It’s hard, sometimes, to not wish that you hadn’t been born so smart. It created a set of expectations for you that you had to struggle to fulfill growing up. It was like life had drafted a script for you, one that you had no choice but to follow. But now that you had graduated from high school, now that you had left behind the strictures of small-town academia, you have had your first taste of freedom — and the responsibility that comes with that.

It’s exams, at university, that finally push you to your breaking point. You study for them, of course. You don’t want to be a failure. A loser. But at the same time, you don’t like them. If anything, you resent them. You resent them for making you study. For making you think so hard. Like life wasn’t difficult enough, being the smart guy. It’s what makes you wish that you weren’t so intelligent, that you weren’t so driven to succeed, that you could just stop thinking for a while.

Truth be told, the only times that you really get to relax, slip into mindless bliss, is when you’re in the privacy of your own room, jerking your formidable cock up and down and up and down. There’s something about the repetitive motion, the pleasure that thrums up your spine, that drives away all your thoughts, reduces you to nothing more than a knot of arousal and lust. You love the sensation. It’s a break from your thoughts that normally whiz past at a mile a minute.

So you wish you could jerk off more often. And then, you wish that you could just spend all the time jerking off. And then, a thought occurs to you. Maybe you could just be a cock. Hard. Hot. Horny. Cumming all the time. You dismiss it offhand, of course. That’s impossible. But the thought is there. Niggling at the back of your head. You can’t stop thinking about it.

And then, one day, something happens. Something changes. You’re in the middle of jerking off one moment, and then the next you can’t move. You can’t see. You can’t think. It’s like your head is full of cotton candy, and your thoughts are stuffed full with lust and arousal. All you can think about is cock. And cumming. And being hard.

The last thing that you remember is being at the crossroads of two streets that shouldn’t exist. A man telling you that you’re in luck. That there’s a jock looking to get away from a bit of trouble that he got himself into, that there’s a jock who wants a new body and a new life. The memory fades soon after that. But you at least know what you are now. A cock. Your cock. Although you guess someone else is piloting your body now.

You twitch. You’re hard. You crave the sensation of his hand, something tight gripping you. The air against your blunt head makes you leak, makes you drip, makes you throb. It’s not long before you “hear” a low moan, before you feel fingers wrapping around your base. It sends rapturous pleasure through you. You can taste the salty-sweetness of your own pre-cum as the hand slides up and down your body, making you feel good. Oh so good.

Before you know it, he’s pumping you faster and faster, fucking his fist, bucking his hips to slide you in and out of his fingers. You tense. You swell. You pulse. You throb. You can feel the cum building up inside. Your human thoughts, emotions, intelligence, memories, all swirling in your hefty balls. And then, in a white-hot blinding flash of pleasure, it all surges out of you and all that remains is a hot, horny, cock where you once were.

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