The problem with fads is that they’re almost impossible to avoid. The ads are everywhere, down every street corner, on just about every other billboard, and on the pre-roll of pretty much every YouNema video online.

It’s not even possible to escape indoors. It’s all people want to talk about. Is it real? Is it not real? Sometimes, you’ve got half a mind to tell people to shut the fuck up and just buy the damned thing if they want to find out so much. Oh, it’s so tempting sometimes but you don’t exactly want people thinking you’re unstable so you mostly just keep it to yourself.

The DIQ Meatshake™. Honestly, even just the name is a bit off-putting. But as far as protein shakes go, it’s not bad. It certainly looks a hell of a lot more appetizing than the slurry of slop those usually end up being, but you’re not stupid enough to believe that the shakes will end up looking anything like the pictures in the ads.

Part of you has always wanted a better body but you’re not so desperate as to jump on a bandwagon just because a company was spending tons of money on advertising. It’s frankly absurd how easily people fall for marketing.

Each ad starts the same. A twink wants to get bigger, buffer, and stronger for one reason or another. He bemoans how protein shakes haven’t worked for him. Someone comes along and suggests the DIQ Meatshake™. He takes a drink. Cut to a few days later and he’s a huge hulking brute talking up how DIQ Meatshake™ changed his life.

It’s even more obvious when the side-by-side before-and-after pictures are shown at the end of the ad. It’s blatantly hyperbolic and the guy in the ‘after’ picture is so impossibly huge it’s obvious they just plastered the twink’s face onto an actual bodybuilder.

Home is the one place you can more or less get away from all the buzz about the DIQ Meatshake™. Neither you nor your roommate watch traditional TV and you make liberal use of adblockers on every website you regularly watch videos on.

You thought your roommate was on the same wavelength as you, so it comes as a bit of a surprise when he comes home one day with a DIQ Meatshake™ kit of his own. He’s already bragging about how much stronger and manlier it will make him, which strikes you as odd since he’s never expressed any interest in being either of those things.

It’s disappointing. You thought your roommate was better than that but clearly, you were mistaken if he can fall for such an obviously hyperbolic ad. Sure, since it’s a protein shake it’ll help with building muscle but there’s no way it can do what the ads strongly imply it can.

There’s just one problem: as the days go by you notice that he’s putting on a lot of bulk. At first, you think he’s just making good use of the shake and going to the gym but eventually, you realize this is way too much way too fast.

You wonder if he’s taking something and you figure you’d confront him before he does anything dangerously stupid. He tells you it’s just the Meatshake™ but even when you press him, he doesn’t change his story. He even lets you go through his belongings and follow him to the gym but you find no evidence that he’s doping up.

By the time your roommate starts getting taller, you have to concede that maybe the shake might be more true to its advertising than you were willing to admit. Part of you is tempted to get started on it too but you don’t want to be too hasty.

There’s no literature about the long-term effects of using the Meatshake™ and you want to make sure before you take the leap. You’ve noticed that your friend has been getting more aggressive lately, though maybe that’s just your bias seeing his newfound assertiveness as aggression.

It does concern you when grades for the term come in and your roommate casually mentions that his are circling the drain. It’s not so much the grades that you’re worried about, it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to even care when he tells you.

The roommate you’ve known for the last couple of years would have never let his grades slip. Coming from a family with strict, academically-minded parents, you can relate. You ask him what he’s going to do when his parents find out but he just blows you off and says they can learn to deal, he’s finally getting the body he always dreamed of and he’s not going to let a couple of letters on his transcript get in the way of that.

You end up calling his parents when he shows no sign of improvement halfway into the new semester. You collectively decide that it’s time for an intervention. It’s fine to want to work out and get a better body but not when the price is a future that should have been bright.

It’s the Meatshake™. You’re sure of it. But your roommate takes the stuff with such religious regularity you’re not sure it’s going to go well if you try to convince him to get off it on your own. That’s why you arranged things with his parents.

But before you can finish organizing this get-together, you start feeling strange. At first, you just chalk it up to a kink for manly musk that you never realized you had but it isn’t long before you realize you’re having blackouts. One moment you’re going about your day, and the next you’re missing a couple of hours and just standing there like an idiot, sniffing your roommate’s used gym clothes.

As time goes on, it takes more and more effort to concentrate on just about anything. Your head feels fuzzy and hazy more than it doesn’t. You still show up to class, but only barely. You’re late more often than not, and by the time you leave, you can hardly remember anything your professor talked about.

You’re getting ditzy. Your head feels empty more than it isn’t and instead of being horrified about that, you just find it funny. You’re such a dumbass, you say, more and more often these days. And the weird thing about it is just how much it turns you on.

More and more often you stop in the middle of a sentence, having forgotten what it was you were talking about. It happens the most around your roommate. He’d poke fun at your empty-headedness and you’d laugh right alongside him. Every time, you walk away rock hard.

Maybe you’re not quite ready to hop on the Meatshake™ bandwagon just yet, even if the results have been amazing for your roommate. It’s still inspired you to go to the gym. For some time, you were making some gains. But not anymore.

You’re getting smaller. What muscle mass you had left before you started melts away, leaving you with a slim tight body. About the only place that stays growing is your ass. That big fat bubble butt looks thicker and juicier with every passing day and you might not want to admit it, but it’s getting hungrier, too.

The haze in your head doesn’t clear. You’ve seen doctors but they tell you there’s nothing wrong with you. In the back of your mind there’s a part of you that’s terrified of this but you just try not to think too hard about it. Thinking’s become so difficult. It’s more of a chore than anything, so you try not to.

You used to always worry about the future but now you’re being forced to live in the moment. It’s kind of liberating if you’re being honest. All the worries and concerns that used to plague you are gone. Maybe that leads to a bit of impulsiveness on your part but what’s so bad about indulging your desires?

There’s a part of you still fighting the good fight. It’s there, in the back of your mind, desperately trying to break you free of whatever this is. But you barely feel it, and its efforts are mostly in vain.

Your body is more sensitive than it has ever been. Pleasure is the one thing you can think about without getting tired of it and you pursue it with a dogged determination like never before.

You want your roommate badly. You’re addicted to his scent, the heat and firmness of his body pressed against yours. You ache for him but have stopped just short of throwing yourself at him. It’s probably a holdover from a more modest time for you, that one small part of you still resisting the depravity you’re steadily sinking into.

You dream of your roommate, awake or asleep. He occupies what few thoughts you do have. And every time you play with yourself, you fantasize it’s him playing with you. Even now, as you’re desperately finger-fucking your hole, having succumbed to your baser urges, the only thing you can utter in between your moaning is his name.

You barely even notice as the door swings open. He grabs you by the hips, having tired of your unintentional teasing. If you wanted his cock so bad, you could have just asked, he practically growls in your ear as he pulls your fingers out of your hole and lines up with you instead.

Words fail you as he slides inside. You’ve prepared yourself well. You’re slick and pliant, your hole stretching around the girth of his big fat fuckpole.

Your mind turns to mush the instant his blunt cock head grazes your prostate. That little part of you that’s still fighting succumbs to the pleasure. You can only moan as the fog in your head settles in for the long haul, smothering what few thoughts you have left as you writhe your petite body on the end of his cock.

You mewl like the bitch you are as his big, thick cock crushes the final dregs of your will and self-control like it crushes your guts. You cum quickly, your hole pulsing and fluttering as an ass-gasm rips through you.

He holds you down, then, ramming his cock into your hole like a jackhammer. The force slams the headboard of your bed against the wall and makes the bedframe creak. Meanwhile, all that’s left of your intelligence is fucked out of you in a trickle of weak, watery seed.

He pumps you full after what must have been hours of non-stop fucking. Your stomach feels heavy with his load. You’re drenched in sweat. Your limbs feel like they’re made of lead. All the strength in your body is spent and yet the only thing you can do is giggle and wiggle your rump, making the cum inside you slosh and inviting him to have another go.

You might have been too busy turning into a cock-dumb himbo over the past few weeks to notice but your roommate has become something of a gentleman in the meantime. When it comes to things like this, of course. And since you’ve asked so nicely, he slides right back inside you. It wouldn’t be very sporting of him to blow a wad inside you once and not keep doing it until you’re just about ready to burst, after all.