A Redo Blog, soon to be live with captions and stories from a long time TF enthusiast. Most of my work will involve jock TFs, but I also specialise in Age Progression, Age Regression, Mental/Behavioral Changes, Forced Changes, Muscle Growth, Opposite Changes (Nerd to Jock, Good Boy to Bad Boy) Only Male Transformations or Female to Male, Weight Gain, Punishment and/or Revenge, Masculinization, Feet, Musk, Hypnosis/Mind Control/Brainwashing, Clothing Based Transformations (clothes trigger a change) IQ Loss/Dumbing Down, and plenty more!
“Says here, you’ve nearly done your time, scheduled to leave tomorrow. That right kid?” my trainer said, riffling through my paperwork, filling out my time sheet. I knew by the half smirk crawling across his face that there was something up.
“Yes sir… Today’s my last training day…” I said, trying to keep a straight face. I’d learned a while ago not to show any attitude to him, or anyone who runs this place. It only tacks time, or other ridiculous punishments to your sentence.
“Well, we’re just going to have to postpone your release. You haven’t met the weight requirement Judge Andrews sentenced you with. 6 months and 110lbs, sound about right? The scale doesn’t lie kid, you’ve got 10 more pounds to go. I’m thinking, 6 weeks should do it.” he said, not bothering to hide his wicked grin. He enjoyed his job far too much.
“Ye… Yes sir.” I said, clenching one of my fists. I could feel my blood boiling, one of the side effects to the supplements they pumped into our food. It was hard not to lose control, feeling an unnatural rage building up as I watched him sign the extension forms.
6 months ago, I’d gotten into a fight with Mark, one of the Football players at school. The team was having a laugh, calling all the swimmers fags and prissy boys. I was the captain of our Swim team, so after asking him to knock it off, he threw the first punch, and I lost it. In out scramble, I managed to knock him down, went to kick him in the crotch for good measure, but he’d squirmed out of the way, and my foot collided with his knee, shattering it. The hospital said he’d never be able to play again, which meant he lost his Scholarship.
His family sued the school, and my family. They tried to milk millions from the town, and wanted our house as settlement. My lawyer was the best we could afford, and managed to win my case, but the school’s lawyer was better. In the end the school settled, but I was sentenced to 6 months, and 110lbs at the Boys Reformatory, in reparation for ruining Mark’s future. No one would tell me what the hell that meant before I was carted off across the state, dumped at a facility that looked like a prison, and left to fend for myself.
As you can see, I found out exactly what it meant the hard way. After the initial orientation, where they gave me my uniforms, a tour of the facility, and a booklet or rules, I was thrown into the routine the next day:
-30 minutes early breakfast, which consisted of 2000 carefully counted calories worth of food, all balanced for perfect nutrition and energy boosting.
-3-hour workout, which was mostly cardio based.
-7 hours hard labor for most of the afternoon.
-30 minutes for lunch, which was 3500 calories, this time protein packed.
-2 hours of classes to keep up with what my regular school was teaching.
-3 hour workout, this time far more grueling, heavy lifting, strength training.
-3 hour for dinner, which again was geared towards optimal athletic progress. For me, it was 2500 calories.
-30 minutes of free time, in which most of us decided to take a shower. Although the water was always cold, it still felt amazing on our throbbing bodies after each hard day’s grind.
-7-hours for sleep. It wasn’t hard to get exactly that, as each of us was required to take a medley of nightly supplements, which included a sedative.
Day in and day out, repetition. Most of the guys here had been for a while, so they were already massive. But me, I’d learned quickly that I’d look just like them by the end of my stint. It’d only take a week for me to find insane changes in my body. My muscles were constantly aching, soaking in the fuel from the insane meals, and what I assumed were low dose steroids in everything we ate. I found myself being more aggressive, losing my temper more often, having to go to the Councilor to learn to keep my cool.
After 3 months, I was already too big to swim, my body was bulked up, bloated, heavy, my shoulders and biceps making my arms hang out to side. My thighs rubbed, and you could hear me coming by the heavy, stomping footfalls. Lumbering, that’s what I was reduced to. A big lumbering brute.
I stunk constantly. My trainer chalked it up to the hormones and supplements rushing through me, aided by the grueling workout routines and hard labor. I was going through clothing sizes almost every week. My chest was so big I’d ripped through t-shirts, my arms were getting too big for sleeves. Embarrassingly, I’d had to request larger boxer briefs, as my cock and balls had outgrown those as well. I’d tried to hide it, but the too small undies would squeeze my nuts, causing me to lash out.
And now, I’d found out I’d be here for another 6 weeks. Apparently, I hadn’t gained the required 110lbs missing it by only 10, which was insane in the first place! What was the point of all this! I mean, look at my shirt! It’s already too small, and this is the largest size they have on hand, without having order out. My underwear is already starting to bind up around my balls… and I can feel my toes squashed up against the size 17 sneakers they’d given me this morning. How big do I need to be?!
6 weeks later, and an added 10 pounds, I was lumbering out the doors, a free man. I reeked, not having time to shower after the last workout, my clothes were tearing with each step I took, but I was free. One last meeting with my lawyer had revealed that, because I ruined Mark’s chances of playing football ever again, the Judge and the School’s lawyer had settled for me to, “be too large to swim on the team ever again” and at 223lbs of thickly packed solid muscle, I’d fulfilled the settlement.
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“Says here, you’ve nearly done your time, scheduled to leave tomorrow. That right kid?” my trainer said, riffling through my paperwork, filling out my time sheet. I knew by the half smirk crawling across his face that there was something up.
“Yes sir… Today’s my last training day…” I said, trying to keep a straight face. I’d learned a while ago not to show any attitude to him, or anyone who runs this place. It only tacks time, or other ridiculous punishments to your sentence.
“Well, we’re just going to have to postpone your release. You haven’t met the weight requirement Judge Andrews sentenced you with. 6 months and 110lbs, sound about right? The scale doesn’t lie kid, you’ve got 10 more pounds to go. I’m thinking, 6 weeks should do it.” he said, not bothering to hide his wicked grin. He enjoyed his job far too much.
“Ye… Yes sir.” I said, clenching one of my fists. I could feel my blood boiling, one of the side effects to the supplements they pumped into our food. It was hard not to lose control, feeling an unnatural rage building up as I watched him sign the extension forms.
6 months ago, I’d gotten into a fight with Mark, one of the Football players at school. The team was having a laugh, calling all the swimmers fags and prissy boys. I was the captain of our Swim team, so after asking him to knock it off, he threw the first punch, and I lost it. In out scramble, I managed to knock him down, went to kick him in the crotch for good measure, but he’d squirmed out of the way, and my foot collided with his knee, shattering it. The hospital said he’d never be able to play again, which meant he lost his Scholarship.
His family sued the school, and my family. They tried to milk millions from the town, and wanted our house as settlement. My lawyer was the best we could afford, and managed to win my case, but the school’s lawyer was better. In the end the school settled, but I was sentenced to 6 months, and 110lbs at the Boys Reformatory, in reparation for ruining Mark’s future. No one would tell me what the hell that meant before I was carted off across the state, dumped at a facility that looked like a prison, and left to fend for myself.
As you can see, I found out exactly what it meant the hard way. After the initial orientation, where they gave me my uniforms, a tour of the facility, and a booklet or rules, I was thrown into the routine the next day:
-30 minutes early breakfast, which consisted of 2000 carefully counted calories worth of food, all balanced for perfect nutrition and energy boosting.
-3-hour workout, which was mostly cardio based.
-7 hours hard labor for most of the afternoon.
-30 minutes for lunch, which was 3500 calories, this time protein packed.
-2 hours of classes to keep up with what my regular school was teaching.
-3 hour workout, this time far more grueling, heavy lifting, strength training.
-3 hour for dinner, which again was geared towards optimal athletic progress. For me, it was 2500 calories.
-30 minutes of free time, in which most of us decided to take a shower. Although the water was always cold, it still felt amazing on our throbbing bodies after each hard day’s grind.
-7-hours for sleep. It wasn’t hard to get exactly that, as each of us was required to take a medley of nightly supplements, which included a sedative.
Day in and day out, repetition. Most of the guys here had been for a while, so they were already massive. But me, I’d learned quickly that I’d look just like them by the end of my stint. It’d only take a week for me to find insane changes in my body. My muscles were constantly aching, soaking in the fuel from the insane meals, and what I assumed were low dose steroids in everything we ate. I found myself being more aggressive, losing my temper more often, having to go to the Councilor to learn to keep my cool.
After 3 months, I was already too big to swim, my body was bulked up, bloated, heavy, my shoulders and biceps making my arms hang out to side. My thighs rubbed, and you could hear me coming by the heavy, stomping footfalls. Lumbering, that’s what I was reduced to. A big lumbering brute.
I stunk constantly. My trainer chalked it up to the hormones and supplements rushing through me, aided by the grueling workout routines and hard labor. I was going through clothing sizes almost every week. My chest was so big I’d ripped through t-shirts, my arms were getting too big for sleeves. Embarrassingly, I’d had to request larger boxer briefs, as my cock and balls had outgrown those as well. I’d tried to hide it, but the too small undies would squeeze my nuts, causing me to lash out.
And now, I’d found out I’d be here for another 6 weeks. Apparently, I hadn’t gained the required 110lbs missing it by only 10, which was insane in the first place! What was the point of all this! I mean, look at my shirt! It’s already too small, and this is the largest size they have on hand, without having order out. My underwear is already starting to bind up around my balls… and I can feel my toes squashed up against the size 17 sneakers they’d given me this morning. How big do I need to be?!
6 weeks later, and an added 10 pounds, I was lumbering out the doors, a free man. I reeked, not having time to shower after the last workout, my clothes were tearing with each step I took, but I was free. One last meeting with my lawyer had revealed that, because I ruined Mark’s chances of playing football ever again, the Judge and the School’s lawyer had settled for me to, “be too large to swim on the team ever again” and at 223lbs of thickly packed solid muscle, I’d fulfilled the settlement.