Fortunate Himbo

Morning light poured into the soft suite like warm honey. Marcus woke still soft—breasts rising with every breath, nine thick inches already hard against a smooth thigh, the rose-gold favors humming in quiet pink contentment. The two other bimbo transwomen on the wide mattress stirred with the same vacant, happy stretches, soft hands drifting to soft tits and heavier cocks without thought.

The door opened. Sandra, Claire, Lena, and Ingrid entered with a small velvet tray that held only one new strand: a heavy green-and-gold charm, thicker than any previous favor, the cubes almost glowing.

Sandra smiled down at the soft, pretty, hung bimbo in the center of the bed.

“Time for the other side again, Marcus. And this time we’re going all the way.”

She unclipped every rose-gold and green-and-pink strand from that slender throat. For a single breath the soft body remained. Then she fastened the new heavy green-and-gold charm.

The change hit like a controlled avalanche.

Soft breasts melted back into solid pectoral muscle. The narrow waist thickened into a powerful core. Hips straightened. Shoulders and arms packed on heavy, functional mass. Facial features firmed into a strong, handsome, vacant structure. The voice dropped into a deep, slow register. And the cock—already large—surged again in heavy, irreversible pulses.

Ten full inches.

Six-and-a-half inches of thick, veined girth.

The shaft rose like a weapon, heavy enough to need a real hand to lift, the head flared and already dripping. The final wave settled behind the eyes as pure, happy static. Every complicated thought simply… left. What remained was the simplest possible loop:

*Big cock. Feel good. Fuck. Smile. Big cock.*

Marcus—now fully Fortunate Himbo Marcus—looked down at the monster between his legs, wrapped one large hand around as much of the 6.5-inch girth as possible, and gave a slow, awed, completely empty grin.

“Whoooaaa… it’s… really big.”

Claire laughed out loud and gave the thick shaft an experimental two-handed stroke. Her fingers didn’t meet.

“Ten inches long, six-and-a-half around, and dumb as a stick. Perfect. You’re going to be everyone’s favorite fuck.”

Ingrid’s voice was calm and final.

“Himbo configuration locked at maximum. Cognitive capacity reduced to basic response and pleasure. Physical output maximized. Cock size permanent. He stays in this state for the rest of the conditioning cycle. The other himbos remain as support. The bimbo transwomen remain soft and available for variety. Marcus is now the primary.”

Lena scanned him once with the tablet and nodded.

“Confirmed. 10 inches length, 6.5 inches girth. Muscle density elevated. Verbal fluency floor-level. Arousal and compliance at ceiling. He’s going to be very popular.”

They dressed him in almost nothing—open shirt that couldn’t close over the new chest, trousers that had to be left undone to make room for the constant heavy bulge. The other hung himbos received minor top-up charms that kept them large and simple but still a step below Marcus’s new monster. The bimbo transwomen were left soft and pretty, their own thick cocks still impressive but clearly second to the ten-inch landmark now standing in the center of the room.

The lounge had been rearranged overnight into an open demonstration floor. Every senior woman who had stayed on campus, plus several who had returned specifically for this, waited in a loose semicircle. When Fortunate Himbo Marcus walked in, ten thick inches swinging, the reaction was immediate and hungry.

Sandra made the announcement with open pride.

“This is Marcus. Ten inches, six-and-a-half around, dumb as a stick, and permanently ready. He is now the primary service himbo for female leadership. The rest of the hung cohort supports. The soft bimbos provide contrast and extra fun. Questions are unnecessary—he doesn’t have answers anyway.”

Marcus stood where he was pointed, massive cock already rising to full mast under the collective attention, and gave the room the same slow, empty smile.

“Big cock… ready…”

Claire was first.

She pushed him onto a wide padded bench on his back. The ten-inch shaft stood straight up like a monument. She swung a leg over, positioned herself, and began to sink down. Even with the previous nights of oversized use it took time; the 6.5-inch girth stretched her in a slow, visible burn until she finally bottomed out, seated flush against his hips, completely full.

“Fuck… that’s the one,” she breathed. She began to ride in deep, grinding circles, both hands braced on his solid chest. “Talk, himbo. Tell us what you are.”

Marcus’s deep voice came out slow and happy, timed to the wet slide of the monster cock.

“Fortunate… himbo… ten inches… really thick… dumb… like fuckin’… favorite…”

Claire came hard within minutes, stayed impaled until the tremors passed, then lifted off with a wet sound and a shaky laugh. The next woman took her place immediately. Then the next. Marcus stayed on his back, thrusting upward in powerful, automatic strokes whenever a woman wanted more force, holding perfectly still when she wanted to control the depth. The heavy green-and-gold charm kept the ten-inch cock rigidly hard through every orgasm he delivered and every orgasm that was pulled from his own simple body.

He became, exactly as promised, everyone’s favorite fuck.

Women who had previously rotated between several himbos and bimbos now waited their turn for Marcus specifically. They commented openly while they used him.

“Look at the size of that thing. It doesn’t even look real.”

“He’s so fucking dumb. You can say anything and he just smiles and keeps that monster hard.”

“Best cock on the floor. Best empty head too. I’m scheduling him daily.”

Between primary rides the support himbos and soft bimbo transwomen were used around him for variety, but the center of gravity never left the ten-inch shaft. Marcus was bent over benches so women could take him from behind while stroking the heavy hanging meat. He was placed on all fours so one woman could ride the cock while another sat on his face. He was ordered to stand and flex while two women stroked the thick shaft together, marveling at the girth their fingers couldn’t close around. Every time he came—thick, heavy pulses that seemed to match the oversized equipment—the charm simply reset him to full hardness within a minute, empty smile never fading.

Midday turned into a deliberate endurance demonstration.

Marcus was positioned on a reinforced platform in the center of the room. A rotating line of women took timed turns: five minutes each, any position they wanted, with the explicit goal of seeing how long the dumb himbo could keep delivering. The support himbos were stationed at the corners to handle overflow. The bimbo transwomen were arranged in a pretty row nearby, stroking their own thick cocks while they watched their former soft companion—now the ultimate masculine fuck-toy—get used without pause.

Marcus lost count of partners. The pink-and-gold static in his head made counting unnecessary. There was only the next wet heat sliding down the ten-inch shaft, the next pair of hands on his chest or hips, the next voice telling him he was a good dumb himbo with a perfect monster cock. He came when they allowed it, stayed hard when they required it, and answered every question with the same slow, happy fragments.

“Ten inches… six-and-a-half thick… dumb as a stick… favorite fuck… big cock feels good…”

By the time the timed line ended, more than twenty women had taken a turn. Marcus still lay on the platform with the massive cock standing at full attention, glistening, a slow trickle of multiple loads running down the shaft. His expression remained the same vacant, contented grin.

Ingrid stepped up, wrapped both hands around the thick girth, and gave it a proprietary test-stroke.

“Still ready. Still empty. Still perfect. You’re going to live in the executive suite from now on. Calendar will be full. The other himbos and the soft bimbos will support when volume requires it, but you are the primary. Understand?”

Marcus nodded slowly, hips giving an instinctive little thrust into her hands.

“Primary… big cock… favorite… ready…”

“Good boy.”

Afternoon was pure free-use celebration of the new configuration.

Women came and went from the lounge in a steady stream. Some scheduled official “meetings.” Some simply walked in, pointed at the ten-inch cock, and climbed on. Marcus was moved from platform to couch to reinforced table as needed. He fucked in every position the women invented, always with the same powerful, automatic stamina and the same deep, dumb happiness. When a woman wanted to feel completely stretched she chose him. When a woman wanted to watch something oversized disappear inside a soft bimbo transwoman she ordered Marcus to do the honors while she played with the bimbo’s own thick cock. When a woman simply wanted to sit on a face and stare at a monster cock while she ground out an orgasm, Marcus’s vacant smile and ten thick inches were right there.

The support himbos and soft bimbos worked steadily around him, but every conversation drifted back to the primary.

“Have you taken Marcus yet?”

“That ten-incher is ridiculous. And he just keeps smiling.”

“Dumbest, best fuck on the entire campus. I’m putting him on permanent rotation.”

Late in the day Sandra brought out one final heavy green-and-gold charm and added it over the first. The effect was subtle but absolute: the last micro-traces of anything that wasn’t cock, pleasure, or obedience simply vanished. Marcus’s verbal range shrank to a handful of happy phrases. His smile became permanent. The ten-inch, 6.5-inch-girth monster cock settled into a state of near-constant full hardness, only softening for the briefest moments after the most intense orgasms before the charm forced it back up.

Ingrid used him last.

She had him on his back on the central platform, full executive skirt already raised. She sank down onto the thick shaft in one long, controlled descent until she was completely full, then rode him with slow, authoritative rolls of her hips.

“This is your life now, Marcus. Ten inches. Six-and-a-half around. Dumb as a stick. Everyone’s favorite fuck. You will stay in the suite. You will stay hard. You will smile. You will deliver exactly this for whoever’s name is on the calendar. Say it.”

Marcus’s deep voice was pure happy static.

“Ten inches… six-and-a-half thick… dumb as a stick… everyone’s favorite fuck… stay hard… smile… deliver…”

Ingrid came with a low, satisfied sound, stayed seated until she finished using him, then lifted off and smoothed her skirt.

“Locked.”

The room gradually emptied. The support himbos were dismissed to their own quarters. The soft bimbo transwomen were led away with gentle pats and promises they would still be used often. Marcus remained on the platform until Sandra and Lena cleaned the heavy cock, dressed him in an open robe that did nothing to hide the permanent bulge, and walked him to the newly designated primary himbo suite on the executive floor.

The suite was simple and perfect: oversized bed, mirrored walls, a calendar screen already filling with names, and a standing order that the door stayed unlocked during business hours.

Marcus stood in front of the mirror once he was alone.

Broad. Powerful. Handsome in a completely empty way.

And hanging down the front of the open robe, already twitching back toward full hardness, the ten-inch, 6.5-inch-thick monster cock that had just made him everyone’s favorite fuck.

He wrapped one big hand around it, gave a slow stroke, and watched the vacant smile on his own face with pure, dumb delight.

“Big cock… favorite… ready…”

The heavy green-and-gold charms hummed in perfect agreement.

Tomorrow the calendar would start.

And Fortunate Himbo Marcus—ten thick inches, dumb as a stick, permanently hard and smiling—would be right there waiting for whoever wanted their turn on the best cock in the building.