Spiritual Trainers

 He came into the gym a skinny little twig, quite literally skin and bones. Never really able to gain any weight, Gordon was known around the neighborhood as the ghost: deathly pale and skeletal. For the past 5 years since he graduated from medical school, he tried strategy after strategy to try and bulk up. From high carb and high protein diets to vegan plans to just eating fast food for an entire month, nothing seemed to work for him. Thus, this new gym membership was yet another rung on his ladder, another step on trying to get swole. 

The gym had been a staple of the neighborhood for decades, becoming a well established conveyor belt of successful athletes. The place supplied wrestlers, boxers, bodybuilders of all types to the industry: always winners, always huge. Thus, in the hopes of becoming their next success story, Gordon put pen to paper on the membership form, and struggling to carry his limp gym bag over his shoulder, he drudged toward the locker room.

While the impressive history of the place seemed to be a matter of fact, evidence toward their incredible efficacy in their training methods, there was a more clandestine underlying truth behind closed doors. Since the gym's opening, hundreds of studs left into the world, and many return. Some, however, linger. Past their dying breaths, they still return to the gym for the same reason they patroned it in life: getting huge. It would be fair to say of 200 successful athletes, about 80 of them are... recycled. Inhabited by the spirits of their predecessors, reliving life as they did in their time. And on that fateful day, the emaciated young man had caught the eyes of a number of such spirits. As he entered the well-maintained but rather fragrant locker room, the first such spirit laid his eyes upon Gordon. 

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In 1987, Dacre Dallas became the youngest title holder in the WWE. The "Pretty Boy from Texas" was a fan favorite, especially with the ladies. His trademark mullet, bushy moustache and masculine good looks made him quite the Don Juan in his day. At 5'9 and only 9% body fat, he was the 80's Adonis. 

Everyone that knew him would recall him as the good-natured dipshit who all seemed to love. He'd be the first one to laugh at a bad joke, the first to offer training tips and branding ideas, the first to buy the round of drinks, and the first to offer a quickie in the sauna. Beautiful, sexy, stupid, and loveable, Dacre was the guy everyone wanted to be around. 

---

As Dacre flexed into the mirror, admiring his own good looks, his nose twitched. He turned his head, following the unfamiliar scent of Irish Spring soap until he saw him.

He was perplexed. Many a guy had come through the doors looking to build muscle from nothing, but this was quite the find. Gordon's lanky figure had even shocked the spirit world: the ghost had surprised the ghosts! As he opened his locker, Dacre strode toward him, the ethereal sound of his squeaking Adidas high tops ever so faintly echoing in the room. Gordon began to take off his shirt, stripping it to slip on his tank; a sight that had sealed his fate. Dacre stood awestruck behind him, the sheer difference in size was more than evident. Even at relatively similar height, it only highlighted just how frail the young man was. In that moment, Dacre felt it. He felt the calling, the beckoning of life itself. Flesh is wasted on the living, when the dead have so much more to offer. He furrowed his bushy brows, a sly grin crept beneath his thick moustache.

Gordon felt a cool breeze between his legs, goosebumps trailed down his spine. The ac must have been strong, he dismissed it in his mind. Shrugging it off, he dropped his pants and revealed his baggy black briefs. A stronger, colder breeze blew again, enough to elicit a shiver from the lanky young man. He looked down, immediately met with the translucent grinning face of Dacre Dallas.

"Fuck, this will be fun. Coming in!" Before Gordon could even say a single word, Dacre took his massive ectoplasmic hands and quickly plunged them upward, right into his hole. A squelch rang out in the room, as Gordon's hole stretched to the rubbery forearms of the ghostly hulk. Chuckling as he began to force his entire gigantic body into Gordon, the young man desperately grasped at his invader, only feeling the slightest slimy resistance before phasing right through. He watched as belly started to bulge outward, growing as more and more of Dacre slithered inside of him.

"Heheh, oh shit, man! I forgot how good this felt!" Dacre chirped from within the twink, just as his ankles slid in, his size 10 Adidas kicking back and forth before slipping in completely. Gordon began to thrash about the locker room, slamming into walls and doors while Dacre slipped him on from inside. He slid his arms into the skinny tunnels of Gordon's body, swelling them with his thick plasmic muscle before his hands popped into his hosts, exploding them into calloused strong fists. Pecs and abs started to bubble out as they were filled with Dacre's, his underwear grew tighter as the ghostly cock thrust into his own, his balls swelling with Dacre's seed.

His legs burst with thick forests of hair atop his hilly quads, his feet quickly burst from his size 7 trainers, and as pressure mounted up his throat and against the palate of his mouth, a single pop rang out. The thrashing stopped, 'Gordon' stood still for a moment before cracking his neck and smiling. Turning to the left, Dacre sauntered over to the mirror, admiring his new fleshsuit. The kid looked good on him, he couldn't deny it. He flashed his pearly white teeth beneath his moustache, running his hand through the wavy mullet that had sprouted from Gordon's scalp. It was undoubtedly Gordon to the naked eye, just 100 pounds bigger and possessed by the bulky ghost of an 80's wrestler.

"Aww yeah! This I can work with!" Dacre's booming voice poured from Gordon's lips, as he flexed his sizeable biceps. "You doin' okay in there?" He knocked on his head, the faintest purr deep inside the voids of his brain the only reply. He chuckled, adjusting his bulge in the straining briefs before strutting out onto the lifting floor. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together with a dim laugh: eager to feel the rush of a good pump once more. Walking toward the bench press, he tossed 35 pount plates onto the barbell like they were nothing, and continued to press 10 reps without so much as breaking a sweat. He turned between sets, winking at one of the ladies across the room on the cable machine; a gesture that was accepted and reciprocated from the Amazonian woman. From behind the counter, the attendant smirked. Well aware of each of their residents and their tendencies to slip into the gym's clients, he always enjoyed seeing the before and after with each and every new stud that exited the locker room. It didn't happen every day, but when it did, it was a sight to behold. It was even enough to snatch yet another wandering eye.

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Justin Drake was the influencer to watch in 2024. With every TikTok and Instagram, viewers could see his growth from the everyday fuckboy twunk to the jacked stud he became. Standing 6'0 with the looks and build of a model, he fit naturally into the realm of fitness modeling. Every thirst trap got thousands of impressions, an equal amount of interaction. This quickly led to product deals, podcasting gigs, sponsorships and content collaboration. Even at one point joining a Big Brother-style bro house series on YouTube, Justin was unstoppable. Though, if you dug a little deeper, you'd find these weren't the only accolades he was receiving.

Top .01% of creators on OnlyFans as well as JustForFans, Justin was well known in the adult industry as the dumb himbo that got off on his musk. Pit stink, sweaty ass, musty cock, and most popularly his ripe size 13s. He was likeable on camera, dumbly laughing at any terrible porn joke on set, and he was popular with his scene partners; even corrupting several guys into scentplay with his addictive aroma. Every horny Tumblr page had his ass, cock, and feet plastered over their feeds, and those big green eyes graced the dreams of ever bater on the site. 

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As Dacre hopped to his feet, he turned to head toward the gorgeous woman, only to be met with the drooling face of Justin. 

"Bruh. Like, fuck. Is that you in there, Dac?" Dacre grinned from ear to ear, leaning over the warm, musky specter sitting on the bench. The minty green vapors that wafted from the ghost rather ironically reeked of buttery sweat and musk, tickling Dacre's nostrils as he inhaled his friend's scent. Sighing in satisfaction, he patted Justin's gooey shoulder.

"In the flesh, man. Or, in his flesh... hah!" The duo dumbly laughed, just as they would when they floated around the gym, chuckling at the poor form of their successors. "Nice find, right?"

"Dude fits you like a glove! Here, just let me..." Justin leaned in to Dacre's chest, taking a deep whiff. The scent was subtle, slightly salty, like ocean waves rolling onto the beach. Pulling away, the ghost shrugged his shouldes. "Meh. I could do better." 

"Sure, man. Sure. Huhuhu!" Just as Dacre began to walk away, he stopped in his tracks. Justin watched with a raised eyebrow as he slowly turned around, with a devilish smirk on his face. With a quick glance around, making sure no stupid mortal was waddling around, he began to beckon Justin toward him. "C'mon! Jump in while no one's looking!" Justin scoffed at the whispered invitation.

"Bro, there's no way I'll fit! I'll get the next one." This did little to dissuade Dacre, whose beckoning became more grandiose. Sliding down his shorts and briefs, his sweaty cock flopped out and hung limply in the air. Dacre grasped it, furiously pumping it as he continued to keep watch.

"Get in here! I'll make some room! Squeeze in, man, it'll be fun!" The ghost stared at the cock; so shiny, so inviting, yet so boring. He could do much better, he knew he would do much better. Besides, who better to share a guy with than your best friend? Smirking, Justin hopped to his feet, smirking as he broke into a sprint. Dacre smiled, bracing himself as Justin launched himself forward, diving into his dick. A wet slurping sound radiated out as Justin squeezed himself into the semi erect dick, stretching the slit wide as it swallowed him whole. It grew thick and hard in a matter of seconds, before the rubbery ghost shot downward into his balls. Inflating quickly into the size of basketballs, the last of Justin squirmed into the undulating dick. Dacre fell backwards from the masterful invasion, panting and mindlessly pumping his cock.

"Fuuuuuuuck, bruh. It'll be a tight squeeze, but it'll good to rub up against you again, bro!" Justin chided as he spread throughout Gordon's body. The host yet again began to flail and shake, twisting and turning as he was filled yet again. Dacre felt his best friend's massive legs and feet slide into his own, bloating intensely down his thighs, then his calves and forcing their way into his feet with a quick burst of Justin's sweat bursting out of his soles. A familiar funk wafted out from his now size 13 feet, stretching the bulky sneakers out with his toes and inundating them with his ripe footmusk. 

His chest and abs stretched upward as Justin pushed his long torso against the cramped interior of his vessel's shoulders. The body contorted as it grew taller and taller, his mass growing with every inch of height. A sharp stink began to pour from his hairy pits, which grew wetter by the second. The cock distended further: 6 inches, 8 inches, 9 inches before the skin started to constrict around his head. The foreskin restored, the tangy scent of his hooded dick drifted out from his groin while his balls dropped into the size of kiwis.

Dacre moaned and stroked from the sensory overload, feeling Justin's head slowly push up his throat and pressing against his own spectral head. In the blink of an eye, and rather loud crack, seizing once again ceased. Laughing wildly, the duo sat up in their swollen host.

"Bruh! Fuck! This guy is tight!" Justin chimed out of their shared lips, Dacre quickly responding.

"But man, it feels so good to have you in here, though!" They jumped back up, quickly adjusting to their new size. Their muscles jiggled as if they were balloons filled with molasses. With each step, dimly chuckling as they did, the muscles began to firm up until they were rock hard. The duo flexed, eagerly sniffing the wet musk that radiated from their dripping pits, Justin in particular reveling in the scent of life once again. Gordon's inflated body strutted across the gym, hopping down onto the leg press. Placing their massive, ripe sneakers onto the press, they easily moved the 375 pounds of iron. 

Behind the desk, the attendant took a double take. He'd seen his fare share of possessed, inflated studs, but to see the Adonis that so effortlessly annihilated 20 presses of such an impressive weight was a first even for him. Perhaps in the back of his mind, he realized that Justin had squeezed in with Dacre, which at least explaining the monumental size. But as he stared at the chiseled man jovially pal around with the other men, showing off his muscle, joking about his musk... the attendant couldn't help but feel a stirring in his shorts.

"Ahhhh yeah, dude. That was nothing! You should see us on circuit days! I mean... See me on circuit days!" Dacre quickly caught Justin's flub before anyone noticed. The other jocks laughed, slapping the possessed hunk's firm ass before wandering back to their weights. "Bro, you gotta be careful! The two of us is already a fuckin' tight fit in here. We don't need anyone else lookin to squirm in!" To any onlooker, it was as if Gordon's body was having a full on conversation with himself, turning his head right and left with two seemingly distinctive voices coming from his lips as he did. Unfortunately, such a display did indeed catch yet another specter's attention.

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Devonte Jackson was the gymnast to beat in 1995. Top of his career, towering over the competition at his mind numbing 7’2”, and an attitude that would kick your ass with a single glare. He had a reputation for being a little rough, both on the rings and when shoving his massive cock into whatever hole presented itself. The man was the textbook definition of the alpha male: jacked, confident, combative, and a jackhammer in the sheets. His unaffected and apathetic demeanor for whatever reason had the bizarre effect of making everyone he met thirsty for him. Sure, he was handsome. Sure, he was huge. Sure, his cock felt like a flagpole ramming inside your guts. But it was that completely dominant persona that made the drool flow freely.

Leaving a trail of broken hearts, bruised egos, and gold medals in his wake, Devonte was the king of the kings with a domination kink to match. Whether it was having his locker room boys lick the sweat from his feet, his sauna boys cleaning his cock, or tying his various girls to the bedframe as he went in... If Devonte was down, you knew that you would be submitting, and submitting it all. You might end up wearing his cheesy creamed condom on your dick for the rest of the week, purely because he thought it was hot. You might end up getting face fucked on the gym floor as he did his pushups, because it he thought it was hot. You might end up walking around on a leash with him at the helm... and yes, because he thought it was hot. He was in charge, and there was never any doubt about it.

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"So, you two jock sniffers rubbing dicks together in there?" Dacre and Justin turned to see the king himself hanging on his ring set, ectoplasmic sweat dripping from every pore. The two were intimately familiar with Devonte's personality and his... predilections. Even in spectral form, the dominating spirit had that notorious cock deep in their holes nearly every week. There weren't ever any complaints, mind you, the duo were about the only two otherworldly creatures that got along with the dominant gymnast. So, as he hung there from his ring with that characteristic flat affect on his gorgeous face, the two occupying ghosts smiled with their borrowed lips, feeling their sizeable bulge stir in their shorts.

"Devonte! What's good, man! What do ya think?" Justin flexed their body, chipper as always. The mocha ghost dropped to his feet and walked toward the two, towering a foot above their already stretched height. He circled them, taking in every aspect of their handiwork, and after a moment he nodded in approval.

"Yeah. You did good, boys. Y'all will fit perfect on me." The two shot their head toward their domineering friend.

"Whoa, Dev. It's already tight enough in here. I don't know if you're gonna fit, man!" Dacre couldn't imagine a third presence inside of this twig of a guy, let alone the biggest one at the gym. Plus, knowing Devonte, they'd be relinquishing a fair amount of their autonomy in this vessel to him. The ghost scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Oh no, man. That wasn't a request. I'm not sticking around while the only two bros I fuck with skip off into the sunset. Besides, don't you want this in there with y'all?" Devonte grabbed his gigantic bulge, slowly massaging it as it grew. This had never been attempted before. Three in one? Would it even be possible? The kid would probably burst!  Though, inherently, they both knew. There wasn't a choice being offered. "Turn around, boys. Do it now." 

The duo smirked, if they were gonna have a third in there with them, it was going to be Devonte anyway. The trio were known for pushing the boundaries, forging new ground, excelling: it was a no brainer. Time for one more. They did as instructed, turning around to face the mirror in front of them. Eagerly watching, the two watched as Devonte strutted toward them. Placing his thick hands on their shoulders, he raised his size 17 sneaker and gingerly placed it on their calf.

"Step aside boys, master is coming in." A searing volt of ecstasy rang out from their leg as Devonte shoved his foot into their calf. Veins bulged immediately from the invasion, muscles tore and warped while the foot stepped into theirs. The leather from the high top began to buckle, stretching wider and wider, until their now gigantic size 17s burst from the seams. "Yeah, baby... I know you like that shit, Jus." As the possessed hunk continued to moan from the dominant ghost's invasion, the various lingering spirits around the gym began to gather around. Floating above the hullabaloo below, they all watched leaking and thirsty as Devonte thrust his groin into Gordon's body, immediately eliciting a growing wet spot on the host's growing bulge. Cheers rang out in the ether as Devonte's cock slid into the already engorged member, snaking downward until his musky, hooded monster peeked its head out of the bottom of the shorts.

The spirits began looking at the patrons with hungrier eyes. Watching the sexy corruption taking place below had done more than get them hot and bothered- it had inspired them. Within seconds, a star sprinter had begun to slither into the cock of a twink on the elliptical, across the gym a bodybuilder was squeezing down the throat of a skinny wannabe model, a leather daddy was chest deep in a college student's quickly bubbling ass, a gold metal hockey player was trying his luck at cramming into the college dropout stoner who cleaned the locker rooms... Moans and sounds of squelching and elastic stretching rang out in the cavernous gym, just as Devonte licked the neck of his soon to be vessel before slipping his head into the crowded skull.

For the poor attendant behind the counter, he watched with horror and lust as his patrons were inflated, invaded, and possessed by his spectral tenants, slowly becoming musky star athletes that would take over their respective sports. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for him, his under the desk jerking at the sights, sounds, and smells before him had distracted even him- allowing him to be completely unaware of the 6'3 ripe basketball player that had crept up behind him, quickly diving head first into his open slit. 

"Oh, fuck... Diego... yeah babe, get in here!" The basketball ghost made quick work of slipping into the attendant's member; eager to claim a home for himself, his big sneakers slipped into the kid's cock just as the chair gave out. The bubbling, squirming, warping body collapsed onto the floor as the player stretched his limbs out within him, all the while the host crying out in euphoria as his skin began to tan and a foreign, tangy sweat began to seep from his pores.

---

'Gordon' had opened his eyes for the first time as the man he would remain for the rest of his life: 7'2, size 17 feet, forever wafting his irresistible sweaty musk for anyone that strode too close to the hulking giant. His thick beard, hairy muscles, tanned complexion and various tattoos exuded the strong image of an alpha, more than prepared to stick his uncut eleven incher into whatever hole you provided. Though, as there were three in one, each inhabiting spirit bestowed a different facet to their beloved host: Dacre's carefree and fun attitude, Justin's immense kinkiness and delicious musk, and Devonte's dominant personality and sheer size all mixed together to form the epitome of the master. He stretched upward, grinning from ear to ear watching his friends squirm around as they made the mortals their personal rides back to the land of the living, recreating them in their own image to boot. Soon, he'd have no shortage of ass to pound into oblivion, nor a shortage of bro's to kick it with. He picked up his water bottle, striding toward the counter, tossing his key on the desk as the former attendant slowly stood up from behind the desk- now shirtless, ripe, gorgeous, and piloted by a good friend. He stretched upward, throwing his arms behind his head as he cracked his neck and back, smirking at 'Gordon.'

"Good to see you, boys! Hitting the court in a minute if you wanna join? Or... if you wanna come get a taste of this dick, it's nice and seasoned for ya!" 'Gordon' laughed, Diego always knew how to please the boys, and he was always so damn good looking.

"Throwin' my bag in the car, then I'm gonna be balls deep in your throat. Better get that tongue ready, my bad boy needs a cleaning." Diego smirked, flexing his new body's gorgeous muscles as Gordon turned and headed toward the lot. He strolled up to the tiny car that the former tenant of their body had owned, scoffing in disgust. "Welp, boys, we're buying a new car tomorrow." Gordon comically squeezed into the tiny little hybrid, slamming the door before tossing his bag into the back. He leaned back, watching in unfettered glee as the parade of jacked, studly bros made their way out of their prison and into the world once more. All because three dipshit musclesluts decided to squeeze themselves into one tiny body. Once the new class of spirits made their way back to the gym, he'd be the first one to show them the ropes- as long as they were on all fours for him by the end.