"I can't believe I fuckin' agreed to this." Chris sighed as he shifted uncomfortably on the hard, plastic chair, "This is definitely overkill."
The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the makeshift dunk tank setup in the middle of the bustling tailgate party. Laughter and chatter filled the air as fans milled about, while eyeing the football star perched precariously above the water.
Chris couldn't meet their gazes. After his drunken social media rant went viral and pissed off the entire town, he'd been forced to agree to this humiliating spectacle as penance. But as he gazed out at the sea of camouflage hats, flannel shirts, and pickup trucks, he couldn't help but think that maybe he hadn't been entirely wrong in his assessment of this place. The whole damn town reeked of pig shit and ignorance.
"Step right up to say hello to our resident football star!" The dunk tank operator's voice boomed out over the crackling loudspeaker, "Chris Mason is here and ready! Y'all know what he said last weekend!" The crowd booed, "That's right folks, this city slicker thinks he's too good for us!" The operator continued, clearly relishing the opportunity to publicly humiliate the disgraced athlete. "So step on up and show him how we do things 'round these parts!"
A line quickly formed- one by one they stepped up to the mark, sizes ranging from wiry farmhands to barrel-chested factory workers.
"Hah! Look at 'im squirm!" Cackled one patron.
Chris watched as it hit the target dead-on. He could feel the chair underneath him to give way.
"Oh shi…!" Chris plunged into the cold water beneath him.
Chris surfaced from the frigid dunk tank water, sputtering indignantly as he hauled himself back onto the seat. His lean, muscular frame glistened in the sunlight, water streaming down his handsome features.
"Whatever." he muttered under his breath, trying to ignore their laughter. "Think they're so fuckin' clever." Despite the embarrassment of the public humiliation, he knew he looked good- his toned physique on full display, "Let them laugh." A smirk played across his lips as he scanned the crowd, "Bunch of…"
Chris's thoughts were interrupted as his gaze landed on some nearby cars. He was expecting to spot his sleek sports car among the sea of pickup trucks, yet there was no sign of his ride. In the spot that he knew he parked his car was instead an old, rusty pick-up truck.
"Hey! Where's my car?" Chris called out to the dunk tank operator, his brow furrowed in confusion. "It was right there, I swear!"
"Don't you worry none 'bout that, son. We gotcha covered. Ain't nobody gonna be needin' a fancy sports car 'round these parts anyway."
Something about the man's tone set Chris on edge, "What does that even mean? Seriously man, my car…" He can't even finish a sentence as the chair gives out from under him once again, "Oh fuck!" He plunged into the icy water beneath him.
"Ahhh, fuck me," Chris groaned as he resurfaced for the second time, shaking the water from his hair, "Seriously, my car..." His voice trailed off as a new desire filled his mind, "What...?"
He couldn't name it, but as his eyes drifted over the crowd, taking in the sight of the locals guzzling from cans of cheap lager and lighting up cigarettes with practiced ease- to his shock, he found himself almost salivating at the thought of joining them. He looked over at the dunk tank operator, who was lighting up a cigarette of his own.
"Hey uh…" Chris paused, unable to process what he was about to ask, "… you got a spare smoke?" The words felt foreign on his tongue. Wrong. His body was a temple. Smoking? He didn't smoke.
The operator just grinned, "Thought ya might be askin'. Here ya go, son." He tossed a cig and a cheap lighter over to Chris.
"No no no no.." Chris fumbled with the lighter, his hands unsteady. "What am I doing?" he muttered, the confusion and dread rising inside him. He lit the cigarette, brought it to his lips, and inhaled deeply. The harsh smoke filled his lungs, burning like fire.
But somehow, it also felt strangely comforting, like coming home. He coughed slightly, then exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it dissipate, "Shit," he whispered, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of it all.
But he didn't have much time to process as he was once again plunged into the icy waters below.
"Goddamn it!" Chris cursed as he broke the surface once more, gasping for air, "Ugh fuck..."
His stomach hurt. Bad. And as he ran a hand over his abdomen, he froze. His abs... gone? He looked down, confirming what he was feeling- a soft paunch instead of his rock-hard abdominals. His chest felt different too, slightly hairier than usual. Hadn't he just shaved yesterday morning? Confusion swirled in his mind as he tried to rationalize the changes.
"Looks like someone's lettin' themselves go!" One of the locals jeered, pointing at Chris's now pudgy midsection. His buddies snickered in agreement, the sound grating on Chris's nerves.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Chris snapped, his voice laced with irritation. "I'm in peak condition, asshole."
"Yeah, sure ya are," another local chimed in, his words slurred from too many beers. "Peak condition for a lazy good ol' boy, maybe!"
The insults stung more than Chris cared to admit. He was used to being admired for his athletic physique, not ridiculed for it. But this wasn't him. Something was definitely off about his body.
The dunk tank operator seemed to read his mind, a knowing smirk playing across his weathered face. "Best get used to it, son."
Chris stared at the operator in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. Get used to what exactly? Before he could demand an explanation, the chair gave way once more, plunging him into the icy depths below.
"Fuckin' bullshit!" Chris exclaimed, as he came back up, his arms flailing in frustration. He could feel a hot flush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks as he sputtered, spitting out water. He was done with this. Done with the jeering, the mockery, the bizarre changes to his body.
"I want the hell outta here, ya hear?" Chris demanded, turning to the dunk tank operator, "Ya better lemme outa here real quick-like or… or…" His words trailed off, "No, wait…"
"Or what, son?" The operator drawled, leaning back against the side of the tank, a smug grin plastered across his face. "Whatchu gonna do 'bout it?"
Chris opened his mouth to retort, but the words that came out sounded foreign to his own ears, "I… I ain't gonna take this no more, ya hear? This here's… this here's bullshit!" He cringed internally at the twang in his voice, the odd phrasing. What the hell was happening to him?
The operator just laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Sounds like somebody's gettin' awful worked up. Might wanna settle down 'fore ya say somethin' yer gonna regret, y'hear?"
Chris clenched his fists, anger and confusion warring within him.
"I ain't settlin' fer nuthin'," Chris growled, his voice low and threatening. Or at least, it would've been threatening if it weren't for the pronounced Southern drawl that colored every word. "Now ya best git me outta here 'fore I…"
Before he could finish the threat, the chair gave way once more, sending him plummeting into the icy depths below. Chris crashed into the water with a splutter, his breath stolen by the force of the impact. When he finally surfaced, gasping for air, his whole body felt… different. He glanced down, horror dawning on his face as he saw the unmistakable signs of change—his once-taut, chiseled muscles had grown bulkier, but not in the way he wanted. His arms had certainly grown larger, swelling obscenely, now sporting an excess of hair and girth that would rival even the largest of the local farm boys.
"Wha… wha's happenin' to me?!"
He ran trembling fingers over his chest, feeling an unfamiliar layer of softness atop his pectoral muscles. His meaty hands traveled south, where he cautiously poked at his belly. There was a distinct, rounded curve to his lower belly now, a noticeable gut that jutted outward. He gasped as his fingers sunk into the pliable flesh of his gut.
"This ain't… this cain't be happenin'." Chris muttered, panic seizing his chest. "What the fuck's goin' on?"
His stomach gurgled, demanding sustenance, and suddenly all he could think about was sinking his teeth into a greasy double bacon cheeseburger, followed by a thick slice of apple pie, and finishing it off with a couple of beers. This new body had no cravings for his carefully planned out macros.
"Oh mah god." Tears stung at his eyes.
He stared into the water as his face broadened- his features aging and settling into a rougher, coarser look. His stubble had thickened too, blanketing his cheeks in the beginnings of a small beard. Finally, the weight of his situation started to sink in. Gone was the chiseled, sculpted physique he had prided himself on. In its place was the body of a stereotypical redneck - big, burly, and unkempt. The type of man he had always scoffed at- the type of man who lived in this town.
"Please… Please lemme outta here!" Chris pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice as he turned to the dunk tank operator. "I don't… I don't wanna do this no more!"
"Aww, but we're just gettin' started, ain't we?" he drawled, his tone mocking.
Chris felt a chill run down his spine at those ominous words. What else could possibly happen to him? He was already a far cry from the person he had been mere hours ago. As if in answer to his silent question, the chair beneath him gave way once more, plunging him back into the icy depths.
Chris burst forth from the water, his skin flushed and burning. As he wiped the droplets from his eyes, he caught sight of his arms—and froze. Intricate tattoos adorned his flesh, twisting and curling in elaborate designs. Skulls, snakes, and flames danced across his skin, the colors vivid and bold.
"No… No, this ain't right!" Chris cried out, his voice cracking with emotion. "These ain't mine! I ain't never had no tattoos!"
He frantically searched his body, only to find more of the same. His chest, his back, even his neck—they were all covered in the same garish ink.
"Please, I'm beggin' ya," Chris sobbed, his words heavy with desperation. "Is this 'cause of what I said? I didn't mean none of it, honest! It was stupid and I'm sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry!"
Chris's mind raced with thoughts of his future—of going pro, of making a name for himself in the NFL. How could he do any of that now, looking like this? Like some backwoods hick instead of the promising young athlete he was meant to be?
"Nobody's gonna recognize me like this. I'll lose everythin' I worked for!" Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the tank water. The thought terrified him- his friends, family? Did he even want them to see him now? "I swear, I'll change. I'll do anythin', just please…"
The dunk tank operator's grin widened as he savored Chris's despair. "Ya know, we could just wipe that pretty lil' brain of yours clean. Make ya forget all about bein' some bigshot football star. Make ya just another dumbass redneck, content as a pig in shit." Chris whimpered, watching as the dunk tank operator casually tossed a baseball between his hands, "Just one more plunge."
"No… I'll do anythin'." The thought of totally losing himself made him sick.
He chuckled darkly, reveling in the power he held over the once-proud athlete. "But maybe… maybe we can work somethin' out. Ya seem like a reasonable fella, all things considered. So here's the deal…"
--------------
The dimly lit bar was filled with the raucous cheers and jeers of its patrons as they watched the football game playing on the mounted TVs.
"Didja see that play? That new quarterback just ain't cuttin' it no more!" Jed slurred, downing his beer in one gulp.
"Aw, quit yer bellyachin'!" his buddy replied, elbowing Jed in the ribs. "Least he ain't as bad as that pansy-ass pretty boy."
"That city boy who done thought he was too good for us?" Jed scratched his beard and belched loudly.
"That's the one! Chris Mason, or whatever his fancy pants name was." Another of the group chimed in, "Done dropped out. Serves 'em right."
Jed nodded sagely, a faraway look in his bloodshot eyes as memories surfaced, "Well, I reckon that boy learned his lesson real quick-like."
"Ah enough about that prick. Say Jed, whatchu doin' this weekend?" one of the men asked, taking a swig of his beer. "We was fixin' to head out to the lake for some fishin' and drinkin'. You oughta come along!"
Jed mulled it over for a moment, his mind sluggish from the alcohol. Fishing did sound mighty fine right about now. "Reckon I could stand to spend a day out on the water," he drawled, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Count me in, boys!"
The group erupted in whoops and hollers, raising their bottles in a toast. "To beer, fish, and good company!" one declared, and the others echoed the sentiment. Jed clinked his bottle against theirs.
As the group stumbled out of the bar, Jed's eyes locked onto a familiar figure loitering near the exit. The dunk tank operator. Curiosity piqued, he excused himself from his friends with a mumbled "Be right back, y'all."
Jed ambled over to the operator, swaying slightly on his feet. "Evenin' there, sir," he drawled, tipping his cap. "Can't help but notice you lookin' mighty pleased with yourself."
The operator's grin widened, revealing yellowed teeth. "Well, well, if it ain't my favorite customer from last week's festivities. Enjoyin' your new life, Jed?"
Chris scowled, crossing his burly arms, "It ain't exactly paradise, if ya catch my drift."
"Now, now, don't go complainin' to me. You made a deal, remember? Live as Jed, maybe one day you can go back to yer ol' life. Just gotta give this one a chance." His voice lowered to a menacing whisper. "But trust me, boy, I can make this here arrangement a whole lot more…permanent, if'n you keep gripein'."
Chris's blood ran cold at the threat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He knew all too well the power this man held over him. "N-no, sir, I ain't complainin' no more. Just…just feelin' mighty homesick is all."
The operator patted Chris's shoulder condescendingly. "Aw, you'll get used to it soon enough." He grinned, "Besides," the operator continued, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement, "you're doin' just fine as Jed. Why, I heard tell of your grand plans for the weekend - fishin', drinkin', carryin' on like a proper redneck. Ain't that just what the doctor ordered?"
Chris couldn't argue with that. As much as he loathed to admit it, he had fallen into the role of Jed with a frightening ease. The beer, the camaraderie, the simple pleasures of a life far removed from his old one - it was becoming... comfortable. Terrifying, but comfortable nonetheless.
And as Chris lay in bed that night, in a body that was becoming increasingly more comfortable and familiar, with a new name increasingly becoming his own, he grappled with the unsettling realization that perhaps...he didn't want to go back. The aches in his muscles from a hard day's labor on the farm, the burn of whiskey on his tongue, the smell of tobacco clinging to his clothes, drivin' his pick-up while blastin' country music - it all felt so right, so natural. Was he really contemplating throwing away everything he had worked for, everything he thought he wanted?
"I reckon I am." Jed mumbled to himself, as sleep threatened to overtake him, "Ain't nothin' wrong with that, is there?"
Caleb Delaney had heard the ring story so many times that the words had worn grooves in his patience.
State championship. Fourth quarter. Mud everywhere. Frank Delaney playing through a knee that should have taken him out in the second half. One last drive. One last hit. The kind of game old men turned into legend because no one could prove how much of it had been real.
The ring sat in a wooden box in Frank’s den, tucked beside yellowed newspaper clippings and a framed photograph of a younger version of Caleb’s father. In the picture, Frank was eighteen, broad-shouldered and grinning, hair thick and dark, one hand raised as if he could still hear the crowd. He looked nothing like the man standing in the den now.
Frank was fifty. He still carried some old athlete’s strength in his shoulders and arms, but his middle had gone heavy with time. His grey shirt stretched over a round stomach that pushed forward before the rest of him. His hair was clipped short and dark-gray at the sides, but the front had receded badly, exposing a broad, lined forehead; at the back, a bald spot had opened at the crown. A thick salt-and-pepper goatee framed his mouth, making him look stern even when he was only tired.
Caleb stood across from him, twenty-two and restless, home from campus for one night before rivalry week swallowed him whole. He was big from football in a way that seemed almost unfair: broad chest, powerful arms, thick shoulders, solid torso, tattooed forearms, dark hair, short beard, the easy physical confidence of someone whose body had never really failed him. His headphones hung around his neck. A game controller sat abandoned on the couch behind him. His duffel bag was still by the door as if it was eager to leave.
Frank turned the ring between his fingers. “You’re not listening,” he said.
Caleb sighed. “I’m listening.”
“No, you’re waiting for me to stop talking.”
“Maybe because I’ve heard this speech before.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brow. “You have a game Saturday.”
“I know when my game is, Dad.”
“You’ve got scouts coming. Alumni. People who matter.”
Caleb laughed without meaning to. “You always say that like I don’t know football exists unless you remind me.”
Frank’s goatee shifted as his jaw tightened.
“That body of yours,” Frank said, pointing at him with the ring hand, “is a gift. You act like it’s something you picked up at the store.”
Caleb looked down at himself, then back at his father. “Here we go.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“I think you’re mad because I’m living the part of your life you couldn't but still care about.”
Frank went still. It should have warned Caleb. It did not. He stepped closer, anger warming now, the kind that came too easily between a father and a son that didn't always see eye to eye. “You sit around with that ring and those clippings like one good season thirty years ago gives you the right to run mine.”
“One good season,” Frank repeated.
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” Frank said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He pulled the ring off his hand and closed his fist around it. “You think this is about me missing the crowd? You think I don’t know what I look like now?” Frank slapped one hand against his stomach, hard enough to make the stretched fabric jump. “You think I need you to remind me I got old?”
Caleb looked away, but too late. Frank saw it. The hurt passed over his face quickly, chased by pride.
“I watch you waste what I would’ve killed for,” Frank said. “That’s what gets me. Not that you’re young. Not that you’re strong. That you don’t understand what a gift it is and how quickly you can lose it all.”
Caleb’s voice dropped. “And you don’t understand that it's my choice to make my own future. - you just wish you were young again.”
The room changed. It was not dramatic at first. Just a silence too deep for the den. The refrigerator stopped humming. The air seemed to press in around them.
Frank looked down at the ring in his hand. Its metal had begun to glow.
Caleb frowned. “What the hell?”
Frank’s eyes lifted. The ring flared white-hot.
Caleb reached instinctively, either to knock it away or grab his father’s wrist. Frank moved at the same time. Their hands met around the ring.
Heat shot through Caleb’s palm and up his arm. The den vanished. For one impossible second, Caleb heard a stadium roar. He smelled wet grass, mud, old leather, sweat trapped in shoulder pads, beer spilled on concrete, his father’s aftershave, his own deodorant. Memories that were not his crashed through him: a younger Frank taking a hit under white lights; Frank limping toward a locker room; Frank standing alone in a kitchen after the divorce papers were signed; Frank watching Caleb’s games from metal bleachers, hands clenched, heart split between pride and envy.
Then his body betrayed him. His stomach surged outward first. Caleb gasped as weight gathered at his middle, not muscle, not athletic bulk, but a warm, heavy roundness that pushed against his shirt and dragged at his lower back. His center of gravity shifted forward - almost causing him to topple over. His chest remained broad but dropped into older heaviness. His arms thickened differently, strength buried under softness. His knees buckled with sudden ache. His skin prickled. His jaw burned as coarse hair pushed out and grayed around his mouth. He felt a surge of heat in his pants as his dick thickened then shrunk.
“No,” Caleb choked. But the voice was wrong. Lower. Rougher. Frank’s.
Across from him, Frank staggered backward as years stripped off him. His belly collapsed inward. His back straightened. His shoulders spread wide. His old T-shirt hung loose, then pulled tight in new places as Caleb’s chest and arms filled it. The lines around his eyes smoothed. His hair darkened and filled in. His goatee shrank and reshaped into Caleb’s short dark beard. His underwear bulged as Caleb’s longer dick spread out between his thighs and instantly chubbed under a surge of hormones.
Frank looked down at himself in shock.
Caleb shoved past his doppelgänger toward the hall bathroom, moving badly, too heavy, too slow. He hit the light and grabbed the sink.
Frank stared back from the mirror. Not a resemblance. Not some older version of Caleb. His father - Frank Delaney.
The weathered face. The crow’s feet. The strong forehead lines. The salt-and-pepper goatee. Caleb’s hands shook as he dragged them over his scalp. The front hairline had retreated far back, and when he reached behind him, his fingers found the thin bare spot at the crown. The bald spot.
His stomach pressed into the sink cabinet. Caleb looked down. Caleb’s T-shirt stretched over the round swell of his new older belly. He grabbed it with both hands. The weight filled his palms. He tried to suck it in, and the belly barely moved.
He reached his hand down to his jeans, feeling for his dick in its usual position part-way down a pant leg and was startled to find it pressed high and small against his underwear. Before he could process his physical reality anymore Frank appeared in the doorway behind him wearing Caleb’s face. For once, his father had no lecture. He only stared at Caleb’s body, flexing one hand, then the other, like he had forgotten hands could feel that strong.
“What did you do?” Caleb whispered in Frank's gruff voice.
“I don’t know...” Frank replied in Caleb's younger tone.
“What did you do?!” Caleb shouted this time.
“I said I don’t know!” Frank retorted.
Caleb’s voice coming out of Frank’s mouth would have been bad enough. Frank’s panic coming out of Caleb’s strong young body was worse.
The ring clattered to the hallway floor between them. It glowed once, then cooled. They tried everything. They put the ring on. They took it off. They held it together. Caleb cursed at it until Frank told him to breathe. Caleb nearly punched him for that, then realized with a wave of sick humiliation that Frank, in Caleb’s body, could probably stop him.
Near midnight, they found words etched inside the band that had not been there before.
ONE MORE GAME. ONE FINAL WHISTLE.
Caleb read them over and over. “The game,” he said.
Frank did not answer.
“The big game is this Saturday!”
“We don’t know that’s what it means” Frank said.
Caleb laughed, and Frank’s older laugh came out of him. “You’re going to tell me this magical ring that stole my body and gave me your belly is now being subtle?”
Frank flinched. Caleb saw it. He did not care.
“I’m stuck like this for a week!?” Caleb questioned.
“We’ll fix it…” Frank declared with no clear reason to be hopeful.
“How? After you play my game?”
Frank looked away.
Caleb stepped closer, his anger clumsy inside Frank’s older body. “No. Look at me. You are in my body. You are going back to my campus. My classes. My team. My life. You’re going to play the game this weekend and then everything should go back to normal!”
“I don’t know...” Frank started to respond before Caleb interrupted -
“You don’t know anything.”
Frank’s face, Caleb’s face, tightened. Then he reluctantly agreed to go along with the plan provided by the ring. They made rules because rules controlled fear. Frank would go back to campus as Caleb. Frank would attend classes, practice, team meetings, and keep everything intact until Saturday. He would take no risks. He would make no personal decisions. He would not touch Caleb’s life beyond what was absolutely necessary.
Caleb would take the week off work. He would stay at Frank’s house, avoid neighbors, avoid his mother (Frank’s ex-wife), avoid everyone who knew his dad well enough to notice the wrong man behind his eyes.
Most importantly, Caleb said behind Franks older eyes and thick goatee, “Don’t do anything with my body that I wouldn’t do.”
Frank stared at him from Caleb’s younger face.
“How do I know what you wouldn’t do?”
Caleb swallowed and grasped his forehead, feeling the start of a headache. “Then just don’t do anything,” he said.
At the time, Caleb believed him. At the time, Frank believed himself. The two men shook on it.
---
After a few hours of sleep, Monday morning came around and Frank’s new young body woke up before the sun had even fully risen. He yawned and stretched feeling his new larger dick twitch. He pressed it into the mattress - not because he was particularly horny - although when isn’t a college guy horny he thought - but simply because it felt good.
He briefly debated the morality of using his son's dick. It's not like he hadn't seen it before - he was his son after all. He landed on there being no way he could go a week without release in this body - before the ache in his balls compelled him to roll onto his back, reach a hand into his underwear and begin to jerk his son’s dick. The heat within him rose quickly as he moved his hand up and down the shaft of his new 9” dick. Within a few seconds he splattered a load of cum on his new tight abs.
“Jesus, I miss being this young” he thought, “although I have no idea where Caleb got the genes for this monster dick from - must be his mother’s” he thought with a smirk as he grabbed a dirty sock, wiped up the cum and jumped out of bed.
That was the first temptation. Frank had forgotten what it felt like to have energy waiting for him instead of something he had to bargain for with coffee, ibuprofen, and stubbornness. Caleb’s body was warm and ready, muscles swollen, dick full of cum, breath easy, joints silent.
Frank packed Caleb's things and drove his son's truck back to campus. The steering wheel felt small in his hands. The fall morning air felt sharper through Caleb’s lungs. Even sitting still, he could feel the young strength humming under his skin.
By the time he walked across campus in Caleb’s team hoodie, he was lightheaded. People looked at him. That was the second temptation. Not the polite glance given to a middle-aged man in a grocery aisle. Not the quick nod Frank got from other dads at hardware stores or bars. People actually looked. A girl smiled at him from the coffee line. A guy in a baseball cap called his name. Two younger players slapped him on the back as they passed, hard enough that Frank braced for pain that never came.
“Big week, Caleb.”
Frank nearly turned to see who they meant. Then he remembered - he was Caleb.
Caleb’s apartment smelled like laundry, body spray, old pizza, and cleats. There were controllers on the couch, protein tubs on the counter, textbooks open facedown, team gear piled near the bedroom door. It was messy, loud even when empty, a life still being built in real time.
Frank stood in the middle of it and felt something dangerous unfold inside him. This was not just youth…it was a road with infinite forks to be taken. Endless possibilities. He felt a twinge of middle-aged remorse after putting thoughts to emotions.
---
Earlier that same morning, after Frank already left for college, Caleb woke in his father’s bed with a dry mouth, an aching back, a strong urge to piss and Frank’s stomach resting heavily against the waistband of his sweatpants.
For a few glorious groggy seconds while negotiating ignoring the need to pee in order to sleep more before morning practice, Caleb forgot about the swap. Then he rolled over and Frank's belly shifted with him - snapping his attention to the present.
“Oh, God,” he muttered.
In the bathroom, the mirror delivered the truth again. Frank’s rugged, older face. Frank’s goatee. Frank’s receding hairline. Frank’s heavy chest under a stretched T-shirt he had thrown on to not have to look at his new huge stomach too closely...Frank’s stomach - he had expected the belly to horrify him less in daylight. It did not.
It was warm and round and ordinary, which somehow made it worse. Not some monstrous punishment. Just a middle-aged man’s stomach. A divorced dad’s stomach. Years of takeout, stress, knee pain, lonely dinners, and telling himself he would get back to the gym next month.
Caleb gripped it from underneath and felt the weight settle into his hands. Then Caleb’s attention was drawn again to his need to relieve himself. After the shock of the change - and the realization of the difference in his smaller manhood - Caleb had delayed looking at his Dad’s dick for as long as possible. Time was up.
Caleb walked over to the toilet and pulled down his sweatpants. He reached into the sleeve of his underwear and pulled out a 3” cut thick dick from his now salt and pepper pubes. He frowned as he leaned forward to even see his dick over his dad’s belly and he pulled it out of his clothes just far enough to aim and hit the toilet bowl. A stream of piss sputtered and then flowed from his new smaller dick. A wave of relief passed over his body.
After finishing, Caleb shook his dick and it responded by stiffening. An odd feeling passed over him as he felt arousal in his father’s body. It didn't match the sharpness or urgency of his old body, but burned without relent. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and inspected himself as he took one hand and rubbed his bigger belly, enjoying the sensation of the thicker hair on his stomach while at the same time feeling disgust at the thought of it.
While he watched with intense interest his hands wandered across his body, he cupped deflated pecs and tweaked swollen nipples - feeling how much more sensitive they were than his. He felt weathered skin and licked his upper lip with his tongue - feeling the coarser grey hair. All the while his dick twitched and grew - still small but thick and eager looking in the mirror.
Caleb eventually gave in and reached an older rougher hand down to his dick and began to slide his thumb and forefinger over the small shaft barely pushing out from his bush. He tweaked his nipples with his other hand. His pace quickened, he spit on his hand and fucked his tiny dick into it while rubbing his big belly. He thought about cumming from the dick that made him - pushing him over the top in some psychosexual mind fuck. His little thick dick jerked as waves of pleasure passed through his body. As Caleb finished a mix of satisfaction and embarrassment washed over him - but with nothing to do and nowhere to be for the whole week he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the only time he touched his new little plaything.
Downstairs, the house was quiet enough to hear the refrigerator hum. Frank lived alone, and the house showed it in small, embarrassing ways: one coffee mug in the sink, one chair at the kitchen table pulled out more than the others, one side of the couch worn deeper than the rest. The fridge had eggs, beer, mustard, leftover Chinese food, and a bagged salad going brown at the edges.
On the kitchen table sat a pair of reading glasses, a stack of mail, and a handwritten note from Frank.
I’ll be in touch after morning practice.
Caleb stood there staring at it until Frank’s phone buzzed.
Made it, Frank texted from Caleb’s phone. Nobody suspects anything.
Caleb typed slowly with thumbs that felt too thick and what he had just finished upstairs still on his mind.
Don’t get comfortable.
Six minutes passed before Frank replied.
I won’t.
---
By Tuesday, Frank had learned something he did not want to admit. Caleb’s body knew football better than Caleb seemed to let on.
At practice, Frank expected to fake his way through with old knowledge and muscle memory from decades ago. But Caleb’s body carried its own intelligence. The steps were there. The balance. The footwork. The timing of contact. Frank’s older mind supplied patience and field sense. Caleb’s body supplied force and acceleration. All combined, they were terrifying.
The first time Frank hit the blocking sled, the clean power of it almost made him laugh. No knee pain. No belly in the way. No breathless hitch at the end. Just drive, impact, movement. It was exhilarating.
Coach Ramirez barked, “Where the hell has that been all season?”
A teammate yelled, “Caleb finally woke up!”
Frank grinned before he could stop himself.
That night across town, Caleb sat in Frank’s recliner watching practice footage Frank sent him. His father’s body filled the chair too naturally, stomach pressing under the polo he had found in the closet. He scratched at the goatee and hated himself for already getting used to the motion.
On the screen, Caleb’s body moved across the field. At first he watched with disgust. Frank was inside him. Wearing him. Using his lungs, his legs, his face - probably even his dick - though he paused at the thought. Every snap felt like theft.
Then Caleb noticed how good he looked. Not mirror good. Not shirtless selfie good. Not the private satisfaction of seeing muscle under bathroom lighting. He looked good in motion. Powerful. Dangerous. Built for a purpose.
Frank moved with an older player’s patience. He wasted fewer steps. He waited for blocks to form. He used Caleb’s strength like it was precious because he understood exactly how temporary strength could be. Caleb watched the same clip four times. Then he threw the phone onto the couch.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, though he was no longer sure which of them he meant.
---
Wednesday was when Frank broke the rules, less than 72 hours after their swap. It started with Wes Harlan. Wes was twenty-three, a back-up quarterback, broad and fast, another player on the team who carried himself like he had never apologized for taking up space. He and Caleb had always had something between them that neither had named directly. Too much eye contact. Too much locker-room shoving that lingered half a second too long. One night after a party months earlier, Wes had almost kissed Caleb outside the apartment stairwell. Or Caleb had almost kissed Wes. Caleb had never decided which version scared him more.
Frank did not know that history - Frank did not know his son was bi - it wasn’t something Caleb even successfully put words to yet. He only knew the way Wes looked at him across the weight room after evening lift made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years - and never for a man in his own body.
“You’ve been weird this week,” Wes said.
Frank sat on a bench, towel around his neck, Caleb’s arms pumped and heavy from lifting, sweat cooling under his cut-off shirt. The body was roaring with exertion, hormones, and hunger. It wanted food, sleep, movement, attention, contact. It wanted everything now - fast, unapologetically.
“Weird how?” Frank asked.
“Less annoying, maybe? More mature? I can’t put my finger on it exactly - but I like it.”
Frank laughed, and because it was Caleb’s laugh, Wes smiled. That should have warned him. Instead, Frank felt twenty-two in a way football had not given him. Football made youth feel like memory restored. Wes made it feel like a present-tense invitation.
They walked back toward Caleb’s apartment after dark. Frank told himself he was keeping Caleb’s routines normal. Then he told himself a conversation wasn’t a betrayal. Then he told himself Caleb’s young body was responding before he could think.
At the apartment door, Wes stopped. “Are you going to keep pretending you don’t know what’s going on between us?” he asked.
Frank should have stepped back. He should have said Caleb wasn’t himself this week. He should have gone inside, locked the door, and just masturbated while thinking about the way Wes's shirt clung to his pecs, or the way he smelt after the workout, how the left side of his mouth lifted slightly when he smiled at Frank. Instead, he kissed Wes.
The rest of the night became something Frank would later remember with a mix of longing and shame. It was not only desire. That would have been easier to excuse. It was being wanted. Being chosen. Being touched as if he were still at the beginning of life instead of somewhere past the middle, alone in a quiet house with bad knees, a huge belly, and old photographs of glory that was gone before it even really started.
For a while, Frank let himself disappear into Caleb’s youth. The two men kissed their way through the apartment moving to the bedroom - bodies pumped and swollen from working out - brains clouded by testosterone and yearning. Before long their clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed and the two football players were wrapped in a pile of sweat and sheets.
Afterward, while Wes slept beside him - Caleb's load still leaking out of his asshole - Frank lay awake in Caleb’s bed staring at the ceiling. The young body felt calm now. Frank did not.
By morning, the guilt had sharpened into something he could not swallow. Wes kissed his shoulder and murmured, “Took you long enough.”
Frank closed his eyes. He had not only taken Caleb’s strength or his Saturday or his name. He had taken a memory that Wes believed belonged to Caleb.
---
Caleb found out Thursday afternoon.
Wes texted Caleb’s phone while it was mirrored to the tablet Caleb had been using at Frank’s house.
Last night was worth the wait.
For a moment, Caleb did not understand. Then like a crack of thunder he did.
Frank’s older body flushed hot from chest to scalp. His hand curled around the edge of the kitchen counter. His stomach pressed against the cabinet as he leaned forward, suddenly aware of every inch of the body he had been trapped inside while Frank used his.
He called. Frank answered on the second ring. “What did you do?” Caleb asked.
Silence.
“What did you do, you asshole?!”
“Caleb—”
“You hooked up with Wes!?”
Frank said nothing.
Caleb’s voice shook. “You used my body to fuck someone I know!?”
“It was a mistake..." Frank spit out.
“A mistake is missing class. A mistake is eating something I wouldn’t eat. You fucked around with someone who thought you were me!”
“I know. I didn’t mean to. Your body - it’s just so young and full of energy and need! One thing led to another before I could stop…”
“No, you don’t.” Caleb pressed one hand hard against Frank’s stomach, as if he could hold himself in place. “You don’t get to borrow my body and make memories with it. I like Wes, Dad! Now I’ll never get to experience a first night with him or even the anticipation of whether it would happen!”
Frank breathed unsteadily into the phone, unsure how to respond.
“He’s going to look at me after this,” Caleb said, “and remember you.”
That landed hard. Frank sat down on Caleb’s bed, surrounded by Caleb’s clothes, Caleb’s books, Caleb’s whole unfinished life.
“I told myself it was the body,” Frank said quietly.
Caleb laughed once. “The hormones didn’t make you fuck Wes. You just want to be me. I trusted you because you’re my Dad.”
That hurt worse than anger. Frank covered his face with Caleb’s hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Caleb almost hung up.
Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “You still have to play Saturday.”
Frank went still. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Caleb, after what I did I’m not sure I can do—”
“You think I want you in my body one more second than necessary?” Caleb snapped. “You think I want to be in your fat, washed up, stubby-dicked body?! You think I want you running onto that field wearing my name like all the work I put into it belong to you? But if you disappear now, I’m benched - and maybe stuck in your body for life. Coaches ask questions. Scouts ask questions. My season gets wrecked because you couldn’t control your dick - MY dick.”
Frank had no answer.
“So you are going to play,” Caleb said. “You are going to play the best game you can. And when the whistle blows, you are giving me my body back.”
Frank swallowed. “And after that?”
Caleb paused. He was so angry he never wanted to see his father again. But as Caleb looked around at Frank’s lonely kitchen. The single coffee mug. The mail. The old photos. The empty chair across the table. “I don’t know,” was all he could say.
---
On Friday night, still riddled with guilt, Frank came home. He parked Caleb’s truck in the driveway after sunset and stood beside it for a moment, Caleb’s big young body outlined in the porch light. He looked up at his house as if he somehow needed permission to enter.
Caleb opened the door before he knocked. They stared at each other. Frank looked exhausted in Caleb’s face. Caleb knew he probably looked worse in Frank’s.
They ended up in the garage, where the ring sat on the workbench between them. Frank picked it up but did not put it on.
“I thought I missed football,” he said. “Then I thought I missed being young.”
Caleb leaned against the washer, arms crossed over Frank’s round stomach. He hated how defensive the posture looked in his father’s body. “And?”
Frank looked at him. “Being 50, out of shape, divorced … it’s hard son" Frank said as he could feel tears well behind his eyes. "People stop looking at you with desire. They start seeing you as a washed up old man. I missed being looked at like I mattered.”
Caleb’s anger shifted but did not vanish. Having spent a week in his dad’s body he was starting to understand. “You matter to me, Dad” he said. “You just make it really hard sometimes to remember that.”
Frank nodded once. “I know, son.”
Caleb looked at the ring. “What happens if the whistle blows and this doesn’t reverse?” Frank could see youthful anxiety swelling behind his former older eyes. “Do we just live permanently as each other?”
Frank’s mouth tightened beneath Caleb’s beard. “Then I spend the rest of your life trying to fix it.”
Caleb nodded in understanding. “That’s what scares me…”
---
Saturday afternoon came bright and cold - the perfect day for college football. Caleb sat in the stands early, before sunset, wearing Frank’s jeans, Frank’s jacket, and Frank’s body. The seat felt too narrow. His belly pressed forward when he sat, and he kept tugging the jacket down over it. The goatee itched in the wind. Twice he reached up toward the receding hairline before forcing his hand down.
No one paid much attention to Frank Delaney though. Everyone watched Caleb. Frank wore Caleb’s uniform like he had been born in it. The helmet hid enough that Caleb could almost pretend he was watching himself on film, but then Frank moved and the illusion broke. Caleb knew his own body too well. The set of the shoulders. The bounce in the legs. The roll of the neck before the first snap.
The game started hard. For the first quarter, Frank played carefully. Too carefully. Caleb saw the restraint from the stands. Then a defender hit him late after a whistle. Caleb’s body got up slowly. Frank turned his helmet toward the other player.
Even from the stands, Caleb felt the change. The next series, Frank stopped playing not to lose. He played like a man who knew his time was running out.
He waited for blocks. He read pressure. He took hits and rose from them with Caleb’s young resilience and Frank’s old fury. He used strength with gratitude. He used speed like a gift he had been granted for one final evening. By halftime, the crowd had started chanting Caleb’s name.
By the fourth quarter, they were screaming it. Caleb leaned forward over Frank’s stomach, elbows on knees, heart pounding in Frank’s chest. For stretches of time, he forgot to be angry. He watched his own body change the game and felt something inside him break open.
He had lived inside that body for twenty-two years. He had trained it, fed it, fucked with it, judged it, flexed it, resented it, relied on it. But he had never really seen it.
Late in the fourth, down by four, Frank took the field for the final drive. The ring, hanging on a chain under Caleb’s shirt, began to warm against Frank’s older chest.
Frank converted once. Then again. With less than a minute left, he took the snap, broke right, absorbed a hit that made Caleb rise to his feet with the entire stadium, and somehow stayed on his feet. He drove through the last defender at the goal line and fell into the end zone.
The stadium erupted. Caleb stood frozen while thousands of people cheered his name for something he had not done and somehow finally understood.
On the field, teammates swarmed Frank in Caleb’s body. Coaches grabbed his helmet. Hands slapped his back. Wes was there too, shouting, smiling, looking at Caleb’s face with a history.
Frank looked up into the stands. Through all those faces, he found Caleb. The ring burned against his chest. The two made eye contact.
Caleb left the stands, pushed through the crowd, down the stadium steps, and into the concrete tunnel. Security barely questioned him when he said he was Caleb’s father. That hurt in a way he filed away for later.
He found Frank in the tunnel, helmet in one hand, Caleb’s hair damp with sweat, black eye paint smudged beneath his eyes.
For a moment they only looked at each other.
Caleb started first, "You were amazing out there! I didn't know my body could do what you did with it tonight, Dad." Then Caleb held out the ring. “It’s yours,” he said, "it was always yours."
The ring glowed between them. Caleb took one side. Frank held the other. The stadium noise faded.
“I was afraid of becoming you,” Caleb said.
Frank closed his eyes. Caleb forced himself on. “Not because you’re fifty. Not because of the hair or the belly. Because you seemed stuck. Angry. Alone. Like everything good had already happened to you.” He touched the goatee once, then dropped his hand. “I thought your body was proof that life beat you.”
Frank opened his eyes.
Caleb swallowed. “I was cruel because I was scared.”
The ring grew hotter.
Frank nodded slowly. “I wanted your body,” he said.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. Frank did not look away. “I wanted your strength. Your future. The way people looked at you. The way nothing hurt. I told myself I was protecting your season, and sometimes I was. But sometimes I was just taking what wasn’t mine.”
The ring pulsed. “And Wes?” Caleb asked.
Frank’s face twisted with shame. “That was wrong,” he said. “Not because of the hormones. Not because of the magic. Because I chose to be wanted as you instead of stopping.”
Caleb held the ring harder. “Give it back.”
Frank nodded in agreement and the world snapped. Caleb returned to himself like a collision. Strength flooded him first, then soreness, then breath. His chest, his arms, his legs, his face — all of it rushed back into place. His stomach flattened into familiar athletic solidity. His beard darkened and shortened. Frank's clothes hung off his younger body.
Across from him, Frank staggered. Age settled over him heavily. His shoulders softened inside his pads. His stomach rounded forward, pressing against the fabric. Lines cut back into his forehead and around his eyes. The salt-and-pepper goatee returned. His hair retreated from the front, and the bald spot opened again at the crown.
Frank exhaled sharply and put one hand on his knee. For one terrible second, Caleb saw loss move across his father’s face. Then Frank looked up. Not at Caleb’s body. At Caleb.
“You okay?” Frank asked.
Caleb almost laughed. He was bruised, furious, exhausted, confused, and back inside a body he understood less than he had a week ago.
“No,” he said. “But I’m me.”
Frank nodded. “That’s good, son.”
---
Two days later, practice felt different. His body ached from the game, but it was a clean ache. Earned. Temporary. He ran harder than he had in months. He listened more. He wasted fewer steps. When Coach Ramirez barked corrections, Caleb did not smirk or shrug them off.
Beyond the fence, Frank watched with both hands wrapped around a paper coffee cup. The wind lifted the thinning hair at the front of his scalp. His jacket sat open over a flannel shirt, and beneath it his round stomach pressed against his belt. His salt-and-pepper goatee caught the afternoon light. His knee hurt. His back hurt. He was fifty years old, divorced, heavier than he wanted to be, and standing outside a life he had almost convinced himself he deserved to keep.
Caleb glanced over after a drill. For a second, Frank felt the old ache rise in him. Not his knee. The other one. The impossible wish. Then Caleb nodded. Not like a boy asking for approval from his father. Like a man recognizing the person who had helped him get there, even badly, even painfully, through damage neither of them knew how to repair yet.
Frank nodded back. He still missed being in Caleb’s younger body as an echo of his own lost youth - of course he did. But for the first time in years, watching Caleb run did not feel like watching life leave him behind. It felt like watching something he had helped send forward.
"Dude. Stop asking. I won it fair and square. Go find another body to win. You shouldn't have offered your own body as collateral."
He walked away but then came back, "I really need it back, okay? And please stop doing only fans, and posting my dick online. It's not fair." He begged.
"Well, it's not your dick anymore, is it? It's mine." I groped my package in front of him. "All mine... I'm the new Oliver" the package straining against the cage of my blue jeans.
I never saw him again. I got a boyfriend a few weeks later after countless hooking up.
My boyfriend Aiden went missing for a couple days, and came back different. He kissed me. I didn't refuse as I was horny. I thrusted into him. He started to thrust his own heavy dick inside me. He kissed me during, and whispered, "I want my body back for your boyfriend's body in return.
I was rapidly moaning, 'Fuck. Fucking finish!" I felt his load fill up the bubble butt he so desperately wanted back.
We discussed everything in the shower, "Where's my real boyfriend?"
"Does it matter? Neither of us will downgrade. He's in the body a weak 23 year old twink. I won it after gambling for it. And managed to win again after challenging your lover here. His ego couldn't not be his downfall. Now, here I am. A body I don't mind inhabiting."
"I..." I froze.
He looked down at his former dick. 'I'd prefer to not pound my own former assets everyday... Switch with me. And I will show you what that body can really do. I see you jacking off to your- my former reflection in the mirror. You'd love to get fucked by it."
"Okay. But I'm in charge." We went and got switched.
It was only 3 days inside my boyfriend's body before a man came knocking, a twink man with a charming face. He demanded that this body be returned. The rental company of body swapping known as Swap Shark, handed me a bill and placed my soul into that twink. And he left.
I became furious. I demanded the body back, "My boyfriend rented his body to you? How? why?"
He laughed, "He unknowingly signed a contract with Swap Shark for his body to be used by others for a period of 5 years for a lump sum of only 50k. He's trapped in the passenger seat while others drive him. Sorry for the deception."
"That's not right. This is criminal. I need to call someone." I yelled. Oliver in the original flesh, "I don't think so, I was given a great deal for tricking him. My body back for your boyfriend's body now being a money maker. Plus you get to be my beautiful submissive twink."
My new body felt less powerful. I was pretty. But no power in my muscles. "What are you going to do to me?" I gulped with shallow breaths.
"Get on the bed. The body you're using was already cleaned out for bottoming before arrival. And with this dick... that's all mine. You could say I beat the game, "Fair and Square". But maybe if you're a good twink, I'll let you rent out your boyfriend's body to use again. With big dicks comes big loads to carry." He patted his dick. And inserted it inside me from behind me.
Oliver ramming my hole making my dick leak, "You're just my type, a twink that can take a hit from my dick's extra large loads. Thanks for the body back. No more gambling away my precious body. You deserve a reward for taking such good care of it."
We went at it until my ass was overflowing. I swear the loads were never this big when that body was mine. It must respond differently to him. "I will have to hope he'll honor his promise to let me use Aiden's body. Better me than a stranger." I thought.
There was nothing fair or square about this. Swap Shark is nothing but a criminal organization of swap-body theft schemes.
The old you is finally awake again. It must’ve been twenty months since this self had control of your own body and mind. It felt like a never-ending bad dream as you watched yourself obey your jock roommate’s every hypnotic suggestion. You pledged a frat with him and surrounded yourself with only your—actually his frat bros, pumped iron with him every day, wore only his gymbro wardrobe, and talked like a chill bro neanderthal while the thoughts in your head felt like molasses trying to drip through cotton candy. He even made you only take classes that you could fully bullshit with the magic brain box... No, um... A large language model.
“What’s wrong, bro?” your bro captor Colton says, noticing a change in your demeanor.
“All this is wrong, bro!” Wait, why can’t you stop saying that word? You try again:
“Colton, you’re not my bro. You’re a sick bastard trying to make me into some dumb ass clone of your frat bros for brojobs and muscle worship seshes! But none of that’s me!”
“Calm down, bro,” he says. You suddenly slump a bit and lower the arm that was pointing a finger at him.
“Here, wear your chain, bro.” You feel Colton place the thick gold chain you’ve been wearing 24/7 around your neck—though you took it off this morning. And you suddenly feel a cozy warmth wash over you.
“If none of this is you, and I’m not your bro, then who are you? What is your name? If you can tell me your name, I’ll let you go back to normal and never bother you again.”
“That’s not fair! You put the dumb jock chain on me, bro! The hypnotic trigger… I… I… can’t remember shit!”
In horror, you grasp your head tightly through your BPO ball cap, as if to keep your memories from draining away and this vestige of your old self from being suppressed once again.
“Bro, my head hurts,” you eventually say to your bro Colton.
The sensation hit me like a freight train made of static electricity. One second, I was standing in front of the mirror, admiring the definition in my traps, thinking about which lucky girl I was going to let worship me tonight. The next, the world tilted on its axis, my vision swam, and a sudden, crushing wave of mediocrity washed over me.
I blinked. The air smelled different. It smelled like... dust and cheap deodorant.
I looked down.
My arms were gone. Well, not literally gone, but the magnificent, boulder-like biceps that usually strained the sleeves of my shirts had deflated into pale, spindly twigs. I flexed, desperate to see the peak, the striations, the sheer power I wielded like a weapon. Nothing happened. Just a pathetic little twitch under skin that looked like it had never seen the sun.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. I brought my hands—these stranger's hands—to my chest. The shelf of my pecs, the solid armor I used to catch every eye in a room, had vanished. In its place was a bony, concave ribcage. I couldn't see my abs, sure, but only because there was no muscle definition there whatsoever. Just a soft, undefined flab that made me want to retch.
"No. No, no, no," I rasped. My voice. That deep, baritone rumble that used to make people wet just listening to it? It was gone. Replaced by a nasal, cracking whine that sounded weak even to my own ears.
I spun around, away from the nightmare of my reflection, and slammed right into a wall of solid muscle.
"Whoa, easy there, buddy," a voice rumbled. It was a voice I knew intimately. It was *my* voice.
I looked up, craning my neck painfully. Standing over me was a god. The golden skin, the jawline that could cut glass, the eyes that held a smug, predatory glint I’d worn in the mirror a thousand times. It was my body. It was *me*. Or at least, the shell I used to inhabit.
The god standing before me smirked, and the sight of my own face twisting into that expression of arrogant superiority made my blood boil.
"You look a little pale, Drake," he—no, *I*—said, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He took a step forward, and I stumbled back, tripping over my own clumsy feet. My coordination was gone. My grace had evaporated. I felt like a newborn foal trying to walk on ice.
"What... what did you do?" I stammered, cringing at the high-pitched, pathetic wheeze that came out of my mouth. I tried to puff out my chest, to intimidate him with my sheer presence like I always did, but I felt like a deflated balloon. There was no weight behind me anymore.
The man wearing my face threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that I could feel vibrating in the floorboards. It was a sound that usually preceded me getting exactly what I wanted. Now, it was the soundtrack to my execution.
"I didn't do anything, *buddy*," he said, stressing the word with a sneer that looked disgustingly natural on lips that used to be mine. He raised a hand—the hand that used to belong to me, now adorning a wrist thick enough to snap a baton—and flexed the bicep. The fabric of his shirt strained, the threads groaning against the sheer mass of the muscle beneath. "I just upgraded. While you... well, you downgraded."
He stepped closer again, invading my personal space. Instinct took over, and I tried to shove him back. I put everything I had into it, expecting him to stumble, expecting to feel that satisfying impact of flesh against bone.
I might as well have been trying to shove a mountain.
My hands made contact with his massive, granite-hard chest, and I pushed with every ounce of strength this pathetic, weak body could muster. But he didn't move. Not an inch. He didn't even sway. He just stood there, an immovable object, looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and pity that was infinitely more humiliating than if he’d just punched me in the face.
It was a terrifying reality check. I knew exactly how hard that push felt to him—it felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I remembered feeling pushes like that a hundred times, laughing them off without even breaking eye contact. Now, I was the toddler.
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I was experiencing the world from the other side of the glass. I was the weakling. I was the nobody.
"Is that all you got?" he taunted, looking down at my trembling hands splayed uselessly against his pecs. "Because honestly, I can barely feel it. It’s like a kitten batting at me."
He laughed again, a dark, rich sound that seemed to fill the entire room, dominating the space just by existing. The sheer sonic pressure of it made my ears ring. I hated him. I hated him with a passion that burned in my chest, but more than that, I hated how much I wanted to be him. How much I missed the vibration of that voice in my own throat.
Humiliation washed over me, hot and prickly. I felt my face burning—a sensation I wasn't used to. Usually, my skin was thick, impenetrable, cooled by the breeze of my own perfection. Now, I was blushing. I was actually blushing like a schoolgirl.
"It's not permanent," I snapped, though the words came out as a pathetic squeak. I tried to cross my arms, to look imposing, but the angles were all wrong. My elbows felt bony and weak. "Whatever freaky magic trick you pulled, Peter, it's going to wear off. And when it does..."
"When it does, what?" Peter interrupted. He took a step forward, forcing me to crane my neck even further back to maintain eye contact. God, he was tall. Had I always been this tall? He towered over me, blotting out the light, a monolith of testosterone and superiority. "You're going to beat me up? Please. Look at you. You couldn't even open a tight pickle jar right now, let alone take me in a fight."
How did you even manage to swap with me ? Tell me I cried out in a high pitched weak voice
"I didn't just manage it, Drake. I engineered it." Peter’s smile was all teeth, a shark’s grin in my face. He reached out, and I flinched, expecting a blow. Instead, he roughly patted my cheek, a gesture so condescending it made my teeth ache. "While you were busy fucking the cheerleading squad and flexing in the hallway mirrors, I was in the library. I was studying the ancient texts, the obscure ones about transmutation and vital exchange. You were too busy looking at your own reflection to notice the weird little nerd staring at you, taking notes on your aura."
He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—my cologne, a spicy, woodsy mix I’d worn for years—washing over me. It was intoxicating, and I hated that my body reacted to it. I felt a strange flutter in my stomach, a misplaced admiration for the sheer physical presence looming over me.
"I needed a vessel," Peter whispered, his voice dropping to a seductive purr that my vocal cords had mastered long ago. "Someone peak physical. Someone... perfect. And you, you arrogant asshole, were the most perfect specimen in the school. So I took what was mine. Talent for talent. Muscle for... well, nothing."
"Talent for talent," I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I stumbled backward, my legs feeling like wet noodles, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of a chair. I collapsed into it, looking up at the expanse of chest that now belonged to him.
It was surreal. I was sitting down, looking up, and the view was dominated by the very pecs I used to kiss in the mirror every morning. He flexed them, a casual, rhythmic bounce that made the shirt fabric scream, and my eyes—traitorous eyes—locked onto the movement.
"But... my genetics," I whispered, clutching at my own bony knees. "My doctor said—"
"Your doctor said what? That you were a genetic miracle?" Peter finished for me, cackling as he took a step closer, forcing my knees even further apart to accommodate his stance. He rested one massive hand on the top of the chair's back, effectively caging me in. "Turns out, biology is just code, Drake. And I’m the best damn hacker in school."
He reached down with his free hand and grabbed a handful of my shirt—his old shirt, which now hung off my new frame like a tent. He hauled me to my feet with zero effort. I dangled there for a second, my toes barely scraping the carpet, before he dropped me. My knees buckled, and I had to grab the edge of the desk to keep from crumpling into a heap.
"Admit it," Peter said, turning to the full-length mirror that had been the altar to my ego. He posed, hitting a front double bicep that was so wide his head nearly disappeared between the mountains of his arms. "It looks better on me. I actually appreciate the engineering. You were just wasting it on shallow fucks and staring contests with yourself."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch that smug expression right off my face—his face—whatever. But as I stared at the reflection, my small penis began to react and my face start blushing out of my control , I felt a strange, terrifying sensation settle in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't just anger. It was... awe.
God help me, I was awestruck.
"Pathetic," Peter sneered, catching my reflection in the mirror. He saw the flush creeping up my neck, saw the way my eyes were glued to his flexing form. "Look at you. You’re getting a hard-on watching your own body. That’s narcissism on a whole new level, even for you."
"I... I'm not..." I stammered, but the lie died in my throat. I could feel it—a humiliating twitch in the front of my pants. It was small, pitiable, nothing like the massive anaconda I used to wield. But in this weak, hormonal body, the arousal was overwhelming.
Peter turned away from the mirror and stalked toward me, his movements fluid and predatory, like a tiger approaching a crippled gazelle. I tried to back up, but my legs betrayed me, tangling together until I fell back onto the bed—*his* bed, with its sturdy, reinforced frame designed to handle... vigorous activity.
Peter loomed over me, starting to slowly peel off every clothing and starting to get naked , revealing the body that was supposed to be mine.
"Come on, Drake," Peter purred, his deep voice resonating in the very marrow of my bones. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what this looks like? Or are you just too scared to look at perfection when it’s standing right over you?"
His penis also started getting hard nd then he forcefully ripped my clothes off and held me down
I squeezed my eyes shut, a desperate whimper escaping my throat. I didn't want to see. I couldn't handle the visual confirmation that *he*—the nerd, the loser, Peter—was wielding the weapon I was born with. But the shift of the mattress and the heavy, suffocating weight of his scent made denial impossible.
"Open your eyes, Drake," Peter commanded. The authority in that voice—*my* voice—sent a shiver down my spine that was purely conditioned. For years, when that voice spoke, people listened. And now, I was just another one of them, helpless to obey.
I forced my eyes open, and the sight hit me with the force of a physical blow. There it was. The masterpiece. Thick, vascular, and heavy with a power that I used to take for granted. It bobbed in the air above me, angry and majestic, the crown glistening.
Before I could recollect myself he plundge his shaft in my mouth , the sensation was dizzying, a mix of overwhelming musk and sheer impossibility. I had taken my own dick in my hand a thousand times, but seeing it from this angle—feeling it fill my mouth to the point of choking, stretching my jaw to its limit—was a completely different experience. It was massive. It was a monster.
And it was inside *me*.
I gagged, the sound wet and pathetic, muffled by the sheer volume of flesh occupying my throat. My hands flew up to his hips, trying to push him away, to create even an inch of space so I could breathe. But my spindly fingers scrabbled uselessly against his rock-hard obliques. I wasn't pushing him; I was just tickling him.
Peter groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that vibrated through the very floorboards of the room. "Oh, fuck yeah," he rasped, looking down at me with eyes glazed over in lust. "That’s it. Take it all. You know, I always wondered what it felt like to be on this side of the equation. To be the one splitting someone open."
He gripped the back of my head—his massive hand completely engulfing my skull—and thrust deeper. I choked, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as the sheer girth of him blocked my airway. The taste was overwhelming—salt and musk and the raw, metallic tang of dominance. It was a taste I was intimately familiar with, but usually, I was the one forcing it on others.
The irony was bitter enough to make me gag, though the physical obstruction in my throat helped with that too. I had said those exact words. I had offered that exact "carrot" to guys who looked at me wrong, thinking it was the ultimate power move. Now, here I was, my jaw aching, my eyes streaming, realizing that the power wasn't in the having—it was in the giving. And I was the one taking it.
Soon he pulled his shaft out and began to shoot his load onto my face and chest. I stared up, eyes wide and unblinking, as the hot, white liquid splattered across my skin. It was humiliating. It was degrading. It was... massive. The sheer volume of it, the way it coated my pathetic, pale features in thick, sticky ropes, was just another reminder of the genetic supremacy I had lost.
Peter let out a long, satisfied sigh above me, the sound echoing in the room like a thunderclap. "Man," he breathed, looking down at me with a grin that was all teeth and arrogance. "I always knew you produced a lot, but feeling it pump out? That’s a whole new level of power. No wonder you walked around like you owned the place. It’s addictive."
I lay there, paralyzed, the warmth of his—of my—seed cooling rapidly on my skin, turning into a suffocating mask. I wanted to wipe it off, to scrub my face until it bled, but my limbs felt like lead. My body was in shock, overwhelmed by the invasion and the sheer physical reality of what had just happened.
I reached up a trembling hand, my fingers ghosting over the sticky mess coating my cheek. It was hot and thick, a visceral reminder of the virility that had been stolen from me.
"Look at this," he mused, holding his hand up to the light. "Prime grade A genetic material. Wasted on you, really. You were just a delivery system, Drake. A pretty container. But now? Now the container actually knows how to use the contents."
And you know what this swap was meant to be permanent because I destroyed the ritual circle
I stared up at him, my brain struggling to process the words through the fog of shock and the sticky haze covering my face. "D-destroyed?" I whispered. My voice sounded pathetic, thin and reedy compared to the thunderous baritone he now possessed. "You mean... I'm stuck like this? Forever?"
Peter threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the walls like a judgment. "Bingo. You catch on fast for a meathead." He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress next to my head, trapping me beneath the shadow of the body I used to own. "I severed the link. Burned the chalk, scattered the salts. There’s no going back, Drake. This..." He grabbed his still-hard cock, waving it menacingly in my face, "is mine. And this..." He poked my bony chest with a finger that felt like a steel rod, "is yours."
My friend Grace has always been kinda weird, but this time she really outdid herself. After having a massive blowout with her boyfriend Chris right before their big summer trip abroad, she talked me into swapping bodies with him using her genius dad’s secret machine. The swap went down that same night in their basement lab, and the second I came to in Chris’s chubby body, the feeling was overwhelming. Everything felt so different from my own female body. There was no more light, delicate frame or the familiar sway of hips and breasts. Instead I was suddenly this big, soft, huggable guy with a round, plush belly that jiggled heavily when I stood up, thick soft fat on my sides hanging over the waistband of my shorts, and my sensitive chest bouncing with every breath in a completely new and heavier way. My hands couldn’t stop exploring, squeezing the warm, squishy flesh of my stomach and feeling my thick thighs rub together, while the heavy, unfamiliar weight between my legs started throbbing with a rush of unexpected arousal that felt way more direct and intense than anything I’d ever experienced as a girl.
Grace’s eyes lit up as she watched, pressing herself tight against me and sinking her fingers deep into my soft chest and belly. She bit her lip hard, then whispered breathlessly, “God, you feel so fucking good like this. Way sexier than him.” I grinned with Chris’s easy boyish smile, pulled her closer so my soft belly pressed warmly against her, and said in his warm, slightly husky voice, “Hey babe… I’m really sorry about that stupid fight before. I hate when we argue, you know? You mean everything to me.” The sweet, genuine apology in Chris’s familiar tone made Grace blush deeply, her cheeks turning bright pink as she melted against me like she was truly with her boyfriend again. I stood there flushed and breathing hard, totally lost in the addictive sensation of being inside this chubby, cuddly male form, knowing that tomorrow we’d be flying overseas like this with me spending the whole vacation fully in Chris’s soft, sensitive body.
It was another day on the shore, and you were changing in the public locker room before heading out to enjoy the sun. Today was a special day—Brock was working his lifeguard shift, and you needed to catch him before he strutted out to the chair.
It came in the mail yesterday, a small trinket but a laser gun that supposedly allowed two people to switch bodies. You had found it at a mystic’s online shop last week, and after poking around some reviews decided that it was worth a shot. The website had said to be careful, however. It required precise aim, and you couldn’t use it more than twice before the hardware inside burned out. Enough for a day as Brock, and then a swap back, you thought.
From the corner of your eye, you see Brock enter the locker room. He is well built, with blonde floppy hair and shadow of a beard. One of the handsomest guys in town, you knew a day in that speedo-clad body would be all you need. You stare at him as he pulled his shirt off, the blonde-brown hair of his treasure trail catches your eye. With quick movements, he faces away and slips off his clothes to change into his lifeguard speedo. There are a few other men in the room, and he was used to changing his clothes quickly and shamelessly in public.
You pull the laser out of your bag, click it on, and turn back around to see him walking towards one of the showers. Chasing him down, you round the corner and see a flash of his blond head duck into one of the curtained stalls. You aim quickly and shoot, already rock-hard at the thought of enjoying your first few seconds in his body in the steamy locker room shower.
In a flash, you are standing in the stall. Your larger hands grab for a bottle of body wash and you marvel at them. Brock’s knuckles are…surprisingly hairy. So are his arms it seemed. You reach up and felt your face, expecting to feel that strong bone structure under your fingers. Instead, as you reach up, your fingers tangled in…a beard.
A beard? Brock didn’t have a beard…
“Fuck yes!” You hear your own voice scream outside the stall. Your stomach twists as you realize you aimed the laser at the wrong person. Rushing out of the stall, you see your own body at the end of the hallway with a smirk on its face. It was staring at the mirror, massaging your smooth chest.
“Hey—hey! Stop that!” You yell. You’re surprised by your new voice. It’s so gravelly…you look across the room at the mirror and see yourself.
You’re not Brock at all. Staring back at you is a middle-aged speedo-clad man. His friendly blue eyes reflect shock. Thick blond hair covers his entire body like a carpet. Not in the best shape, your fingers fumble as you touch the forest of hair that covers your new chest. A bushy blonde beard adorns your face.
Your new eyes reflect horror, but something else stirs in you. This man is huge. Compared to your own body, this one is so much more virile. You’re…horny. So fucking horny. It’s like this body hasn’t been jacked off in years—a thick bulge pushes painfully against the speedo. You see your old body fondling itself more and walk over. “Hands off! Give me that laser!” You shout.
“What, this?” Your body grins. “You did this? I have to thank you I haven’t felt this great in years. I feel free.” He reaches over and tugs at your beard playfully. “Yeah, looks like you’re loving my old body huh? Couldn’t ever get that thing to behave. Felt like I was cursed.” You blush as you stare at the massive erection you’re sporting.
He reaches forward and cups it, stroking it through the nylon fabric. With his other hand, he brushes it through the thick forest of hair on your new chest. Your huge frame shudders at his touch. “Yeah you like that, old man?” He grunts. He tweaks a nipple and you grunt unexpectedly. “Yeah I always liked that…”
“Give me that,” you mutter and break away. Just as you do, Brock exits the shower. He looks at you exasperated.
“Uncle Patrick, let’s go, I’m going to be late. What—what are you wearing?! Are you trying to embarrass me? You’ve always been such a perv.”
You stare at his chiseled body. Uncle Patrick? He seems to recognize you, despite being in a stranger’s body. That’s when you realize—you’re in the body of his uncle! Before you can reach for the laser, Uncle Patrick grabs it himself and shoots it at Brock. A bright flash fills the room and fades. You see Brock standing there like he was a moment ago, but with a confused expression. He reaches up and feels his face, then turns his attention downwards to his chiseled abs.
“What the fuck?” Your old body says. “What did you do?”
In horror you realize that Uncle Patrick has used the last swap to switch bodies with Brock, leaving you trapped in his body.
Uncle Patrick grins, patting his new muscles playfully. He walks towards the mirrors and stares into one, his eyes full of lust. In one swift motion, he lifts a bicep and flexes. The muscle reacts immediately, like a football resting on his arm. With a laugh he lifts both his arms higher, exposing thatches of thick blond underarm hair and inhales deeply. He turns to both of you, still exposing Brock’s manly pits. “Damn, boy. Looks like I need a shower.”
Your old body stands there, shaking with rage. “St-stop that. What’s going on?” He turns to you with wide eyes. “Uncle Patrick who is that? Why am I in his body?”
You try to explain, but Uncle Patrick cuts you off. “That’s not your uncle boy. I am. Seems like this guy took a liking to you, wanted a chance to be you. Turns out he switched bodies with me instead. Now I’m Brock, and he’s me. And you…you’re that twink.” He pulls down the front of his speedo and a fat cock flops out of it, semi-hard. “Fuck, boy. You’ve been holding out. Can’t wait to test this thing out.”
You grab the laser out of Brock’s hands and stare at it. Just as you thought, the number of charges was depleted to 0.
Brock looks at himself in the mirror, in awe of the shrimpy body he now possessed. He brushes a hand through the mousy brown curls that used to be yours and tries to form a bicep by flexing his own arm. A loud sigh escapes his lips seeing the results. Still, he brushes a finger through the soft hair in his armpit. It’s more delicate than his own. He pulls up his shirt, staring at the pale, lean body he now possessed. Your body wasn’t a terrible one, and right now you miss it dearly.
Despite the confusion, Uncle Patrick’s body was still horned up. You stare again at the friendly face in the mirror and feel up your beard. It felt so foreign to twist the hair in your hands, but the more you tugged at it the better it felt. Uncle Patrick’s body was…manly…primal. You’re overcome with ecstasy and play with his hard nipples in front of the other two. This body was such a change from your old one and you can’t help but explore. You excuse yourself to one of the stalls and sit down on the lid of the toilet. Pulling down the front of your own speedo, a gigantic cock springs out amidst a nest of blonde hair. “Fuck, old man.”
Uncle Patrick stands in the open of the locker room, feeling up Brock’s body. Brock soon excuses himself, unable to stare at his horny uncle explore his old body.
An entire day at the beach, and three men in foreign bodies. Who knows what Uncle Patrick came to the beach to do, who he was planning to meet…What will happen next?
There wasn't much to do in Suburbia over the summer, especially if you were as unpopular as I was. Sure, I'd managed to collect several friends in college, but unfortunately we all lived in different cities. I wasn't lucky enough to be able to afford an apartment over the summer, which meant I was stuck back home. Discord helped counter some of the loneliness, sure, but it was the glacial pace of the weekday afternoons that was slowly driving me to boredom. So when I heard the doorbell, of course I thought it was some door to door salesman or something.
Instead, it was Dale-- the next door neighbor who used to be one of my closest friends... until he abandoned me in High School once the Football team offered him an "in" with the cool kids. "Can I come in?" he asked, scuffing his foot on the cement porch. I glared at him, trying to figure out just how much audacity he must have to be here after he made four of the past five years of my life a living hell.
"Alright, look," he said, staring intently at the door. It was uncharacteristically awkward of him, and it was throwing me off guard. "I know I was an asshole, and you're not obligated to forgive me. But I... look, one year in college was enough to show me just how unfair I was to you, and I... was hoping you'd allow me to make it up to you somehow? So that we can be friends again?" He looked into my eyes, and I could almost swear they were starting to water.
But how could it ever be enough? I scowled, crossing my arms as I glared at him. "So the rumors were true. You were outed as a gay man, and now everyone's abandoned you." I expected him to deflect, to get mad, to-- to do something!... but instead he just stared at the ground. I had gone too far. "Okay, yes. I feel bad for you, I do, but... do you have any idea how much hurt you caused me? That doesn't all go away just because you've also been hurt. Just what do you think you could offer that would make me forgive you?"
He tapped the side of his neck, just under his ear. "You've got a Swapper unit, right? How about I give you access to my body, no strings attached?" He flashed me a suave grin and he flexed his bicep. No wonder he showed up at my door without wearing a shirt, he wanted to make sure I'd noticed all of the muscle he'd gained over the past few years. "And not just for tonight," he added. "Neither of us have a job over the summer, right? You can wear my body to all of the local parties I've been invited to-- hell, you can score some pussy in my body, I don't mind."
I hated to admit it, but I was definitely intrigued by his offer. My v-card was practically burning a hole in my pocket, and being inside of Dale's sexy body instead of my thin, gangly frame would make that so much easier to deal with. I gestured him inside, and he flopped down on the living room couch just like old times. "I... okay, obviously I'm interested, but... what's in it for you?"
"Well, for starters, I'd get one of my close friends back," he said, smiling at me. "But also... you were right, I got outed. A lot of people are trying to freeze me out ever since I got caught in the locker rooms with Jeff. But no one has any proof, and the person who caught us is kind of an asshole. So I figure, if people see my body hooking up with women, maybe this whole thing will blow over. I'm not exactly excited to go back into the closet, but... locker room talk, you know how it is." He paused for a few moments, glancing over at me. "Well, you don't, but trust me. Everyone loves getting their dick sucked by some twink on the downlow, but when it's a teammate sucking dick, suddenly that's a big deal."
He must have seen the concerned look on my face, because he started to panic again. "Not that I'd be sucking dick in your body," he added, wringing his hands. "I wouldn't be any having sex in your body if you're not cool with it, that's disrespectful. I'd just spend the evenings in my room, playing video games. Promise. And I... if you want, I could also take your body to the gym, build up some muscle for you?" He looked truly desperate, and I had to admit I was starting to feel bad for the guy. The two of us, sitting here like this... it reminded me of all of the good times we used to have.
"Alright, I accept," I said, letting out a deep sigh. I wanted to stay angry, but seeing him in front of me, begging this hard... I didn't have it in me to reject him to his face. He reached out to shake my hand, but I stopped short. "I'm restating the terms. No sex or alcohol in my body, but I can have sex and alcohol in your body. You're cool with it, but I'm not. And no limits to how many parties I can attend in your body-- you can only deny me a body swap if you've got a family thing planned. Break either of those terms, and you're dead to me."
"Scout's honor," he said, offering his hand again. I shook his hand, and he wrapped me in a quick bro hug just like old times. "You wanna swap right now? Mike's throwing a party later tonight, and I promised I'd be there. Maybe later we can catch up, play some League or something, but I figured for your first party, you'd want time to prepare." I couldn't help but laugh. Even after all this time, he knows me so well.
And that's how I found myself standing in the middle of Dale's room, checking out his body in the mirror and sporting a half-chub at how good I looked. I should probably be happy to have one of my childhood friends back, but... to be honest, I was mostly just daydreaming about all of the sex I was going to have in his body this summer. I've seen his Instagram selfies, I'm fully aware of what I'm getting out of this trade. I'm not about to let any of that time go to waste.
"Dale, why did you swap with him? That body looks like ass." My boyfriend had invited me over to his place like always, but I had kept most of my afternoon a secret. I warned Jeff that I was probably going to be wearing my neighbor's body for most of the summer, and that was all that I told him in advance. "You told me this was a good surprise. Nothing about your neighbor's body is good."
I just rolled my eyes at him. I loved him, but Jeff could be so shallow sometimes. Here I was trying to give him sexy fun times, only he couldn't get past my borrowed face. "Look, not every guy can be as hot as I am, alright? It's still me inside of here. And don't forget that I wouldn't have to resort to lending my body out to my lame-ass neighbor if someone could take a cock up the butt without screaming his head off. Besides, you haven't seen what I'm packing." I dropped my boxers to the floor and kicked them aside, letting my new nine-inch coke can do the talking. He was struck speechless, and I took advantage of that rare moment to lay seductively across his bed. "I trust this body has your approval now?"
"Holy shit, yes!" Jeff climbed onto the bed next to me without taking his eyes off of my erection. "This dork is packing all of that?" he asked, practically drooling at the sight of it.
I gave it a few tugs, letting some precum build up at the tip. "I told you it was a good surprise. I've known he was packing a big one ever since we were in Middle School, but I never thought I would get a chance to enjoy it like this. Anyway-- I had to pretend that I wouldn't be having sex in his body, so I can't really do anything other than top."
"Fine by me," Jeff said, pulling lube out of the drawer in his nightstand. "I'll go back to being verse when you're back in your own body. If I've only got the summer months to enjoy this massive cock, I'm not about to let any of that time go to waste."
I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my office chair, the glow of my monitor lighting up my face. It was our twelfth session. Sohil’s video feed filled most of the screen. He was shirtless again, sitting in his gaming chair in is room, one thick arm draped lazily over the backrest. His dark chest hair was still slightly damp, like he’d just come back from the gym.
Sohil Kapoor. Thirty-two. Bisexual. Sex addict.
At least that’s what he called himself.
“Evening, Dr. Reddin,” he said with that familiar half-smirk. His voice had that deep, easy confidence that always carried a hint of mischief.
“Hello, Sohil,” I replied calmly, keeping my tone professional. “How have things been since our last session?”
He let out a tired laugh and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Same old shit. Made it nine days this time with this guy I really liked… then I fucked his best friend in the parking lot after drinks.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think there’s something actually broken in me. Like physically. Other people can control themselves. I can’t. Its like my dick has its own fucking brain.”
I nodded, listening carefully. I’d heard variations of this from him for months now. His friends had pushed him into therapy after yet another destroyed relationship. He was charming, successful, and objectively very attractive — which only made the pattern more destructive.
“We’ve discussed open relationships,” I said. “You mentioned your last attempt didn’t go well.”
“Yeah, because even with permission I still broke every rule. Especially the condom one. I need to feel it raw. The second there’s latex I lose half the sensation and it just… doesn’t do it for me.” He sighed heavily.
I paused, tapping my pen against my notepad. We had made some progress, but it was slow. Too slow. I knew it was time to suggest something more radical.
“Sohil,” I said carefully, “I’d like to propose an unconventional treatment option. One I only use in really rare cases.”
He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the camera. “What is it?”
I met his eyes through the screen.
“Body swapping. A temporary therapeutic exchange. I would enter your body, and you would enter mine. It would allow me to experience your impulses and urges directly. To understand the intensity of what you’re dealing with from the inside. That level of insight could help me develop far more effective strategies for managing your compulsions.”
Sohil stared at me for a long moment, his mouth slightly open.
“You’re… serious?”
“Very,” I said. “It’s not without risks, and it’s not something I suggest lightly. But after six months, I believe this may be what we need to make real progress.”
I watched his face carefully. There was surprise, hesitation… and something else.
He swallowed visibly.
“Ok… so when can we do it?”
---
The following week, we logged onto our scheduled Zoom session. Sohil appeared on my screen looking unusually tense, sitting in the same spot on his couch.
“How are you feeling about the swap? Are you ready?” I asked, keeping my voice steady and clinical.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? Nervous as hell. But also… kind of excited? I’ve been like this my whole adult life. If you can actually feel what it’s like in here,” he gestured to his own body, “maybe you’ll finally get it. Maybe you can help me fix it.”
We spent most of the session discussing boundaries, consent, and the temporary nature of the procedure. Toward the end, I walked him through the final steps.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
Sohil nodded. “Let’s do it.”
We both initiated the swap through the secure therapeutic portal. There was a bright flash across my screen, a dizzying rush, and then everything shifted.
When my vision cleared, I was no longer looking at my monitor from my office chair.
I was looking at it from Sohil’s couch.
A massive wave of heat crashed over me instantly. My — his — cock thickened rapidly in my pants, throbbing with urgent need. The intensity was staggering. My thoughts grew hazy as raw, aggressive horniness flooded my system. I gripped the edge of the couch, trying desperately to maintain professional composure.
On the screen, Sohil — now in my body — let out a long, relieved exhale. He adjusted my glasses and smiled softly.
“Wow… I can actually think,” he said, sounding lighter than I’d ever heard him. “No constant noise in my head. This is… peaceful.”
I forced a professional tone, even as my new cock continued to pulse insistently between my legs. “That’s… excellent, Sohil. So as I said, we’ll remain in these bodies for the next few weeks. This will give me time to fully understand your urges and begin implementing strategies while I’m in your body. We can get your physical routines and habits started on the right track.”
As I spoke, my eyes drifted down to the screen — to the slight cleavage visible in the blouse I had been wearing. God, is that really how he saw me every session? I made a mental note to dress far more modestly once we swapped back.
Sohil cleared his throat. “Dr. Reddin?”
I blinked, snapping back to attention. “Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a moment.” I continued explaining the plan, trying to sound composed, but the throbbing between my legs was becoming unbearable.
Under the table, my hand moved almost on its own. I unbuttoned Sohil’s pants, wrapped my fingers around his thick, hard cock, and started stroking slowly. The pleasure was overwhelming. I kept talking, voice slightly strained, while pumping faster, getting dangerously close to the edge.
“…and we’ll check in regularly to monitor progress,” I finished, barely holding it together.
“Sounds good,” Sohil said, nodding in my body.
I ended the call as quickly as possible.
The second the screen went black, I let out a shaky breath. Not even thirty seconds later, I came hard. Thick ropes of cum shot across the underside of the table as Sohil’s cock pulsed violently in my hand. My vision whited out for a moment from the intensity.
I sat there panting, staring at the mess I’d made.
Damn… this guy’s body was horny.
Sohil hadn’t been exaggerating at all.
---
Over the next couple of days, I tried to resist.
I really did.
But Sohil’s body had other plans.
The first morning I put on one of his tight black t-shirts. The fabric stretched across his broad chest and hugged his biceps perfectly. Just the feeling of the material clinging to my new arms as I moved sent a low throb through my cock. I had to sit down for a minute and breathe through it.
Later that afternoon I went for a walk. A light breeze picked up and rippled his loose tank top against my chest. The soft fabric dragged across my nipples and I instantly hardened in my shorts. I had to stop and pretend to tie my shoe just so I could adjust myself discreetly.
At the grocery store, a young woman in a slightly low-cut top reached for something on a high shelf. The way her breasts pressed together as she stretched made my mouth go dry. I stood there frozen for several seconds, staring, before I forced myself to look away. My cock was already half-hard in my sweatpants.
Then there was my neighbor — a tall, muscular guy who walked out shirtless to grab his mail. The sight of his defined chest and abs glistening in the sun made something primal surge through me. I stood at the window watching him longer than I should have, my hand unconsciously pressing against the growing bulge in my pants.
Every single time, no matter how minor the trigger, I ended up painfully hard.
And without fail, the moment I got home I went straight to Sohil’s bedroom. I’d strip down completely naked, climb onto his bed, and wrap my hand around his thick cock. I’d stroke myself furiously, sometimes for less than five minutes, before I came hard — thick loads splattering across my hairy stomach and chest.
Yesterday I made it through the entire day without touching myself until I got home. Today I only lasted until 2 PM before I was back in his room, pants around my ankles, jerking off like a man possessed while staring at myself in the full-length mirror.
This body was insatiable.
I thought going to the gym might help burn off some of the constant energy. But it just made everything worse.
The moment I walked into Sohil’s gym wearing one of his tank tops and shorts, I felt eyes on me. His body drew attention — broad shoulders, thick arms, the way his chest hair peeked out from the neckline. Every time I lifted weights, the pump in my biceps and pecs made my cock twitch. The burn in my muscles somehow translated straight into arousal.
By the third set of bench presses I was fully hard. I had to practically sprint to the locker room stalls. I locked myself in one, dropped my shorts, and jerked off furiously, biting my lip to stay quiet. I came in under two minutes, shooting against the stall door. Even after that, I was still half-hard.
Even then I couldn’t control myself. I started approaching people — a pretty woman doing squats in tight leggings, a muscular guy checking himself out in the mirror. I was way too forward. Told the woman she had an incredible ass and asked if she wanted to grab a smoothie after her workout. Told the guy his arms looked strong and offered to spot him… then immediately suggested we spot each other somewhere more private. Both of them gave me polite but very clear rejections.
I stood there in the middle of the gym, Sohil’s face flushed with embarrassment and lingering arousal, realizing how desperate I must have looked. This body didn’t just want sex — it craved it constantly, and it had no filter.
---
By day six, I was losing the battle.
After another humiliating rejection at the gym and two more desperate jerk-off sessions at home, I gave in and downloaded Grindr on Sohil’s phone.
The app opened and immediately flooded the screen with nearby profiles. Shirtless torsos, hard cocks, hungry stares. Within minutes the messages started pouring in.
“Damn dude you’re hot as fuck.”
“Top or bottom?”
“Hosting right now if you wanna come through.”
I told myself I was just researching. Just trying to understand the scale of his compulsions. But my cock was already rock hard as I scrolled through the endless stream of willing men.
There were so many. Hot guys. Fit guys. Hung guys. Some wanted to fuck me. Most wanted me to fuck them.
I started chatting with one guy — mid-20s, muscular, only two blocks away. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent him a face pic and told him I could be there in ten minutes.
The moment I stepped into his apartment, any last shred of professional restraint vanished. He barely had the door closed before I had him pinned against the wall, kissing him hard. Within minutes I had him bent over his couch, fucking him raw and deep while he moaned loudly.
It felt incredible.
The power, the heat, the raw physical pleasure of pounding into someone with Sohil’s thick cock — it was overwhelming. I came hard inside him, groaning as I filled him up. He asked if I wanted to go again. I did.
I ended up staying for almost two hours.
When I finally left, legs shaky, I felt a strange mix of shame and satisfaction. On the walk home my cock was already stirring again at the memory.
That night I opened Grindr again.
---
After a few days of nonstop Grindr hookups — sometimes two or three different guys in a single day — the novelty started to wear off. The sex was good, intense even, but something was missing.
I needed pussy.
Tinder proved much slower and more frustrating. The matches came in, but the back-and-forth flirting took time I didn’t want to waste. My patience was nonexistent in this body.
I knew it was a terrible idea. Unethical. A complete violation of every professional boundary. But the urge was louder than reason.
I opened the camera on Sohil’s phone and took a series of thirst traps — shirtless in the mirror, flexing his biceps, one with his hand pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to show the thick base of his cock. I sent them to my own number.
The message I typed made my stomach twist even as I hit send:
“I know you want to get fucked by yourself. I just know you want to feel your old cock deep in that pussy.”
I stared at the sent messages, heart racing.
Three dots appeared, then stopped. Then appeared again.
Before he could reply, the images and words hit me like gasoline on a fire. I was so turned on I couldn’t wait. I shoved my pants down, wrapped my hand around Sohil’s throbbing cock, and jerked off furiously on the couch to the fantasy of fucking my own body. I came hard within minutes, groaning loudly as thick ropes of cum splattered across my hairy chest.
The second the orgasm faded, cold reality crashed down on me.
What the hell did I just do?
I quickly sent a string of apologetic messages:
“I’m so sorry. That was completely inappropriate.” “I lost control. That was unprofessional and wrong.” “Please forgive me.”
Sohil (in my body) replied a few minutes later:
“No worries doc lol. I understand exactly what that feeling is like. Trust me.”
I let out a shaky breath, still half-hard despite just cumming.
“I’m going to figure this out,” I typed back, trying to sound more in control than I felt. “I’m going to find a real way to help you manage these urges. I promise.”
I set the phone down and looked at myself in the mirror — Sohil’s muscular, hairy body staring back at me, cum still drying on my abs.
---
I tried to resist.
I really, really tried.
I deleted Grindr twice. I went to the gym and forced myself to focus only on lifting. I tried meditation apps, cold showers, even jerking off six times in one day just to take the edge off. Nothing worked. The horniness always came back stronger, like a constant buzzing under my skin that refused to be ignored.
One night, I put on one of Sohil’s tight black shirts and a pair of fitted jeans and went to a gay bar downtown. The place was packed and loud. Within twenty minutes I locked eyes with a cute, twinky guy in his mid-twenties with messy light brown hair, smooth skin, and a hungry look in his eyes. He was exactly my type.
We barely spoke.
I walked straight up to him, grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him in for a rough kiss. He melted against me immediately. No names. No small talk. I took his hand and led him straight to the bathroom.
The moment the stall door locked, I spun him around, yanked his pants down, and shoved him forward against the wall. I pulled my own cock out, barely taking time to spit on it before I pushed inside him.
“Fuck…” he moaned loudly as I sank in deep.
I started thrusting hard, one hand gripping his hip, the other braced against the stall wall. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the small space.
“Sohil… fuck, Sohil,” he gasped, moaning my — Sohil’s — name.
A dark thrill shot through me.
“Fuck yeah,” I growled, pounding into him harder.
“Sohil… oh my god—”
Hearing him moan while I was balls-deep inside him made something primal take over. I fucked him with long, powerful strokes, gripping his waist tight as I drove into him again and again.
I didn’t last long. The way his tight hole clenched around my thick cock — it was too much. I buried myself deep and came hard, groaning as I filled him up.
I was still catching my breath, cock softening inside him, when reality started to crash back in.
The guy I had just raw-fucked in a public bathroom stall was Drew — one of my other therapy clients. Mid-twenties, gender-questioning, sweet but anxious. I had been seeing him for months. I had been too horny to even recognize him until now.
Then it hit me.
He had been moaning “Sohil” the entire time.
I never told him my — Sohil’s — name.
I pulled out slowly, heart pounding for a completely different reason now.
“Do we… know each other?” I asked, voice rough.
The guy — Drew — turned around with a lazy, satisfied grin that looked completely out of place on his face. He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on Sohil’s cock.
“I think I would recognize my own former body,” he said casually. “And damn… its dick feels good. I get why people put up with me even though I was such a cheater.”
I froze.
“Wait… Sohil?”
He smirked. “Hey, Doc.”
I stared at him — at my client’s body — in complete disbelief.
“What the hell are you doing in Drew’s body?”
Sohil (in Drew’s smaller, twinky frame) shrugged, still breathing hard from getting fucked.
“Drew’s been seeing you too, right? He’s been talking about wanting to transition for a while. Really wanted a woman’s body to start figuring shit out. So I offered him a swap. He gets your body — soft, feminine. I get his cute little gay body with way less constant horniness. Win-win.”
He reached down and gave Sohil’s cock — my current cock — a playful squeeze, still slick from being inside him.
“I’ve been having a great time, honestly. This body is so much easier to manage. I can actually think straight. I could get used to this. Could maybe even see myself getting into a relationship. Meanwhile, you’ve been living my old life…” He raised an eyebrow. “How’s that been going for you, Doc?”
I stood there, pants still open, cum slowly leaking down Drew’s thigh, trying to process everything.
Sohil in Drew’s body just smiled sweetly.
“By the way… you fuck really good in my body.”
My cock twitched and started hardening again almost immediately, still slick from being inside him. I was furious — at Sohil, at myself, at this entire situation — but the anger only seemed to make the arousal worse. The rational part of my brain was screaming that I needed to stop, to think clearly, to regain control.
But Sohil — or Drew, or whoever the hell he was right now — was right here. Convenient. Already bent over, his hole glistening with my cum, still slightly open and twitching.
I grabbed his hips and pushed back inside him in one smooth thrust.
“Fuck, Doc,” he moaned in Drew’s lighter voice, pushing back against me. “Round two already?”
I didn’t answer. I just started fucking him again, harder this time, my hips slapping against his ass. The wet, filthy sound of my cock sliding through my own load filled the stall. Every thrust felt better than the last. My mind was fogging over again, thoughts becoming slippery and unfocused.
We could switch it all back… if only…
I tried to hold onto the thought, but it kept sliding away.
If only… what was I trying to do again?
The question dissolved as pleasure took over. I gripped his waist tighter and pounded into him, grunting with each deep stroke. Sohil in Drew’s body moaned loudly, clearly loving every second.
“God, you really can’t control it, can you?” he gasped between thrusts, sounding amused. “Feels good though, doesn’t it?”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to pull out and walk away. But instead I fucked him even harder, chasing that building pressure again, my balls tightening as I got closer to another orgasm.
Driving up to the state penitentiary was not how I planned on spending my Saturday afternoon, but my boss Mr Daniels dropped the case on my desk last thing Friday. He told me that he was getting pressure from the DA to drop the appeal and that my job was to meet our client in person to break the news that he was likely going to be spending the next ten years in a cell. More than ten years if he kept up his rash, violent behaviour in prison.
Mr Daniels had given me a vague warning about Ramon Hernandez beforehand - quick to anger, easily confused, and in dire need of a wash. Meeting him face-to-face, and shaking his greasy hand (we lawyers must always show courtesy after all) however, was a different story entirely.
“So who the fuck are you? Where’s Daniels” Ramon gruffly shouted as I entered the room.
Trying to stay professional, I responded “Mr Daniels has unfortunately been tied up with business. He has asked me to handle your case from now on.”
“Christ, you look barely outta law school.”
“I am a junior-level attorney yes, but I have worked on a number of cases” I replied coolly, glossing over the fact that this was my first criminal case. I’d only been in the role for a year and while I was enjoying it, it really did take over my life. My parents keep commenting on how much weight I had lost and that I was spending too much time indoors. My slight body, coiffed hair and perfect suit all looked out of place in this dark, dank prison.
“So kid, when are you getting me outta this joint” Ramon grinned.
Anxiously, and anticipating an angry response, I calmly stated “Well Mr Hernandez I’m sorry to report that we have withdrawn your appeal. Mr Daniels and I decided that the chances of it being successful were slim to none, and frankly it is both a waste of our time and your money”
“Is that fucking so?” Ramon glared down at me. I was happy the guards were just outside. “Plan B it is then.”
“I’m sorry, Plan B?”
“You’re not exactly what I was hoping for, but you’re young. Plenty to work with. And you’ll be in a well-payed job right? You’ll have to fucking do.” Ramon was eyeing me up, and looked at deep in thought as possible for someone of his limited brain capacity.
He’s clearly lost his mind upon hearing the bad news I thought. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible; the stretch from Ramon and his dirty prison jumpsuit was getting a bit overwhelming. “Mr Hernandez I’m not sure what my salary has to do with your case, but if you’ll sign these papers confirming that my firm no longer represents you then I will be on my way.” I walked over to the desk and placed the documents and a pen down when Ramon grabbed my hands and stared manically into my eyes.
“Guards! Help. Get off me!!” I cried.
Ramon, unblinking, grinned darkly. “Those guards are on my payroll and they’ll only enter when I say so.” He grabbed an alluring rock from his pocket and, still staring me down, said “here we fucking go” as he placed the rock to my chest.
_______
I felt the cool tile on my body and the back of my head, which was throbbing like crazy. I breathed in and out, trying to grasp what had happened, and felt so… large. Like I took up more space. And my clothes felt weirdly loose and itchy, nothing like the expensive suit I came in. “What the fuck is going on” I gruffly muttered, shocked both by the deep, accented timber that reverberated from my throat and the unexpected expletive. “What the fuck did you do?!” I felt a deep and surprising anger.
I sat up, my body feeling heavy and cumbersome, and stared at my hands. My new hands. Dark and sinewy, with thick fingers and dirty nails. Hands that connected to broad, hairy forearms partially hidden under a crusted, dirty jumpsuit. “No, no, no… what is fucking happening?!”
I uneasily jumped up, thrown by my new vantage point, and ran over to a mirror and stared in the brown eyes of Ramon Hernandez, convicted criminal. My eyes. My body. My 6′ 4, 200-odd lb body, radiating power. I rubbed my now bald scalp and traced my new, muscular body. Despite myself, I felt a rise in my jumpsuit and was shocked by the obscene throbbing tool that emerged.
“I am going to miss that body, but there is definitely room for some improvement here” a familiar voice uttered. I spun around and gazed at myself. Or my old body. Looking calm and composed, getting comfortable in my old suit. I tried to vocalise my thoughts, to shout and to get answers but my head was muddled. Thoughts weren’t coming to me as quickly as usual, and I was distracted by my still-hard package and sweaty stench.
“And this brain? It’s remarkable. I’m making connections infinitely quicker than before. You might find life’s challenges a bit harder to comprehend now amigo!” my old body laughed. “New memories should be following shortly. I’m almost looking forward to trying my hand as a lawyer.”
“You.. you can’t… fucking… what did you do” I stammered. I tried to grasp onto fragments of my old life - my Ivy League education and prestigious legal career, but they kept fluttering away. The signs and posters in the room became difficult to read and my brain just felt… slow. I was left with vague memories of a broken life filled with violence and crime and a dawning realisation of where I was. “You fucker. You can’t leave me here!”
“Actually, I can. Guards, Mr Hernandez and I are done. I do wish you the best. If you want my advice, I’d keep that anger in check. And for goodness sake, have a wash Ramon.” My body winked at me and sauntered out the room.
I felt a deep and uncharacteristic rage wash over me and without warning I punched the mirror, splintering my new reflection. The guards, my supposed protection, ran in and grabbed me as I shouted “no, you fuckers. I’m not Ramon. He’s getting away!”
_________
They threw me in solitary confinement to stew. I kept looking at my new, muscular hands and caressing my sizeable body under the jumpsuit. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. I unzipped the jumpsuit, exposing my new arms and chest. Running my thick fingers threw my sweaty chest hair, I reached down to rub my new cock. Excitement got the better of me and within seconds I creamed over my chest and gleefully rubbed it in. Blissfully, I lay in solitary confinement, memories of old life still there but drowned out by constant horny thoughts. I remembered Ramon’s… my crew on the inside who I would be with again in a few days. If I’m going to be stuck here, me and my boys are going to take over the joint.
My classmate Enzo Ceja was so hot, everyone on our class thought so. He was everything you would expect, he played football, basket ball, and was so attractive. He was 6’3, Mexican, and had a pretty toned body. Me being one of the only gay boys in my class, obviously had a crush on him, and everything about him. I knew he was straight, but I couldn’t get him out of my head.
So one day at my school during lunch I was talking to my friend about Enzo, and how I wanted to be his boyfriend. Little did I know, admitting this crush would completely change my life. The next day when I got to school, I could feel everyone staring at me, and I knew why. Someone over heard me telling my friend about my stupid crush on Enzo.
Enzo’s Perspective
I was leaving football practice when I over heard some of my bros talking about Dan, the one gay boy in my class. Had told someone that he had a crush on me. Ew. I could never date a man, but since rumor had spread around the school. People were shipping us. I had to talk to that boy, and clear this up, before I get clicked of the team. And I know just how to fix this.
Dans Perspective
As I walked into school, Enzo grabbed my head and pulled me into the locker room. As soon as he knew we were alone he started rambling on, about how he doesn’t even like the idea that a man likes him. Then he slapped me, and I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I felt different. I looked down, and saw legs that we’re definitely not mine, they were darker, and a lot more athletic then my fat, white legs. I got up fast and looked in the mirror.
I looked in the mirror, and instead of myself, I saw someone that looked like Enzo, but older. I was his older brother, I pulled out my id and on it was “Daniel Ceja” Which was definitely not my name before. Somehow I had turned into the older brother of the man I once liked. And I’m not complaining, if I couldn’t have him, being him was just as good, if not better.
“Hey bro get your keys! I’m going to be late for school!”
Obvious, I was Daniel Ceja, and Enzo is my younger brother. I have to give him a ride to school.
A week has passed since the body swap, and I’ve already gotten completely used to living as my uncle. Fuck… I think I’m falling in love with it.
At first, I was really bothered by this body’s strong, musky scent and how heavy and bulky it felt. But the moment I started lazing around exactly like I had always wished for on my birthday, everything changed. It felt so damn good. This fat cock would start twitching and getting hard every time I lift my arm and shove my nose into the thick, sweaty armpit hair. The stench is so strong, so manly… it drives me crazy.
I’ve become a total jerk-off addict in this body. I don’t want to return to my old life. I just want to stay here forever! getting lazier, eating nonstop, growing fatter, and burying my face in these stinky armpits while I stand in front of the mirror making the dumbest gooning face, drooling everywhere as I stroke this fat, heavy uncle cock for hours.
Look at me now… I’m getting fatter, smellier, and fuck… I look like I’m enjoying it so much, don’t I?
Waiting for him is driving me insane. Why the fuck is he taking so long to come out of the gym? My crotch is throbbing, painfully trapped against the tight fabric of my shorts. I can’t hold back anymore. I need that man’s body.
Ever since I kissed someone for the first time, I’ve known about my power. I can take anyone’s body I want. Total control. The only way to be free is when I decide to leave—and that usually happens after I’ve jerked off so many times I get bored.
I reach down and squeeze my aching bulge, trying to adjust it. The leather seat of my motorcycle is hot from the sun, keeping my cock painfully hard. I glance around the empty parking lot, then slide my hand into my shorts, gripping my leaking dick. Soon I’ll be doing the same thing inside his body. God, he’s a real man—hairy, thick, masculine. All of that is about to become mine.
Footsteps approach. I yank my hand out fast. A second later, he’s right beside me. Sergio. My target. He joined the gym recently, but I noticed him from day one. The moment I saw him shirtless in the locker room, I knew I had to have him.
“Hey, Sergio. How’s it going?” I’d spent weeks building rapport, hoping it would make this smoother. “What did you train today?”
“Hey man, thought you’d already left,” he says, bumping fists with me like we’re bros. “Chest day. It was brutal.”
“I bet. Every time I hit chest I feel like I can’t even breathe,” I reply, instinctively touching my own pecs while my eyes devour his massive frame under the dim parking lot lights.
“You coming tomorrow?” he asks, swinging a leg over his motorcycle.
I can’t wait anymore.
“Yeah, but there’s one last thing I need to tell you.” He turns to look at me. I swallow hard, grab his tank top with both hands, and yank him into a brutal kiss.
He tries to shove me off—those huge arms nearly succeed—but I force my tongue deeper. Our mouths fight, tongues sliding wet and aggressive. He’s experienced, and that only makes me hungrier.
The familiar rush hits me. My consciousness rips free and floods into him through the kiss. I force every inch of his body to obey me, claiming muscle, bone, and cock. A few seconds later, I open my new eyes and stare at my old, empty body standing there like a discarded puppet.
I shove it aside gently and grin.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for me, big boy.” My voice—his voice—is deep and rough. I run my hands over my new chest, feeling how pumped and solid it is from the workout.
My palms slide down to my abs, then lower. I freeze for a second when I grab the fat, heavy cock straining in his shorts. It’s thick, veiny, and surrounded by a dense, dark bush of pubic hair.
“Fuck yes,” I growl, massaging my new balls. A low, masculine moan escapes my lips.
“What the fuck is happening?!” Sergio’s voice screams beside me. His ghostly form is standing right there, staring in horror as I grope his stolen body.
I smirk. “Jesus, man. You’ve been hiding a fucking monster in here.” I squeeze the thick shaft harder, not caring that he’s yelling at me.
He keeps screaming, demanding his body back. I ignore him. All I want is to get home and break this hairy beast in.
“Give me my body back, you freak!” he shouts.
I climb onto his motorcycle. “Bro, I’m not talking to you out here. People are gonna think I’m crazy talking to myself. And in case you haven’t noticed, only I can see you.”
“You’re just gonna leave your old body there?” he sneers. “It looks like a damn statue. People will ask questions.”
I wave a hand, putting my old shell on autopilot. It climbs onto my old bike and follows. Years of practice make it easy.
It took a little effort to find Sergio’s apartment—his constant bitching made accessing his memories annoying. I drop the gym bag by the door and head straight for the full-length mirror.
I don’t waste time. My hands roam over my new torso, squeezing the swollen, sensitive pecs. The pump from chest day still burns deliciously. I rip the tank top off.
Thick, dark hair covers my chest and stomach. I run my fingers through it, tugging lightly, my mind flooding with filthy thoughts.
“Stop touching me!” the real Sergio yells, forced to watch.
“Why? It’s my body now.” I shove the shorts and underwear down. His—my—cock springs out, heavy and already drooling precum. I grip it with both hands and moan like a whore.
Sergio moans too, involuntarily. The pleasure hits him as hard as it hits me.
“You like that, huh?” I laugh. “Too bad we’re stuck together. Every time I feel good, you feel it too.”
Panic flashes across his face. He knows I’m into men. And that knowledge makes my new cock throb even harder.
I tear the underwear completely off and start stroking. The shaft is fat, veined, and covered in dark hair at the base. I spit on it and jerk faster, staring at the reflection of this hairy, muscular bear.
The smell hits me—raw, masculine sweat from the gym. I lift one thick arm and bury my face in my pit, inhaling deeply. The musky, pungent scent makes my eyes roll back.
“Fuck, I stink,” I groan. Sergio is panting beside me, clearly fighting the pleasure he’s receiving from his own body.
I close my eyes and picture all the guys from the gym—tight shorts, sweaty bodies, some shirtless. Then I open them again and stare at the hairy beast in the mirror.
“Don’t think about guys—” Sergio begs.
“I control this body. I’ll think about whatever the fuck I want.” I close my eyes again and imagine bending over half the gym. “I’m gonna cum!”
Thick ropes of cum splatter across the mirror and onto my hairy abs. I scoop some up and lick it slowly off my fingers, savoring the salty taste while staring right at Sergio’s horrified face.
He’s still moaning, legs shaky.
I smirk, then grab my phone. One of Sergio’s gym buddies, a tall, muscular guy named Marco, had been texting him earlier. I reply quickly: “Come over. Need help with something.”
Twenty minutes later Marco knocks. He barely gets inside before I shove him against the wall and kiss him hard, my hairy chest pressing into his.
“The fuck, Sergio?” he mutters, surprised—but his hands are already grabbing my ass.
“Shut up and suck my cock,” I growl, pushing him to his knees.
Marco doesn’t need much convincing. He swallows my thick, hairy dick down to the base, gagging eagerly while the real Sergio watches in humiliated shock. I fuck Marco’s throat deep and rough, one hand gripping his hair, the other tugging on my own nipples.
“Take it all, you fucking slut,” I groan in Sergio’s deep voice.
When I finally cum, I flood Marco’s mouth and make him swallow every drop. Then I bend him over the couch and breed his tight ass raw, pounding him until he’s whimpering and shooting hands-free all over the floor.
The whole time, the real Sergio is forced to feel every brutal thrust, every pulse of pleasure.
After Marco leaves, spent and satisfied, I stand in front of the mirror again, cum still dripping down my hairy thighs.
I grin at my reflection and at the broken-looking spirit beside me.
“I hope you enjoyed your first time with a man, Sergio. Because I’m keeping this body for a long, long time.”
“You look tired Nick… you really are out of your game” One of my friends told me. They were telling the truth. I failed several shots and it seems that everyone could pass over me. I don’t remember when was the last time that I performed so poorly when playing a basketball game. The last couple of days I have been very tired, I blame the Keto diet. It’s truth that my muscles were more defined, but it was not worth it if that meant that my energy levels would be on the floor. “Nick, we are for some beers… wanna come?” another of the guys asked but I have to pass. I have a lot of things to do before the night arrives. I have planned this day for so long and I couldn’t wait to see their faces when they learned my decision.
I have been dating Lilia for a while and, today’s night, we are going to celebrate our third anniversary. She was my best friend and I would do anything for her. She complemented me in ways that I didn’t think it was possible. She was my all and I was ready to take the next step in our relationship. I bought that ring a couple of months ago. It has been hidden in my boxer’s drawer all this time and I am certain that Lily would never look for it on that place. My plan was to have a simple dinner. A nice steak, a glass of his favorite wine and several candles creating a romantic mood. It may be simple, but I am certain that she would love the intimacy of the moment.
Now, I need to go and buy all the food, but first I would take a quick shower. I grabbed my bag and looked for my cellphone. However, I noticed that something was off, it seems that I have a lot of Instagram notifications. It was weird as I haven’t used it in a while. I opened the application and saw that a photo of myself was recently uploaded. I looked at it, to be honest with you, I don’t even remember that I ever took this photo. It was probably an old one as I was wearing a bracelet that I lost a couple of months ago. I looked at the comments and many of my friends were calling me a traitor. I hated American Football, everybody knew that, but I was there holding a football with a big smile in my face.
The photo gave me weird vibes, but I didn’t think to much of it. I head to my house and immediately hit the showers. It was very refreshing, and I felt extremely excited for the things that would go down in this special day. I put a blue navy shirt and some jeans. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and try to style my hair the best that I could. I looked for my wallet, but I couldn’t find it. I try to recall where I have left it, but there was nowhere to be found. I could only laugh at my bad luck. It was destiny that in the most important day of my life, I would fall victim of Murphy’s law. Gladly, I have a couple of bucks hidden behind a book and I was certain that it would be more than enough to buy all the supplies. I grabbed the key car and hit the road. However, when I arrived at the supermarket, I noticed that I received several notifications on Facebook.
I opened the app and saw that many people were liking my recent post. That’s when I knew that someone has hacked my account. “I am ready to have a fresh start… my plans would be revealed soon to all of you” The text said. It was not funny, and it really angered me. The person that was hacking me knew about my plans of proposing to Lilia, that’s the only reason that he would write something like that. I don’t know what he was thinking, he could destroy my moment with her. I try to think who could have done this, but none of the people that I told would be so dumb to do something like this.
I thought that it was going to be easy to stop the hacker. I just needed to change my password. However, it seems that he thought really well his plan and he had already changed them. I could not block my account and that frustrated me a lot. I needed help and I knew that Chuck was my man to go. He was the savviest tech guy that I have ever meet. He was capable of doing anything and I considered him as the most valuable team member in the company that I worked. I knew that he would know how to proceed. I dial his number, but to my surprise I didn’t have any signal. My cellphone line was death and I couldn’t believe that my day was getting worst by the moment.
I entered the supermarket and gathered quickly the ingredients for my meal. Gladly there was some wifi and I could see what my impostor was doing on the web. He was clearly enjoying his newfound power, as he had changed most of my profile pictures. I didn’t have a clue where he got all those old photos. Maybe he was some kind of stalker and that idea make me feel very anxious. In Instagram, he put a photo of me when I was training at the gym; in LinkedIn, he uploaded a photo of me wearing a tuxedo and; in Facebook, he changed my pic to one of me hanging with my friends. That’s when I noticed something weird, all my friends were dressed up in their basketball gear. I appeared using a white tank top and black pants, the same that I was wearing during the morning game. Maybe I was thinking to much all of this, it was probably a coincidence, but it was definitely a weird one.
I needed to warn Lily of what was happening. I entered WhatsApp to quickly send her a message, but to my surprise the app was down. That hacker not only stole my social accounts, he also stole all my cellphone information. Right now, he could be able to send messages to Lily. That angered me a lot and I knew that I should head home as fast as possible. To my demise, there was a police car waiting for me outside the supermarket and I immediately knew that things were going to get weirder.
“Sir, this car has been reported as stolen” The policeman said
“That cannot be, it’s my car” I said
“Papers and license”
“Here are the papers… I lost my wallet, so I don’t have a license”
“Name?”
“Nick Rogerson”
“That’s funny, Nick Rogerson… A guy with that exact name told us that his car was stolen”
“That cannot be”
“Sir, put your hands on the car”
“You cannot be serious”
“Sir, put the hands on the car… I would tell you your rights”.
I couldn’t believe that I end up in the station. However, nothing prepared me to the moment that I made that phone call.
“Hello” She said after answering her phone.
“Lilia, it’s me”
“Who?”
“Nick… I am at the police station”
“Nick? What Nick?”
“What? Nick Rogerson, you don’t recognize my voice”
“Haha, that’s so funny. Who is this?”
“I am telling the truth Lily”
“Stop the joke, is not funny… I am certain that you are not Nick because he is right now playing to be a plumber”
“That cannot be”
“Well, I am looking at him right now…but I believe that we would need to call a real plumber”
“What?”
“So, who is this?”
I hang up the phone not knowing what to think about all this. I called my sister and waited for several hours until she was finally able to get me out from the station. The police officer told her that probably someone played a prank on me, but in my mind, I knew that something that should be impossible was happening. I asked for my sister’s cellphone and when I opened Instagram, I saw a photo of myself wearing a nice suit. He was in my home and the text read “Finally, its time to make history”. I couldn’t say a word, I couldn’t believe any of this. I have a doppelganger and I was fucked.
My house was completely empty. I don’t have an idea of where the couple went to celebrate their anniversary. I only watch their social media posts. I cried when I learned that she said yes. I was happy in a way because that meant that Lilia wanted to be with me, but I was also mad knowing that the impostor had stolen that moment from me. Sooner or later, the false Nick was going to need to return to my home. I would be waiting for him and I am certain that I would be able to beat the crap out of him.
I waited for several hours, I stayed all night on watch, and it was almost midday when he approached the main door.
“It cannot be” I said, holding a baseball bat with my hands.
“Look at you… don’t be shocked”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I am Nick Rogerson”
“No… I am the real Nick”
“Yeah, you are the real one… but not for too long”
“Don’t you dare to approach me” I said while raising the bat
“Nick, that are empty menaces… you cannot do anything to change what’s going to happen”
“You will not be able to fool anyone”
“But I have done this for months. I knew that I wanted your body the moment that you enter the office. I have transformed into you hundredth of times and not even your mother recognized that I wasn’t the real deal”.
“So. what changed? why are you reveling yourself”
“Because its time to make this hunky flesh my new permanent home”
“No”
“Don’t feel bad, you will not remember that you were the real Nick and I assure you that you will love to be the most valuable member of the team”
“Chuck”
“In the flesh, well… that is your new name”.
——————————
I was very confused when I wake up, I didn’t know how I ended up in Nick’s house. He served me a cup of coffee and he left me stay there all the time that I needed. I looked at him as he walked away. Nick Rogerson was the most confident man that I have ever meet. I really admired him, and I just wish to be more like him. To be honest with you, I would give anything to be the one walking in his shoes.
“Who are you texting, babe?” Maddie asked her boyfriend, Tyler, with feigned innocence as he typed away on his device, keeping his phone turned away from her for whatever reason.
Maddie had been suspecting Tyler might have been cheating on her. He was always on his phone, he came back home from work later and later, and he just seemed generally distant. He hadn’t touched her in weeks, for god’s sake. She was sure he was texting whatever trollop he had been fucking all this time.
“Hm? Oh, uh, no one babe…” Tyler responded, not looking up from his phone.
Every time he was busy on his phone, Maddie noticed that he would keep adjusting himself, both in his sitting position and in the meat between his legs. He was getting hard for another girl in front of her??
“Can I see?” Maddie asked as calmly and innocently as she could.
“Oh-uh, um, uhhh… no… why?”
“Well if it’s no one, can I see?”
Tyler still hadn’t turned his eyes away from his phone, “…….. what? Sorry, I tuned out.”
Maddie saw red. She sat there, quietly fuming and feeling like a ticking bomb. Quickly, she shot her arm over and snatched his phone away from his hands.
“Madison, what the fuck?!” he shouted as he tried to retrieve his phone from her. He always insisted on calling her by her full name, and in times like this it felt like a parent was scolding her. “Give it back! It’s nothing babe!”
She scrolled as quickly as she could, holding it away from his grasping hands. He was texting some tramp named Ashley. ‘Ashley,’ she thought to herself with revulsion and disgust, ‘some fucking stripper’s name.’ He was texting the most lurid things: ‘I’m so fucking horny for you right now,’ ‘I can’t wait to fuck you again,’ ‘Wait till my wife goes to bed and I’ll come over.’ This whore Ashley was responding similar things: ‘Just ditch that bitch and come over,’ ‘I need your thick dick in me,’ ‘God, I’m still sore from the other night.’
Maddie glared at Tyler, who realized that he had no way out of this. She shot up from her sitting position to grab her keys and purse, throwing the phone back at Tyler, and hissed, “If Ashley is who you want, then you can have her, you fucking pig!”
“Babe, wait, it’s not like that! Madison, please—!”
She slammed the door behind her and marched to her car, wiping tears as she went.
———
Sarah heard a knock at her door and immediately opened it, knowing it was her friend Maddie. She had called on the way over in hysterics and inconsolable. Her asshole boyfriend had finally ruined things for then. Sarah always wished Maddie would let her give it a shot at making her happy, but she was always only interested in asshole dudes like Tyler.
“I need it,” Maddie said without any greetings, pushing herself into Sarah’s apartment and throwing her stuff on her counter.
“Hey to you, too,” Sarah knew what she was referring to but wanted to play along, “Need what?”
“That… thing! That conjuring! Spell! Whatever! You said you could do it, and I’m looking to cash in!”
“Girl, just because your boyfriend is an asshole doesn’t mean—“
“You don’t get it! It’s so unfair! I’m at my wit’s end, Sarah!” she was fighting back tears at this point. “I love him, I love him so goddamn much it hurts, and I don’t know what I need to do to make him love me, too! I’ve done all I can do! I work out, I doll up for him, I cook, I clean… but if he wants some other body, fine, but he’s still gonna have me.”
Sarah thought for a moment. Maddie just never was going to give her a chance, would she? She sighed as she made her way to the book her grandmother passed down to her. As her hands landed on the book, an idea popped into her head… Yeeaaaah, this could work. These weren’t the types of spells she usually performed—hell, she’d never performed a spell like this—but Maddie was wonderful and hot and kind and it was a damn shame to see her waste herself on someone with as dull a personality and spirit as Tyler. Yeah, she could do this. She flipped to the right page and scanned a copy in her printer for Maddie, then brought the copy to her.
“Ok, as you asked,” Sarah responded with a defeated sigh. “But remember, this isn’t reversible, Maddie. I don’t want to see you commit to something too quickly.”
Maddie lept into Sarah to hug her, fighting back tears again, “Oh, Sarah, you’re such a good friend.”
Sarah shrugged and tried to stifled her racing heart and excitement her body felt embracing Maddie, “Remember, you need to enter your name and the name of the person you’re looking to inhabit ummm here, here, here, annnd… here.”
“Easy enough! I’ll contact you once I’m in that skank’s body,” Maddie continued with a laugh. “Ugh, I love you.”
Maddie left Sarah’s apartment and Sarah locked the door with a sigh. She started disrobing and made her way into her back room with her grandmother’s book.
———
After driving out of the city for some time, she pulled over to the side of the road and parked her car. She lit a cigarette, grabbed the piece of paper Sarah gave her, and started walking into the nearby woods. She came into a clearing and wiped her eyes. The moonlight gave her enough visibility to read the incantation on the page. She clumsily read through the words on the page and then waited. She dropped her cigarette and extinguished it. After some time, a wicked wind slowly kicked up in the clearing and developed into hurricane-strength. Maddie could barely keep standing, it felt like her body was being pulled and sucked by the wind around her. She panicked but remembered, Sarah wouldn’t give her anything that would harm her. In that moment she relaxed her body and let the spell run it’s course. Her body now relaxed, she began to involuntarily spin with the whipping wind, slowly at first, but gradually speeding to like a tornado, impossibly fast for any human body to withstand. Her body began lifting off the ground and elongating, swirling up with the otherworldly wind and forming a narrow, long, whipping, brightly glowing vortex that stretched up into the sky and shot off to the west, back towards the city, at lightning speed. As the otherworldly wind subsided in the clearing, Maddie’s clothes came lightly tumbling down from the sky, followed by the piece of paper with the incantation written on it.
———
Maddie, or at this point her essence, started barreling back down to the ground, seemingly headed straight for an apartment window. Upon entering the open window, Maddie was vaguely aware that she was in some kind of living room, but it didn’t look like a female’s living room, with clothes and boxers laying over furniture and empty glasses litering every surface. This wasn’t right, but she only had a split second to process the information as the vortex of her essence slingshot itself into another room.
The bathroom. A dude’s bathroom. The man was in the bathroom getting dressed, the humid heat from his shower fogging the bathroom mirror and making the room hazy. This wasn’t fucking right at all! Maddie panicked and tried to change directions, but her new form had a mind of its own. As the man was about to pull up his boxer briefs over his hard, round ass, the vortex plunged into his freshly douched hole. Freshly douched? Why freshly douched? Maddie hardly had time to think about it as she involuntarily invaded this man’s body, still panicking and feeling like Sarah had duped her. She filled up his every orifice, ever crevice and extremity, her essence experiencing for the first time the weight of a body as massive and muscled as this one, the strength in the arms and legs, the broad shape of the body, the insatiable libido, and—oh, fuck, the cock and balls. It felt as though her clit ballooned obscenely large and protruded from her body and her uterus came sliding out of her into a set of pendulous balls. His cock immediately grew erect and pressed against the fabric of the boxer briefs. His body moaned loudly and with a vibrato, as he began shaking uncontrollably, the whipping vortex continuing to get sucked into his ass. His body lifted itself up on its toes as the last of the vortex sucked into him with a satisfying *ffwoop!* He arched his neck and his back as his eyes rolled back into his heads, his body giving off a final vibrating pulse as literally all of his huge, athletic muscles tensed and bulged.
His eyes finally opened and he took one giant shaking gasp of air, “HHHHHHHHHHoooly Fuckin’ Shit…” he moaned in a deep baritone. Maddie lowered her head and looked down at her, or rather his, new body. She was… she was a fucking dude! This couldn’t be right, she did the spell exactly as Sarah told her to, and now she ends up in this bitch Ashley’s boyfriend’s body? What the fuck good will that do? Tyler would never go for this tramp’s boyfriend—although Maddie wouldn’t necessarily mind letting Tyler plow her still… Maddie paused for a moment. Huh, she was still attracted to Tyler, even in this body. She was sure the biology of this body wouldn’t allow her be attracted to Tyler, but… and holy shit, speaking of biology, her new body was really responding to the idea of Tyler plowing her. She felt her new dick pressing hard, almost uncomfortably hard, against the fabric of the briefs. She pulled the elastic waist of the briefs away from her and gasped.
Holy shit, she was massive. His cock swung away from the briefs and pointed in front of him, glistening with pre from Maddie’s spectral entrance. He gingerly wrapped a hand around his slick rod and slowly pumped once up and down. He threw his head back in a shuddering exhale, imagining Tyler wrapping his lips around his cock. The unfamiliar but orgasmic new sensations, combined with her fantasy about Tyler, Maddies was almost sent over the edge.
Ok, hold on, this was fucking weird. Why did she almost nut in this body at the thought of Tyler sucking her cock? She needed to get to the bottom of this. She stuffed her hard dick into the briefs and pulled the back of the briefs over his round, fuckable, muscular ass, and went back into the living room, his huge boner jiggling with every step.
She panned the filthy room for any sign of identification. Her eyes landed on a wallet on the table near the front door. She flipped open the brown leather trifold and spotted an ID bearing the face of the new body she occupied. She looked closely and his chiseled jaw dropped.
‘Ashley R. Henderson,’ the name on the ID read.
Ashley. Ash. Tyler had always insisted on calling her Madison instead of Maddie. Holy shit, this was Ashley!
He jumped as a sharp knock hit the door.
———
Tyler parked his truck at Ash’s apartment and cut the engine. He looked down at his phone and frowned. What a terrible goddamn night. He hated what he did to Madison, but his feelings for Ashley were stronger, he just never found the right time to bring it up. Terrible goddamn night… What he needed more than anything was someone to talk to and who would listen, and Ash was always great for that. Plus, he had the added benefit of being an expert cocksucker and power bottom. He shrugged and put his phone in his pocket and left the truck.
He made his way to Ashley’s door and prepared to knock, when suddenly a twisting vortex came firing down from the sky and towards his face. He heard it coming and looked up to scream, but he didn’t utter a sound as the vortex plunged into his mouth with a symphony of grunts and gurgles. His muscles tensed and bulged as his body seized up and shook while the vortex invaded his body. His cock began swelling in his black gym shorts as his body went through the most surreal experience it had ever been through. The last of the vortex entered his throat and he uttered small, involuntary choking sounds.
His body stopped convulsing and he brought his arms in front of him to check them out. “Not bad. Not fuckin’ bad at all…” Sarah remarked in Tyler’s deep, rich voice. Plus, he had taken his body all the way to Ashley’s door, how convenient! Before Sarah knocked on the door to the apartment, she took off Tyler’s white athletic shirt and surveyed her thick, hairy body. She flexed her new arms and bounced her hairy pecs. ‘Lucky me, Tyler always had a hot body,’ she thought. Hot body? She had never found Tyler attactive—she couldn’t, she only liked girls. Well, the biology of this new body argued otherwise, and she was completely turned on by her own impressive, hunky, hairy physique. Her new cock was throbbing in Tyler’s gym shorts.
‘Fuck it,’ she thought as she dropped the shorts, exposing Tyler’s nude body to the entire world. Turns out that Tyler prefers letting his bits hang free without underwear! It was late enough so no one saw his very public display, but it’s a shame they didn’t. Tyler was fuckin’ tight! She imagined fucking Maddie’s tight pussy with her thick, swinging, uncut cock and it swelled even larger at the thought. ‘Huh, turns out Tyler swings both ways,’ she thought. What luck! Sarah was still going to get to fuck Maddie in this bimbo “Ashley’s” body!
He bent over and collected his shorts off the ground and held them in the same hands as his shirt. He stroked his beard and stood in front of the door with broad-shouldered confidence, and gave three sharp knocks on the door.
———
Maddie opened the door in Ash’s body and dropped his jaw in disbelief, staring at Tyler who stood completely nude outside the doorway.
Sarah, in Tyler’s body, was shaken in his confidence for a second. She wasn’t at all expecting a man to answer the door. A hot man. A jacked man. A man who was sporting a huge hard-on in nothing but his briefs.
The two stared at each other for a moment, neither of them saying a word, but both of them completely turned on by what stood before them.
Sarah/Tyler broke the silence, “Ashley?”
A pleasurable shiver ran up Maddie/Ash’s spine. Tyler always did love calling people by their full names. “Yeah, babe?” she responded confidently, leaning against the doorframe.
Tyler looked down at the clothes in his hand and nonchalantly tossed them beside Ash and into the apartment. He gripped onto his hard cock and stroked it a little. “I’ve had a hard night, bro, and I could really use someone to lean on. Think you can help me out?” he asked with a sly smirk.
‘Fuck, Tyler has never been this kinky,’ Maddie/Ash thought. He returned the smirk and pulled his hard cock out of his briefs and tugged it, “Sure, dude, I think we can figure something out.”
They grinned at each other and Tyler stepped in to embrace Ash, their swords crossing and their thick, muscular arms wrapping around each other in passionate kisses. Ash gripped onto Tyler’s dick and knelt down, guiding it into his mouth, sending Tyler into orgasmic moans experiencing his cock being sucked for the first time.
Ash kept sucking like a pro and reached behind Tyler, who could bearly stand on his feet racked with ecstasy, to close the apartment door.
My Uncle Rob here was a homophobic, stuck-up asshole who loved to call me a faggot, pussy, or a wimp. He especially loved to rub in how less of a man I was compared to him. Like how I had no big muscles, hairy chest, or were as tall as him. Every time we met during our family reunions he would flex his thick hairy biceps in front of me and say things like:
“Betcha you wished you looked like this!” or “You’ll never get a real man like me…”
He was right though. I did wish I had a body like his, and it would be a lie to say that most of my wet dreams and fantasies were about him… Sometimes I would imagine waking up in bed next to him and nuzzle my face into his hairy chest and musky armpits, other times I would imagine myself actually being INSIDE his body. Walk around with his hairy thick legs, scratch my wonderfully bearded face, and rub his furry body till I shot his load all over the fur on his stomach. Those were just dreams though…
…Until my 18th birthday, when I finally received my family ability!
Apparently every member of my family received a special ability when they turned eighteen. Some were more powerful than others, and some only worked together with other abilities from our family. Like how my mom could make trees grow instantaneously, but only from mud and earth that my dad created.
Well, in my case I woke up on my birthday with a ringing headache and a voice inside my head telling my I had gained the ability of “Body Swapping”. I don’t know if the choice of abilities were influenced by the user’s desires, but it sure seemed like it for me. After all, I only had one thing in mind: to swap my body with my Uncle Rob’s.
And that’s exactly what I did. When my family gathered to celebrate my birthday, I waited with anticipation until Rob arrived. As usual, he arrived late in his pick-up truck which he would constantly gloat about how he had perfectly refurbished. The entire afternoon he spent his time talking to my other uncles, while I sat and pretended to play with my younger cousins. All the time though, I had my eyes glued to him, or well specifically - his sexy body.
It wasn’t until the end of the party that I watched him leave the crowd and went to the bathroom. That’s when I followed him. I waited outside the door of the restroom until I heard him flush, and stood right in front of him when he opened the door. He was surprised to see me, but then went back to his douchey way of talking to me with a smirk on his face.
“Hey lil’ nephew! How’s your birthday? Betcha you got a lot of pussy today, didn’t ya? Oh right, you don’t do that. Silly me. Anyways, means you got your ability now, am I right? What is it? Let me guess, you can summon butterflies or something.. no, scratch that. Small ugly bugs seems to fit you better.” He’d sneer at me. Talking to me without holding anything back.
But it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t, not after I activated my ability and swapped my body with him.
“You now what Uncle Rob, you might be a real man and have this amazingly hairy and big body, I’ll give you that. But you’re wrong in so many other ways. For example, how I’ll never get a real man and or look anything like you. Well, guess what? I’ll be getting myself a real man’s body and look exactly like you!” With that said I grabbed hold of his hairy rugged hands and clenched my eyes shut. I focused all my energy inside myself and felt it shot out of my chest and straight into Uncle Rob’s. A body can’t handle so much energy, so I felt it shoot out his energy and into my old skinny body.
When I opened my eyes again, everything felt so weird and different. My hands were so big and rugged, my arms so thick and hairy, and my face itched constantly. And then I caught it, that smell. Uncle Rob’s deep musky scent. It was oozing from every orifice of my new body, constantly surrounding me and drowning me in it. A few of the girls in my family would look at him in disgust whenever he walk by, but I would always turn my head towards him, hoping to catch the trail left behind by his deep scent. And now I was inside it, the very epicenter of it! I couldn’t help but reach my thick arm up and turn my head towards my armpit, almost pushing my face into it while inhaling deeply.
“Oh FUuUUuuuUUUUUckkkk…..” I moaned deeply with my uncle’s gruff voice. The scent, his scent, my scent, was strongest here, which left my absolutely speechless. I felt my uncle’s member in my pants instantly harden, and painfully being restrained by the jeans he had decided to wear today. My other hand found itself quickly reaching down and slipping inside of the jeans, wrapping its rugged textures around the hardened member. It was so huge, and so incredibly fat! I found myself squeezing it while groaning loudly.
Hearing another groan in front of me brought me back to my senses though. Uncle Rob was coming back to his senses, as he was rubbing his temples and wiping his eyes. I just realized the repercussions of this situation, of finding me inside his body, sniffing his smelly armpits and stroking his fat cock. He was going to kill me! Or worst, use his own ability on me!
You see, Uncle Rob here had the ability to completely “Lock” someone’s ability from being used against him. Though it did not have any real-life practical use, it did mean he was invincible in our family of super-powered beings. Hence why he is always so narcissistic and rude. No one could touch him. My mom’s plants would refuse to go near him, and my older cousin who could turn boulder’s into gravel with one punch couldn’t even put a scratch on him. That’s how strong his ability was! And if he decided to use it on me after we swapped back, then I’d never get to swap with him again! I’d lose access to this wonderfully hairy and musky body, and have to go back to always day-dreaming about it instead… never to touch it ever again…
No! I couldn’t live with that! This body was too amazing to lose! I had to stop my uncle from using his ability and locking my body swapping ability against him, no matter what! That’s when an thought came to me…
We had always speculated that the abilities had to do with the maturity of the body. Especially since the family member always had to turn eighteen before it “awakened”. If that really were the case then, that would also mean the abilities not only grew with the body… but stayed with the body as well…
In that case, that meant I now had Uncle Rob’s “Locking” ability, and not my own “Body Swapping” one. He was the one that could switch our bodies back and ruin all my fun. To take this body back and all its hairiness away from me! It made me panic! Fearing he would realize my ability, swap us back, and lock me out of ever using it on him again, I decided to take the initiative. I thought to myself: “if he got my ability, then maybe I got his! I can lock him from using the body swapping powers on me!”
So, clenching my eyes shut, I imagined what using the “Locking” powers entitled, and focused hard on my former self. It took only a few seconds, until finally a sort of click sound echoed inside my head. I realized I had done it! I had permanently locked Uncle Rob from ever using my own ability against me again!
“Try switching our bodies back now, you asshole! I locked you out!” I happily said out loud to poke at him, as the fat cock in my pants pulsated slightly.
There was a look of sheer terror and confusion on my Uncle’s new face as he finally collected himself enough and looked up to see his own big burly body inhaling its musk and pawing at itself. A look that soon turned into one of fear and anxiety as he realized what I had just said.
“Y-you did what?! You know how my ability works!! Any ability I lock is permanent! Permanent, you hear?! Oh god, what have you done…” He shook his head devastatingly, as he began walking around me restlessly.
It wasn’t until after he said that I realized what that meant… I had trapped myself inside my Uncle Rob’s hairy, thick, mature body, possible for the rest of my life! We even had him try using the body swapping ability on me again, but he said the energy he sent out simply bounced of me. As if a barrier refused to let his energy invade me, or a shell prevented my energy from leaving this body. It was true. I was really stuck, in Uncle Rob’s furry body. Permanently!
Yet somehow… I didn’t mind. Sure, I lost about thirty years of my life, and I could no longer swap bodies with people. A brand new amazing ability I just received, traded away for my uncle’s mediocre one. But I gained Uncle Rob’s amazing body. His thick meaty muscles, his furry chest and stomach, his sexy bearded face, and most of all, his wonderfully deep musk. I wouldn’t trade any of it away, not now and not ever. I could just burrow my face into those lush armpits and let myself be swept away until oblivion.
And that’s exactly what I did. After the birthday party ended and I watched the rest of my family leave, I gave Uncle Rob in my former skinny body a big bear hug and reassured him everything would be fine. Then, starting his ole’ trusty pick-up truck, I drove for an hour or so until I arrived at the outskirts of a forest. Seeing that there was literally no people or cars around, I immediately tore off all my clothes and laid spread out with my hairy legs on top of the car front. Angling the rear mirror so it was facing down towards me, I looked into the mirror to see my entire upper self inside it.
With pride and joy that this body was all mine now, I began to feel and explore all that it had to give me. I hungrily lapped up every inch of my hairy armpits, squeezed my soft yet firm stomach adorned with fur, and finally wrapped my large rugged hands around my even larger manhood. The thickness of it in my hand, the sensation it sent coursing through my body, and the smell emanating from it every time the skin was pulled down… I loved every single second of it. And it was literal heaven when I finally exploded all over my furry chest, the leather seats, and even on top of the glass. And then I did it again. And again.. And again…
By the time I drove home to Uncle Rob’s apartment, the entire car was drenched in the stench of sex and my strong musk. Exactly how I wanted it.
—
Life as my Uncle Rob was really good.
And as I joyously found out a few years later, Uncle Rob’s “Locking” ability hadn’t fully developed yet. When my physical body turned 50, that’s when it did. And the ability turned out to be incredibly powerful. Capable of “locking” some very interesting “nonphysical” matter in the state they were in.
I first discovered it one day after returning back home from Rob’s construction work and almost refusing to take a shower because I loved how my body smelled. I wanted the scent to stay on me like this forever, no matter how much I showered. And suddenly a loud click was heard in my head. And lo and behold, no matter how many times I showered, or what kind of body wash I used, I always smelled just like that day. I had literally locked that “sense of smell” onto my burly body for good.
As I realized this growth of Uncle Rob’s mediocre ability, now being my life-changing ability, so many possibilities opened up. Locking my “stamina” so I could work all day, locking my “metabolism” so I always stayed kind of the same shape, and locking my good “relationship” with my boss. And then I realized the true power of it; I locked my age and health.
It’s been over two years now, and my body haven’t aged one bit. I was still just as furry, thick, and smelly as the day I took this body of my Uncle Rob’s hands. I haven’t gotten ill either, even when most of colleagues ended up with some kind of contagious influenza at work. At this point I have realized that in a way I was… immortal…
The thought of that should’ve been enough for me… but it wasn’t. There was one last thing I wanted to try out. And I know I should be more careful since everything I lock is permanent, but I just have to try. You see, I haven’t masturbated in over seven days now, and today is the day five years ago that I ended up in this perfect body. I’m going to recall that moment I woke up in this body, while inhaling my own musk and jerking myself off in front of the mirror. And right when I experience that earth-shattering orgasm… I’m going to lock it.
For the rest of eternity, I’ll be wearing my Uncle Rob’s sexy furry immortal body… and being permanently locked in an never-ending cycle of bliss and orgasm…
I love being Uncle Rob, and his sexy furry body and crazy ability will be mine forever and always. Quite literally.
The old you is finally awake again. It must’ve been twenty months since this self had control of your own body and mind. It felt like a never-ending bad dream as you watched yourself obey your jock roommate’s every hypnotic suggestion. You pledged a frat with him and surrounded yourself with only your—actually his frat bros, pumped iron with him every day, wore only his gymbro wardrobe, and talked like a chill bro neanderthal while the thoughts in your head felt like molasses trying to drip through cotton candy. He even made you only take classes that you could fully bullshit with the magic brain box... No, um... A large language model.
“What’s wrong, bro?” your bro captor Colton says, noticing a change in your demeanor.
“All this is wrong, bro!” Wait, why can’t you stop saying that word? You try again:
“Colton, you’re not my bro. You’re a sick bastard trying to make me into some dumb ass clone of your frat bros for brojobs and muscle worship seshes! But none of that’s me!”
“Calm down, bro,” he says. You suddenly slump a bit and lower the arm that was pointing a finger at him.
“Here, wear your chain, bro.” You feel Colton place the thick gold chain you’ve been wearing 24/7 around your neck—though you took it off this morning. And you suddenly feel a cozy warmth wash over you.
“If none of this is you, and I’m not your bro, then who are you? What is your name? If you can tell me your name, I’ll let you go back to normal and never bother you again.”
“That’s not fair! You put the dumb jock chain on me, bro! The hypnotic trigger… I… I… can’t remember shit!”
In horror, you grasp your head tightly through your BPO ball cap, as if to keep your memories from draining away and this vestige of your old self from being suppressed once again.
“Bro, my head hurts,” you eventually say to your bro Colton.
