M4M kink writing. Control and transformation of men. 18+ only.

Tag: transformation (Page 1 of 5)

On brand (My perfect dad 54)

Tom adjusted his tie for the third time, feeling the stares of shoppers as he walked into a store ominously called Suburban Savers. His tailored suit, a navy blue ensemble that hugged his tall, slender frame perfectly, stood out against the casual attire of the other patrons. He was acutely aware of the sweat forming at the nape of his neck, threatening to stain the crisp white shirt he wore beneath his jacket. Cody, meanwhile, was already live streaming their entrance, his phone held up high to capture every moment. The younger man, dressed in trendy, casual clothes, exuded confidence and charisma. His messy blonde hair and impish grin made him seem approachable, unlike Tom’s polished and somewhat intimidating appearance. 

“Hey everyone, we’re here at Suburban Savers with my new project. Say hi, Tom!” Cody said, turning the camera toward him. 

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DadMan at the beach (My perfect dad 53)

Enjoying the adventures of DadMan? I’ll be releasing the rest of “DadMan at the beach” exclusively to My newsletter subscribers, so sign up at the end of this story if you haven’t signed up already.

As I stood on the balcony of our hotel suite, the warm ocean breeze tousling my increasingly salt-and-pepper chest hair, I couldn’t help but be suspicious of the long overdue peace that washed over me. I peered down at the turquoise waves breaking gently on the shore, studying them as if they couldn’t be real. The last six months had taken every bit of time, energy, and give-a-damn that I had in the tank.

The soothing rhythm of sea against sand accomplished something that the overnight flight and the water taxi to the resort hadn’t. I finally felt transported a million miles away from the cacophony of my double life. Here, on this secluded tropical island, I wasn’t Mike Dawson, the middle-aged executive with a stack of unread emails and looming KPI deadlines. Nor was I DadMan, the caped superhero the press couldn’t get enough of and whose secret identity every newspaper in town wanted to expose.  

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Bryan’s eyes scanned the street as he walked, his gym bag swinging lightly in his grip. He had moved to this quiet suburban neighborhood for his new job a few weeks ago and was eager to maintain his fitness regime. After scoping out a few options online, he settled on the closest gym to his new apartment. From the outside, it looked quaint, almost nostalgic, with a classic neon sign that read “TownFit Gym.” Unlike the sleek, ultramodern gyms Bryan was accustomed to, the building had an old-school charm.  

He pushed open the door, the scent of worn vinyl and faint sweat greeting him. It was inexplicably familiar, almost comforting. Inside, the gym buzzed with activity, but it was not the stereotypical health club intensity Bryan was used to. The patrons here moved slowly, laughed loudly, and seemed reassuringly at ease with each other. The average age appeared to be mid 40s, with a striking majority of the men sporting dad bods—soft around the middle but with an air of solid strength beneath the surface.   

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Strings attached

Mick’s heart pounded as he stood motionless in the garage, awkwardly gripping his husband Paul’s hand. Ted’s laughter echoed around them, a chilling reminder of the power he now held over their lives. The air was tense. The scent of sawdust and whiskey mingled with their fear.  

Paul’s mind raced as his face ached from smiling. He tried to piece together how everything had gone so wrong and how he and Rick didn’t realize it until it was too late. Just a few hours ago, they had been enjoying a regular Friday night with Ted, their charming and seemingly perfect friend. Then everything changed.  

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Freshly shorn

Marcus led Jamie down the cracked pavement of Main Street, directing his boyfriend from their car toward the barbershop. Clear Creek wasn’t a ghost town in the strictest sense, but whatever community existed was conspicuously absent from Main Street this Sunday afternoon. An autumn gust whipped through the thoroughfare, swirling old newspapers and fallen maple leaves into a mini cyclone. Jamie pulled his dark green bomber jacket tighter around his slender frame as they passed under an American flag, which flapped noisily from its mast above the awning of an abandoned storefront.  

Contrary to Jamie’s efforts to shield himself from the wind, Marcus cut a carefree, imposing figure as they walked to the barbershop. With his back straight and shoulders square, Marcus walked with a confident stride that seemed to make even the swirling leaves calm down in his presence. His sharply tailored jacket clung tightly to his broad upper body, the black leather creaking with every smooth, undulating motion.  

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Two for one (My perfect dad 51)

DadNet charged a lot of money and made grand promises without much to back them up. But I didn’t care. I was desperate. For the last three years, I had secretly lusted after my next-door neighbor Keith. I watched the 40-something divorced computer programmer wash his car in the driveway, mow his lawn in the summertime, and shovel the pavement in the wintertime. I had built up an entire relationship in my head and played it out in a thousand different ways. In some scenarios, we were married. In others, we were just fuck buddies. Keith wasn’t a supermodel or anything. There was nothing about him that I found particularly intimidating, and there was no real reason why I couldn’t just approach him and ask him out. I was just too scared of rejection. 
And then, one day, I saw the “for sale” sign staked into his front yard. After all this time secretly lusting after Keith, now he was moving, and I would never get my chance at him. I kicked myself for an entire weekend, already resigned to the fact that Keith was destined to be the one that got away. 

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The pageant, part 2 (My perfect dad 50)

Read part 1 to get caught up…

As the evening started, Patrick perched on the edge of his barstool, his heart thumping with perturbation and disbelief. The air buzzed with an energy he barely recognized, charged with surreal, disquieting novelty. Mr. Leather Evergreen, the local fetish pageant he had followed religiously and whose title he clinched last year, had been turned on its head. The familiar program of events was gone, and each had been replaced with a bizarre suburban analog.  

Instead of showing off their leather craftsmanship skills, the contestants were each handed a pair of shears and tasked with trimming a small patch of lawn to perfection. The stop clock ticked its final seconds, and Patrick watched in bewilderment as a dozen portly, middle-aged men sweated and fretted over every blade of grass on their miniature plots of turf. The winner, a guy Patrick recalled from the old Hideaway days, high fived the entire panel of judges when they revealed he’d trimmed his grass uniformly to one-quarter inch in height, exactly what the HOA prescribed.  

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The pageant, part 1 (My perfect dad 49)

What a difference a year makes. 

Patrick walked across the parking lot from his SUV to the venue, feeling like a stranger in a strange land. His leather jacket and pants creaked with each step, and his right hand formed an apprehensive fist in its tight, shiny glove. The Muir cap in his left hand had become a relic of a bygone era, and despite being clad head to toe in custom leather gear, Patrick was reluctant to don the cap. 

“Hang in there, Sir,” Patrick’s boyfriend Vince said as he jogged to keep up with Patrick’s purposeful gait. “It’ll be over soon.” 

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DadMan, part 2 (My perfect dad 48)

Read part 1 of “DadMan” to get caught up

Buzzwords was a trendy coffee shop near the university campus, full of tweedy young professors waxing dialectic, shy college students hunched over chessboards, and aging hipsters with a veritable prism of hair colors. It wasn’t where I’d have chosen to meet for a first date, but Frank, the beefy accounting executive of my dreams, lived in one of the medium-rise condos nearby and suggested meeting there. As I walked from my car to the cafe, I wondered which building he lived in. Whichever it was, my modest suburban townhome paled in comparison.  

I arrived first, ordered a coffee, and claimed a table by the windows to catch Frank’s arrival. I didn’t have to wait long. I hadn’t been seated for two minutes before he rounded the corner with a bounce in his step and a casual grin on his face. He was dressed in a navy blue two-piece suit that so accentuated his build that it must’ve been made to measure. Each step he took up the sidewalk drew my attention to a different part of his body: his big thighs, his broad shoulders, the way his belly strained at the buttons of his dress shirt. He caught me staring through the windows as he made his final approach and smiled wide. I stood to greet him, and we shook hands when he arrived at my table.  

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