Category: Transformation (Page 1 of 6)

Two men sit at an outdoor restaurant table. One man in a navy suit looks ahead, while the other, wearing a black t-shirt and gold chain, looks at his phone. A platter of oysters is on the table in front of them.

Uncle Midas Touch

2025-09-01 / admin bot / 2 Comments

Chapter 1

Owen was late. As always.

Jake had already ordered the oysters and the champagne because that’s what Owen liked: tiny rituals of indulgence. They were seated at Le Manifeste, a velvet-curtained French bistro where the menus were priceless and the waiters didn’t speak unless summoned. Jake had reserved the terrace, hired the quartet, and even made sure the kitchen brought out Owen’s favorite smoked truffle salt for the butter.

He’d been planning this dinner for weeks.

Owen strolled in without apology, thumbs still dancing across his phone. His tight black tee clung to a swimmer’s frame, gold chain winking against sun-warmed skin. His stubble was just uneven enough to look effortless, and his lips glistened with whatever balm he used to stay camera ready.

Room for Two

2025-07-21 / admin bot / 0 Comments

The Producers’ Meeting

Ryan sat motionless at one end of the long, black conference table, his spine a rod of resistance, his arms folded tightly across his chest. A single droplet of condensation rolled down the untouched pitcher of water in front of him, slow and voyeuristic, as if the room itself were waiting for its occupants to break a sweat.

Luis, by contrast, had begun to wilt. He slouched next to Ryan, loose limbed and leaking energy, one knee bouncing nervously beneath the table like a trapped animal in fight-or-flight paralysis. Unlike Ryan, a sheen of sweat glistened at Luis’ temples. He didn’t touch it.

A smartphone screen showing app icons. The center icon features a red heart with a yellow lock inside, suggesting a focus on health and security. Other visible icons include App Store, Maps, Settings, Health, and Home.

ChastiDate™

2025-07-14 / admin bot / 0 Comments

Last Night on Poundr

Zane and Micah lay tangled in the rumpled sheets of their Boystown loft, still sweat slicked and buzzing from the night before. The haze of cigarettes and cologne lingered in the air, commingling with the faint trace of poppers. A third body had once been part of the heap, some perfectly forgettable twunk named… Kyle? Keegan? Kian. Definitely Kian. But Kian had stumbled out sometime before dawn, leaving only a cock ring and a half-empty can of IPA on the windowsill.

Zane yawned, stretching his lean, tattooed arms. “Check your phone yet?”

A pink box filled with assorted donuts, including plain, powdered sugar, chocolate-covered, and glazed varieties, all casually arranged and overlapping with a trippy filter applied.

Donut shift

2025-06-30 / admin bot / 0 Comments

The Bite

David “Dutch” Reinhard pressed his badge against the scanner, and the red light flickered to green with a mechanical beep. The heavy security door opened into the dim underground garage, and the scent hit him like a soft punch: concrete dust, engine oil, and powdered sugar.

The night shift break room—if you could call a converted janitor’s closet a break room—pulsed with orange-yellow light and the tinny laughter of an old sitcom. The guards were already inside, bodies wedged into plastic chairs, bellies out, legs sprawled. They were watching Honest to Todd on a mounted TV, powdered sugar dusting their uniforms like fresh snowfall.

Protected: Subscribers only: Jester’s Tragedy

2025-06-20 / admin bot / Enter your password to view comments.

This story is password protected for newsletter subscribers only.

Want to get in on the fun? Click the button below the password form to sign up for future newsletters.

Eurosong Protocol

Thom, a brooding American singer and songwriter, never expected to win Sweden’s national song contest and earn the right to represent them at Eurosong. With a stripped-down love ballad and zero choreography, he defied the odds and became a global glitch in the system. But SwedeTV wasn’t sure Europe would vote for him, so they’re not taking any chances.

Plunged into the surreal world of Europe’s largest televised music competition, Thom is renamed, re-costumed, and reprogrammed. His emotional song becomes an obscene, hypersexualized pop anthem. His guitar is replaced with flashy dance routines. His name becomes Toomas. His accent is rewritten. His bulge is enhanced.

What starts as minor “orientation” spirals into full-body reconditioning: vinyl suits, autotuned vocals, sensual compliance training, and eroticized surveillance. As the days count down to the Grand Final, Toomas must decide if he’s still Thom somewhere inside or if he’s just another bulge-suited product engineered for continental affection.

Darkly funny, disturbingly erotic, and piercingly satirical, Eurosong Protocol is a body-horror pop odyssey that asks: what’s left of you after fame finishes sculpting?

Eurosong Protocol is a 26,400-word novella. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.

Yellow text reading EuroSong Protocol over a background featuring people in colorful, shiny outfits, possibly at a musical event or performance.

Eurosong protocol (chapter 3)

2025-06-02 / admin bot / 1 Comment

Catch up on chapter 2 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Voice Cage

Thom didn’t know what day it was anymore, but it had been at least a week since the suit. It hadn’t come off. It hadn’t even loosened.

He’d stopped trying to escape from it after the third day. With the collar locked in place and no zipper, it had been an exercise in futility. He showered in it. Slept in it. Woke up each morning to the same high-necked yellow gloss staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. When he dressed over it—SwedeTV-approved trousers and geometric pullovers—the suit made every layer sit too tight, too high. His skin no longer felt like skin. It felt like packaging.

And, of course, there was the bulge. Or what was left of it.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 2)

2025-05-26 / admin bot / 2 Comments

Catch up on chapter 1 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Measurement Room

The handler didn’t speak.

Nor had he the night before, when he delivered Thom to his new residence just past 23:00. He handed Thom a keycard without explanation and disappeared into the corridor like a shadow from a forgotten nightmare. This morning was no different. Tall, angular, and dressed in SwedeTV-standard black with white piping, he walked precisely five steps ahead of Thom, maintaining just enough distance to preempt conversation.

Thom had counted three right turns, one left, and then a ramp with no apparent descent before he gave up. The broadcaster’s headquarters were impossible to navigate—white on white, matte surfaces broken only by the occasional glowing icon pulsing on a wall panel. No signage, no windows. Even the lighting was unnatural.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 1)

2025-05-19 / admin bot / 1 Comment

The Winner

Tune in over the next several weeks as American folk singer Thom discovers what it really takes to represent Sweden on the biggest stage in Europe.

The carpet was too soft. Every step Thom took sank just slightly, like walking over memory foam. The corridor walls stretched too long and curved just enough that he couldn’t tell if they were leading him deeper or circling back. The production assistant hadn’t said a word since they’d left reception. The tall, expressionless man in a black polo shirt with the SwedeTV logo embroidered on his chest—no badge, no name—just pressed on.

Two muscular, shirtless men in brown jumpsuits stand in the foreground, their chests exposed and sweaty. In the background, a man in a shirt looks on with a serious expression, partially obscured by shadows.

The Space Bears (chapters 1-3)

2025-04-28 / admin bot / 0 Comments

I’ve expanded My short story from 2023 into a full-length transformation epic. Read the first three chapters here.

Chapter 1: The Golden Ticket

I had been based out of Artemis Station for nearly a decade, working long-haul cargo routes to neglected outposts and failed experiments in galactic living. Six months to Vesta. Fourteen to New Rockall. The occasional ten-week jog to Hyperion. Interstellar freight isn’t glamorous, but the solitude suited me. The pay was steady. And when you’re in deep sleep for most of the journey, the years barely touch you.

Some guys can’t handle it—waking up decades older than their friends, missing birthdays, funerals, and civilizations. Me? I had nothing waiting for me planetside. No lovers, no obligations. I liked it that way.