derek_williams
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Free Gift
🕑 Added 2021-10-22 06:51:00 +0000 UTCSome people might call it a problem, but fuck it, I’ve got the money.
Last year I was watching some porn and I saw an ad for some underwear company. Nothing special right? You see an ad like that a hundred times a day. But I’d never heard of this company before, so I clicked the link and got rewarded with cut underwear models wearing barely-there scraps of fabric.
Whatever demographic they’re targeting, I’m it.
Most websites show the model wearing the underwear, standing against a white background and trying to look sexy. On the CockJock website (original, I know) the models were all photographed dancing in some club. Their bodies dripping with sweat, streaked with coloured lights. The underwear looked good, but what really sold me was their empty eyes. Pure airheaded bliss.
That’s my fantasy. To be at some club, dancing in nothing but a jockstrap and a tan. Not a single thought on my mind.
Like that’s ever gonna happen.
I’m an over-thinker. My thoughts are anxious and running in circles. I’m always getting myself caught in loops, unable to break free.
My work friend Jason is the opposite. He's one of those party gays. One of those men who goes out clubbing three times a week and strips down to his underwear on the dance floor. When I first came out, I figured my life would look like that – parties and friends and pride parades. Instead I’ve got body image issues and I eat a lot of salads by myself.
Jason tried to include me – we went dancing three times before he stopped inviting me along.
It was always super uncomfortable, meeting up with his group of #instagay friends for drinks and gossip, then heading into some epileptic basement to dance the night away. They always had a blast. I stood in the corner and tried not to catch anyone’s attention.
His life is my fantasy. My totally unattainable fantasy.
Instead I sit at home and watch Netflix. I get drunk on boxed wine. About once a month I pull up the CockJock site and buy myself a new pair of underwear. You and I both know I’ll never wear it outside this apartment.
It arrives in my mailbox, stuffed into a plain shipping envelope. My hands get sweaty. I always wonder – has my mailman has caught on yet? Does he know I’m a sad wannabe, forever wishing I was a confident stud? Does he know that there’s a gay fantasy sealed inside that grey plastic package?
Is there someone at my credit card company, looking down my list of transactions every month. Shaking their head and laughing. Hey, look at this pathetic loser. He’s throwing his money away on an unattainable dream.
The reality is probably sadder. Why would they think about me at all?
So I grab the parcel and take the elevator up to my apartment. I close all my curtains, shut myself in the bathroom, and try on my latest purchase.
I try to move my hips like I see in music videos. I try to look confident and sexy. I imagine what I’d look like with coloured lights dancing across my skin. What I’d look like dancing, surrounded by a crowd of drunk and horny gays. For just a minute I imagine I’m living the dream.
Who needs reality? I’ve got imagination.
The elevator took forever today, finally opening and letting a hoard of bros spill out into the lobby. I clutched todays package, hoping that none of the drunk fratbros would knock it from my hand. I don’t want to be a fratbro – too much bravado, not enough sex appeal – but I’d probably still melt if one of them looked at me too close.
They passed by, barely noticing my existence. One made eye contact just long enough to avoid crashing into me. My heart beat a little faster as I stepped into the empty elevator. Twelfth floor. Almost home.
I chewed my lip and thought about what was inside the package. It was a pair of mesh boxer briefs, cherry red with a white waistband. The mesh was stretchy and I was sure my dick would be visible through them. Just the thought of slipping them on was making me hard.
I fumbled with my keys, but finally I was inside. Dropping my bag on the couch, carefully drawing all the blinds, turning off all the lights except the bathroom. If anyone knocked, I wanted it to look like nobody was home.
Paranoid? Maybe, but I’m indulging in my kink. I’d be embarrassed as heck if anyone found out. So I stepped into the bathroom, locked the door, and finally ripped into the package.
Inside was a crinkly plastic sleeve with my new boxer briefs inside it. I pulled it open and put the plastic wrapper to the side. The underwear felt silky smooth to my touch. I held it in both hands, feeling the texture of the mesh fabric and enjoying the anticipation. Slowly, I raised them to my head, burying my face in the clothing and smelling that ‘new’ smell.
A broad grin broke out on my face.
I gave myself a look in the mirror as I loosened my tie. I looked exactly like every other office drone you’ve ever met. Not in shape, but not out of shape either. Pale skin. A short blond haircut that made me anonymous in any crowd. I was cute, not hot. Thin, but not lean. Exactly average.
I pulled off my tie and left it discarded on the floor. My shirt and dress pants quickly joined it, leaving me in scratchy grey boxers that I buy in packs of five at Walmart. I hooked one thumb to each side and dropped the boxers, letting my semi-hard cock flop free.
Naked. But not for long.
I grabbed the red scrap of underwear and shook it out, stepping one foot through the stretchy fabric, then another. It tickled my leg hair as I pulled it smoothly up, before it finally settled over my semi. I released the waistband with a snap and gave myself a confident grin in the mirror.
There he was. The stud who went out and danced all night. I gave a flirty wink and started grinding my hips, pushing my bulge forward. I could see the outline of my cockhead through the tight cloth.
For almost a minute, I moved my body to some invisible rhythm. I imagined the club lights playing over me, lighting me up in neons and pastels. I imagined the sweat dripping off my brow, the heat of a hundred sweaty bodies pushing me to my limit.
God, just once I wanted to grind my cock against a stranger. I’d seen the way Jason danced, uninhibited and thirsty. I wanted it more than anything.
There was a noise in the hallway. A neighbours dog barking, breaking my illusion and bringing me back to the moment. Bringing me back to my life as a loser, dry humping the air under my bathrooms vanity lights.
I sighed. It’s always nice while it lasts.
I slid the red boxers down my legs and dropped them on the floor. Soon enough they’d join my other impulse buys, hidden at the back of a dresser drawer.
My semi was deflating. I was starting to wonder what I should make for dinner. I might not have much for abs, but I didn’t need to cover them with a dad bod. Time to clean up, eat yet another salad, and get to bed early. I went to grab the shipping envelope.
It wasn’t empty.
Inside there was another bag. Instead of the crinkly plastic that the red boxers had come in, this one was velvet with a drawstring. A thick paper tag hung off the string.
“Dear Colten,” it read. “I noticed you bought something from CockJock every month this year. I thought you might enjoy this too! – Jacque (CEO of CockJock!!)”
Holy shit. I guess someone was actually watching how often I ordered. I mean, it’s probably just some computer algorithm that flags frequent purchasers. But that note looked handwritten, and the velvet bag... that was pretty nice, even if it was just some intern writing the note.
That salad could wait another few minutes.
I pulled open the drawstring and peered inside the bag. It was another scrap of fabric, silky smooth and black. It was a jockstrap, just a tight pouch, a wide waistband and two black elastic bands holding it all together. The name “COCKJOCK” was printed on the waistband in white, over and over, all the way around.
“Hot,” I said softly, feeling the material between my fingers. They felt electric in my hands. I was buzzing with excitement.
I stepped one foot into them, then the other. They travelled up my legs smoothly without the ticklishness of the last pair. I settled the black pouch over my cock and balls before releasing the waistband. In a moment, my junk was tightly and comfortably held.
Fuck, it felt so good on my balls. Like it was stroking them. Teasing me.
I’ve had two blowjobs. This was better than either.
“Holy shit!” I gasped. I caught my eye in the mirror and broke out laughing at the look on my face. My mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wide. I looked like you just told me Cher was doing a farewell tour in my living room.
I pulled my gaze away from the mirror and stared down at the jockstrap. A small pink spot was forming on one size of the waistband – it looked like a drop of bleach had fallen on the black fabric. Pink bleach. And the spot was growing...
And so was I.
It was subtle at first. Easy to ignore, but I felt weird, like there were ants crawling all over me. I looked up at the mirror, trying to see if there was something on me. Maybe the strap had fleas or something. Instead I noticed that my abs were looking more defined. Like the muscles were getting bigger and harder... like the fat was melting away...
“Holy fuck!” I swore, running my hands over a now clearly defined six pack. Below the waistband, I could see a similar transformation happening to my quads – they were getting heavy and cut, like I was squatting way more than I actually did.
I reached behind me and grabbed my ass. The straps around my cheeks were growing tight as my mediocre butt pushed out into a real bubble. I squeezed, feeling tight muscle under the light layer of fat. All the while, the pink spot was growing, now looking more like a part of the design than a spot of bleach. Maybe a quarter of the band was pink, creeping into the remaining black like a progress bar.
There was a knock at my front door.
I didn’t stop to pull my pants back on. I doubted they’d fit anyhow. I headed straight for the door and pulled it open, not even bothering to check the peephole.
“Hey dude,” said the guy on the other side. He was carrying a fancy camera, dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His bomber jacket had a COCKJOCK logo stitched onto the left breast. “I’m Brock. Sorry, I thought I’d catch you before you slipped it on, but this is good too. I’m a photographer with the company, we’re hoping we can take a few pics tonight.”
“Holy hell,” I gasped, waving him inside with one hand. I turned and headed back for the bathroom, eager to see my transformation in the mirror. I could feel my legs, heavy with new muscle and power. I stumbled as I walked, unsure how to use these things.
I got back just in time to watch my pecs swell. Outside the door, Brock had the camera to his eye and was doing his thing. I hear the soft click and whirl of the shutter as he took photo after photo. I didn’t have time to worry about that – as he watched, my formerly flat chest was pushing out into a pair of rounded muscle tits.
I crossed my hands over my chest and held each of my pecs with an open palm. I could feel them growing under me.
“Here’s the deal,” Brock said, like this was just a Tuesday for him. “You’ve been selected as the newest member of the CockJock model program. That jockstrap, that body... it’s yours. Our gift to you, no questions asked. You don’t even need to sign the photo release if you don’t want.”
I was only half listening. My lats were getting huge, turning my torso into that “V” shape that every gay guy lusts after. It wasn’t turning me into a bodybuilder – just the sex object I’d always wanted to be.
The pink bar continued to move around the waistband, leaving the COCKJOCK logo plain and white. It was about two thirds of the way around, and when I twisted to see my ass in the mirror, I could see that the two straps across my ass were undergoing a similar reworking. So far though, the pouch remained a silky black.
“Your physical transformation will be done in a minute or so,” Brock said, snapping another set of photos. “Then there’s going to be a little pause, but just for a minute. Then the rest of it is going to kick off. If you don’t want the second transformation, just slip off the underwear when the bands are all pink. It’s your call, no hard feelings from us.”
“The... second?” I gasped. I was having trouble speaking as my neck, calves, and forearms all swelled in size. My days of buying ‘small’ size clothing were over. I doubted I’d be able to fit into any of my clothes.
“The mental transformation,” Brock offered. “If you leave the jockstrap on, it’ll transform your mind too. Some guys are into it, some just want the body. Basically you’ll forget about all your cares and worries. Some of your skills too. After the mental part, most of the our models just want to lift, party, and fuck.”
I tried to say something, but my jawline was reforming, become square and heavy. My whole face got more symmetrical and more defined. For a second my vision blurred, then I was back, staring at myself through crystal blue eyes.
The waistband was almost entirely pink now. Just a few more seconds.
My hair grew out, two inches of dirty blond spikes pushing out where there had only been a black buzzcut. I felt my hands and feet cracking and shifting, ending up two sizes bigger than they had been.
“Whoa...” I said, staring at the mirror. I let my hands run over the new planes of muscle that covered my torso. My voice sounded deeper, like it was always supposed to...
“Okay dude, it's time to choose,” Brock prompted. “You gotta pull off that jockstrap in the next... 45 seconds, or else you’re going to end up really dumb and really horny.”
“No!” I said, putting out my hand to hold him at a distance. “No, I want that.”
“You sure bro?” Brock asked, giving me a wicked smile. “There’s no going back. We don’t keep a backup or anything.”
I flashed myself a confident grin in the mirror. Fuck, this thing even fixed my teeth. I looked confident. I looked fuckable. I looked goddamn HOT!
“Yeah bro,” I said, as sure as I’d ever been. “I want this.”
The soft clicks of the camera shutter kept going as the pouch of my jockstrap started turning pink... just a little on the edge, but I knew that would change soon.
I felt like someone was tickling my brain with a feather duster.
“Try to tell me about work,” Brock suggested.
“Okay. Work. It’s like my least favourite topic, but whatever. I work at a software company, I’m one of the developers there. My manager’s a total asshole, and I’ve been like... working on this really hard problem all day. It’s when the system like... does its thing, it like... cuz my boss told me it’s gotta... fuck it, whatever, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
I felt my concerns evaporate away, like water on a hot day. Like.... why should I worry about shit? Look at my body... I’m hot as fuck. I’m too hot to care about dumb shit.
Damn bro, my ass is so fuck-worthy. It’s like... criminal it’s never been fucked.
I vaguely remembered my old ass. Boring and flat. It sucked that ass never got fucked either bro! I’m such a stud now...
I looked down at my jock and giggled. The pouch was like... sorta pink and sorta not. I like pink, it’s like... my favourite colour. I threw up a double bicep pose, checking out the peaks of my sick biceps. Everyone’s gonna wanna fuck me now... I stuck my tongue out all like... sexy...
I flexed my pecs together just to watch ‘em flex. Hot. My nips were big and brown and I wanted some dude to suck on them like... now! They looked so hot against my wicked tan.
In the mirror, I saw my jock went like... all pink. I was done! Fuck me harder bro, I was done!
I clasped by hands behind my head, tensed my abs, and bounced my 9” cock for the camera. I jumped inside it’s pink bubble, packed in there tight with my heavy balls.
“You like that brah,” I teased, flexing my pecs and grinding my hips. “You wanna fuck me, huh?” I laughed.
The dude looked like... embarrassed or whatever, but he kept taking pics of me. I wanted to see them all. My body is a work of fuckin’ art.
“We’ve got to get you out dancing,” the camera dude said. He sounded like... sad. “Do you want to hit up a club?”
“Oh shit yeah!” I shouted without thinking. “C’mon queen, let’s gooooo!”
The camera dude laughed.
“You got a favourite?” he asked.
Hell, I’d only ever been to like... one club or whatever. With Jason from work. Fuck, Jason was such a hot little twunk. Was he a top? I couldn’t remember. Sometimes he wears this shirt with like... the buttons can’t even close right. Little dude buys like... really little clothes.
I laughed.
The camera dude was standing there, real patient and stuff.
“C’mon Colten, what’s your favourite dance club?”
“Dude, we gotta go to Holes!” I shouted excitedly.
“Okay buddy, let’s get you dressed,” the cam guy said, moving outta the door and pointing at the bedroom.
All the shit in the bedroom was like... waaaaay smaller than I remember. I barely squeezed into this one tank top that I thought used to be too big for me and a pair of gym shorts that got swallowed up by my thick thighs. Lucky for me, camera dude brought a pair of shoes big enough. Comfy too... these neon pink runners with like... lots of pads and stuff.
I couldn’t wait to dance. I was in such a hurry I only spent like... a couple minutes flexing in the mirror.
The camera dude reminded me of my keys and my wallet and stuff, so I checked for a jacket. My old leather jacket... the one I bought in college cause it was cheap. Dude, it actually fits now! Like... it can’t close or nothing cause my chest’s too big, but I looked jacked in it!
I laughed. College was dumb.
The camera dude and I squeezed into a cab and he said some stuff to the driver. I leaned against the window and watched the lights go by. All the while, I could hear the camera going click. Fuck yeah, make me a star.
When we got to the club we didn’t have to wait in line. The door guy took one look at my hot bod and unclipped the rope for us. All the dudes in line whistled and howled when I walked by. One of them’s gonna be the lucky guy!
“Coat check?” I guy asked when we went in.
I shrugged off my coat, only taking my wallet cuz the camera guy reminded me. He said he’d hold it for me and that’s really cool.
“Thank you s...sir, that’ll be two dollars,” the coat guy said, staring at my physique.
“Gonna be more,” I said with a charismatic grin. Then I stripped off my tank and my shorts and left them with the coat guy too. I told the camera guy to give him a twenty.
Inside was awesome. There was a big square bar in the middle, and the room was wall to wall dance floor. Hanging onto the bar, there were some nervous looking guys trying not to be noticed. Then it was just lots of sweaty dudes dancing around, some of them shirtless, most of them not.
Near the back, there was a row of doors on the wall. Jason had told me about them, but I hadn’t tried ‘em. Each one was a little closet with like a glory hold to the next closet. I wanted to dance... but maybe later I’d suck a few dicks...
There were a bunch of lasers and coloured lights and stuff flying around. The music was booming, the steady beat making me shake my ass. I stuck my tongue out and looked around.
“Dude, this is sick!” I laughed.
The camera guy kept taking pics.
I walked in, waving my big dick in it’s pink jock, grinning at all the hot guys who were staring at the outline of my cockhead. I blew kisses at the hottest ones, and for a couple of them I even gave an inviting head tilt. One of them was coming my way when I recognized him. Jason, my work guy.
“Hey Jason!” I called out, having him over.
“How do you know my name?” the little twunk asked. I outweighed him by... at least fifty pounds. His pecs were cute next to mine.
“Dude, we work together!” I shouted over the music.
He gave my face a close look, squinting a little like we weren’t like.... a foot apart.
“Colten?” he asked with his voice all weird.
“Just call me Colt bro,” I laughed, moving my arm up and grabbing him by the shoulder.
“What... what happened?” Jason said, his eyes big and round. Then he glanced down and saw the pink jockstrap I wore, bright against my honey tanned skin. “Dude... you’re a COCKJOCK model now! Now way! I knew.... I mean, I heard stories about... but....”
“Bro, you’re losing me,” I laughed, stepping close enough that my cock was pushing against his, separated only by my jockstrap and his boxer-briefs. “Just fuckin’ dance!”
I ground my cock into his, running my hands across his back and down the length of his muscled arms. I couldn’t hear the camera, not with this sick beat, but the cam dude would like.... circle around us and stuff. I didn’t care, not really. I just wanted to move my body against Jason’s.
I kissed him, jamming my tongue into his mouth. He tasted salty, and I could smell the sweat dripping down his skin. I hoped he could smell mine. We made out for kinda a while, dancing and grinding the whole time.
“Fuck Colt, where you been my whole life?” Jason moaned while I gave him a hickie.
“You wanna fuck me?” I asked, leading his hand around to squeeze one of my cheeks.
“Hell yeah,” Jason gasped. “My place is just... I’m just down the block.”
“Lead me on,” I told him, pushing him away and walking for the coat check. The crowd of dancers cleared in front of me, and Jason hurried after.
“Hey, big guy, you want your stuff?” the coat guy called out as I tried to leave.
“Shit, yeah man. Thanks,” I laughed. He brought me back my jacket and my shorts and my tank. I slipped on the shorts and the tank, then tossed my leather jacket over my shoulder. It’s a look, okay? When you look like me, any look works.
Jason got his shit while I fussed with my hair in the mirror. He took forever, cause the camera guy needed to talk to him.
“Okay, so you’re a friend of Colten’s?” the camera guy asked.
“It’s Colt brah,” I said, not stopping my hair care.
“Yeah, I guess,” Jason said. “I mean, we work together and we’ve hung a couple times.”
“Back when he was a huge nerd.”
“Yeah...” Jason said. “I never meant to... he just never fit in, you know?”
“Whatever man. From the looks of it, you’re going to spend a lot more time together now, okay?”
“Yeah...” Jason said. “He’s so hot...”
“Yeah,” the camera guy said. “We do good work. But he’s also dumber and hornier, so he’s gonna have to adjust to the world again. I just need to know if you can be his buddy for that.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Jason nodded. He glanced at me. Dude probably hopes I’ll spot him at the gym. Only if he fucks me in the showers...
“Okay. So he’s got these supercharged pheromones now,” Jason said. “Don’t worry, they just make it so everyone is very accepting of him. So just make sure he gets to work and he’ll be fine. If it ends up he’s too sexually charged, fire up an OnlyFans, he’ll make it.”
“Okay,” Jason said. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, here’s his wallet and his phone,” the camera guy said, handing Jason my stuff. “Now go have a fun night. Believe it or not, that was the quietest night he’ll have for a while. Colt’s gonna be the new face of CockJock, just as soon as I get these photos edited.”
“Brooooooooo....” I complained. “C’mon bro, you gotta fuck me.”
“Okay baby, we’re gonna go,” Jason promised.
“Good luck,” the camera guy said, heading outside. I never saw him again, not til like a week later when we did another shoot.
“Thank you!” Jason called after him. “Alright Colt, let’s go fuck that ass,” he said, grabbing a globe and guiding me towards the exit.
We walked down the street slowly. It was cold out, but I liked that everyone could see me. I flexed for some of the guys still in line, and I made sure they were all like... jealous of Jason.
Five minutes later we were in Jason’s bedroom. Our clothes were scattered in his living room, and by the time we hit the bed, I only had my pink jock left. He had a sky blue pair of boxer briefs that made his dick look so tasty.
Jason slipped his fingers under the band of my jock and worked it down my legs. For a second I was scared that I might lose my gains, but it was okay! Now that I’m big, it doesn’t matter what I wear, I’m still big.
A speaker beside the bed played music. Pounding club music, not so different from what we just left. I liked it. This is my kinda music, y’know? It’s got good rhythm and the songs are all like... so good.
Jason pulled off his shorts and told me to get on my hands and knees. I felt cold lube on my asshole, then a finger, then...
Then his cock squeezed into my hole and my world exploded. Fireworks bro. That shit is tight! If you haven’t had a dude stick his cock in you, you gotta try it brah. And like... Jason’s got a great cock, but bro, just find the nearest cock and beg it to fuck your ass.
He pounded in and out, slapping me with his balls a couple of times. He hit a good rhythm, like he lined up with the music and everything. Dude’s so smart, I bet he planned it and everything.
I don’t know how long he fucked me that first time – at least a while. Then his cock pulsed bro, it just throbbed in my ass and he flooded me with his hot cum. Some of it even dripped out my hole when he pulled out. Man, I wish the photo guy stayed for this part!!
Jason had me lie on my back, then he sucked my rod til I fuckin’ blew my load all over his face. The dude took like... a bunch of cum to his face. Finally my rod stopped jerking and I laid back and just zoned out.
------------------------------------
Jason woke me up in the morning, after he’d already showered and made us coffee and protein shakes.
I tried to pull him right into bed, but he said we had to go to work. I rolled my eyes – who wants to go to work? Dude, we could just stay in bed and fuck all day. Maybe grab a workout before we hit up Holes or Glitter.
But Jason says we already did that on Friday when we called in sick and then at my place on Saturday too. Yesterday he made me go shopping and get a bunch of new stuff.
I get it, I can’t wear the same gym outfit every day, but I don’t think I need this many clothes. Dude knows I prefer being in my underwear, and CockJock sends me anything I want. But Jason told me to put on a fresh tank and a pair of track pants before we headed into the office.
There’s one perk to being out of bed – the world is full of dudes. I could barely keep my eyes off them. If Jason wasn’t so worried we were gonna be late, I’d have stopped for a quick fuck with one of the guys on the subway.
“Okay, now I’ve gotta go to my cube,” Jason said. “You remember your desk and everything? It’s right over there.”
“Bro, relax,” I said. “I remember where I sit. I just like... I don’t wanna sit around all day.”
“Just... play along, okay?” he begged. “I’ve got a meeting.”
While Jason made his escape, I sat my heavy frame down in my too small chair and checked myself out in my webcam. Yeah, looking good. I was scrolling through some porn when my boss.... Todd? Terry? He came out of his office.
“Excuse me... are you supposed to be here?” he asked.
“It’s like... T-Dawg? Right?” I asked.
“Yes...” he said cautiously.
“Dude, it’s me, Colt!” I said. I stood up and stepped close, just like Jason told me to do if anyone came asking questions.
My smell got into his brain right away.
“Huh?”
“It’s me dude. Colt! I work here!”
“Yeah... Colt, sorry man. Right,” T-Dawg said. “I’m uh... that’s a lot of porn for work,” he said, pointing at my computer.
“Yeah, sorry bro. You know how it is. I gotta get off lots, so unless you wanna fuck me...” I said, only half-joking. I could see his cock pressing out of his pants. Maybe...
“Well, I think that uh... Colt, why don’t you come into my office,” he asked.
I screamed for his cock so loud.
