Undies

[inanimate TF, bodybuilder]

[Waylon's hunky roommate is cursed to turn into a thong once a month]

Waylon paused outside the cracked open door to Spencer’s room. Hadn’t it been closed yesterday? he wondered. He gave the door a gentle knock. “Spencer?” he called, nudging the door with his shoulder. No response, although he noticed that his desk lamp was on. Waylon took out his phone and shot Spencer a text: Did you get home? I made pancakes if you’re interested.

A minute later there was no response. Waylon hadn’t seen his good-looking roommate in a whole month. Thankfully, Spencer paid the year’s rent in advance upon moving in. “I travel a lot,” he had said. “I do some modeling and some personal training, so I’m all over the place, usually.” Waylon remembered being stunned at the hefty check in his hand that day–but not as stunned as he was at Spencer’s hefty physique. The tall blonde man was broad and rippling, his face chiseled, his hands thick and strong as he shook Waylon’s to seal their housing agreement.

That day, Waylon had hoped for occasional glimpses of the big hunk walking to the bathroom in a towel, or maybe some nice afternoons sipping beers with Spencer while the two sunned themselves out by the pool. But a week after moving in, Spencer disappeared without a word. Waylon had rented out the extra room both for the income and the company, and he couldn’t deny his disappointment that Spencer wasn’t providing the latter.

“If he’s going to leave the lamp on all day and night,” Waylon rationalized, “then he’s going to have to up his share of the utilities.” Satisfied with his justification for entering Spencer’s space, he opened the door and took a few steps in. “Spencer?” he called again as he walked in, knowing full well he could hear the sturdily built man’s heavy footsteps the moment he entered the house.

Waylon got a mild charge from invading Spencer’s space. The room still smelled vaguely like the big man–a bit of cologne mixed with a bit of sweat–but it was otherwise clean and tidy. He noticed a pull-up bar installed in the closet doorframe along with a set of dumbbells on the floor. He nudged one with his foot. They were 45 pounds! He imagined the long-limbed hunk pumping up his biceps before heading to a modeling shoot. Waylon lifted the dumbbell, grunted under its weight, and let it fall back down again.

Waylon switched off the lamp, then noticed Spencer’s phone on his nightstand. “Traveling without his phone?” he wondered, picking it up. It was out of power. “The least I can do is let him charge it up,” he said aloud to no one, plugging it into the nearby charging cord. He was about to leave–truly, he had planned on walking away at that moment–but he noticed a small article of lime green clothing near Spencer’s bathroom.

Waylon approached the item slowly. He knew it was underwear, but when he arrived and realized it was a thong, he grinned. “Good god, imagine that big stud in these!” he said, picking up the skimpy item. He turned it around in his hands, enjoying the silky fabric. It was still warm from his bodyheat! Spencer must have been home recently, he surmised.

With the thong in his hand, he wondered what he should do with them. The room was so meticulously cleaned, it was hard to ignore the brightly colored cloth. Should he put them away for his roommate, or set them back where they were? He saw an empty laundry basket next to the bed. He wondered if the thong was clean or dirty.

It’s warm, he must have just worn them,he thought as his hand held the thong to his face. Surely he could assume they were dirty without smelling them, couldn’t he? But he couldn’t resist. He held the thong to his face and breathed deeply, letting out a moan as his lungs filled with the thick musky scent of Spencer’s manhood–just a hint of soap along with his body’s rich natural odor. “Oh god,” he said aloud, rubbing the thong against his face, savoring the silky feel.

Enough, Waylon, he chided himself, marching over to the laundry basket, ready to discard the garment. Just as he was about to let it go, the thong twitched. He paused, wondering if he’d had a muscle spasm or something. What was it he had just felt? There was no way the thong itself had moved… but then it did it again, wriggling like a small rodent in his grip.

Confused, Waylon held up the garment with both hands, spreading it open wide. “What the–” He couldn’t believe his eyes as the shimmery green fabric started to twist and shape. As the fabric pooled in spots, rising in others, he saw what looked like a mouth and two eye-sockets in the thong’s pouch. Waylon’s mouth fell open wide as a whispering voice came from the thong: “Pleeeeassse… hooooooooold meeeee…”

Waylon’s first impulse was to toss the thong away, but he resisted as it twisted and wrapped around his hand, undulating like a creature with no bones. The warmth and the softness against his skin was so comforting it nearly disarmed Waylon’s shock at what exactly was happening. Somehow the thong seemed to thicken, plumping up as it grew longer.

At that point, Waylon tossed the thong to the floor. He heard a soft exhalation as it landed–the thong actually grunted as it hit the floor! Waylon backed away as the green shifted to brown, then a dark tan. The thong had pulled in on itself, becoming a perfect sphere that then lengthened into a tube. Waylon was nearly out the door as the light-brown snake grew and thickened, limbs forming from its sides. The thong was actually growing arms and legs!

In less than a minute the thong had become man-sized, the skin reshaping into something recognizable–into Spencer, naked and shivering on the floor of the room. His dick was rock hard, pointed upward, and as the transformation ended, his body tensed and he shot a generous load out on the carpet as he lightly pounded his fists against his chest, moaning sensuously the whole time.

Waylon backed entirely out of the room at that moment, closing the door behind him and heading down the stairs. Had he hallucinated? Was he going crazy? But he heard Spencer’s heavy footsteps upstairs, then the shower running. Waylon returned to his pancake breakfast, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He did his best to seem casual as Spencer sauntered in wearing a hoodie and heavy sweatpants.

“G’morning,” Spencer said with a nod, heading to the fridge. He sighed when he opened the door. “Damn…” he whispered.

Anticipating the question, Waylon explained: “Uh, I tossed out your orange juice. It was going bad. Some of your meats, as well.”

“No, that’s totally fine,” Spencer said with a sigh. “Thank you. And sorry.”

“No need for apologies,” Waylon said. “There’s coffee if you want.”

“Thank god,” Spencer said, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “I’m freezing…”

It was 85 degrees.

“I made plenty of pancakes, too,” Waylon said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home or not, but I figured… I could just eat them tomorrow if they were extra…”

“That would be amazing,” Spencer said. He got a plate and stacked five pancakes, drowning them in syrup.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d fit your modeling diet,” Waylon offered as Spencer cut off a hefty chunk from the pile and speared it with his fork.

“Oh, yeah, well, I don’t have any photoshoots until…” Spencer paused. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“No, I mean… month and date,” Spencer said.

“July 13th,” Waylon said. The big man’s shoulders slumped forward, his pumped up body deflating as the news hit him.

“Shit,” he said. “I’ll be right back, I have to make a call.” Spencer lumbered upstairs. Waylon overheard a loud conversation he mostly couldn’t make out–Spencer was apologizing, pleading, then grimly accepting some sort of bad news. When he returned to the pancakes, Waylon was almost finished.

“Everything okay?” Waylon asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer said. He chomped on a mouthful of buttery pancakes, his eyes rolling back in his mood. Still chewing, he grumbled, “Good god did I miss FOOD…” As he swallowed, he stretched his long limbs, as if eating breakfast had become a full-body satisfactory experience.

“Should we… have a talk?” Waylon said. He still hadn’t settled from the sight of underwear turning into a man, and Spencer didn’t seem to feel the need to explain.

“About…?”

Waylon blinked. Was the studly man being evasive or did he not remember?

“I… uh… well, I guess it’s…” Waylon started stirring the syrup on his plate. “I guess I don’t know how to bring this up…”

“Oh, do you mean about you sniffing my underwear?” Spencer mentioned nonchalantly. He took a sip of his milk and shrugged. “It’s cool man! I mean, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make it a habit, but… y’know, I understand the urge. Definitely been there.”

Waylon pushed his chair away from the table. “You’re… kidding me…” he said. “Spencer, you WERE the underwear! You were a freaking thong! It… it turned INTO you!”

Spencer stared back, unblinking, for nearly a minute. “So… you saw that, hunh?”

“How do you remember me sniffing you but not turning back into a human right in front of me?”

“It’s hard,” Spencer said. “When you turn back, your brain is pretty jumbled for awhile… I’ll be a space cadet until tomorrow. My sleep schedule won’t be normal for a week, or more. It’s a serious drag.”

“Spencer, how long has this been happening to you?”

Spencer pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and shivered. “God, damn, I’m always so cold after…”

Spencer went silent after, so Waylon, flummoxed, rose and carried his dish to the sink. As he rinsed it, he heard Spencer groan.

“All right,” he said, sounding like a frustrated child. “I plan on living here for awhie, so… I guess I can fill you in…”

Spencer’s tale started back in high school, when he was just realizing he might be gay but dated a woman anyway. The woman–a goth makeup-wearing chains-clad self-proclaimed “Mistress of the Night”--caught Spencer with the trombonist from the marching band after the prom. In her rage she threatened a curse upon Spencer. He blacked out, but when he woke up he found himself sitting on the trombonist’s lap.

Weeks had passed, and his secret lover told him that he’d somehow turned into a thong–that he’d been WEARING him ever since he’d changed! Spencer thought he was going crazy until it happened again; this time, it was in college, and he ended up on the floor under a closeted fratguy’s bed for nearly a whole semester.

“It’s hard to live your life when you just sort of… become inanimate every few months,” Spencer said.

“Is it like being a werewolf?” Waylon asked, riveted. He’d been craving quality time with his beautiful roommate ever since he moved in, but he’d had no idea it would be anything like this! “Does it happen, like, on the full moon?”

“No idea,” Spencer said. “It’s happening more and more frequently now. I worry, sometimes, that I’ll just someday… never turn back.”

“What’s it like?” Waylon asked. “I mean, if it’s okay to pry…”

“It’s very odd. You’re blind, but you can still kinda see some how. Same with hearing. But most everything is touch. When I’m a thong, I just want to be TOUCHED… played with, stroked…” He cleared his throat. The muscular hunk smirked and looked down at his lap. “...filled…”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘filled’?” The dish wand slipped through Waylon’s grip. His face burned brightly red. He clumsy set the plate in the dish rack, wiping his hands on his pants as he tried to avoid the cheeky grin on Spencer’s face.

“Yeah, I’ve never admitted that to anyone,” Spencer said. He pulled his hood back down, revealing his cute dimples and his curly blonde hair once again. “When I’m a thong it’s fucking amazing when someone wears me. So many sensations… it’s insane. Like a long, slow orgasm. But it’s scary, because if someone doesn’t know I’m a person, they may toss me into the washer… or the dryer, which is WAY worse! Lying there in a clothes basket, then getting folded up and tucked in a dark drawer… It gets lonely, and scary…”

Waylon suddenly became aware of the shocked look on his face. He straightened his posture and took a deep breath, trying to imitate a thoughtful therapist. “Well, it’s just… I mean, this is all…”

“It’s okay if it freaks you out,” Spencer said. “I may need your help in the future, though.”

“Well, sure, I guess, I… uh…” Waylon laughed nervously. “I mean, I have no idea what I could do to help YOU, even if you are, uh… panties…”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “First of all, NEVER say that word again.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry… is it like a slur?”

“No, it’s just for girls. I’m clearly a MEN’S thong when I change!”

Waylon nodded a little too emphatically. “Got it. Men’s thong. No more panties.”

Spencer rose and crossed the room, throwing his rippling arms around Waylon. The big hunk pulled Waylon’s face into his pecs. Waylon could hear Spencer’s pounding heart, could feel the top of his rippling abs against his cheek, even through the hoodie. “Thank you so much for letting me come out to you,” Spencer said, his body starting to collapse. Waylon struggled to support the big lug’s weight, although thankfully not for long.

“And what I mean by ‘help’ is… by wearing me… and not washing me… got it?”

Waylon nodded. Spencer strode confidently from the room. When he was gone, Waylon looked down to see his pants tented by his rock-hard erection. Good god, was he hard like that when Spencer was there? Did he notice?

Waylon spent the next few weeks entirely unsure of his relationship with Spencer. Were they close buds? Had sharing this secret made them bosom friends? His heart sank when Spencer returned to being aloof, always on the run to meet up with a client or to get in a good workout or to go on another date. Waylon, meanwhile, worked from home, spent his free time gardening and hadn’t been on an actual date in years. Somehow, he’d expected the “thong” incident to be a moment when his life took on some properties of Spencer’s (and perhaps vice-versa) but other than the confession over pancakes, the two seemed as distant as ever.

It was five weeks later when Waylon got home, groceries in hand, to discover Spencer on the floor, gasping for air and writhing. Waylon thought it was a seizure at first.

“It’s… it’s happening…” Spencer said as he rolled over. On his hands and knees, he was no bigger than a dog, shrinking into his sweaty gym clothes. His duffel bag was right by the door. This must have started a moment after he walked in after a workout.

“What do… what do I do?” Waylon said as he dropped the brown paper bags. A jar of mayonnaise rolled across the floor.

Spencer was so small Waylon could have lifted him easily now, and his hair had all receded. His muscles were waning away, the curves of his body smoothing out. The lime green color appeared in his eyes first, but quickly spread through his skin.

“I… I… call my agent… my… c-clients…” His eyes had faded, his arms and legs gone, his whole body flattened and green. The only human feature left was his mouth. “W-wear… me…”

And that was it. Spencer was just a thong in a pile of his gym clothes. Waylon gingerly lifted the thong from the pile, mystified that it still radiated Spencer’s bodyheat. It was amazing to him, that such a powerfully built clydesdale of a man could dwindle down to just a piece of fabric–and yet all of him was there, contained within the slutty underwear.

Waylon picked up Spencer’s gym clothes and folded them neatly. He instantly regretted it when he realized they would need to be washed. Feeling dutiful to his roommate, he brought the clothes to the laundry room, then went upstairs and went through Spencer’s room. He had a whole basket of laundry that needed to be washed, so Waylon took it upon himself to do so. As he started the washer, he glanced at the set-aside thong. His instinct was to toss it in with the rest; he only remembered at the last moment what Spencer had said about what it was like to be washed.

“So, I guess… I guess you want me to…” He stared at the thong as if it would speak back. When he got no answer, he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. He felt ashamed to be undressing in front of Spencer (despite his ridiculous state). “I’d imagine… you’d be too big for a skinny guy like me…” he said softly as he pulled the thong up his pale, stick-thin legs. Clearly, Spencer in “thong form” was sized for Spencer’s body. However, the moment he pulled it up, the fabric tightened around his body, almost hugging him.

“Oh, wow… oh, wow!” Waylon said, wiggling as the thong seemed to cling tightly to his body. The floss against the hole, the pouch hugging his package… Waylon took a step and found that he was walking with his chest out, his shoulders back. He couldn’t help but strut! “Well then!” he said, grabbing his package and giving it a jostle. “This is pleasant as hell!”

Waylon found Spencer’s phone in the hallway, not far from where he had changed. Sadly, it was password locked, and even though he held it close to the thong’s pouch, the facial scanning recognized nothing. “Next time,” Waylon said with a sigh, “share your passwords with me!”

He felt silly strutting around the house in just a thong, so he pulled on a pair of shorts. “Oh, now… this is nice…” he said. The fact that he was wearing such a sexy pair of undies without anyone knowing about it made his heart race! With the groceries put away, he went outside to mow the lawn. Mr. Frederick, his horny-old-man neighbor, waved to him over the fence.

“Hey, Waylon!” he said, stroking his salt-and-pepper mustache as he scanned the yard and the house behind. “Where’s that big muscly guy you’re living with?”

“Oh, he’s around somewhere!” Waylon said, grabbing his package. He could have sworn he felt the thong move just then, gently massaging his junk and rubbing against his hole. He hopped forward as if he’d been goosed, then laughed nervously as Mr. Frederick walked away. “Oh, we’re going to have some fun, you and I,” Waylon said, slipping a hand inside his pants and stroking the silky thong.

For the next month, Waylon wore the thong nonstop. “You told me not to wash you,” he said after he got out of the shower and caught a whiff of the weeks of funk on the man-turned-thong. “I guess it’s kinda nice, though, you marinating in my stink like this.” He took another sniff of the thong, then chuckled. “Is it okay for me to sniff you if I’ve been wearing you?” He talked to the thong often as if it could respond, and although it never did, he still felt like he had company.

It had been a full 30 days when he woke in the middle of the night to the feeling of the thong squeezing him gently. It felt like a gentle massage on his most sensitive parts. Waylon just moaned, his hands greedily heading toward his hardening dick, desperate to release the tension, but instead he just let it go. The thong felt like dozens of fingers massaging away. He could even see it happening! Like an invisible man was stroking him. He lay back in bed and let the thong go to town.

He couldn’t believe it when he grew close to an orgasm. “Oh shit,” he remarked, unable to cope with the idea that the stinky thong he’d worn that whole month was about to get him off. “Oh fuck, oh… oh!” He came so hard he worried he might turn inside out.

“Oh god, oh jeez,” he said, rolling over in the freshly spilled load, too exhausted to worry about the mess. “That was… amazing…” But as he lay in the afterglow, he felt the thong starting to slide down his legs. He worried he’d stretched the tightly fitting garment, but realized what must have been happening when it started to thicken and grow heavy.

He gently slid it off and set it aside, watching intently as it grew back to Spencer’s hulking, naked body. Face down, his huge glutes stood up like big firm mounds. His back rippled like snakes. God, he was so WIDE! After a month of thinking of the thong as Spencer, it was a shock to suddenly realize JUST how amazingly built the man actually was!

“That was… fucking amazing…” Spencer said, rolling over. Waylon went to cover up his exposed private parts in front of the man, but Spencer pushed his hands away from his below-average dick. Instead, the hunk drew a line down Waylon’s chest with a sausage-thick finger. Waylon suddenly felt entirely at ease.

Spencer sniffed his pits and chuckled. “Holy shit, I STINK,” he said, taking another deep whiff of himself. “Wait… is that YOU on me?” he said, rubbing his hands down his chest and furiously sniffing them.

“Y-you said not to wash you!” Waylon said. He suddenly became self-conscious of everything he’d done with the thong for the past thirty days, overwhelmed by a shame he’d forgotten about while Spencer was small and motionless.

“Oh, you did good, buddy,” Spencer said. He leaned forward and gently kissed Waylon’s stomach, then moved down and kissed the skin just above Waylon’s pubes. “You did SO good. I was in absolute HEAVEN!”

Waylon blushed. “I was too…” He suddenly coughed. His throat was dry. His skin felt itchy. “Wait, what’s the… matter…” he mumbled as he sat up to see that Spencer seemed to be growing larger.

“Oh, shit, buddy,” Spencer said, reaching out and placing a warm hand on Waylon’s shoulder. “This happens when you cum in me when I’m a thong,” he said. “Don’t worry though! It’s temporary. Just a one-time thing.”

“What… do… you…” Waylon found it harder to speak as he felt a tingling–an oddly pleasant sensation signifying that his bones were dissolving–and his body flattening out. “I don’t… want to… be… a…”

He never got to utter the word. Waylon’s shrinking, shifting body finally collapsed into a tiny pile on the bed. Waylon was gone, and in his place was a pair of tighty-whiteys.

“Oh, Waylon,” Spencer said, lifting up the briefs and rubbing them against his cheek. GOOD GOD! Waylon wanted to scream. He’d felt like he’d just had a dozen orgasms, each overlapping the last! But he couldn’t speak anymore. Everything was black and white. All sound was echoing. But sensation… good god…

“I guess one good turn deserves another!” Spencer said as he pulled the briefs on. Waylon felt like he might burst as the tubes of smooth muscular flesh slid through him. As Spencer tugged him up, Waylon was stunned into silence by the sensation of a huge muscular butt filling up his rear while a HUGE hose of manmeat crammed into his front.

Spencer hadn’t been lying. There truly WAS nothing better than being full–full of another man.

“Don’t worry, Waylon,” Spencer said, rubbing his hands over his briefs-clad bulge. “I’m gonna take good care of you. It will probably only be a few days–it’s never as long when it happens to someone else–and it won’t happen again… unless you want it to!”

Waylon could barely form words at this point. He was adrift in a sea of pleasure, overwhelmed by both the smell and the taste of the hard, manly flesh that was filling him from the inside. He was sure he couldn’t possibly feel more bliss–that is, until Spencer started to sweat. If Waylon could have screamed or wept, he probably would have alternated between the joy. As it was, he was only able to silently endure the most mind-blowing pleasure of his life.  He forgot he’d ever been anything BUT briefs…

Spencer knew none of this. He strutted up to the mirror, grateful to have his human body back, but even more excited when he saw just how good his glutes looked in the tight undershorts Waylon had become. “You and me are going to have some FUN,” Spencer said, making his bulge bounce, knowing just how amazing it felt to the underwear he had stuffed himself into.