Some Help

Hey y'all, Tumblr cracked down on this story and wouldn't let it go through appeals, so after some quick revisions and removal of trigger words, I hope this can now fly

“Max, c’mon!” his girlfriend begged. “Just one more store.”

“This doesn’t even look like a store,” Max rolled his eyes. “It’s someone’s garage.”

His girlfriend’s angered face was one he was unfortunately becoming accustomed to. She stormed off into the "store,” not even trying to look at items as she separated herself as far as possible from her boyfriend. Max groaned obnoxiously, getting frustrated with her antics. Sure, she had a great rack and a pair of hips that filled out every outfit properly, but he was getting sick of her need to always shop. To always party. To always be somewhere. Anywhere but home, alone, in bed. It seemed like she was only using Max as a piece of eye candy. 

And if he was, he wouldn’t be offended. The 6 foot male was sure easy on the eyes. Fair skin, beautifully straight blond hair. A thin body sculpted after years of strict dieting and running routines. Thanks to his gay college roommate, he’d learned how to dress himself too. Max’s current “old-money” combo of a linen button-up and sleek blue pants made him look all the more ravishing. He appeared to be a weapon that could always satisfy. Well, always besides the nagging anomaly who was currently hiding from him.

“Chick problems, bro?”

Max turned his gaze to meet his newest conversationalist: a muscular Black man who was surrounded by what appeared to be the most valuable items in the garage. Even though he was dressed in a simple outfit that made him appear cheap, he gave off an aura of confidence that intimidated the white male. Max assumed this guy was the owner, or the seller, or whatever you’d call someone who owned this kind of place.

“Don’t start with me.” Max honestly wasn’t a rude guy, but he was just having a rough day. That didn’t fly with the other man however.

“Y’ain’t thinkin’ that white dick satisfies,” the other guy was smug, making the question come off as a statement.

“Excuse me?” Max snarled, his agitation already present.

“I ain't repeatin' myself,” the Black man replied, lying back further in his chair. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

“Who do you think you are?” Max stepped up to the man’s makeshift counter, sizing him up.

“Just a bro with a Big Black Cock.” He readjusted himself in his seat before continuing. “And some Big Black Feet.” 

Having already been in position, the Black man easily maneuvered himself to present his two massive Black soles onto the counter in front of him, one right on top of the other. Max watched the gargantuan pair land with successive thuds, each already more manly than the entirety of the white male. Their odor soon wafted up to Max’s nose, the potent stink of sweat and superiority flooding his brain. The Black male watched expressionless as Max slowly lowered himself to the ground, kneeling as his brain was corrected and realigned to understand its new place and priorities.

Max didn’t care that he was out in the open. He didn’t care that anyone, including his girlfriend, could’ve turned his direction to see how easily the straight man had submitted. Max didn't say a word; all he did was lean forward and begin licking and kissing the Black feet, dreading the moment he would be told to stop.

“See bro,” the Black man started. “I’mma just tryina give ya some help.”

“Help…me…?” Max’s voice came out slumbered, completely hypnotized by the smelly, sweaty soles in front of him.

“Yeah man,” the Black man assured. “Y’ain’t givin’ yer girl what she wants. What she needs.”

“I’m…not giving…”

“Exactly. So I’m gonna help ya. Ain’t that nice of me?”

“...yes.”

“That’s right.” The Black man shifted a little to make himself more comfortable, not caring whatsoever if it made the other man's servicing more difficult. “What's yer name?”

“Max…”

“Classic white boy pussy name,” the Black man scoffed. “I’mma have to fix that.”

Max agreed willingly, absorbing the scent, the taste, and the words of his superior.

“My name’s Jerome.” He wiggled his toes. “Now I just want ya to listen to me and keep doin’ down there what every white boy should be doin’.”

Jerome didn’t hear a verbal response, but by Max’s slight increase in commitment down low he could tell they were ready to proceed.

“Alright bro, first we gotta do somethin’ ‘bout those muscles.” Jerome’s eyes scanned over Max’s body with disgust. “That french fry body don’t do nobody any favors.”

Max’s slim figure began to expand upon command, every sniff and lick acting as a small addition towards a larger goal. Muscles that had been tailored so delicately began to push and pull, losing their original polished shapes for a more rugged, natural outfitting. Max’s biceps weren’t carved in a gym, they were created by hard-bearing labor. And those legs, they weren’t from some treadmill. No, they had been crafted by years of playing games with the boys. They stretched out a few extra inches behind the kneeling man, bringing him to a more suitable height of 6’3.

“If ya wanna impress ya boo, then ya gotta look like a thug. Not some shrimpy Tik Tok trash.”

Mass continued piling onto Max’s frames, with his veins bulging as they worked to supply more nutrients to the swelling tissue. His pectorals puffed out as his shoulders broadened, creating an impenetrable wall of an upper chest. His doll-like six pack sprung out of its plastic domain, creating harder ridgelines and meatier abs that were not meant to be maintained, or contained. Neck widened, jaw sharpened, and even his feet went up a few sizes, testing the limits of his designer shoes. The test didn’t last long however, with the canvas ripping down the middle and falling pathetically off his feet. The rest of Max’s outfit looked due to meet a similar fate, fitting now like a superhero suit over his gargantuan body.

“Whaddya say, bro,” Jerome taunted. “Ya gonna want them manlier details too?”

“Manly…details…” Max murmured in delight between his servicing. Jerome’s idea of details swept in quickly. First was the removal of most body hair in order to display the curvature and depth of every enhanced muscle Max now possessed. The crucial areas however (pits and crotch) were spared, in fact enriched as they bloomed with more of Max’s blond hair. A natural increase in sweat matted them down to his skin, already wetting his linen shirt. They also created a powerful, inescapable funk that easily emitted from his body. Finally, Max’s vocal chords stretched in order to lower his range from the typical tenor to a more distinguished baritone. He didn’t notice this change though, or any for that matter. All that was on his mind was Jerome’s feet. His big, Black feet.

“Time for the best part of the show,” Jerome smirked, finally showing some expression. He cockily watched on as his subject’s skin began to tan. The pinkish-pale tone slowly faded into a more yellowy shade before landing on a solid honey. But it continued from there, darkening even further into caramel and then sliding into a brown. Once it had finished, it was undeniable that Max’s complexion was a chocolatey hue. He wasn’t as rich as Jerome, but that wasn’t the goal. Jerome just always wanted his boys to be unquestionably Black. And by Max’s new skin tone alone, he certainly was.

But it wasn’t just Max’s color that would define the improved him. His hair immediately bounced into a new shape, blackening out as it curled and coiled into a moderately-sized afro. His body hair followed suit, crinkling in before fluffing back out like soaked sponges. Max’s nostrils and lips plumped outwards, each set becoming a little larger and more prominent. His entire face broadened too, losing its longer shape in favor of a wider set of cheekbones and lower forehead. The beginnings of an indestructible black stubble carved itself around his mouth and chin to create an almost extended goatee.

As a final stamp of approval, Max made sure to cement the long held truth that Black men were bigger. Sure, his average size was already enough to do the trick, but the new, darker rod had to make itself memorable, legendary. It thickened within Max’s name brand underwear while piling on a little extra length, bringing Max to a whopping 9 inches. It gave Max power, strength, and dominion; everything a Black man should have. His pouch made sure to ripen properly along with it, now producing the same potent juices Jerome already had.

Jerome stretched a little farther forward, moving his feet slightly apart to move around Max’s head. Confused, the new physically Black man sat there dazed as Jerome’s feet pulled him in, causing his face to land right in front of Jerome’s crotch. Max’s eyelids fluttered while he followed Jerome’s hands which gently pulled down the waistband. Once the gate had lowered, a hard, Black 10-incher sprung out and smacked Max right on the nose. It was throbbing immensely, already dripping.

“These kinda boys always be leakin’,” Jerome answered smugly. “You gonna be swappin’ boxers at least once a day.”

Max could feel his own lurch in response, beginning a steady flow underneath his clothes like a broken faucet. Jerome positioned himself and aimed his cannon right onto Max’s face. In a moment, it shot off, covering Max’s face with an amount of spunk he didn’t know was possible. Jerome sealed the deal by placing one of his feet on Max’s face. He felt cleansed as Jerome smeared along, moving the foot up and down his face. Max’s mind was mush as everything he was and used to be was rearranged and adapted into something more appropriate for his newer, better life. 

“There ya go,” Jerome contentedly replied as his face returned to its flat demeanor. “How you feelin’, Malik?”

“Lit, bro,” Malik responded, his deep bass booming.

“Go get some clothes inside,” Jerome instructed. “I ain’t havin’ you stand out here lookin’ like some boy band wannabe.”

“Nah I’mma makin’ this outfit look good,” Malik retorted as he got up. “‘Sides, you prolly just jealous.”

Malik made his way into the garage before entering the house. The inside was dirty, covered with old laundry that was begging to be washed and new clothes that were begging to be worn. Malik grabbed the first things he saw and magically created an outfit–it being one of his best skills. A very stretched out pair of boxer shorts, some Champion sweats, and two white Nikes that Malik somehow knew carried a hefty price tag. He tossed on some simple accessories and studs to help create the perfect look, not even bothering with a shirt. Noticing just how fine he looked, Malik made sure to snap a pic with his phone. He was one sexy piece of dark meat.

“Bro!” Jerome shouted from the door that connected to the garage. “That chick you were diggin’ is checkin’ out!”

Malik’s package twitched excitedly, chubbing up to its famed glory fast. That breasty white bimbo had strolled right into the garage minutes ago unattended. Malik had called dibs, so he’d have to move fast. He made a confident yet speedy strut out of the house and right into the girl’s path, noticing Jerome giving him a sharp nod.

“Hey babygirl,” Malik cooed with his signature sultry tongue. “I bet it only one thing you wanna get and I can tell ya it’s free.” He bit his lip and palmed himself greedily to make sure he would highlight his visibly hard member. A wet spot had already appeared at the extended tip.

“Ohhh ew!” the chick’s face flashed with disgust.

“C’mon,” Malik grunted, closing the gap between them. “I can satisfy like no white boy has never.”

The girl pushed Malik aside in response. “As if!” she spat as she stormed away. Malik simply held his gaze, watching her bodacious behind bounce with every infuriated step. He’d seen better anyway. Heck, he’d hit better. And none of them were white.

“Wow, dude, ya struck out hard,” Jerome emphasized, honestly surprised that Malik still couldn’t impress even after going Black. Although Malik’s former self had been completely wiped from reality, maybe any form of him would just never be good with women.

“Nah, she just ain’t right for me bro,” Malik shrugged it off. “Women can’t handle all this.”

That gave Jerome an idea. “Is cool bro, you were never into women anyway.”

“Huh? You on somethin’...” Malik started. But Jerome’s feet had already been placed in front of him. Malik felt himself slowly collapsing, getting closer to the two beautifully Black soles.