It had been a while since I needed to dress up last, so I was in need of some clothes. I had outgrown my suit from college and I hadn’t worn it since I interviewed for my job now. Being in inside sales, I could stay relatively casual—a polo and jeans most days. Still, the executives were coming to town and I was in need of something to wear to a business dinner.
The execs were always stodgy and traditional where I was more laid back and comfortable. I wasn’t willing to drop actual money on nice, tailored dress clothes to look on par with them; so, I was off to the secondhand store.
I just needed a suit that fit well enough and some shoes. It was wall-to-wall of poorly sorted clothes. I clearly had my work cut out for me. I decided to start with shoes since it was a smaller section. While there were two full aisles of women’s shoes, the men’s was only half of one, and sparse at that. It was mostly an array of beat up running and basketball shoes, but a few pairs of dress shoes—most of which equally torn up—were grouped toward the end.
Only one pair looked like it was in good condition and wasn’t meant for a giant: a pair of black tassel loafers. On further inspection, they looked quite expensive and roughly my size. They weren’t something I would typically wear—far from it. It was definitely something the executives would approve of, though.
So, I reached out to check the size on the inside of the tongue. When my hand finally grasped the shoes, I felt an unexpected and intense surge of sexual energy. Immediately, my manhood swelled and twitched. I was confused and my mind raced before landing on one thought that I would never admit was mine: Smell the loafer.
I had never wanted to sniff a shoe before, nonetheless a man’s. It was entirely out of the ordinary, and I fought the desire. I was straight. This was nothing like me. What if someone saw? I took a quick glance around—no other shoppers or cameras. No one would know. It was a shoe, too, not a man. It’s not like I was licking some dude’s feet or anything, so really there was no harm in it. I needed to check the inside for the size, so if I caught a whiff, it wouldn’t mean anything anyway.
I took one of the shoes and lifted it slowly to peak inside. The bottom of the shoe read Friedman and had filigree around the name. I’d never heard of that brand before, but I never wore dress shoes anyway. I started to rotate it and take it in on all sides. I just ended up staring, almost in a trance. It was well made, I guessed. I shrugged off the feeling and began to lift the tongue to look inside when my hand boosted the shoe much closer to my face and my nose dipped inside. I inhaled sharply and smelled musk, shoe polish, and expensive leather. My head was reeling from the rush and I was ecstatic. I failed, even, to suppress a light moan as my cock lurched inside my jeans. It felt like something had come over me, and it sent ripples of pleasure through my whole body. I wanted more. It was such a rush. So, I took another hit, this time slower—relaxing and enjoying it. Suddenly, I caught myself and had a quick look around. I blushed. Thankfully, no one was around to see. I lifted the tongue stiffly to look again. I took notice of the heavy imprints of the previous wearer, and I finally took note of the size: 9.5 D. They would fit just fine it seemed.
“Put them on,” I heard a baritone voice say. I jumped and immediately scanned the area. There was still no one around. I was starting to get creeped out when my other hand took the other shoe off the shelf and brought it to my nose. I couldn’t resist taking another sniff, noting the distinct masculine smell that enraptured me. I felt comforted and reassured; so, I took both shoes to a nearby bench, watching the tassels jostle ever-so-slightly as I walked. I was at full mast and leaking slightly by the time I sat down. Thankfully, no one was there to spot my confused lust.
Looking down and beginning to untie my favorite sneakers, I felt a sense of shame and arousal as another thought creeped into my head: “This is hardly appropriate footwear for a man.” It sounded like the voice I just heard, but clearer—more refined. It couldn’t have been my thoughts, but I felt strangely compelled to agree; a man’s footwear ought to reflect his sense of self-worth, and I wasn’t just an average Joe in some lazy-looking sneakers. I finally tugged the sneakers off, revealing my black athletic socks. “These will have to go, too,” I heard once again, the phantom baritone sounding more agreeable; “Proper shoes should have proper socks, but this is all I have for now.”
I reached for the right loafer, but caught myself. What was I thinking? There’s nothing wrong with sneakers and Nike socks. Everybody wears them. They’re comfortable. I needed some new dress clothes, but these feelings were something new to me. Was it worth it? I peered down at the old-fashioned loafers, my eyes first fixed on the tassels and slowly drifting to the inside of the shoes. I felt them calling me. I was lost in them once again as I felt my body move. Foot met leather and my member convulsed in pleasure. Feeling the worn loafer on the ball of my foot sent my head reeling as ecstasy flooded it. I came to understand my arousal did not attempt to resist the urge to slide my foot in deeper. My plain athletic socks slid in smoothly, filling the space in the shoe tightly. My foot felt good; it felt secure as I wiggled my toes, taking in every supple caress through my sock.
“Good. Now, the other,” the voice bellows in my head. It drowned out all other thoughts. The only thing I could think of doing was complying—not that I wouldn’t have anyway. Every point of contact with the loafer was orgasmic. I slid into the other loafer with a light moan. It was the most amazing feeling my feet had ever felt, and my cock began to leak in agreement. I stood up, uncaring of the damp spot on my jeans, and felt my full body weight on the shoes. I was stable and secure, the loafers hugging my feet intimately.
Then, I took a step forward. A rush came straight from my feet to my head. I began to walk just to feel that pure pleasure, step after step. Pulse after pulse of this amazing sensation aided in darkening the wet spot. I did not know where I was walking to, but I had to keep walking in these shoes.
The haze of pleasure ended as I stood before a rack of suits. It was next on my list to get, but I felt like I was there for something in particular. All of the suits were disorganized. Every color was mixed; sizing was in no order. An image popped into my head though—a grey three-piece suit with pinstripes. The image in my head seemed simultaneously foreign, but vivid and detailed. My cock responded gleefully. That was it. That was the suit I was after. My hands plunged into the racks haphazardly, groping and sorting through ever suit in front of me. Some were similar, but not what I needed. After each teasing disappointment, my desire for the suit I
pictured grew. As I continued searching, my hand plunged to the back of one of the racks and I felt it—the same familiar wave of pleasure from the loafers, this time on my fingertips as I grabbed at the smooth, expensive material.
“It is still here! Take it!” The voice erupted.
I obeyed, savoring the sensation of freeing the smooth woolen suit from the back of the rack. It felt better than the touch of anyone I had ever been with. As I freed it from the rack, I could see it was exactly as I pictured: jacket, vest, and trousers, all in a dull light grey with off-white pinstripes running down the length.
I opened the jacket to check the size, though it already seemed short for me. It was what I pictured, and I wanted it; but it seemed stuffy and formal—not my usual style by a long shot. As my hand brushed the silky lining, though, I knew this suit had to be mine, regardless of size. My hand slid from the inside label down the sleeve smoothly as pulled the jacket off the hanger, the rest of the ensemble still hanging in the other hand. As the other sleeve of the jacket hung off my frame, I felt incomplete; I placed the hanger in my sleeved hand and slid the other sleeve on with a suppressed moan. Even through a shirt, my nipples were responding to the fabric, hardening to stone. My fingers reached the end of the sleeves as excess material bunched behind my shoulder blades. The jacket hung a few inches higher than a proper fit as well. Clearly, this was made for a shorter, stouter man. My cock surged as the thought crossed my mind and I shuddered in pleasure.
I took a deep breath to clam my frantic arousal, noticing a familiar musky undertone. It reminded me of the shoes with less leather and mixed with an expensive cologne.
“Royal Muske. It’s been a while,” echoed in my head as if I knew the name of the scent. Fascinated by the knowledge that came from seemingly nowhere, I began to feel around the interior pockets. As my hand plunged into the silk-lined pockets, it was hard to figure out what I was feeling until I pulled it out, a silk polka-dotted bow tie, the maroon color matching the lining of the suit, and the off-white spots reminding me of the pinstripes running down my chest. I quickly pressed it to my nose, taking a strong hit from what remained of the cologne. I shuddered and put it back in the pocket, my hand touching another piece of silky fabric as I stuffed it in.
Looking up, I quickly realized that a few people were sneaking glances as I enjoyed the suit. I did not care, strangely. This was my suit. These were my shoes. So, what did it matter? I had become audacious in my search, consumed with pleasure and lust. Lastly, I checked the size of the pants. The tag read “42 x 27.” They looked far too wide for me, but the size sounded vaguely correct in my head. The pleats made them billow a bit more, but I thought I could use some extra room.
I reluctantly removed the jacket and placed it tenderly back on the hanger, savoring the liner’s touch. I had everything I came for, so I started toward the checkout line. It took me a few strides before I remembered my sneakers back in the shoe section. I hesitated briefly and focused on the warm embrace of the tassel loafers on my feet.
The voice once again urged me once again: “Do not go back to those ratty gym shoes.” It felt like a command, though I was inclined to agree despite them being my favorite sneakers. I’d had them for years; I felt inclined to fight the voice and turned back to the shoe aisle for my sneakers. Then, I felt something brush my ankle as I walked. The bow tie had fallen out of the suit jacket and brushed the exposed area. I instinctively reached down to pick it up, the thoughts of my old shoes leaving my mind as I picked it up and shoved it back into the coat pocket. Smiling lightly, I proceeded to check out with my new suit.
The woman at the register avoided eye contact after spotting the moist bulge beneath my belt. I exited without drawing attention to it and slung the ill-fitting jacket on as I reached the car. It was still mid-morning, and much of my day was free. The way home was a blur, but every shoe store, menswear store, and barbershop stood out to me as my crotch stirred in passing.
I walked into my apartment, still in a horny haze, wasting no time shutting the door and pawing at my crotch as I made my way to the bedroom. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good everything would feel on my skin. Placing the jacket, vest, and trousers on the bed, I began to strip.
“No more sloppy clothes,” I heard as I removed my t-shirt. I even repeated it to myself as I tenderly removed the loafers and yanked off my athletic socks. I unfastened my belt and lid my damp jeans down, revealing blue plaid boxers soaked with pre-cum. I hesitated again with my thumb in the waistband and sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment. The horny racing of my mind slowed and I could think a little more clearly.
“What on earth is coming over me?” I questioned, unsure of even my own senses. My boner began to retreat and clarity of thought came once again. Following clarity of thought came clarity of stomach, as it began to grumble. “Something to eat should help me focus,” I thought.
I hopped off the edge of the bed, careful to avoid even looking at the shoes that enraptured me and went to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich for lunch. Once it was fixed, I cracked open a soda and sat, sipped, and munched. The whole morning made no sense to me. Only the shoes fit, yet I picked up an entire suit. Would I be able to find something better before the dinner on Tuesday? I had to. Though, it would probably involve fighting through weekend crowds if I didn’t do so today. I wasted an entire morning in a sexual haze, and my underwear showed it. I shuddered. I needed to change.
I went back into my bedroom, steering clear of the clothes on my bed. Something seemed off about them. I peeled off the wet boxers and flung them in the hamper by the door. When I turned around to walk toward my dresser, I kept my chin high, avoiding the enthralling outfit on my bed. As soon as I took my first step, I glanced my belt with my heel and stumbled forward. I regained my balance as my hands hit my bed, brushing against the soft fabric of the suit pants. I felt the same jolt of sexual energy as before: my cock jumped and I looked at the suit before me. It was irresistible and my eyes beamed with pure lust.
I picked up the pants, and unfastened them and slowly began sliding my legs into the oversized holes. The tip of my cock brushed the fabric, sending me wild once again. I buttoned and zipped the pants and went to look for a belt to hold them up, only to notice they had no belt loops.
“Good, Son. They’ll fit like a glove soon enough,” the voice echoed in my head. “Now, put it all on.”
I was helpless to resist and I began to slide my bare feet into the loafers. The leather caressed my feet, which had more room without the cushy socks. I could feel my feet shift slightly inside the rich material. My eyes caught the tassels again, and I smirked. They did make the shoes look proper. I wished to look proper myself. I moaned as I wiggled my toes and reached for the jacket containing the bow tie. I did not know how to tie one, but I wanted desperately to wear it. I removed it from the jacket and draped the silk over my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Instinctively, my hands made quick work tying it into a perfectly even knot.
Next, I slid the vest over my shoulders. As the smooth fabric glided down my chest, my nipples began to harden more than ever before. Immediately, my cock began to dribble with pre-cum once more. I couldn’t help but moan as fabric and leather stimulated me.
“Just one more thing, and you’ll be mine,” I heard myself say. I was quivering in horniness and trepidation as I buttoned the vest and reached for the jacket. My smile widened to a dopey grin as I slid my right arm into the garment. The lining sent goosebumps down my arm as I saw my hand emerge from the end. My left arm had the same reaction as the jacket finally rested over my shoulders.
Lastly, I began to button the jacket, deftly pushing the button through the holes. As the second button was fastened, I moaned loudly and my mind went blank. For a brief moment, I couldn’t see or hear anything.
Then, the sound of hard-soled shoes on tile began to fade in along with my sight. I stood naked in a space that could only be described as blank. The floor was white and smooth; there were no walls in sight. In the distance, I could see a rotund figure in grey walking toward me.
“Hello!” I called out with a wave. “Hello, my boy!” He called back in a dignified baritone.
My cock stiffened and I remembered the voice as the on I’d been hearing in my head. I walked swiftly over to meet him. He would have answers. He had to have answers. He was deceptively far away, but I reached him without tiring in the slightest.
“Slow down, my boy,” he cautioned. “We have all the time we could possibly need here.”
As I approached, I was finally able to take the man in. He was quite portly with a round ball gut that was sure to enter a room before he did. He was around a good six inches shorter than me as well—perhaps 5’ 6”. He wore the very same three-piece suit and loafers that I found at the thrift store. It fit him perfectly. His hair was black and circled his bald crown like a wreath. He wore a thick mustache of the same color, and looked to be in his fifties or sixties.
I guess I was taking it all in for too long when his voice roused me and my manhood: “Something you like, Son?”
“No—I mean yes—I mean, what is this place?” I stammered.
“Just a place where you and I can interact face to face and perhaps sort out a few things. You took quite a liking to my shoes, Son.”
I stepped closer, but remained defensive. “No. No. No. You put some sort of spell on me. I would never do any of that stuff with shoes, especially not a man’s!”
“Relax,” he attempted to placate. “I may have awakened something dormant in you, but I certainly could not create something new. Why, look at yourself.” He gestured to my manhood. “You’re positively rock hard right now.”
With that, a full-body mirror rose from the ground in front of me, showing my tight, toned chest flecked with sparse hair and cock at full-mast.
“No! You’re doing this to me. I’m straight. Whatever this is, stop it now!” I demanded.
“I told you,” he said coolly, “This is just where we can chat, and I can’t make these feelings come out of nowhere, but I can certainly help them along.”
He took long strides for his short stature toward me, and locked eye contact as a wardrobe and chest of drawers materialized behind me. I began to back away, but was halted by the new furniture.
“Would you like for me to help it along?” He continued with a smile. “Stay away from me!” I shouted, but his advance never slowed.
As he came closer, he stretched out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Arthur, by the way,” he said politely, stopping a few feet from me.
I was confused, frozen like a deer in the headlights at full mast. He simply stood there, polite, but imposing. “Michael,” I said, shaking his hand hesitantly. I expected some sort of shock or wave of euphoria, but it was quite simply just a handshake.
“It’s a pleasure, Michael!” He happily boomed before lowering his voice to a business-like tone: “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. I’ll assuage some anxiety and say you’re not dead.” He chuckled lightly. “This is merely my domain that I’ve brought your mind to. You shared enough of an affinity for my old clothes for me to welcome you here.”
“Okay. Well...” I trailed off, trying vaguely not to sound rude. “How do I get out? I didn’t exactly ask to come here.” I crossed my arms in passive defiance.
“Oh, but you did, my boy!” He stated excitedly. “I can’t force you to do anything you haven’t any inclination to do, whether it’s putting on my suit and shoes or bringing you here. On some level, you wanted to dress like me, meet me, and—if I interpret those horny thought earlier correctly—look like me.” He gave me a wink and a nod.
I resented what he was saying. I would never want to look like a bald, fat, old man; but my cock still seemed to betray me. Was he right somehow? Regardless, I would never say it. “You never answered my question, though. How do I leave?”
“But I did! You can leave when you no longer have any desire to stay. Or...”
“Or what?” I demanded.
“Or we can both leave together.” He grinned.
“Well, how do we do that? I get the feeling you’re not going to let me leave any other way, and I don’t particularly care if another old dude pops into existence anyway.”
“We’d be walking together, Michael. You and I would be one and the same. Just imagine getting to wear such nice clothes.” He smirked.
My cock jumped again. It sounded strangely exciting, but I was ashamed to admit it. I started to cover myself with my hands to hide the excitement.
“Oh posh, Michael! It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stepped closer reaching beside my waist to open a drawer. “But you may as well cover yourself up with actual clothing.” He pulled out a large pair of white briefs—clearly his size—and offered them to me.
I reluctantly took them and attempted to step into them, but they were too big. I held them up by the waistband, which nearly hit my bellybutton.
“Would you like for them to fit better, Michael?” Arthur asked plainly.
I nodded and my waist began to grow to fit the briefs wrapped around them. “What are you doing to me?” I asked as my inflated figure formed a ball gut not unlike his.
“This way, they’ll fit better and you’ll become closer to your desires,” he chortled.
My gut continued to grow to match Arthur’s girth; my thighs followed suit, filling in the formerly- cavernous briefs. Stretch marks formed and lightened as my waist hit forty-two inches. My member became dwarfed by my large frame and I struggled to keep my balance.
Arthur eyed me up and down. “Looking splendid, my boy! Let’s have a good look at you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders to stabilize me and guided me to the mirror. I complied in total shock from my body changing so much in mere moments. He gave my shoulders a pat as we looked at our similar widths in the mirror.
“That, however, is not your waist” he said firmly, taking the briefs in his hands and hiking them up to my bellybutton. I moaned in surprised agreement as he gave my newly-formed belly a rub. He then cupped my balls through the briefs, sending me more and more waves of pleasure as they began to grow. My sack descended, farther, and I was left with two golf-ball- sized lumps straining against the white fabric as an obvious moose knuckle. My cock seemed even smaller by comparison.
I had to admit that I liked it, but I could not understand why. It felt correct—like I was meant to be this way. I stood still, staring at Arthur’s work, waiting for him to continue.
His hands gave my balls a final tug. They would be hanging much lower outside of he briefs. “You’re looking quite good with some meat on your bones. Wouldn’t you agree?” He directed.
I nodded in agreement, mouthing a “yes” without the words escaping my lips.
He rubbed my shoulders, locking eyes with mine in the mirror. His touch was electric, and I saw my heigh lowering to match his. Inch by inch, I shrank, my shoulders broadening and making me look rounder—just like Arthur. He then whispered into my ear: “Those are the right proportions for a man, Michael. Enjoy it.” His mustache bristled my ear and he gave me a wink.
A shivering “Yes, sir” and a squirt escaped my body, forming a small wet spot on my briefs.
His arms wrapped under mine, and he began rubbing my chest. The hair faded and fell from it as he covered every square inch. After he ousted the dusting of hair on my chest, the stretch
marks were more visible once again. His hands landed on my pecs, which began to expand into small flats of fat; my nipples hardened at the attention, becoming my main focus as he twisted and rubbed them. From each rub, they grew wider, expanding to the size of pencil erasers, then dimes. With each twist, they protruded more, lengthening to half an inch by the time Arthur relented.
Finally, he turned to the wardrobe again and brandished a ribbed athletic shirt. “Arms up, protege,” Arthur said with a smile.
I accepted the title without question and raised my arms up, curious about the prospect and afraid to disobey. He hoisted the shirt over me and draped it atop my portly frame. The fabric was silky and expensive-feeling. I relished it gliding down my face and chest. I let out another low moan as it brushed my nipples and settled into place. My nipples were clearly visible through the white fabric. My eyes were fixed on their bulges; my mind was fixed on their sensitivity.
My trance was broken: “Now tuck it in, Son. One should always be tucked and tidy.”
It was almost instinctual to obey now. Bit by bit, my hands tucked in the excess smooth fabric into the briefs. My enlarged frame made it harder than usual, but I felt oddly proud of the figure that would have disgusted me moments ago. As I tucked the last portion in, I turned briefly to the side, examining the girth exacerbated by my raised waistline. “Tucked and tidy, sir,” I reiterated.
“As you should be. You have quite the mature physique now. Shouldn’t it be clothed in more than undergarments?”
I met his eyes in the mirror again as he spoke this. I wanted to be just like this man. Maybe he did awaken something in me. I only knew what felt good and correct in that moment—him. “Yes, sir. Just like you,” I sighed wistfully.
“Very good! I think you’ll do quite well with me, then.”
Arthur opened the wardrobe’s doors, revealing a light grey three-piece suit with off-white pinstripes. Beneath it was a pair of the very same black tassel loafers he wore. To the right were all of the other accessories: maroon and navy striped socks, a maroon bow tie, silk braces in the same color, and finally the leather sock garters with two shiny metal clips on each. To the left, hung a fine white dress shirt with French cuffs. My cock leapt for joy at the sight, but I was speechless.
Arthur produced a chair and placed it behind me. “Now, sit, my son,” he whispered softly into my ear, his mustache brushing my ear once again as he spoke. A warm tingle coursed from my ear lobe to my spine as I complied. He took the socks and garters from the wardrobe and knelt down in front of me, eyeing my feet. I admired the scene repeatedly, swapping my stares from his shiny, smooth scalp ringed with thick, black hair, and the socks that my feet yearned to be encased in.
His hazel gaze met mine as he looked up and asked, “Are you ready, boy?” “Yes,” I replied, transfixed.
“You’ll enjoy my shoes much more with these. You’ll have more weight on them, too.” He placed the socks and garters to the side briefly, lowered his head, and grasped my right leg— one hand under the knee, the other just below the ankle. I felt a familiar warmth, though much stronger—almost burning—as he began to rub up and down my calf. As I looked down from his head again, I could see my calf thickening with a combination of muscle and fat as the hair faded away at his touch.
I moaned as he continued, “Yes, sir,” being the only words I could think to say.
His caress moved down to my foot, which felt amazing with its newfound sensitivity. My toes began to swell up like small sausages as his fingers worked through them. As his fondling continued, my hips began to buck and gyrate in the briefs.
“Not yet, boy,” Arthur said sharply. “You can cum when I say. That will be our grand finale.”
My hips lowered and my breathing deepened as I contained myself more. I only received a brief respite from the pleasurable onslaught as he switched legs and resumed. Wherever we were, I’m glad no one could hear my moans at the hands of a man—especially such and old and proper one. My self-consciousness aside, I was in ecstasy.
At long last, he picked up a sock and lightly brushed it over my sensitive soles. When he began to slide the silky fabric over my toes, I struggled to control myself. The sock gilded over my foot and graced my leg further up my now-denuded calf. I watched as it stretched and became ever-so-slightly sheer as the top was set just above the curve of my calf. The first sock was a warm and comforting pressure enveloping my leg; the second nearly made my feet have their own orgasms.
Arthur leaned back to let me see my socked feet. It looked proper for me. It was as if everything I’d worn before was horrible and uncomfortable. This seemed right. This is what I wanted. I bent over and caressed the silken beauties. I felt them on my calves and fingertips; I relished it. The socks wrinkled and creased slightly as I stroked them. Arthur moved my hands away and looked me in the eye.
“We can’t have them looking ruffled and untidy,” Arthur stated in a didactic tone while wrapping the cool leather of a sock garter just under my knee. He fastened the strap and pulled my sock up taut into the clip. My cock jumped as the first clip locked down, securing the sock. The second clicked down, and the spasming continued.
“Now you do the other, Junior,” He commanded through a grin, and held up the other garter, the length of it swinging back and forth seductively.
“Yes. Please!” I pleaded before taking it. I handled the leather and metal gingerly as I wrapped the cool materials under my girthy knee. I felt the embrace of the sock tighten as I pulled it up into the clips. After I secured it, I could not stop looking at my feet—my precious, socked feet. I wiggled my toes just to feel them rub my feet more.
“It gets better,” Arthur interrupted from the wardrobe. My eyes rose to meet him. He was buttoning the braces onto the trousers. They were the same colors as the socks—navy with a thick maroon stripe down the center of each side. He continued, placing the pants to the side and taking the dress shirt off its hanger, “It takes effort to look like a man should, but the payoff is entirely worth it, my boy.” As he concluded, he held up the shirt, unbuttoned.
I froze, remembering myself. What was I doing? I was sitting in a blank space being dressed by a man who made me as short and fat as he was—and I liked it? It was absurd. It wasn’t me; even if I thought the clothes looked nice, I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t his boy, and I certainly wasn’t fat. Still, it was undeniable that, despite it all, I felt good. I winced while mulling it over.
“I see you’re still in denial.”
He started toward me from only a short distance, a smile on his face. I panicked and began to try to stand up from the chair. I had barely lifted the legs of my larger frame when he lifted the rest and pulled me into a kiss and warm embrace. I tried to shake off the pleasure, but only for a moment. He pulled my head in for another kiss, this time plunging his tongue between lips that could not help but part. I even tried to fend off his tongue with my own, but he twisted around it with his as they danced in my mouth. After a moment, I relaxed as I felt his tongue beckon to mine and I obliged. I extended it out through his lips, settling it in his warmth. His mustache brushed my upper lip gently throughout. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. This is what I wanted.
He withdrew from the kiss, and my eyes opened, meeting his. “There you are, Son!” He chortled, rubbing his thumb above my lips to wipe off some saliva. I could feel bristling under his finger that was not there before. “You’re already looking much more handsome,” he said, ushering me toward the mirror, shirt in-hand. Immediately, I spotted it, a thick chevron mustache like his now adorned my face. It was brown like the rest of my hair, which was one of the few things distinguishing us at this point. “Very handsome and mature, wouldn’t you agree, Michael?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, exaggerating my lip movements to watch my mustache as I spoke.
“Good then! Let’s get back to it,” he said, opening the shirt for me to step into. I shifted back and placed my arms through the sleeves. I enjoyed the starched fabric sliding down my arms, with the small excess draping ever-so-slightly underneath. Arthur shifted around me and began buttoning the shirt, leaving the top button undone. My body filled the it completely with just enough material left over to tuck in over my ball gut. He then reached into my front pocket and
teased my nipple while he retrieved a pair of silver cufflinks. I lurched forward as his finger graced such a sensitive spot through the shirt. When I stared at the cufflinks, I knew what to do; I began folding the French cuffs to my shirt. Arthur fastened them with a nurturing smile.
I examined the cufflinks while he stepped back to retrieve the trousers and braces. Within the silver, a small “ARF” was engraved. “Sir,” I began. “What does ‘ARF’ stand for? Are they your initials?”
“Yes, my boy. Arthur Richard Friedman, named partly after the man that mentored me. You’ll be a Friedman soon enough,” he declared proudly, extending the trousers for me to step into.
I smiled, enjoying the thought as I looked into the trousers, the braces parted to either side, inviting me to enter into them. I took an oversized step into them as he began to lift them up— first over my knees, then my thighs, my manhood, my waist, and stopping below my bellybutton. He hiked them up to adjust them, my thighs looking like sausages in new casing. The fabric was thin but durable and high quality. The pinstripes ran from the cuff of the pants, parallel with the well-defined crease up to my midriff, the pleats barely breaking the vertical pattern. It did little to make me appear thinner.
Arthur stepped behind me again and began helping the braces over my shoulders, lifting the trousers even higher as the straps found their resting place on my shoulders. As the waist was pulled securely up to my bellybutton, a noticeable outline of my balls formed in the trousers. The braces framed my stomach as if to announce its presence to anyone that could see. I struggled briefly to zip, button, and clasp my pants closed before taking myself in again. The moose knuckle was incredibly prominent below my barely-contained gut. I touched the bulge through the fabric in curiosity and watched my balls leap in pleasure as I shuddered.
“Just as a man ought to be,” Arthur said warmly. “Although I wouldn’t leave the house without a tie at the very least. A man should always wear a tie, shouldn’t he?”
With growing confidence, I proclaimed “Yes, sir!” And began to flip my starched collar up. Arthur buttoned my top button and handed me the bow tie. It was very tight around my neck, forcing my neck straight. I draped the neckwear around my thick neck and tied an even knot just as before, despite it only being my second time.
“Just as I taught you,” Arthur cooed before flipping the collar back down. With a light wince, a small roll of fat formed above the top of the collar. Arthur ran his finger along the excess flesh, sighing in satisfaction; his touch brought relaxation and further horniness. The bow tie emphasized the gut much further—my girth now being framed on all sides. Arthur gave my gut a gentle pat, causing another visible spasm of my testicles through the pants. “Handsome indeed, but let’s finish this. Shall we, my boy?”
“With pleasure, sir!” I sounded off.
“Why don’t you address me properly if you’re going to be a Friedman, Son,” he commanded, the last word echoing in my head and taking hold.
Arthur was my father now. He made me into the man I had become and I was proud of it. I was proud to be unlike the rabble I was when I entered the thrift store; so, I grinned and announced, “Yes, Father.”
“Good boy, my son!” He replied.
His words were ecstasy to me, and I shivered in pleasure. Once he handed me the vest, I donned it proudly. I buttoned it up, my thick digits increasing in speed as it all became more natural to me. It sheltered my gut, its pinstripes blending in with the pants and presenting me as slightly slimmer.
Then, he held out the jacket. It called to me—welcomed me—and I pulled my arms through as Arthur embraced me from behind, resting his chin next to my neck. I breathed his cologne in deeply as I buttoned the suit, the minor illusion of thinness disappearing in the mirror as the top button was fastened. The cologne seemed to fit Arthur; it would fit me now as well. “Royal Muske,” I groaned, my eyes meeting his in the mirror.
“Yes, my son; just like we always wear. You’ll have it in just a moment. Now, take a seat for me.”
“Of course, Father,” I said with pride before sitting.
He went to the wardrobe again and returned with the loafers and cologne. He spritzed me twice on the neck and the smell overtook me. It was familiar, like something I had smelled my whole life. I relaxed even more as my father, presenting a loafer, instructed, “Look deeply into the loafer, Son.”
I looked inside and was lost in it once again. The inside of the shoe seemed to go on forever. I began to see it clearer as it was lifted toward my face. Inside, on the insole, the filigreed name “Friedman” came into focus. The smell of the rich leather began to reach my nose as Arthur pushed it closer to my face. My full view was nearly enveloped as it made contact with my face.
“Breathe, my son,” he commanded.
I took a deep breath, letting the scent of leather permeate my whole body. I was in a blissful stupor as he removed the loafer.
“It will all be yours very soon,” he assured. “There’s just one more thing we need to change.”
I looked back at the mirror and saw his scalp gleaming in the light and my thick disheveled mop. Noting the difference, I resolved: “My hair.”
“Precisely! All Friedmans lose their hair early,” he resounded. “You’re going to love it!” He continued before leaning over and planting a kiss on my lips.
“I will love it,” was the only thought in my head as he began running his hands through my hair. It felt warm, and tingled as he made stroke after stroke through my locks. He lifted my chin so my eyes met his as he gave three final brushes with both hands descending my crown to the nape. The top of my head began to feel much cooler. My father smiled wide and moved so I could see myself in the mirror. Standing next to him was his brown-haired twin. The top of my head shone brilliantly and was encircled by a thick brown wreath of hair that glistened itself, gelled to obedience down my head. This was who I wanted to be. I knew it now, but would never have admitted it just hours ago.
I finally had to say it: “I love it. Thank you so much, Father.” Arthur leaned in and I was ready to receive him. I opened my mouth wide and let his tongue explore every bit of me. Our mustaches brushed together and the fabric of our suits strained against our writhing, generating ecstasy in friction. We let that tension build as we embraced, touching every inch of each others bodies—the bald head; thick, supple neck; soft flabby pecs under the silky suiting; bulging balls thinly veiled under wool; even the loafers he wore with their intricate tassels.
Every touch was erotic and I was ready to explode as he began to unzip my trousers. He pulled away to look at me, eye to comforting eye, as he giddily whispered “It’s time to become a Friedman.” His focus shifted back to my crotch. He wrestled my engorged member from beneath my gut and through the fly of my white briefs. Once it was free, he toyed with it, stroking it gently with his hand before running the tip through his mustache. He gave it a brief lick before dropping it. I was the hardest I’d ever been when he picked up the loafer and brought it to my face again. I began to breathe deeply, taking the sweet leather scent through my whole body. I looked into the shoe and saw the name once again: “Friedman.”
Through his excitement, he asked me “What name do you see?” “Friedman,” I moaned. “Whose name is that?” He continued. “Yours.”
“And who am I?” “My father,” I declared.
“Good, Son. You will show me momentarily,” Arthur stated. I heard him pick up the other loafer and felt him brush my member with the tassels. “When I count to three, you will seal yourself as a part of the family permanently. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” I exhaled.
“Good boy. Now breathe in.”
I inhaled the leather, once again causing my cock to throb.
He began, “ONE... Who am I?”
“My father,” I moaned, feeling the upper of the loafer on my tip.
“TWO... What is my name?”
“Friedman,” I said with more intensity, my dick sliding over the tongue.
“Then what is your name?” He slid my cock down into the loafer, the soft insole comforting my manhood.
“Friedman!” I declared, ready to explode.
“Good boy... THREE! Cum, my son!” He boomed, shoving one loafer fully up to my nose and sheathing my cock to the base with the other.
I moaned a primal moan, spilling shot upon shot of my seed into the expensive shoe. In the mirror, I could see my balls pulsing from the volume of cum expelled. Pump after pump, deep breathe after deep leather-filled breath, I orgasmed with rapturous tingling within every cell of my body.
My father moved the loafer back and forth along my shaft, affirming me along the way: “Yes, my son. You’re a Friedman now. Let all of your old life drain from you.” Slowly, the torrents of cum subsided and I began to catch my breath.
Arthur lowered the shoes to the ground, looked at me with a tear in his eye and said gladly, “Welcome to the family, Son!” With that, he offered me the dry shoe and I slid my first foot into it, the silky socks providing a smooth glide. He then held out the second shoe, the interior of
which was coated with cum. Without reservation, I slid my foot in—a lubricated and sensual entry. As my heel popped in, I knew it to my core. I was a Friedman.
“Thank you, Father,” I said excitedly.
“No, Son. Thank you for continuing the family line. Would you like to return home now?” He asked calmly.
I stood up proudly, my foot soaking in my shoe. I tucked my manhood back in and adjusted my clothes. Eyeing myself up and down—bald head, mustache, neck rolls, girth, and fine shoes—I was a Friedman, the spitting image of my father. “Yes, Father,” I replied. “Let’s go together.”
When I spoke those words, Arthur’s proud grin faded to darkness and the ceiling fan of my room came into view. I struggled to lift myself up and became excited by the prospect that it had all been real. I rose to my feet, feeling the additional weight on my frame and walking to the mirror. I took a deep satisfying look into it and saw the spitting image of my father. Everything in the dream had happened. I was shorter, fatter, bald, mustached, and fully suited.
I began to hyperventilate; I was ecstatic; I was horny; I was worried. If all of it happened, what would others say? It was at that thought that I heard my father’s voice say to me “It’s okay, Son. Fear isn’t becoming of a Friedman, and I am here for you.” I was immediately calmed. I took a deep breath, catching a hint of Royal Muske, and smiled. I wanted this.
“Now look at your cufflinks, Son,” I heard. I turned the wrist outside of the grey jacket and saw engraved on the cuff “MAF” “Michael Arthur Friedman,” I announced. “My boy!” I heard Arthur say, causing my cock to twitch once again. “And proud of it!” I smiled, seeing Arthur’s eyes in my reflection.