You came to the Foundation asking to be a smidgen more masculine. You’d been having a hard time with life lately, and you felt that better embracing the proper masculine image would help you build much needed self-esteem during this trying time. I listened to you explain your struggle, and I have to admit that my heart went out to you. I leafed through the company catalogue a few times, wondering what I might be able to provide for you that might be the cure for your ails as well as provide what you were asking for. It wasn’t until that I begun to comb through the back-most, seldom seen pages of the reference that I came across a single smudged note that fluttered out of the book. I scrambled to apprehend the small square of paper, and when I had the scrap in hand, I smiled to see the brief footnote that was scribbled on it. Intrigued, you asked what I was so pleased about, but I, ever a man favoring his secrets, motioned silently for you to follow.
I heard you gasp as we entered into a great wilderness beyond a seamless office door. The scenery was astounding, besides being quite impossible, for no sooner had I closed the door behind both of us that you found yourself in the center of a vast and beautiful forest without a single sign of civilization in sight. You spun around to find that even the door we had just entered, or possibly “exited from” given the circumstances, had disappeared without a trace. You scrambled for the right words to prompt me for some form of explanation as to the nature of this phenomena, assuming it was some sort of illusion or trick on the senses, yet you could no more easily find the correct question to ask than you could formulate the explanation for the odd lapse in commonplace reason. Seeing your obvious perplexion, I laughed and invited you not to think about it too much, instead inviting you to follow me further.
Besides the brief confusion concerning the nature of your surroundings, you found the walk a pleasant one. I flatter myself to say that I made good company for having to escort so many people to the transformations in the past, and I’m fairly certain that you found my conversation stimulating when you didn’t take simple enjoyment in the unexpected elements of nature that you found yourself immersed in. Before long, you smelled something besides the brisk scent of fresh air and the fallen leaves crunching beneath your feet. The subtle smell of smoke boiled up from under the base odor of nature that had previously crowded it out of your range of senses. You gazed up into the sky to see what did indeed appear to be a line of smoke churning up from the wooded area we were headed towards. More questions arose in your mind. I saw them bubble up in your mind as flickers of a thoughtful expression invading your face, but they quickly subsided. You opted to not think about, instead enjoying things as they came.
You were eager to see what was smoking though, and your curiosity was only further piqued when you laid eyes on the subtle, wooden cottage before us. The structure was a thing of beauty, its rustic red features all clearly ancient but well cared for, and know that you were closer to the smoke lazily billowing out of the chimney you could clearly identify a delicious whiff of something cooking over the fireplace inside. The culmination of calm stimuli gave you an overwhelming sense of relaxation. In fact, just looking at the cottage bathed your soul in a soothing wash of peace and serenity, so you didn’t oppose when I led you to draw you closer to it or when I opened the door for you to enter. You simply ambled inside with a dreamy smile contentedly set on your lips.
The furnishings inside of the abode were simple and refined to the single, small single room of the abode, yet you perceived the cottage to be much more comfy than it was crowded. With only the smallest provocation on my part you agreed to sitting in the comfy armchair by the warm, brick fireplace on the far side of the room. You collapsed into the cushioned chair with a sigh of tranquility. You clasped a possessive grip around each arm of the chair, feeling the familiar fabric of the chair in your hands while I ladled out a bowlful of the vegetable stew from the pot over the fire. You didn’t doubt as to why you knew the vegetables where from the garden you’d never seen before behind the cottage or why you could recount to recipe of the stew on were only now being offered by me. You simply took the spoon offered with the bowl and chowed down. You were ravenous, though it didn’t make sense considering the fairly tame day you’d had. The only thing you’d really done that day was come to the Foundation, but it felt like you’d spent the whole day chopping logs for the fire. When you were done with the bowl, you rubbed your engorged, muscular arms to feel that the felt sore after a day of chopping wood to match your appetite.
I smile from the fireplace to see you caressing your newly grown arms. Your now calloused, burly hands made the perfect match to your masculine, swollen arms, and it was a nearly symbolic visual to see your fingers combing through the tangle of hair that covered your forearms. Since we had begun to approach the cottage, from the moment I closed that first disappeared door to when you saw the source of the scrumptious smelling smoke, I’d watched you change. Piece by piece I saw the frustrated man that I’d met at the front desk dissolve from reality just as our entrance had. It would almost happen in blinks. In a single second another part of the old you would be gone, and another part of the new you would take its place. Inch by inch you became more muscular, more weighty, more hairy, and altogether much more scrumptious a figure than when I’d first laid eyes on you. Now I took stock of the figure lounging in his armchair, slurping the remains of stew off of your fingers after they delved into the bowl for what little was left, and could only smile to see such brilliant improvement.
Your arms were really only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg concerning your transformation as the masculinization process roamed your body like a pair of lust-hungered hands. Your chest, for instance, was no longer covered by the simplistic tee shirt you walked in with. A flannel shirt had all of its front enclosing buttons torn away by the impressive girth of your bulging pecs and the bulging belly your empty bowl of stew now rested on. Your nipples stood proudly atop two pillowy slabs of muscle cresting above a sea of black chest hair, which only served to contrast with the plump stomach below the chiseled features of your torso. The stark transition only furthered the perception that you were the hairy man’s man that you now appeared to be. Not only were you fit enough to qualify for what was considered strong or beefy amongst male society, but you were also comfortable enough in your masculinity to allow yourself the pleasure of a comfortable belly and diet to go with it.
All the while, your mind was undergoing its own changes. The cottage had intriguing, mystical properties that the Foundation for Transformation had never quite been able to explain. It had a personality of its own in that it required a keeper, someone to watch over it and care for the area surrounding it. A forester or huntsman of some nature or rather, the cottage never failed to transform whatever available man that came across it when was found uninhabited, and it always began with an alluring plume of smoke and a readied pot of vegetable stew. As the newest keeper of the cottage finished his helping of the scrumptious meal, he’d find his mind morphing to that of all that previously inhabited the dwelling, becoming a seamless copy of every man the stayed in the hovel prior to their arrival. The mental conditioning was no different in you instance. Unbidden, your remembered years of harvesting food from the garden around the the cottage, chopping down down wood from the surrounding forest for your nightly fire, and the countless men you’d enjoyed the company of staying in your bed over the years.
Your newfound girth stirred in the crotch of your fresh jeans as you recalled how often it was that another man would be drawn to the cottage’s smoke at the end of the day. They all had similar stories about hiking or exploring a familiar wood to find themselves lost in yours, a place that they were unfamiliar with and had never seen before. You had tried to tell a couple of them that your forest was a magic place, one that didn’t stay connected to any other forest at any particular time, but their minds would be mostly faded from the hunger of a long day aimlessly wandering towards the mesmerizing smoke. By the time they showed up at your front door they’d often beg and offer anything to sample some of your delicious stew and stay the night. They never seemed to mind that you only had a single bed. In fact, most of them were quite excited at the notion of sexually pleasing their gracious host, leaving you to believe that these lost boys of the forest were bewitched by the cottage as a sort of reward for you taking care of her.
You payed me no mind as you fished your erect cock from out of your jeans’ fly and began to slowly fondle your erection, thinking of all the handsome men you were soon to be able to bed. I still stood by the fireplace, giggling at your unabashed groping yet knowing my queue as to when I was meant to leave. Beside, I got the notion that you were expecting company soon.
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