A Wednesday In The Life

It was just past midnight, and I’d already been driving for hours.  The highway stretched endlessly ahead, a dark ribbon cutting through the void. I was exhausted, pushing through fatigue with coffee and sheer stubbornness.

Montgomery wanted me in Chicago early, my idiot agent had agreed to it, and I couldn’t blame him.  Everyone knows... you don’t turn down Mr. Montgomery.

With one hand on the wheel, I fumbled for my phone. The car speakers crackled to life.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me this late,” Alan grumbled.  Whatever – he was on the west coast, so it’s not like it was the middle of the night yet.  Besides, this is why I pay an agent.

“Montgomery,” I replied simply.  “What are the details?”

“He wants you there at ten, sharp. No excuses. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah, but what’s the job?” I asked.

“He didn’t say,” Alan said, practically shrugging over the phone.  “Does he ever?”

“I’m driving all night,” I snapped. “Not even a nap.”

“You can nap when you’re dead. Look, I don’t know what exactly he’s planning this time, but he’s probably just bored of his last acquisition. Maybe he needs a couple of new personal assistants. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled.  “Guy collects muscleheads like trading cards.”

“It’s about power, Jake. If you own the hottest, dumbest, most obedient men in the room, you own the room,” Alan explained, his voice dripping with condescension.  “That’s Montgomery’s whole thing. He doesn’t just want hunks—he wants status symbols.”

“Speak a little slower Alan,” I groaned.  “I know this.  Let’s just hope I don’t pass out before I get there.”

Alan snorted.

“Better floor it then.  Time ticks.”

-----

I stopped for a snack in Springfield.  The one in Missouri, not Illinois.  Miles to go and all that jazz.

The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour grocery store hummed as I swung open the  door. The place was mostly empty, save for a lone stockboy who was blasting shitty rock music from his phone while he pretended to stock the cereal aisle. I headed straight for the coolers in the back, in desperate need of more caffeine.

Starbucks makes these bottled coffee drinks.  They’re all that keep me going some days.  I grabbed one, along with a pack of beef jerky and made my way to the register. The stockboy saw me approach the counter and meandered over.  His face was set in a mixture of boredom and resentment.

“Rough night?” I asked, tossing my stuff onto the counter.

He snorted. “More like a rough life. I got a degree, y’know? Supposed to be out making a name for myself, not stacking boxes in the middle of nowhere.”

“What’s your degree in?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Music,” he said with a sigh, scanning the jerkey. “I’m really a musician. Got a band and everything.  I’m just waiting for my break to get out of this dead-end town.”

“Why wait?” I asked, sizing him up.  “A man makes his own opportunities.”

“Yeah, whatever dude,” he scoffed and scanned my Starbucks.

I know I was supposed to be in a hurry, but... a man makes his own opportunities.  I needed to catch a few hours of sleep, he needed to catch a ride to the city.  If I played my cards right, I’d catch a nap while he drove.

“What kind of music?” I asked.  “You one of those TikTok bands?”

“Fuck no man,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “Strictly classic rock.  I’m not one of those fags who dances around for attention.”

“Yeah,” I grinned.  “Gotta let the music speak for itself.”

“Damn right. You want your receipt?”

“Nah, I’m – hey look at that!” I said, pointing behind him, out the store window.  He spun around to look, peering past his reflection and trying to see into the night.

“I don’t see anything,” he said.

I lifted my hand, tracing an unseen pattern in the air.

“I do...” I teased.  “I see a star.  The kind of musician who can sell out three shows a night.”

“Fuck that dude,” he said.  “I just wanna play bars.”

But he didn’t turn away from the window.  It’s so easy to get someone to stare at their own reflection, and once they’re there... well, I’ve got them.

“But you’re a rock star,” I said with a smirk.  “Bar shows are for guys who stay stuck in Springfield.  You’re big time now – don’t you want to look like your heroes?”

“Mick Jagger,” he said slowly.  I watched the first changes show up in his reflection.  Shaggy hair.  A confident grin.

“Freddie Mercury,” I suggested.  “Or Ziggy Stardust.”

His face shifted, getting more angular.  I don’t know how to describe it, but there was something distinctly ’70’s about his look.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice distant. “A star...”

“Not just some guy with a guitar,” I suggested. “But someone unforgettable. Someone magnetic.”

His reflection shifted. His stockboy uniform shifting and shimmering until his pants morphed to a deep metallic green, hugging his legs like they were stitched onto him.  His button down shirt fell open, unbuttoned to reveal a lean, defined torso. A few seconds later the shirt was gone too, replaced with a long velvet coat, somewhere between magenta and purple.

“You ever picture yourself on stage?” I asked.

His lips parted slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Lights on me. Music pounding.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “Showing off your muscular body... cause the music’s good, but it’s really all about the sex appeal.”

The reflection in the window smirked back at him, lips slick with gloss, eyes lined with the perfect amount of shadow. His dark hair had grown, curling at the ends, a perfect mix of Iggy Stardust and Freddie Mercury. He licked his lips, rolling his shoulders like he was about to strut onto a stage.

“Your voice,” I mused. “It’s not just sound. It’s raw. It’s seductive.”

His reflection let out a slow, deliberate chuckle, one that sent shivers down his own spine. “Yeah,” he whispered, running a hand over his chest. “I’m a sexy fucker.”

“Your moves,” I continued, “are hypnotic. You don’t just play. You own the stage.”

His hips swayed subtly as his reflection moved with him, perfectly in sync. His hands ran over his torso, fingers lingering at his belt, teasing the air. The timid tension in his body dissolved into something liquid, something primal.

“Every eye is on you,” I whispered. “Because you’re electric.”

His breath hitched. “Electric...”

“You are desire,” I continued. “Not just music, but sex and sound and motion, all wrapped into one.  A sex symbol that every dude wants to fuck.”

I watched his ass in the window, filling out those pants.  He was flexing his cheeks, dancing in time to some unheard beat.

“Everyone wants to fuck me,” he moaned.

“Every dude,” I said.  “Women aren’t into you... but guys cum inside you all the time.  It’s what you want... isn’t it?”

His stance widened, his boots tapping against the tile. He wasn’t just some guy in a grocery store anymore. He was already halfway to the city, already on stage. The mirror version of him let out a wicked grin, a tongue flick against his teeth.

“Yeah,” the stockboy admitted.  “It’s what I want.”

His back straightened, and he turned away from the glass, spinning so flamboyantly that his velvet coat knocked a display off the counter.  He didn’t care. His eyes locked on mine, full of confidence and hunger.

He adjusted the cuffs of his coat like he’d been wearing it forever.

“Yeah,” he said in an English accent, just like his idol David Bowie. “So what... you want an autograph?  Or...”

He grabbed his bulge through the metallic fabric of his pants.

I leaned against the counter and smirked. "I know a guy who owns a club in Chicago. If you're looking to make a name for yourself, I could introduce you. No promises, but..."

The stockboy — no, the star — ran a hand through his freshly styled hair, his fingers pausing just long enough to tease the curls. He tilted his head, considering. "Nothing in life is guaranteed," he said with a grin. "Let’s hit the road.”

“I’m Jake, by the way,” I said, extending a hand.

"Name’s Lucas,” he said, ignoring my hand and giving my bicep a squeeze. “You some kinda talent scout?”

"Something like that,” I laughed.  “Let’s just say I know how to put people where they’re meant to be."

We walked out of the store together, the neon glow of the sign casting long shadows as we stepped into the parking lot. He gave one last glance at the building, then climbed into the passenger seat without hesitation. "Gotta swing by my place first," he said. "I should grab my guitar."

A few minutes later, I parked outside a worn-down apartment complex. Lucas tapped his fingers against the dashboard, drumming out an unheard rhythm before flashing me another grin.

"Back in a sec babe. Try not to miss me too much."

He dashed inside, leaving me with a moment to check my phone. I fired off a quick text to Greg: "Be in Chicago in the morning. Got a surprise."

The reply came almost immediately. "Another one? My balls are still empty from your last visit."

I smirked and tapped out a response. "I can help you with that if you want ;)"

"Keep your magic hands off me," Greg shot back. Then, after a beat: "Though... I’ve got a couple busboys who aren’t really working out. Maybe you could take a look?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "No problem," I typed. "But only if you find a spot for my new friend."

Greg sent back a thumbs-up emoji. Deal made.

Lucas jogged back down the stairs, but his hands were empty. He slid into the passenger seat, looking exasperated.

“Shit’s fucked up there mate" he said, running a hand through his hair. "My roommates are being total knobs. Like, they’re pissed I’m gonna move away and break up the band, but they’re even more pissed that I’m all hot and sexy and stuff now."

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. This was supposed to be saving me time.  Whatever happened to the good old days when you could zap some unsuspecting soul into a fuckboy and drive away without complications?

"I guess I’d better come up," I said reluctantly. "But nothing fancy… I don’t want to spend too long here."

"You’re the best, man,” Lucas brightened.

I opened my door and stepped out, stretching as I took in the old apartment building. "You’re in a band with all these guys?"

"Yeah," Lucas said, already leading the way to the door. "There’s five of us packed in upstairs… I sleep in the living room.  It’s gonna make a rad chapter in my biography.”

I shook my head as I followed him inside. "Okay," I said, stepping into the dimly lit stairwell. "Let’s take care of them."

The wooden steps creaked under my boots as I climbed.

----

Lucas led me into the cramped apartment, where four drunk guys were sprawled across a stained couch and a battered recliner. The air smelled like stale beer and unwashed laundry. As soon as we walked in, the tension in the room thickened.

"So this is the guy," one of them muttered. He had shaggy black hair and an old band tee with holes in the sleeves. "The talent scout who who turned you into—" he waved vaguely at Lucas' freshly chiseled physique and effortless charisma. "This."

"Oh, c’mon babe, don’t be dramatic," Lucas said in that Bowie accent, leaning against the doorframe. “I'm destined to be a star. Jake just… helped me out."

The guys around the apartment exchanged nervous glances.  From the beer cans on the table and the empty boxes on the floor, I guessed they’d been drinking for hours.  Probably a good thing – when a group decides to fight back, it’s always a harder job.

Luckily was more than just resentment in their expressions. Jealousy, curiosity, maybe even a little longing. Perfect.

“You guys are mad about Lucas leaving town,” I said, stepping forward.  “But he’s not going anywhere without you.  You’re a band, a team... you’re gonna make it together or not at all.”

”Yeah, right,” a cute blond with shaggy hair scoffed. “You’re just gonna wave your hands and book us some stadiums?"

I smirked. "Something like that.”

Luckily for me, there was a sliding glass door leading off to a balcony.  I flipped on the overhead lights and watched as they all winced at the brightness.

“Look at yourselves,” I said, pointing at the window.  It was dark enough out that their reflections were clearly visible.  “And imagine... what you could be.”

One by one, they turned to the window. I moved my hand subtly, weaving my spell through the reflection.

I started with the loud one, with the shaggy black hair and the old band tee.

"When you're up on stage, don't you want people to be obsessed with you? To hang on your every move?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Well... yeah, I mean...”

“Then it’s time to clean up your look, isn’t it?” I asked.

I watched his reflection shift, the band tee shrinking down until it fit perfectly over his young muscles.  The holes mended themselves, and the graphic faded until it was nothing but a plain white tee.

“After all, you’re all young.  Your bodies are at their peak,” I suggested.

“I go to the gym,” one of them volunteered.  The drummer, I assume, from the pair of sticks he was twirling absentmindedly.  “Every week.”

“Every day,” I corrected.  “All of you, like a team.”

I watched their reflections grow.  The plain white tee was almost comically small on the loud one.  Even Lucas bulked up some more.  The drummer’s reflection practically exploded with muscle, suddenly looking less like a pipe cleaner and more like Captain America.

“Whoa...” he said, transfixed by his reflection.  “That’s sick.”

“This is too weird,” the chubby one said.  His reflection was showing a beefy body, nowhere near as cut as his friends.  “Dude... you gotta leave.”

“What?” I asked with mock offence.  “You don’t wanna look pretty?  There’s nothing wrong with being the cute one...”

In the window his image shrank down.  Suddenly he was six inches shorter than any of the other guys, with tight little pecs and a gymnasts build.  His beard melted away until his angelic face shone through.

His once-slouched shoulders pulled back, revealing broad pecs under a tight, glittering crop top. His jeans vanished, replaced by a tiny pair of pink shorts.

“Holy shit dude,” the loud one in the white tee gasped.  “You look amazing!”

“So do you,” I whispered in his ear.  “A real heartthrob.”

His reflection shifted. His white tee shifted into a deep V-neck, his defined pecs peeking out the top. His messy black hair arranged itself into stylish disarray, his eyes lined with just a touch of smudged eyeliner. Confidence settled into his posture as he unconsciously flexed his new biceps.

“We’ve got the heartthrob, the cute one, the wild one...” I said, glancing at Lucas.  “So I guess that makes you the bad boy.”  I laid my hands on the drummers shoulder and watched him change in the mirror.

“Huh?” he asked, watching his flannel shirt start to tighten in the mirror.

"You're the one with the attitude, huh? The one who doesn’t follow the rules?"

He scowled. "Damn right."

"Then you should look like you break hearts and leave chaos in your wake, don’t you think?”

His flannel dissolved into a fitted mesh shirt over a sleek, black harness. His fingers twitched as if he could already feel the bass vibrating beneath them. "Shit," he murmured, admiring his own reflection. "I look like trouble.”

“You look like sex,” Lucas said, catching on to what I was doing.  “I’d love to ride that big... dripping... cock...”

The bad boy’s face lit up in surprise, then quickly settled back into a cocky grin.

“You’re all a bunch of gay sluts,” I told them.  “Only one top in the group, but at least this guy’s vers.”

I clamped my hand on the shoulders of the one who hadn’t spoken yet.  Other than a little muscle and a sudden stirring in his balls, he’d barely changed.

"You’re the one calling the shots, aren’t you?” I said to him.  “Keeping the band together?"

He smirked. "Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta do it."

"And don’t you think a leader should stand out? Be the one who owns the room the second he walks in?"

His lanky frame reshaped itself. His faded hoodie vanished, replaced with a fitted sleeveless top that showed off his suddenly sculpted arms. His hair lightened into platinum blond waves, his lips curling into an easy, flirtatious smirk.

I stepped back, surveying my work. "Because you’re not just a band anymore," I said, cementing the final piece of the transformation. "You’re a boyband. The next big thing.  You’re not deep, and you’re not original, but... damn you’re hot.”

They took another long look at themselves, processing their new forms, their new energy. Slowly, expressions of hesitation melted into confidence.

"I can't believe this is happening," one of them finally breathed.

“But you want it,” I said, looking at the new band in the reflection.  They couldn’t take their eyes off each other.  “Don’t you?”

“Hell yeah,” the leader said, speaking for the group.  I blinked and the men in the room changed, suddenly mirroring their reflections.  “This is like... so totally awesome!”

“Now you get it,” Lucas grinned, clapping the leader on the back.  “Now... Jake’s giving me a lift to Chicago.  Y’all ready to blow this town?”

“I already did,” the badboy chuckled darkly.  “At least...most of it.”

Excitement crackled in the air as they rushed to pack. The apartment was a flurry of activity—guitars in cases, speakers dragged down the stairs, notebooks full of half-written lyrics stuffed into backpacks.

Someone tossed their keys in the mailbox with a carefree laugh. "We’ll call the landlord tomorrow!" one of them shouted. "Right now, we’ve got to hit the road!"

I loaded Lucas and the bad boy into my car, while the rest piled into their van. The engine revved, headlights cutting through the night.

"Meet us at NEON in Chicago!" I called out.  “That’s your first gig!”

The newly minted leader honked his horn in response before peeling onto the highway, van bursting with energy. I smirked as I shifted into gear.

I was late, but I was having fun.

------

The highway stretched out before us, dark and seemingly endless, the only light coming from the occasional truck stop or gas station sign flickering in the night. Lucas sat in the passenger seat, one leg pulled up onto the seat, humming to himself, while the bad boy lounged in the back, tapping his fingers against the doorframe in an idle rhythm.

"No, dude, listen," Lucas was saying, twisting slightly to glance back at the bad boy. "Do you think a guy can be, like, too hot to be in a band?"

The bad boy snorted. "Nah, man. If anything, being hot makes you more of a rockstar. Like, Mick Jagger? Ugly-hot. Harry Styles? Just hot-hot."

Lucas nodded sagely. "Yeah, but, like, what if people only like the music 'cause the guy is super hot? What if, deep down, the music sucks, but no one cares 'cause they’re distracted by my abs?"

The bad boy tapped his chin. "Okay, okay, but, like, what if it doesn’t matter? What if the music is just part of the package? Like, you wouldn’t complain about a burger being too juicy."

Lucas gasped. "Dude. That’s so smart. A band is like a burger. The music is the patty, the looks are the bun, and the vibe is, like, the sauce."

The bad boy pointed at him. "Exactly. And some guys are, like, all sauce and no patty, you know?"

I drummed my fingers against the wheel, my irritation creeping in. "You know, sometimes this whole thing gets exhausting."

Lucas looked over at me, tilting his head. "What thing?"

I sighed. "Himbos. You're great in bed, you're fun at parties, but outside the bedroom, the vapid thing? It can get boring. I like the hunt. I like the challenge. But after the transformation… it’s all the same."

The bad boy let out a short laugh. "Dude, you sound like my ex."

I raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. "And how’d that turn out for him?"

He just grinned, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair.

“He got over it,” the badboy said, rubbing his cock through tight leather pants.  “Dude couldn’t resist this cock.”

Lucas, oblivious, stretched and let out a happy sigh. "I dunno, Jake. I think being happy all the time is, like, really nice? Why think so much when you can just… enjoy stuff?"

I exhaled sharply. "That’s exactly what I mean. You don’t get it."

Lucas pouted. "Aw, that’s sad. You should feel better."

He shifted, reaching over to unbuckle his seatbelt, sliding down toward my lap with a smirk. "Lemme help with that, okay?”

I got road head for about ten miles.  After I came, Lucas took over the wheel, a dribble of my cum drying on his chin.

-----

The low hum of soft rock filtered through the car speakers as I blinked awake, the neon lights of Chicago flickering in the early morning haze. Lucas was at the wheel, his fingers tapping an easy rhythm against the steering wheel, nodding along to the beat. The bad boy was sprawled across the backseat, dead to the world.

I stretched, rubbing the stiffness out of my neck as I glanced at the road signs. "We’re almost there," I murmured, then gave the rocker a few quick directions. "Take the next exit, head toward Boystown."

"Isn’t it early?" he asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Nah," I smirked. "It’s late. Club’s closed for a couple hours, but the owner lives upstairs. He’s probably still up."

I pulled out my phone and hit a familiar number. A few rings later, a breathy chuckle answered. "Jake."

"Hey, man, you still up?"

A muffled groan, some movement, and the unmistakable sound of a wet slurp. "I mean… technically, yeah."

I chuckled. "I’m pulling up to NEON now. Got your surprise."

"Damn, Jake, I'm kinda in the middle of things... But, whatever... Bring him up."

We pulled up in front of NEON, the sidewalk covered in cigarette butts and condom wrappers from the night before. I stepped out and stretched before leading the Lucas and the bad boy upstairs. Time to introduce them to their new life.

Greg met us at the door in a silk bathrobe, his graying hair slightly tousled, a glass of something amber in his hand. Behind him, two eager twunks hovered, looking impatient to drag him back to bed. He grinned when he saw me.

"Jake, you bastard, it’s been too long. And you brought me a present."

I smirked. "Two, actually. Lucas here, and one of this bandmates."

Greg eyed them appreciatively, nodding in approval. "I can find something for these two..."

"Actually, it’s five," I corrected. "The others should be along soon. A full boyband."

The glam rocker practically squealed. "Oh my god, we're like... amazing!"

"Best thing ever!" the bad boy agreed, still half-asleep but grinning.

Greg chuckled, shaking his head. "You always know how to make an entrance, Jake. Thought maybe you’d retired."

"What if I did?" I asked.

"Shame," Greg said, taking a sip of his drink. "We’re having trouble finding staff. Down a bouncer, a couple of go-go boys… Nobody makes guys like you."

I leaned against the doorframe. "You working someone else now?"

Greg hesitated, then looked a little embarrassed. "No, but Rod Monroe started a hunk farm down in Texas. Sent a couple of my older twinks there for… re-training."

"Could be worse. Anyway, take care of these guys for me, yeah? Don’t know when I’ll be back through."

"Come back tonight," Greg said, clapping me on the shoulder. "It’s always dead on Wednesdays. We’ll have a beer, watch these guys on stage."

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’m pretty tired. But yeah, if I’m feeling it."

------

With my car emptied of himbos, I drove across town, weaving through early morning traffic until I reached a towering corporate office. I pulled into guest parking and turned off the engine, taking a moment to gather myself before stepping out. The mirrored glass of the building loomed over me as I entered the lobby.

The receptionist barely looked up as I approached. "Can I help you?"

"I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Montgomery," I said smoothly.

She eyed me skeptically, then picked up the phone. A few murmured words later, she gave a slow nod. "Top floor. The elevator will take you right up."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I stepped into the elevator, watching the numbers climb. When the doors opened, a tall, impeccably dressed aide was waiting for me, a black silk blindfold in his hands.

I sighed. "This again?"

The aide gave a tight smile. "Mr. Montgomery insists."

With a reluctant shake of my head, I let the blindfold be secured over my eyes and allowed myself to be led forward. I felt plush carpet underfoot, the faintest scent of expensive cologne filling the air. The footsteps of the aide never faltered, guiding me further into the room before he gently pressed a hand to my shoulder, stopping me.

"Mr. Montgomery," the aide announced formally.

"Jake!" Montgomery’s voice boomed. I could hear the slight shuffle of movement, the weight of his presence across the room. "Why won’t you just stay in town? I’ll set you up in a penthouse suite. The nicest hotel in Chicago. Whatever you want."

I chuckled, rolling my shoulders. "That’s not my vibe. I like going my own way."

Montgomery sighed dramatically. "If you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to make you a kept man. Think about it."

My fingers twitched. I considered taking care of Montgomery right then and there, but even blindfolded, I could feel the ward – a magical protection spell – humming across the room. One mistake, and I’d be the one left drooling, trapped in a life of mindless hedonism. Not worth the risk.

"Sorry," I said, flashing a grin despite the fabric covering my eyes. "I’ve got promises to keep. Now… what can I do for you?"

Montgomery let out a satisfied sigh, the sound of a man pleased with his own machinations. "I have a target for you, Jake," he said, settling back into his chair. "Spencer Shaw."

I frowned slightly, turning the name over in my mind. "Youngest son of Zeke Shaw?"

Montgomery chuckled. "That’s the one. Chicago’s answer to Mark Zuckerberg. His father’s getting ready to retire, and out of all his kids, Spencer is the only one with any real business sense. That’s a problem for me."

"You need a subtle touch," I nodded, trying not to let the blindfold bother me.

"Exactly," Montgomery confirmed. "Nothing too drastic. I need him more obsessed with cocks than cashflow. His father can’t suspect a thing—at least, not until the company’s circling the drain and I buy it for pennies on the dollar."

I smirked. "So, light touch, but enough to get him off track."

"Precisely. My secretary will give you his file," Montgomery said. "Spencer works out at a private gym every day at noon. That’s your opportunity."

-----

The private gym had the kind of exclusivity that only came with obscene wealth. No signage, just an unmarked glass door with a biometric scanner. I got in easy enough—Montgomery had scored me a membership, let’s not even think about how much it cost.

Inside, it smelled like eucalyptus and money.

Spencer Shaw didn’t take long to find — he was lounging in the sauna, a towel slung low on his hips, tapping messages on his phone despite the steam. He didn’t even glance at me as I took a seat across from him.

I let a few moments pass before clearing my throat. "So, this place always this quiet?"

“Private gym,” he said, barely looking up. "Members only."

"Figured," I said, leaning back. "I just moved to the area. Thought I’d check it out."

"That right?" He sounded disinterested, still tapping out text messages.  I’ve met plenty of guys like that – they never stop working... at least not until I do my thing.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to bait a hook.  I needed him in front of a mirror.  “Thought maybe a regular could show me around."

"We have staff for that,” Spencer snorted.

Fair enough. I let the heat do its work, watching him through the steam. Spencer was the type of guy who had never had to make friends and it showed. Thirty-two years old, rich beyond reason, and a personality as charming as a tax audit. He had a mean smirk, the kind that made it clear he enjoyed watching people squirm. Just the type to burn down an empire without anyone noticing.

I stayed put, waiting him out. Eventually, he sighed, swiped off his phone, and stood.

”Later, newbie.”

I followed him out into the locker room. When he turned and saw me, his easy smirk twisted into something sharper.

"Okay, what the fuck?" he snapped. "You trying to use me for something?"

I smiled, stepping closer.

"Oh, you’ll get used.  Look over there.”

Once he glanced at the mirror, I had him.  It was just a matter of doing my magic.

“So Spencer... did you always want to be a CEO?” I asked.

“I dunno, newbie,” he shrugged, looking at his half-naked reflection.  “It was always gonna happen.  My loser brothers were never gonna take the reins.”

“But you clearly like the gym,” I suggested, watching as his reflection in the mirror changed subtly.  Definition sharpened under his skin, his body fat melting down to a precise 6%, his torso leaning into something out of an influencer's wet dream. His towel slipped lower as his pupils dilated, lips parting.

“Yeah,” he said, staring in wonder at his reflection.  “Wow... okay, yeah, I always wanted to have those abs... but can you pump up my muscles too?  Like... big enough that I’m sort of busting out of a suit, you know?”

“I’m sorry Spencer,” I said with a wry smile.  “You’re not the client today.  I think you need to chill out a little.  Let yourself off that CEO treadmill – you’ve already got it on lockdown.

The changes were subtle. A softening in his eyes, a widening of his stance. His breath hitched as he felt his mind relax for the first time in years.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. "This feels—"

"Good?" I supplied.

He nodded frantically, hands running over his newly sculpted chest, his abs. Then, his hand dipped lower. "More. Make me bigger. Please."

I chuckled. "We’ve got to keep it subtle, remember?" I tsked, watching his cock grow under the towel. "We wouldn’t want dear old dad noticing, would we?"

Spencer whined, frustrated but desperate. "But I—"

"No buts," I said. “Look at that cock... I bet you’re a fan, right?  A slutty gay bottom who only thinks about his next fuck?”

“Wait... what?” Spencer said, trying to glance away from the mirror.  “I’m not –“

“Of course you are,” I said.  “Straight men don’t have those abs.  And everyone knows gay cocks are bigger than straight ones.”

It sounded like the truth to him, so it became his truth.  Spencer’s eyes were still fixed on the mirror, but they were looking at me as I stood behind him.  He looked hungry for my cock.

And under his towel, I watched his grow too.

”And…” I continued.  “Since you’re so eager, let’s make things interesting.  Look around the room... I see a few pairs of sneakers here.  That’s your kink, right?  Smelling them?  Stealing them?  Buying them?”

Spencer shivered as something clicked in his brain. His gaze darted downward, fixating on the sneakers in his locker like they were the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

"Shit," he muttered, pressing his thighs together. "What did you –“

“I didn’t do anything,” I said.  “Not yet.  You don’t get the abs or the cock or the thrill of those sneakers... not unless you want it.”

“I want it,” he babbled, too mindfucked to disagree.  “I want it all.”

"Enjoy," I smirked. "You’re gonna love this.”

I gave him a pair of my signature briefs before I went.  They barely fit his giant new cock.

-----

As I stepped out of the gym, the cool Chicago air hit me like a reset button. The city was waking up, but I was already ready to crash. My phone buzzed before I could even think about where I was headed next.

"Yeah?" I answered, already knowing who it was.

"How’d it go with Montgomery’s request?" Alan's voice was casual, but I could hear the tension underneath.

"Fine. Let him know it’s done."

There was a beat of silence, then Alan sighed. "Look, I know it was a rush job, but—"

“Yeah, about that – don’t send me on another one of these last-minute gigs again," I cut in, voice sharp. "Or I’ll drive straight to LA and I won’t leave until you’re a braindead cockslut blowing dudes on Sunset for rent money."

A long pause. Then, a quiet "Got it. My bad."

Another pause.

"You know we’re a good team, right?"

"Sure," I said, not bothering to hide my exhaustion. "I’m gonna find a hotel and grab a few hours of sleep."

"Yeah, you do that," Alan muttered. "I’ll let Montgomery know it's done. Your next appointment isn't til six, so maybe take a few hours for yourself."

I hung up and exhaled, rubbing my eyes. I needed a room. Preferably one with blackout curtains.

-----

I found a nice hotel near my next appointment, one of those anonymous towers. The kind of place where the sheets felt like clouds and the walls were thick enough to keep secrets.

The bell boy, a fresh-faced kid with too much enthusiasm for this time of the day, took my bag with a practiced smile. "Welcome to the St. Regis, sir. Staying long?"

"One night," I said, sliding my sunglasses down my nose as I watched him hoist my bag onto the luggage cart. "Got an early start tomorrow."

He nodded, tapping the elevator call button. "Well, we’ve got a great spa, if you’re looking to unwind."

I smirked. "Oh, I know exactly how to unwind.”

We got into the elevator.  Yeah, there was a mirror.

“So... did you always want to be a bellboy?”

“Uh... no,” he chuckled.  “I’m in law school.”

“No you’re not,” I said quickly.  “You’re a slutty gay gymrat who only works this job because you get to blow the occasional guest, isn’t that right?”

His mirror image changed in an instant.  His muscles swelled, his outfit strained to fit him, and the look in his eye...

It’s not just big muscles though.  There was a softening in his expression, a little more slack to his posture. His lips parted slightly, his gaze shifting from polished professionalism to something looser, needier. His shoulders widened just a little, his uniform stretching just enough to hint at something more sculpted underneath. His eyes grew hazy, his stance more casual, his hands twitching like he was suddenly aware of his own body in a brand new way.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said.  And suddenly my wish was made real, a slutty gay bellboy standing next to me, bursting out of his clothes.

Look... elevator rides don’t take long.  You need an elevator pitch.

When we reached my floor, he wheeled my bag inside and set it down neatly. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

I let the door swing shut behind me. "Yeah," I said, stepping closer, letting the air thicken between us. "You can stay."

His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t back away. Good.

"You’re gonna love this," I murmured, guiding him to the bed. I hated sleeping alone.

----

My alarm jolted me awake a few hours later, the faint beeping cutting through the quiet of the hotel room. I stretched, my arm draped over the fabulous ass I had gifted the bell boy. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

"Mmm… too early," he muttered. "Clubs aren’t even open yet. Let’s go back to bed."

I chuckled, rolling onto my back and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Yeah, that’s not happening. Some of us have work to do."

I slid out of bed, grabbed a pair of my signature pink briefs from my bag, and tossed them at him. "You’d better get back to work before they send a search party."

He pouted but sat up, tugging the briefs on. His uniform, now a size too small to contain his enhanced frame, stretched comically tight as he buttoned it up. He kissed me lazily on his way out. "Call me next time you’re in town."

I just smirked as the door clicked shut behind him.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I checked my messages. My appointment was in an hour. I took a quick shower, letting the hot water work out the tension in my muscles, then checked the details.

I laughed.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

The name of the client? Peter Shaw. Zeke Shaw’s oldest son.

Still grinning, I stepped out onto the street, heading to a nearby bar. It wasn’t hard to spot him—a well-dressed, middle-aged man sitting alone at a table, sipping something expensive.

I approached, confirming his name. "Peter, right?"

He glanced up, giving me an assessing look. "That’s me."

"I'm Jake," I said, sliding into the seat across from him. "What’s the job?"

Peter sighed, setting his drink down with deliberate care. "My father is about to make a massive mistake. He's planning to promote my little brother to CEO of our family company."

I leaned back in my chair, watching him carefully. "And that’s a problem for you?"

Peter scoffed. "That position rightfully belongs to me. I’ve spent years preparing for it. Spencer? He’s barely competent. But my father’s obsessed with degrees and experience... it's my damned birthright.  I'm the oldest, I should be the CEO."

I nodded slowly. "And you think I can fix that."

Peter smiled, a slow, knowing grin. "I’ve heard about you, Jake. I know what you do. And I know you work with Montgomery on a lot of… radical life decisions."

I exhaled through my nose. "So, you want your little brother turned into a full-blown himbo?"

Peter nodded. "Not just any himbo. The most outrageous one you can manage. Giant muscles, ridiculous fashion sense, blond hair, and a dumb, blissful expression. I want my father to take one look at him and realize there’s no way in hell he can run a company."

I considered the offer. On one hand, Montgomery was going to be pissed if he caught wind of this. On the other hand, Peter was the client, and the client gets what he wants.  Besides... Montgomery thinks that he owns me – maybe it was time to push back a little.

"Okay," I said, drumming my fingers against the table. "Where do I find him?"

------

As soon as the door swung open, Spencer lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Hey newbie," he purred, leaning against the doorframe in nothing but a pair of my pink briefs. "Back for more?"

I smirked, stepping past him into the sleek, modern space. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, everything decorated in chrome and glass.

"Let’s find a mirror—looks like all your wishes are about to come true."

Spencer practically bounced after me as I strode toward the bedroom, where a massive, gilt-framed mirror hung above a dresser. Perfect. I turned to him, tilting my head. "Ready for the next level?"

His eager nod was all I needed. I lifted a hand, tracing a slow, deliberate pattern in the air. Spencer's reflection flickered, his already impressive form shifting before his very eyes.

"First, let’s give you the body to match that attitude," I murmured.

His muscles swelled, pecs ballooning outward, arms thickening with powerful biceps. His abs carved themselves into a deep, perfect six-pack, his shoulders broadening, his waist tightening into a sculpted V. His thighs, already toned, thickened with impossible definition, pushing the limits of his briefs.

Spencer moaned, running his hands over his chest. "Fuck, Daddy, this feels so good."

I grinned. "We’re just getting started."

His hair lightened, shifting from its natural brown to a blatantly artificial blond, styled high and perfect like some Instagram model’s wet dream. His face softened, eyes widening into something vacantly pretty, lips plumping into a pout that practically begged to be used.

"And now," I whispered. ”Let’s dial down all that pesky thinking."

His brow furrowed for a second—then smoothed out entirely. His jaw slackened, eyes glazing as his entire expression melted into a look of pure, blissed-out pleasure.

"Uhhh," he sighed dreamily, blinking at himself in the mirror. "Bro, I look—like—so fuckin’ good."

I let the magic settle, admiring my handiwork. Gone was the sharp businessman with too much ambition for his own good. In his place stood a mountain of muscle, a golden-haired himbo with a body built for thirst traps and a brain that had been dialed down to the lowest setting.

"So?" I teased. "How do you feel, Spencer?"

He beamed at me, flexing in the mirror. "Like…uhhh…so awesome, dude. Like, I just wanna party and, like…feel good all the time, y’know?"

I patted his shoulder. "That’s the idea."

He turned to me suddenly, eyes pleading. "Daddy, can you make me even bigger? Like, HUGE?”

“Well... okay,” I grinned.  “Say... 20% bigger?”

His reflection blew up even more.  XXL shirts weren’t going to be enough for him anymore.  Whatever – I got the idea all his clothes were tailored.

“Only that big?” Spencer pouted, looking genuinely devastated for all of two seconds before something else distracted him—his own reflection. He stared at himself in awe, flexing his biceps and biting his lip.

I smirked, clapping him on the back. "Enjoy, buddy. You’re gonna have the time of your life."

----

I wandered through Boystown, hands shoved in my pockets, taking in the neon glow of the clubs and the steady hum of nightlife that never quite stopped. The job was done. Spencer was a walking wet dream now, all muscle and no thoughts, exactly what Peter had ordered. It should have felt like just another gig.

But I knew better.

Montgomery was going to find out eventually, and when he did, he’d be pissed. Whether that meant a business grudge or something more personal, I wasn’t sure yet. And Peter? He was the kind of guy who got what he wanted—until he didn’t. Sooner or later, he’d figure out a way to make himself my problem again.

I sighed, shaking my head.

The answer was almost certainly yes—this would come back to haunt me. It always did.

Still, there was nothing to do about it now. I had a few hours to kill, and I wasn’t the kind of guy to waste them.

NEON was packed when I got there, the energy buzzing through the club like an electric current. Bodies moved under flashing lights, drinks clinked, and the bass thumped through the floor in deep, rhythmic pulses.

I pushed through the crowd, making my way to the bar.

"Hey, seen Greg?"

The bartender jerked a thumb toward the VIP section. "He’s over there. Having a great night, thanks to you.”

I remembered the bartender.  He used to be a history major, but now he looked great in a tanktop.  The tradeoffs we make in life.

I smirked and made my way through the crush of people. Greg spotted me before I reached him, grinning wide as he threw an arm around my shoulder. "Jake, my friend, you were right. This was a surprise."

We turned to face the stage as the music changed, an unmistakable opening beat kicking in. A choreographed light display lit up the stage, and then they appeared—Lucas and his band, dressed in coordinated outfits, launching into a polished rendition of Bye Bye Bye.

The crowd lost their minds.

Lucas hit every note with effortless charm, his voice smooth, his movements practiced like he was born to be there. The rest of the band moved in sync, their bodies rolling and flexing in perfect rhythm.

Greg leaned in, barely audible over the screams. "They’re fucking killing it."

I just nodded, watching Lucas strut across the stage like he owned it.

For all the chaos of the day, at least this had gone right.

I let myself enjoy it, soaking in the lights, the music, the energy of a packed club losing itself to the spectacle. It had been one hell of a day—but this? This was a damn good ending.

------

I stepped into the lobby of my hotel, exhaustion settling in, only to spot a familiar face by the front desk. The bellboy—still wearing the snug uniform that barely contained the body I’d gifted him—was laughing as he tapped away at his phone. His face lit up when he saw me.

"Hey!" he grinned. "Just got off shift. I was about to head to NEON—everyone’s texting me about how insane it is tonight."

I smirked, slipping my hands into my pockets. "Yeah, I was just there. It’s a wild one."

He practically bounced on his heels, eyes sparkling with excitement. "FOMO’s hitting hard, man. Feels like the whole city’s there."

I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough to make his breath hitch. "You can go some other time… but if you want an amazing night, come with me."

His lips parted slightly, pupils dilating as the words sank in. He swallowed, suddenly less interested in whatever was happening at NEON.

He hesitated for half a second before pocketing his phone. "Can I help you to your room?"

I turned toward the elevators, knowing he’d follow.