameron called from behind me.

“No way,” I said, shaking my head at the implied question. “I’m not sucking your dick.”

Cameron raised both eyebrows. “You agreed.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t lose.”

“You lost your own challenge, bro. You said clean reps.”

“That was a scuff,” I growled. “It didn’t count.”

He just watched me. I knew the trick. Leave space, and the other person has to speak.

“I’m not blowing you.”

“Scared?”

“I’m not scared,” I snorted. “I’m just... not into it.”

“You don’t have to love it,” he said. “You just have to do it.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re pushing this way too hard.”

“And you’re acting like it’s a death sentence.”

I didn’t answer. Let him eat silence for once.

“It’s just a bet, Ty. I don’t expect you to moan or cum in your pants or whatever. It’s a blowjob. Ten minutes, tops. Maybe five.”

“You’ve clearly never had a blowjob from me,” I barked a laugh.

“Oh?” His grin turned predatory. “So you have given one before.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You totally are.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. My skin felt hot. That stupid drink was still lingering in my mouth, fizzy and sweet. My chest felt tight, and I was suddenly aware of the way my pecs pushed against my t-shirt.

He nudged my foot with his boot.

“C’mon Ty. You always say a man keeps his word.”

I wasn’t going to blow Cameron. I wasn’t gay. That wasn’t the deal. Not really.

“I’ll figure something else out,” I said. “Another forfeit. A thousand dollars?”

“Tyler. You made a bet,” he said, tilting his head in sympathy.

“Two thousand! I’ll eTransfer you.”

“You don’t have the money.”

“I’ll find it.”

He let the silence sit between us for a minute.

“I’m not trying to trick you, Ty.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No,” he said, voice lower now. “I just think maybe… deep down, you kinda want to know.”

All I had to do was leave. Just walk down the street. Block his number. Find a new best friend.

“What’d it be like?” he called as I walked away. “Doing something stupid and hot and not overthinking for once.”

“That’s not how my I work,” I said, turning on my heel and facing him. If this was the old west, we’d be seconds from a gun fight.

Cameron came closer. I could smell his cologne — something woodsy, sharp, and warm. “It’s me. Not like... some stranger. You trust me, right?”

My chest tightened. I felt boxed in, like a chess king with nowhere to run.

“Yeah,” my voice cracked. “Yeah, I trust you.”

"And you promised, right?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. "I promised.”

“Then let’s go.”

-----

We didn’t talk on the way to his apartment.

Cameron walked ahead like this was nothing. I followed, hands jammed in my jacket pockets, each step heavier than the last. My chest was tight. Were we there already?

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. I’d been here a hundred times before. Same soft pink lights glowing around his ceiling, same familiar gym bag in the corner, same scent of body wash and candles. But this time, I felt trapped.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked to the bed and sprawled out. Like he was waiting for the next episode to start.

I stood by the door, jacket still zipped. My voice sounded distant.

“You sure you want to go through with this?”

“It’s not complicated, Ty,” he said, gazing at me intensely. "You’re a man of your word, right?”

That hit harder than I expected. It was the only reason I’d come here. The only reason I hadn’t already made some excuse to storm off.

I was not going to be that guy.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice trembling. “I am.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed. My knees thudded against the floor. My fingers fumbled with his belt, heart pounding in my throat.

Cam’s dick smelled clean but musky. I didn’t expect the smell – I figured it’d be like his cologne, but this felt... raw.

I was clumsy. My shoulders were too tense, my mouth too dry. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see his face—didn’t want to know if he was watching me with pity or pride.

But I did it. I opened my mouth. Took him in. Kept my fucking promise.

There was this rush of heat, like a steam valve opening inside me. My chest burned. My back twitched. It was pleasure. Deep and physical.

I tried to stay focused. One hand braced against his thigh. My jaw was stiff. My mind raced, looking for something to distract myself.

I hated how good it felt to please him. My tongue worked on instinct, following Cameron’s quiet gasps.

But when he came, and I swallowed, that rush inside me bloomed again. I fell back on my heels, panting, chest heaving.

I could feel my pecs swelling – no, rounding. My sleeves pinched tight around my biceps, suddenly a size too small. My thighs flexed involuntarily, blood rushing to muscles that felt pumped and hungry.

Cameron leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You okay?”

I nodded slowly, blinking. “Yeah. Just... dizzy.”

“Check your shirt,” he smiled.

I looked down.

My t-shirt clung to me like it had shrunk. My chest jutted forward, full and high. My arms looked like I’d just curled an entire rack of dumbbells. Everything about me looked bigger. Hotter. Like a fitness model or a bodybuilder.

“Consider your debt paid,” Cameron smirked.

-----

I didn't mean to stay the night.

After… everything, I’d stood there in Cameron’s bedroom feeling wrecked—physically, emotionally, whatever the hell else there was. I wanted to bolt. Grab my stuff, get out, pretend it never happened.

My legs were weak, my vision a little fuzzy, and my body was burning. I told myself it was low blood sugar or dehydration. Cameron handed me a bottle of water and said I should lie down for a second. Just a second.

I woke up hours later. Still hard.

The bedroom was dim, lit by the soft glow of dawn through the window. The scent of his sheets – clean cotton and faint cologne – wrapped around me like a second skin. I’d curled up in his bed like I belonged there.

I sat up fast. My t-shirt clung to my chest like a compression shirt.

I yanked it off and froze.

The mirror across the room showed a body I barely recognized. My traps sat higher, my shoulders wider. My pecs were thick, rounded, resting proudly above my abs like they’d been sculpted.

I ran a hand down my chest. It tingled. Sore, swollen… sensitive.

Cameron padded in from the hallway, shirtless with a towel around his waist.

“Morning cocksucker.”

“Don’t,” I said immediately.

He smirked. “Just checking.”

“I didn’t mean to crash.”

“You looked like you’d pass out on the train.”

Why wasn't he saying anything about my transformed body? There was no way he could miss it. I rubbed my temples and tried to focus.

“That drink they gave me…” I stammered. “They said a poem or somethin’...”

“Magical, right?” Cam said, giving me a grin.

It was impossible.

-----

I hit the gym hard. Two hours. Chest and triceps. My usual weight felt too light, so I upped it. Then again. And again. I hit new PRs on incline, dips, cable crossovers. Guys nodded at me from across the room. One dude actually asked if I competed.

I chalked it up to adrenaline. I needed to prove I was still in control. Still a man.

I was wiping down a bench when he approached – tall, lean, mid-twenties maybe, with a tight fade and a cutoff tee that showed off a solid build. I’d seen him around before.

"Dude," he said, stepping in front of me, eyes wide like I was a celebrity. "You’ve looking super pumped today. What are you on?"

I gave him a look. "Nothing."

"Bullshit," he said, tilting his head at me. "You’re smiling."

"What?"

"You’re smiling," he repeated, like it was some kind of discovery. "You usually look like you want to murder the bench press. Today you’ve got this... I dunno, shit-eating grin."

I glanced in the mirror like I needed proof. He was right. I’d been grinning without realizing.

"Must be the pump," I rationalized.

"If that’s what a pump does to you, I need whatever you’ve got," he said, a little too fast. His eyes skimmed down my chest, paused at my waist. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be me or blow me.

"Keep at it," I said, slinging my towel over my shoulder. "Consistency matters."

"Yeah. Sure. Consistency." He laughed, but it sounded nervous.

Back home, I stripped down to shower. The pump hadn’t faded. If anything, I looked bigger than in the morning. My upper chest popped like I’d been bulking for months. My waist stayed tight, the lines of my abs cutting in deeper.

I flexed.

Just to see...

And then again.

Just to check for symmetry...

But that night, in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Cameron’s face. The way his fingers had gripped my hair. The heat in my own chest as I heard him moan.

My body remembered even as my brain screamed not to.  I fell asleep with one thought circling like a shark: If one blowjob could do this… what would the second one do?

-----

I didn’t text Cameron for two days.

I didn’t know how to talk to him without thinking about the sound he made when he came. The heat that had flooded my chest.

I tried to push it down—went to the gym, kept my headphones in, downed pre-workout like I was fueling the Space Shuttle. But my focus was off. Every time I passed a mirror, I’d stop.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to appreciate the roundness of my pecs. The way my waist cut in tighter. The way my sweatpants hugged my ass like they were painted on.

On day three, I finally caved.

> Tyler: bro we need to talk

> Cameron: Miss me already?

> Tyler: just come over

“Okay,” he said, flopping onto my couch like this was nothing. “So, what’s on your straight little mind?”

“You know exactly what,” I said.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he teased.

“My body changed,” I growled. “After the... uh...”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to grin. “Noticed that, huh?”

“You did something. That drink. Or the blowjob. Or...?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “Sometimes magic just happens.”

“That’s not how life works.”

“Maybe not yours. Not until now.”

My cock stirred in my sweats, thick and slow.

“I’m not blowing you again,” I said.

“I didn’t ask.”

-----

It happened in my bedroom this time.

My mouth watered the second he unzipped. I knelt between his legs, heart pounding, throat already tightening in anticipation.

Would I grow again? I needed to know.

I opened wide and took him in, tongue slick, jaw stretching around his heat. He slid past my lips, thick and warm, the tip pressing deep enough to make my eyes water. I moaned low in my chest, the sound vibrating around his cock. He tasted salty and clean, and the smell of his balls flooded my senses.

He groaned, hips twitching. I braced one hand on his thigh, the other squeezing the base of his shaft, working in rhythm. My nose bumped his skin with every stroke, breath caught between his moans and the wet sounds echoing off my walls.

My jaw ached. Spit leaked down my chin. I gagged once, then recovered. When he came, I swallowed without hesitation. Hot, thick, and inevitable.

The rush detonated through me like an explosion. My pecs surged forward under my shirt – did I mention I'm wearing size L now? – stretching the cotton taut. My biceps flexed thick and full, veins rising. My ass clenched and rounded, lifting me off my heels. My traps bunched up like I’d been doing shrugs all day. The whole thing hit at once – raw, unfiltered growth.

My back arched. My cock throbbed untouched, soaking the inside of my sweats. I gasped, blinking hard, dizzy from the heat rolling through me.

I stayed there, catching my breath. Letting it settle. Letting it claim me.

Then I sat back, panting, chest heaving, face flushed and wet. My lips were swollen. My arms shook slightly.

Cameron watched me, eyes shining. "You’re getting good at that."

I turned toward the mirror.

My shirt looked like a joke – painted on and too short for my torso. My pecs sat high and pumped, my arms thick and vascular. My traps framed my neck like armour. My mouth was red, chin slick, hair stuck to my forehead. I looked wrecked. And I looked hot.

I flexed. Just to see.

And fuck – I was grinning like a maniac.

"Practice makes perfect," I shrugged.

-----

Cameron showed up late to the gym on Thursday. I was already on my last incline set.

“Dude,” he said, watching the bar come down. “Your chest is insane.”

“Yeah,” I grunted, racking the weight. “Been upping my protein.”

“You gonna pretend this is from protein shakes?” he laughed.

I grabbed my water bottle.

“I’m not pretending anything.”

Afterwards, in the locker room, I peeled off my shirt and stared into the mirror. My shoulders looked round. Cannonball round. My nipples pointed slightly down now, the way they did on guys who actually competed. I twisted to the side. My ass was riding high.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “I look like a fuckin’ Men’s Health cover.”

Cam raised a brow. “You complaining?”

I responded with a flex of my arm.

My cock was so hard.

-----

That night, I texted Cameron an eggplant emoji.

I left my phone on the kitchen counter and paced the apartment like a dog waiting to be let out. He showed up twenty minutes later.

The second I closed the door behind him, I dropped to my knees.

It was instinct. Need.

My hands shook as I undid his belt. I hated how badly I wanted it – how my cock was already hard, straining against my shorts, just from the scent of him.

I swallowed once. Then leaned in and opened my mouth.

I moaned low and deep, the sound of it vibrating around his cock. My eyes fluttered shut as I let him in, inch by inch, until my nose got lost in his pubes.

I could barely breathe, and I didn’t care.

I started to move – slow at first. Tongue swirling, lips sealed tight. One hand on his ass to steady myself, the other sliding down to palm my own bulge. I was leaking already. Fucked up and desperate.

Cameron groaned above me, his hand finding the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair.

The room felt hot. My skin prickled. Sweat rolled down my back.

I gagged once and pulled back, coughing, spit dripping down my chin. I looked up at him—his cock glistening, his chest rising and falling.

I dove back down.

Took him deeper. Faster.

My jaw ached. My throat burned. I couldn’t get enough.

My body thrummed with electricity, every muscle tight with anticipation. My cock throbbed in my shorts, untouched and pulsing. I could feel the tension building in Cameron’s legs – he was close. I didn’t slow down.

I wanted this. I needed to taste it.

He gasped—twice—and then he came, hard and sudden, spilling down my throat.  Salty and thick and warm. I guzzled it down like a starving man.

My glutes clenched hard, the muscle ballooning beneath me, lifting me slightly on my knees. My pecs surged forward, heavy and full, stretching my shirt past extra-large. My arms twitched and thickened. My thighs pushed wider, my shorts straining to contain them.

I moaned through it. Couldn’t help it. My cock pulsed so hard I thought I might cum untouched. I felt huge. Unstoppable. My whole body glowed with heat.

I sat back on my heels, panting, spit-slicked and flushed, shaking from the high.

Cameron crouched beside me, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. I didn’t meet his eyes.

“You good?” he asked softly.

I nodded, still catching my breath.

I looked down at myself—at the way my chest heaved, at the swollen curve of my arms, at the wet patch spreading across the front of my shorts.

“Yeah,” I whispered. My voice sounded different. Thicker. “I'm fuckin' great."

-----

I woke up hard.

My cock throbbed like it was demanding attention. Every inch of me felt flushed, hypersensitive, like my body was primed for one thing and wouldn’t settle for less.

I threw off the sheets and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Jesus.

I was massive.

My pecs jutted forward like slabs of meat. My abs were etched deep into my torso, eight full bricks that flexed every time I moved. My thighs were too thick to fit in any of my jeans. My traps rose like a shelf around my neck. And my ass—

I twisted and stared. It sat high, round, straining the seams of my shorts. A full, perfect shelf.

I wasn’t even flexing.

Beside me, Cameron stirred.

He was still asleep, curled on his side with one arm under the pillow. His back rose and fell in slow rhythm, smooth and lean compared to mine. His skin caught the morning light, golden and warm, and I watched the way it stretched across his shoulders, the line of his neck, the edge of his jaw.

He was small next to me, but I could see why the gays loved him. Smooth skin, lean frame, delts built for a tanktop. His waist was narrow, his ass had that perky lift, and his pecs—small, yeah, but firm, with just the right amount of definition.

My chest ached with something unfamiliar.

I used to think of Cameron as a flirt. A joke. My gay best friend who never knew when to quit.

Now I looked at him and felt... fuck, I don’t know. Grateful. Turned on. Safe. I’d started sucking dick, and instead of mocking it, he welcomed me in.

I reached down to adjust myself. My shorts barely contained me. My glutes were overflowing the waistband. The t-shirt on the floor – last night's XL – was basically a crop top now.

I was sick of buying new shirts. Every time I blew Cam, I outgrew my wardrobe. The drawer that used to be full of baggy tees and gym tanks was down to three that fit without shredding.

And yet...

I wasn’t gonna stop sucking dick.

Not if it meant waking up like this.

-----

At the gym, people stared. Whispered. Pointed.  I caught a dude filming me while I racked plates.

Some trainer came over – shaved head, sleeve tats, built like a bouncer trying to be an influencer. He gave me a once-over, slow and hungry.

“You on anything?” he asked casually.

I wiped sweat from my forehead. “Nope.”

“Bullshit,” he said, grinning. “Nobody puts on size like that naturally. You’re not just eating chicken and rice, bro.”

“I’m not on gear,” I repeated, trying to shut it down.

He stepped in closer, lowering his voice. "Okay, cool. Cool. Just asking ‘cause... I’ve been thinking about starting. You know – juicing. And I figured, with the way you’ve blown up, maybe you were the guy. You got a supply? Or know someone? I’m ready to go all in."

I stared at him for a second. He wanted a hookup?

I glanced over at Cam.  He gave his head the tiniest shake.

"Sorry bro," I shrugged.  "Swear to god, I'm natty."

There was no way he believed me. Not even close. When I peeled off my shirt in the locker room, the mirror confirmed it. My shoulders looked ridiculous—round and full like sculpted stone. My nipples pointed down now, the way they did on guys who’d been cycling for years. I twisted to the side and caught the curve of my glutes, high and tight, like they’d been built to bounce in slow motion.

“Hey Cam,” I grinned, bouncing my cheeks.

“Fuck you're huge,” he said, eyes roving over me.

“No shit.”

"It's a compliment," he said. “You keeping track?”

“Scale said 238 this morning.”

-----

I woke up in my apartment, hard and alone.

My cock was practically trembling against my abs, desperate for my next hit of... whatever this was. I needed cock. I grabbed my phone off the charger—no texts, no calls... no Cameron.

Tyler: hey bro... wanna cum over??

I stared at the screen like I could force it to light up. My thumb hovered. My chest rose and fell in shallow, frustrated breaths. I imagined Cameron reading the message, smirking to himself, taking his time – maybe even touching himself while I squirmed.

Still nothing.

I tossed the phone onto the bed like it had betrayed me and buried my face in the pillow, groaning into the sheets. Every second he didn’t reply made the ache worse. Made me want it more.

But Cam wasn't answering. Fucker left me on read.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will the craving away. I didn't need his cock... not this soon. I could go one fucking day without his dick in my mouth.

I stumbled into the bathroom, thankful I'd gone to bed naked.  I only had one pair of underwear left, and I could easily shred them with a flex of my ass.  My cock throbbed angrily, demanding attention.  Instead, I turned the faucet all the way to cold and stepped in.

The water hit like ice, biting into my skin, shocking my lungs. I gasped, fists clenched, as my muscles twitched under the freezing stream. My pecs were high and tight, my traps bunched, and every inch of me felt swollen, alive, and unsatisfied.

I stood there until my teeth started to chatter, until my cock softened a little, until the ache dulled from volcanic to just unbearable.

"Get it together Ty," I muttered. But even as I said it, I couldn’t stop running my hands over my chest, feeling how thick I was now, how different.

It bought me a few minutes of peace.  I landed on the couch and checked my phone.  Still no text from Cameron.

I thumbed mindlessly to Instagram . My heart was racing like I’d taken a triple scoop of pre-workout. I looked at Cam’s Insta, liking every shirtless pic I saw. It used to drive me nuts how he used social media, but now...

I tapped on one of the tags – #gaymuscle. My screen was wall-to-wall hunks – shirtless, sweaty, grinning like rock stars.

They looked like clones, stamped out in a factory.  The same thick pecs, same tight waists, same absurd little shorts that barely covered anything. A few of them wore tanks cropped so high their nipples were practically exposed.

I was just like them... but bigger.  Hotter...

I scrolled faster, but it wasn't helping. I was supposed to be cooling off, distracting myself. Instead, I pictured myself in their place – posing in the mirror, flexing my traps, bouncing my glutes for the camera.

I tapped over to my profile. Just for a second. My last post – a mirror selfie after chest day – had racked up like four hundred likes. Half the comments were flame emojis. The rest were thirsty and flirty.  Back when I posted that, I was still wearing medium t-shirts.

I felt it. The pull. The ache. The need to post again.

I tried to get dressed – just to feel normal.

I opened my dresser and stared at the pile of shirts. Most of them didn’t even make it past my shoulders anymore. I picked up a tank I bought a few days ago — size 2XL, the biggest one I had.

It caught halfway down my chest. My pecs jutted forward like armor, thick and hot and demanding. The fabric stuck to the tops of them and wouldn’t move any further. I grunted, tried to shimmy it down, and felt it pinch under my arms.

“Fuck,” I muttered, yanking it off. The material stretched and snapped like elastic. I tossed it on the bed and grabbed a compression shirt.

Same problem.

The sleeves wouldn’t fit over my forearms. The body barely got past my lats. When I raised my arms, my pecs popped out from underneath like they were trying to escape.

I turned to the mirror, chest heaving.

I looked obscene.

Every movement made my muscles flex. My ass bounced just from walking. My thighs were thick enough to push against each other with every step. I'd never get lost in a crowd again.

I stood there, half-naked and fully swollen, and realized I didn’t have a single thing that fit.

I sat back down on the edge of the bed, still bare-chested, thighs spread, sweat beading along the swell of my pecs. My phone was face down on the nightstand.  I grabbed it and opened the camera.

I turned it toward the mirror and snapped a photo – me, in all my beautifully naked glory, every muscle straining, my chest practically busting out of the frame. Bigger than yesterday. Bigger than ever.

I stared at the photo for a second. My cock twitched.

Then I opened my messages.

Tyler: bro wtf am i supposed to wear

Tyler: nothing fits

I hesitated, then sent the pic.

Delivered and left on read again.

I groaned, tossing the phone onto the floor beside me. My heart pounded. My body throbbed. I needed release – blow the pressure and clear my head.

I opened my laptop and pulled up one of my old favorites. A blonde girl with, big tits, all moaning and arching for the camera. Classic.

I watched for a while, one hand down my sweats, stroking slowly.  It wasn’t working.

My cock throbbed, sure, but the arousal felt distant – muted, like a song playing in another room. My eyes kept drifting to the guy. The way his muscles flexed as he held her hips, the way his chest swelled with each thrust.

I rewound. Watched again.

This time I didn’t even pretend to focus on her.

I wanted him. His arms, his pecs, the tight lines of his abs. The way he moved. The way he grunted. I bet his cock was tasty...

I shut the laptop with a growl.

"Fuck."

I grabbed my phone again, hands still damp with sweat. I opened our thread and stared at the last message. Still read. Still no reply.

Tyler: cam cmon dude

Tyler: im seriously losing it

I hit send and immediately regretted it. I sounded needy. Horny. Desperate.

But I was. Why not admit it?

I tossed the phone across the bed, paced the room, flexed involuntarily in the mirror. My cock wouldn’t settle. I groaned, dragging my hands down my face.

What the fuck was happening to me?

I picked up the phone again. No response. I opened the thread, typed, deleted, typed again.

Tyler: cmon bro i need cock

Send.

Still nothing.

I clenched my fists, pacing faster.  I needed a fix.

I sat down, breathing hard, my whole body buzzing. My thumb hovered over the App Store.

“Don’t do it,” I prayed to myself.

I did it.

Grindr downloaded in under ten seconds. I created an account before I could second-guess it – Ty, 26, gymbro. A picture that barely showed my face, but showed plenty of pec.

The moment I hit save, the screen lit up like fireworks. Taps, flames, messages. One guy sent a pic of his abs and a winking emoji. Another messaged, "u into muscle worship?" Someone else just said, "Holy fuck."

My cock throbbed. I was sweating again. I stared at the little grid of faces and torsos, picking out someone to call. It wouldn’t mean anything. Just some meaningless cock to suck while Cam got back to me. I picked a muscleboy at random and tapped out my address into the chat.

I was about to hit send when I froze.

Knock knock knock.

It was Cameron.  His eyes caught mine, warm and sharp and so full of knowing.  His lips were slightly parted, like he was about to say something, but couldn't find the words.

So I grabbed his waist, pulled him close, and dropped to my knees.

This time, there was no hesitation. My mouth knew what to do. My tongue worked like I’d been training it.  My muscles trembled as I let him slide deep into my throat. My lips sealed tight around the base of his cock, and I breathed in through my nose, the scent of him flooding every nerve ending.

I moaned like a whore – long, low, guttural – and the vibration made him gasp. My hands clutched at the backs of his thighs, fingers digging into muscle, grounding myself as my whole body pulsed with need.

My throat opened with practiced ease, like I was made for this. I pulled back slow, letting him feel every inch, then pushed down again. Spit spilled down my chin, slick and dripping. I sucked him like my life depended on it.

I worked him fast, then slow, then fast again – changing rhythm with every shift in his breath. I could feel the tension mounting, his body locking up, abs flexing, hips twitching.

I didn’t slow down.

I couldn’t.

My own cock leaked uncontrollably, untouched and throbbing. I wanted him to dump his load right down my throat. I wanted to ruin him for other men.

"Do you trust me?" he asked again, spinning me around and letting a single finger rest against my hole.

"Yeah..." I said.  "I trust you."

"Then let's fix you."

Cameron led me to the bed with that cocky little smirk of his, the one that always made my stomach twist. His hand stayed on my ass, his fingers digging into my muscular cheeks.

He set a duffel bag beside the mattress – grey, beat-up, stuffed to the brim – and I raised an eyebrow.

"You moving in?"

The question slipped out casual, but my throat tightened after I said it. I didn’t hate the idea.

Cam just grinned. "You’ll see."

He leaned in close, his voice dropping into that low, teasing register that made my cock twitch.

"You’re gonna love it."

I shivered.

I stepped in close and slid my hands under the hem of his shirt, my fingers brushing the warm skin of his lower back. He watched me with that calm, hungry look I was starting to crave. I peeled the fabric up slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft ridges of his abs, the curve of his chest, the dusting of hair between his pecs. He raised his arms without a word and let me strip it off.

I tugged down his jeans hips. He stepped out of them one leg at a time, letting them crumple on the floor.

I looked up at him.

He was left in nothing but a pair of light purple briefs, the soft cotton pulled tight across his bulge, waistband riding low on his hips. The colour caught me off guard – playful, soft, totally slutty. It reminded me of cotton candy at the state fair. Flirty and sweet.

And God, he looked good in them.

I reached out and ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, stopping just before the edge of the fabric. Cameron bit his lip, and my cock twitched so hard it hurt.

I couldn’t stop staring at his body—lean, toned, smaller than mine now by a mile. I felt huge beside him. Huge and needy.

My cock wouldn’t go down. My whole body felt wired, humming under my skin. I could barely breathe without it sounding like a moan.

“I need it bro,” I said.

Cameron turned to me, his voice low. “You sure?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

Cameron stepped close, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Face down, baby. Let me see you.”

My knees hit the mattress like I trained for it. I crawled forward and let my chest sink into the sheets, mashing my face into the pillow, breath hot against the fabric. My arms folded under me without thought.

And then—instinct. Pure and simple. I raised my hips, arched my back, and presented.

My ass lifted high, round and proud, begging for attention.  My hole pulsed with anticipation, sensitive and desperate.

I wanted him to see me like this.  To take me like this.

“God, Ty,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking massive.”

“I know,” I groaned.

Cameron hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and peeled them down slowly, revealing the hard line of his cock and the curve of his hips. He stepped out of them with no rush, like he knew I was watching every movement like it was a strip show made just for me. He tossed them aside, then turned to the duffel bag.

He unzipped it with one smooth motion and pulled out a small bottle of lube. He climbed onto the bed behind me, palms warm against the backs of my legs. I gasped when I felt his thumbs spreading me open.

The first touch of his slick finger against my hole made me jolt.

“Relax,” he murmured.

He circled the entrance slowly, gently, letting the sensation build until I was squirming under him. When he slid one finger inside, I let out a guttural moan into the pillow. The stretch, the fullness – it was too much and not enough at once.

He worked me open with infinite patience. One finger, then two, hitting something deep that made my whole body jolt. My ass clenched around him, greedy for more. My cock throbbed against the sheets, untouched and leaking.

“Almost there,” he whispered, voice full of heat. “You're sure you want this?"

I couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t resist.

My hands gripped the sheets. My whole body trembled. My hole ached to be filled, and my cock was leaking steadily onto the sheets beneath me.

“I need it, Cam,” I gasped, voice hoarse. “Please. I need to get fucked.”

I turned my head and looked over my shoulder, meeting his eyes.

“I want you to wreck me. Make me your toy.”

His expression softened for a moment—something between lust and pride—and then he reached for the lube again, slicking himself up with quick, practiced strokes.

“I got you, baby,” he said.

I buried my face in the pillow and moaned as I felt him line up with my hole.

Cameron pressed forward slowly, filling me inch by inch, and I gasped into the pillow as the stretch lit every nerve on fire. My hole burned and ached and pulsed around him, but I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to go deeper. To take all of me. To claim what he’d been shaping.

“Fuuuuck,” I moaned, hips pushing back instinctively. “Yeah... yeah, Cam… fuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

He bottomed out with a growl, grinding his hips against my ass, and something inside me broke loose.

Every thrust slammed into that spot inside me that sent sparks across my brain. My arms gave out, collapsing me into the sheets. I was a moaning, gasping, wrecked mess beneath him, and it felt incredible.

He rode me like he owned me, and maybe he did.

And then I felt it.

The burn in my chest spread up my neck, into my head. Words – long ones, smart ones – started slipping away. My thoughts got fuzzy, floaty. It was like trying to think through molasses. I knew I should care, but all I could do was whimper into the pillow and roll my hips back into every thrust.

“Guh—gonna—cum—Cam—can’t—”

I didn’t even sound like myself. I was babbling. Slurring. My mind wasn’t just slowing—it was melting. Every thrust rewired me, sanded down who I’d been.

I tried to remember what I used to do for work. Something with editing? Videos? Clients?

Didn’t matter.

My job was being a toy.

A pretty, slutty, dumb little toy who fucked hard and stayed hawt.

I came without touching myself, screaming into the mattress. My whole body seized, then shook, then went limp.

Cameron groaned and buried himself in me, pumping me full.

My last coherent thought dissolved into sparks.

I wanna feel this good forever.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “I’m gone.”

“Such a good boy,” Cameron smirked.

“I think I’m like... gay,” I said.

“Yeah," Cameron smiled.  "Take a look in the mirror."

I turned toward the full-length mirror, legs trembling, body still twitching from the aftershocks.

And froze.

I didn’t recognize myself.  Tall and hulking and muscular. Newly blond hair, tousled and gleaming with sweat. Big, wide, innocent eyes that looked almost vacant. A slack jaw with plush, pink lips that were full and swollen, perfect for sucking and moaning.

My pecs were pumped to high hell—round, proud, casting shadows over my shredded abs. My waist cut in tight like a swimwear model. My arms looked too big for my own body.  My ass looked like it had been sculpted in porn heaven—high, tight, jiggling with every breath.

I used to jerk off to girls who looked like this—bubblegum-pink Instagram models with duck lips and big, dumb energy. Soft little bimbos with too much ass and not enough shame.

"Like... oh my god..." I rumbled, an impossible blend of testosterone and valley girl energy.  "I'm so fuckin' pretty..."

-----

Cameron unzipped the duffel bag with a little flourish, then stepped aside like he was unveiling a prize on a game show. "Ta-da."

Inside was a riot of colors and fabrics—tanks, crop tops, tiny shorts, mesh everything. There were neon pinks and baby blues, white spandex briefs and tight runner’s shorts that screamed for attention. I saw deep v-necks, muscle tees with the sleeves already sliced off, and at least three pairs of shorts that I was pretty sure were designed to show under-butt.

“You bought all this?” I gushed.

“Spent the whole damn day on it,” Cam said proudly. “Stuff with stretch. Stuff that shows off the work you’ve put in. Stuff that makes it very clear what kind of guy you are now.”

I picked up a cropped mesh tank, translucent and shimmering under the light. Just holding it made my cock twitch.

“Dude…”

“You need a wardrobe that fits your new vibe,” he said, grinning. “Big. Slutty. Himbo. Check, check, and check.”

I held the mesh tank up to my chest, heart thudding. “Can I… try it on?” I asked, softer than I meant to. It came out shy. Submissive.

Cameron’s grin widened, eyes raking over me like he owned every inch. “You asking permission now?”

I nodded, heat blooming in my cheeks.

“Yeah,” I said, the words just slipping out. “I wanna be yours.”

Cam’s voice dropped to a low purr. “Then try it on, pretty boy.”

My hands trembled as I pulled the mesh tank over my head. It settled just below my pecs, clinging to my chest. My nipples were clearly visible through the fabric. I turned to the mirror and gasped—my chest looked enormous, my waist tighter than ever.

Cam stepped behind me, nodding in approval. "Next."

I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of briefs—white, low-cut, with baby blue trim and a pouch in front just barely big enough for me. The waistband hugged my hips perfectly, and the pouch lifted me just right.

"Fuck," I muttered. "These feel illegal."

“Only if you leave the house,” he teased.

I laughed breathlessly, then dug into the bag for one more piece. My hand landed on a pair of shorts—baby blue, silky-soft, with a thick white waistband and a 2-inch inseam. They shimmered slightly in the light, a little sheer if you looked too closely.

I slid them onto my thighs, then tugged them over my briefs. They hugged my glutes like they were tailored for me, cupping every curve and riding just high enough to flash cheek when I moved.

Cameron stared. I looked like an ad for sex.

"Spin," he said.

I obeyed, slowly turning for him, my cock swelling in the pouch, the shorts doing nothing to hide it.

"Yeah," he whispered. "That’s my boy."

-----

It was late Sunday night, and the sheets were still twisted around us. I was sprawled across the bed, my skin slick with sweat.  Cameron lay beside me, his hand tracing lazy circles over my pec.

“Shit,” he murmured. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

I groaned. “Ugh, same, babe.”

He smirked, then turned his head toward me. “You’re gonna need a new job, you know.”

“Nah, I can still do, like... my stuff. Y’know, with the vids. Editing. Clicky click, snip snip. That stuff.”

Cam raised an eyebrow.

“Ty... that's pretty technical.  I don't know if that's really you anymore, is it?”

“But like... I edited a TikTok today!” I protested. “Did a whole thingy on my gym sesh.  Hit ten clean reps on the pull-up bar, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, remembering how I strutted around the gym like I owned the place. Set up my camera so everyone could watch.

“Sure, babe. But that wasn’t exactly client work.”

I rolled onto my side, pouty now. “I mean... yeah, I'm more brawn than brains these days, but like... I still got video vibes, y’know? I can totally do it. Just gotta, like... click the little buttons and stuff.”

Cam’s fingers traced down my side, soft and soothing. “I know you're talented. I just… I don’t want you stuck doing something that locks you in an office.”  He kissed my shoulder. “Just think about it.”

I huffed, puffing out my chest. “Mmmkay, but like... I’m still gonna go tomorrow."

“Then you’d better pick out your outfit,” he said with a smirk, already reaching for the drawer full of barely-there gymwear and slutty crop tops. “You'll have to impress the guys at work...”

-----

The alarm buzzed just after seven, and sunlight spilled through the open blinds. Cameron groaned softly and rolled over to kiss my shoulder. "C’mon, pretty boy," he murmured. "Rise and shine."

I stretched, yawning so wide my jaw cracked, pecs bouncing as I sat up. My body was still humming from last night – sore in all the right places. Cameron climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom while I flopped back against the pillows, grinning like an idiot.

A few minutes later, I slid out of bed and grabbed clothes from the top of the dresser. I'd picked out my outfit last night – think catholic schoolgirl meets slutty jock!

The top was a tight, white button-down tee with short sleeves and baby pink trim. It barely made it halfway down my chest, and I'd tied it in a little knot below my pecs to show off my abs.

I stepped into a pair of micro plaid shorts—pleated, low-rise, and cut high enough to leave no doubt about leg day. They hugged my ass like they were made for it, riding up with every step. Underneath, a pale pink jockstrap did nothing to keep me modest.

White knee-high socks and a pair of chunky white sneakers completed the look. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and smiled.

Cam was gonna love it.

When I walked into the kitchen, Cam whistled.

“Gonna get in so much trouble dressed like that,” he teased, sipping his coffee.

“Hope so,” I smirked.

He stepped up close, slid a hand over my waist, and kissed me softly on the cheek. “Good luck out there, stud.”

“Thanks, babe,” I grinned. “Wish me brains.”

“No promises.”

—

The commute was a blur. Everybody else looked like they were heading to a tax seminar. Meanwhile, I was bouncing down the sidewalk like I was en route to a photo shoot. Heads turned. People whispered. One guy nearly walked into a lamppost.

I passed a mirrored window and couldn’t help checking myself out. Shirt riding high on my pecs. Shorts hugging my glutes. Hair tousled just right. I looked like a slutty summer daydream.

When I reached the office, I burst through the doors all confidence and shine.

The receptionist looked up and blinked. “Hi, can I help you?”

"Nah,” I said with a grin. “I'm all good.”

She furrowed her brow. “Do you… have an appointment?”

“Girl," I laughed.  "I edit shit. I’ve worked here for like... three years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice firm. “We can’t let anyone in without an appointment.”

I felt a twinge of panic.  Luckily, I spotted Alex – my boss – walking in from the lobby. I waved him down.

“Yo! Alex!”

He slowed, looked me over, and tilted his head. “Do I… know you?”

“It’s me! Like... Ty?”

He gave me a once-over and smirked. “Right. Well, Ty, you look like you’re on your way to a beach shoot. Maybe circle back another time.”

“I work here,” I said, the words tasting stupid in my mouth.

“Sure, apply online if you want. But no one’s hiring a walking thirst trap," he chuckled.

—

I left the building, heat rising in my face. Found a bench across the street and sat down. It creaked under my weight. My thighs spread wide, shorts riding even higher. I pulled out my phone.

Tyler: got fired i think lol

Tyler: guess i need a new job

Cameron: LOL. Poor baby.

Cameron: Meet me for lunch?

Cameron: I’ve got an idea ;)

-----

We met at The Yard. I hadn't been there in weeks.... not since I thought I was straight.

I had a whole new perspective.  I was never like... a homophobe, but this place was always too loud, too glittery, too unapologetic. I'd put up with it for Cam, told myself I was being a good ally.  Deep down, I’d thought the bar was ridiculous.

Now it felt like home.  

The background bass rolled through my chest like a welcome-home hug. The crowd was light – lunchtime on a Monday – just a few guys scattered around, sipping beers or picking at sandwiches. Most were dressed down in gym clothes or jeans, some scrolling their phones, others chatting in that low, familiar hum that made gay bars feel safe.

Just real people living real lives between shifts or after a workout. A couple of them looked up when I walked in, more curious than anything.

I got it now. I really got it now.

Back then, I would’ve dismissed this as just another dive. Now? It felt like a sanctuary. I caught a guy in a hoodie laughing too loud over a dumb meme, and instead of feeling annoyed, I felt myself soften. I smiled at a twink wearing grey sweats and a tank with a bleach stain. He smiled back, his eyes going wide as he took in my bulk.

It was chill. It was easy. I felt like I belonged.

Cameron was already at the bar.  He gave me a once-over, biting his lip.

“That outfit should get you arrested,” he teased.

“You like?” I bounced once on the balls of my feet, letting my shorts ride up. “Felt like dressin’ up.”

The bartender looked up as I slid onto the stool beside Cam. The guy from the last time I was here.

"Hey! I’m Ty." I smiled big and stuck out a hand. “We, uh… kinda met the other night?”

“Carlos. And yeah, I remember.” He shook my hand and raised an eyebrow at Cam. “What the fuck did you do?"

Cam winced. “Okay, so I went a little too far, but –”

Carlos cut him off, eyes narrowed. “I said you could curse him. Make him suck a little dick. Not turn him into…” He gestured at me vaguely. “Whatever this is.”

“Hey…” I blinked.

Carlos held up a hand. “Not judging, sweetheart. Just sayin’. What Tiffany and Kiki do... it's for the creepy straight guys who hang out here makin’ everyone uncomfortable. Not to build your dream bottom from scratch.”

Cam laughed nervously. “Okay, sure, I may’ve gone a little off-book, but come on, look at him. Isn’t he perfect?”

“Too perfect,” Carlos snapped. “And too straight, at least... originally. We can’t have people thinkin’ this is a conversion factory. One more like him and I’ll have Tiffany curse you into a football dad with a receding hairline and heated opinions about Bud Light.”

“Okay. Message received," Cam said, sitting up straight.  "It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Carlos grabbed a pink can from a fridge under the bar and popped it in front of me. “Drink up, cupcake.”

“What is it?” I asked.  Not like it mattered.  Pink's like... the best.

“It stops the curse from deepening. Doesn’t reverse anything – you’ll still be a dick-hungry beefcake. Just freezes the transformation before it eats your last brain cell.”

“I like feelin' like this," I frowned suspiciously.  "All floaty n’ sparkly. I don’t wanna go back to bein’ some skinny straight bitch.”

“Don’t worry, princess. You won’t.”

Cam nudged me. “Just drink it, babe. Trust me.”

I downed it in one go. It was sweet and tangy and spicy, and it left a shiver running down my spine.

"Welcome to the family sugar," Carlos said, taking the can.  "What can I get ya?"

“Honestly," Cam said.  "Ty needs a new job.”

I perked up. “Yeah, I tried showin’ up at work, but they were like ‘who are you’ and I was like ‘it’s me!’ and then Alex said I looked like totally slutty, which... like, okay, rude... but also kinda true?”

“Christ," Carlos sighed, rubbing his temples.  "Cameron... "

"Anything you got," Cam begged.  "I'll get him set up with the obvious stuff, but... he's got rent to pay."

Carlos looked me over with sympathy.

“We need a new gogo dancer for Fridays. You’re built like a goddamn cartoon. It's not much, just what guys give you, but with that ass... wanna shake it for tips?”

My face lit up. “Fuck yeah I do.”

-----

I moved in with Cam to save money. At first, it was just supposed to be for a little while – like, until I got back on my feet or whatever.  But we never talked about me moving out.

I tossed most of my old stuff – it didn't feel like me anymore. I kept my toothbrush, my webcam, and like... a bunch of slutty underwear. Cam liked watching me bounce around in those tiny shorts, especially when I was cooking him breakfast.

Surprisingly, I was making decent coin. Cam set me up on OnlyFans – like, he did all the branding and everything. All I had to do was grin and bounce my tits for the camera.

The tips rolled in. Sometimes I’d say something dumb like “Does this chest make my nipples look big?” and guys would just flood my inbox. I’d giggle and call them “sir” and they’d throw money at me.

It was fuckin' magic.

But Cam didn't just manage my socials... he was my co-star too. He’d rail me on livestream like I was his personal toy. I mean, I was, but still. Most nights ended with me face-down on the bed, moaning into a pillow while Cam made me see stars

The chat went totally feral. One guy tipped like two hundred bucks just to hear me moan his username while Cam pounded me into pudding.

Sometimes I edited our videos into little highlight reels – slow-mo shots of my ass bouncing, syncing the music with my moans – but most of the time I just posted the raw stream. I was better unfiltered.

“It’s real,” Cam told me. “They can tell.”

“Thanks, babe,” I blushed, like the big submissive himbo I'd become.

We would've been fucking every night if I wasn’t dancing too.

Fridays and Saturdays I worked the stage at The Yard, and I was basically famous there. Guys would chant my name and shove twenties into my waistband while I ground my cock against the air.

Sundays were for Manhole—it was quieter, more chill, mostly older queens. But I loved them. They called me “sweetie” and “puppy” and said my ass was a gift from God. They made me feel soooo good... and they had money too!

I still hadn’t hooked up on Grindr. I was either getting wrecked by Cam at home or bent over in the back room by some guy Cam brought in. He'd screen them, flirt a little, take care of the payment.

All I had to do was bite my lip and let them fuck my hole. I didn’t always catch their names, but I always remembered the compliments.

I used to be all worried about savings and retirement and like, I dunno, tax-free growth or whatever. Now I know what money’s really for: slutty underwear, crop tops, and pre-workout.

Cam took care of all the business stuff. I just had to keep lookin’ hot and takin’ dick.

It was simple. It was fun. It was me.

Guess I lost the bet.