My name is Gary, currently a forty year old man . living in rented room the suburbs of Chicago.
I have two older brothers. Both of them obsessed with football (soccer). Me? Not really. I was just interested in the hot players.
I was in the closet, couldn't tell anyone. Jerked off to fantasies about football players dominating me.
Cristiano Ronaldo was always the star of those fantasies. It was impossible not to obsess over him; the man had the body of a literal god and a face so flawless it probably made every other man on the planet weep with jealousy. I was so desperately in love with him, but the reality was that he would never even know I existed. I was just a ghost in Chicago, and he was a living legend half a world away.
One day a lottery was announced of first price meeting my idol Ronaldo a d have a full day with fhem . It was a "once in a lifetime" experience.
A few weeks later, I was in Madrid. I was nervous, sweating through my shirt. I was in a luxury hotel suite waiting for him.
The door to the suite clicked open, and my heart nearly stopped.
Cristiano Ronaldo walked in, and the photos didn't do him justice. He was wearing a fitted white shirt that clung to every inch of his sculpted torso and a pair of designer sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He looked like a Greek statue that had suddenly come to life.
"Gary?" he asked, his voice a deep, rich baritone that vibrated right through my chest. He smiled, flashing those perfect white teeth. "It is good to finally meet you. Come in, come in." Which made me hard and it didn't go unnoticed he began teasing while closing distance trying to fondle it.
I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream. I looked into his eyes, expecting to see mockery, but instead, I saw a dark, hungry desire that mirrored my own.
Then he forcefully ripped off my shirts and slid off my pants and undies. He forced me on the bed, and I went without a fight. He towered over me, his body a mountain of muscle that I was desperate to climb.
He didn't waste time. He spit on his hand, slicking up his massive cock, which was already hard and leaking. I stared at it, my mouth watering.
"You want this, Gary? You want me to own you?" he growled.
The sound of my name on his lips, spoken with that guttural, commanding tone, was enough to make my knees weak. I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded frantically, my eyes glued to the masterpiece of a man standing over me.
He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Use your words, Gary. Tell me what you want."
"I... I want you," I stammered, my face flushing hot. "I want to fell you inside and out, Cristiano. Please."
He didn't wait for a second invitation. With a fluid, predatory grace, he climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his significant weight. The heat radiating off his body was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned chill of the room. He positioned himself between my legs, his hands gripping my ankles and pushing them back and apart, exposing me completely to his gaze.
"Good boy," he murmured, his eyes raking over my chubby, trembling form with an intensity that made me feel like the most desired man on earth. "Let's see how much you can take."
I felt the blunt, thick head of his cock press against my entrance. My breath hitched in my throat, a mix of terror and exhilaration flooding my veins. I had dreamed of this moment a thousand times, but the reality of his size was daunting. He was huge.
He pushed forward, and the sheer size of him forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a burning stretch, an intense pressure that bordered on overwhelming, but beneath the pain was a flash of pleasure so searing it made my vision blur. He didn't stop, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and demanding, watching my every reaction as he buried himself inch by agonizing inch inside me.
He began to shoot his " Essence " onto me then he can to mack me but for the sake of the prize will try this tiny piece let me see how much it will produce .
At last I shoot my cum in his mouth filled with my em" Essence" but it was a small sprut which left me exhausted.
We were exhausted and decided to sleep together for tonight . During midnight out body began to change and morph into each other's form.
His hair and muscle grew on me and my body hair and fat grew on him. It was a chaotic swapping of biology happening under the moonlight.
When the morning light streamed through the heavy curtains of the hotel suite, I woke up feeling heavy. Not the heavy of a hangover, but a physical weight I wasn't accustomed to. My chest felt incredibly tight, and my legs felt like leaden weights. I tried to sit up, but my center of gravity was totally off, causing me to stumble awkwardly against the headboard.
That was when I noticed my arms. They weren't my arms. They were tanned, defined, and dusted with light hair. The bicep bulged even with the slight movement of trying to catch myself.
My heart hammered against ribs that felt far too broad and muscular. I scrambled toward the bathroom, my stride long and powerful, feeling a strange, heavy swing between my legs that wasn't there before. I slammed the light switch on and gripped the marble countertop, staring into the vanity mirror with wide, terrified eyes.
Staring back at me was Cristiano Ronaldo. The sharp jawline, the perfectly groomed stubble, the intense brown eyes—I was looking at the man I had worshipped from afar for years. I brought a hand up to my face, watching the reflection mimic the movement. I touched my cheek, my lips. It was real. I was in his body. A sudden, manic laugh bubbled up in my throat, coming out as a deep, rich baritone that vibrated through my chest. I wasn't Gary the nerd anymore. I was a god.
On the bed saw my old self deep asleep still . I walk over to him with a smirk.
"You had your turn in the spotlight," I whispered, my new voice sounding alien yet incredibly powerful. "Now it's mine."
I walked to the bathroom to explore this new body. I pulled down the sweatpants and looked at the masterpiece between my legs. It was heavy, thick, and already twitching with a life of its own. I wrapped my hand around it, the sensation of touching a cock this size from the *inside* almost enough to make me pass out.
The sheer weight of it in my hand was intoxicating. My fingers didn't even meet around the shaft. I gave it an experimental tug, and a jolt of electricity shot up my spine, resonating in the core of this powerful new body. A low, guttural moan escaped my throat—Cristiano's throat. It sounded like distant thunder, deep and commanding. I watched in the mirror, mesmerized by the flex of his biceps, the way his abs tightened with every stroke.
For years, I had been the submissive one, the chubby kid fantasizing about being crushed under the weight of a man like this. But now, looking at the predator staring back at me, something fundamental shifted inside my psyche. The desire to be dominated evaporated, replaced by a burning, aggressive need to conquer. The power was a drug, and I was already addicted.
I let go, gasping, and turned back to the bedroom. The other me—the old Gary—was still sprawled across the king-sized bed, snoring softly. He looked pathetic. Soft, pale, out of shape. It was hard to believe that had been me only hours ago. I felt a surge of disdain, mixed with a strange, possessive curiosity.
I decided to wake him up . I walked over, enjoying the heavy thud of my bare feet on the plush carpet, and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly.
"Hey. Wake up," I barked.
Old Gary groaned and rubbed his eyes, looking up at me with a sleepy confusion that slowly melted into horror as he focused on the figure towering over him.
He scrambled backward, his movements clumsy and sluggish, a stark contrast to the athlete's body he had inhabited just minutes before. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and terrified, darting between my face and the mirror behind me.
"W-what happened?" Old Gary stammered, his voice high and whiny, the voice I had lived with for thirty years and suddenly found unbearable. "Cristiano? Is that... a swap?"
"We swapped, Ronaldo" I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The feeling of my massive pecs pressing against each other was electric. "The wish, the cosmic alignment, whatever you want to call it. We traded lives.
The color drained from the face of my old body. He looked down at his hands—soft, pale, and now slightly chubby—and let out a whimper that I found pathetic. "My... my career," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I have training. I have a contract. You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want," I cut him off, reveling in the deep, authoritative resonance of my new voice. I stepped closer, towering over him, letting the sheer mass of this body cast a shadow across his trembling form. "And the first thing I'm going to do is fix your mindset , from now on call me Christiano Ronaldo ".
I saw tears welling up in his eyes. "But... I'm the real Cristiano. I'm the star. You're just... you're just a fan. You can't take this from me!"
I grabbed him by the throat—not enough to choke him, but enough to establish dominance—and pushed him back against the pillows. The ease with which I manhandled him was terrifyingly thrilling. In his old body, Cristiano was soft, weak. He had no leverage against me now.
"Let's get one thing straight," I snarled, tightening my grip just enough to make his eyes bulge. The feeling of power was intoxicating, a heady rush that went straight to my groin. "I'm not 'just a fan' anymore. I am the CR7. And you? You're just a sad, overweight accountant from Chicago with a rental agreement and a collection of stale porn magazines."
The look on his face—on *my* old face—was devastating. It was a mix of heartbreak and utter confusion. This was the man I had worshipped, reduced to a quivering mess in a body that couldn't do a single pull-up. The irony was delicious.
I released him and stood up, pacing the room. My movements felt so efficient, so explosive. Even just walking across the plush carpet felt like gliding. I caught my reflection in the full-length wardrobe mirror and stopped. I turned to the side, flexing my arm. The bicep peaked like a mountain.
I turned back to the bed, watching Old Gary shrink away from me. The realization that he was stuck in my old life—my cramped apartment, my mundane job, my lonely existence—seemed to be sinking in. He looked small, fragile, and utterly defeated.
"But... what do I do?" he whimpered, pulling the duvet up to his chin as if it could protect him from the harsh reality of his new situation. "I don't know how to be... you. I mean, *him*."
"You'll figure it out," I said with a dismissive shrug, walking toward the walk-in closet. "Or you won't. Either way, it’s not my problem anymore."
But now let's do what you did to me yesterday but more spicy.
I moved back to the bed, a predator stalking its prey. New Gary shrank away, but there was nowhere for him to go. I loomed over him, blocking out the light.
"No... please," he begged, his eyes darting around the room for an escape that didn't exist. "I don't want this."
"You don't have a choice," I growled, the words rumbling deep in my chest with a resonance that felt more like a purr of a luxury engine than a human voice. I didn't give him a chance to argue. I grabbed his ankles—feeling the soft, pale skin that used to be mine—and yanked him down the bed until his ass was perched right on the edge.
The rush was indescribable. In my old life, I’d been the one cowering, the one hoping for a scrap of affection. Now, I held all the power. Cristiano’s body was a machine built for dominance, and every instinct was screaming at me to use it.
"Look at you," I sneered, looking down at the chubby, trembling form of my past self. "You're pathetic. But you know what? I remember exactly how this body feels. I remember every sensitive spot, every place that makes a guy like you melt."
I released one of his ankles and used my free hand to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to his inner thigh. The sound echoed through the suite like a gunshot, and New Gary yelped, his body jerking in response. The sight of my large handprint reddening on that pale, soft skin was mesmerizing. It was a mark of ownership.
"You used to dream about this, didn't you, Gary?" I taunted, running a rough finger down the center of his chest, feeling the rapid, thudding beat of his heart against the ribs that used to be mine. "You used to lie awake in that little apartment in Chicago, touching yourself to the thought of Cristiano Ronaldo having his way with you. Well, here I am. Your wish came true. But the irony is... you're not the one getting to enjoy the fantasy anymore. *I* am."
He began moaning under my deliberate blow to all sensetive parts and spots which began to break his will to resist little little .
I leaned down, my massive frame covering his, caging him in. The scent of my new expensive cologne mixed with the musk of arousal was heady. I captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, forcing his lips apart and dominating his tongue with a ferocity that left him gasping for air when I finally pulled away.
"Please," he gasped, his eyes rolling back, his resistance crumbling under the weight of the pleasure and the sheer psychological shock of the swap. "I... I can't..."
"You can't what?" I growled, the deep, gravelly resonance of Cristiano's voice vibrating in my chest and against his. I didn't wait for an answer. I spat into my hand, the gesture crude and dominant, and slicked up the massive, throbbing cock that now belonged to me. The weight of it in my grip was unreal—a heavy, thick club of flesh that pulsed with a life of its own.
I hooked my arms under his knees, pushing them back until they were practically against his chest, folding him in half. The chubby body I used to inhabit was flexible, soft, and entirely at my mercy. Looking down, I saw the fear in his eyes, but beneath that, I saw the dark, swirling arousal of the man who had spent years fantasizing about this exact scenario. His body remembered what it wanted, even if his mind was reeling.
"Time to pay up, Gary " I sneered, using the name like a weapon. "You're the one who wanted to play with the fans. Now you're the fan. Gary " forcibly using my name to his .Now get ready for this ultimate sex."
I pressed the blunt, thick head of my cock against his hole. The contrast between our bodies was stark and erotic—my dark, tanned, ripped physique against his pale, soft, vulnerable form. I didn't prep him gently. I didn't have the patience. The urge to claim, to conquer, was too overwhelming.
Who am I say it to me who is the stat and celebrity... Tell me? I groaned deep in my throat. "You are the Cristiano Ronaldo," he moaned, the name feeling like a crown settling onto my head. "And you're just a hole I'm about to wreck."
With a powerful thrust of my hips, I buried myself inside him.
The resistance was significant—New Gary’s body was tight and unused to this kind of intrusion—but the sheer power of Cristiano’s body was unstoppable. I didn't stop until I was hilted, my heavy balls slapping against his ass.
He cried out, a mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure tearing from his throat. It was a sound I had never made in that body, a sound of total surrender. The feeling of being inside my old body, of knowing exactly how it felt to be in his position, created a feedback loop of ecstasy that made my head spin. I was fucking my past self, obliterating the person I used to be with the person I was always meant to be.
As I was about to climax I pulled out myew penis and shoot the sperm in his pathetic face . The climax was a nuclear explosion behind my eyes. I roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph, as thick ropes of cum painted his face, marking him as mine. He lay there, panting, covered in my essence, looking wrecked and completely owned.
I looked down at him, watching the cum drip from his chin onto his chest, and smirked. "Now go clean yourself up. I have a press conference to get to."
I walked away, feeling the power in every step. I had a career to manage, a legacy to uphold, and a world to conquer. And as for the man left on the bed? He was just a memory I was happy to leave behind. I was Cristiano Ronaldo now. And the world was my oyster. I grabbed the keycard and headed for the door, ready to face the cameras as the man, the myth, the legend.
Walking out of that hotel suite was the single greatest moment of my life. The hallway was long and lined with mirrors, and I caught every angle of my new reflection as I strutted toward the elevator. The way the hotel staff—a young woman in a crisp blazer—practically tripped over herself to press the button for me, her eyes widening as she realized who she was looking at, was a rush I knew I’d never get tired of.
This is the new life . In the weeks since then, a lot of things have changed. I have all Ronaldo's football knowledge still and I'm just as good a player as he ever was. It's his personal life that's changed a lot really - I came out as gay and I've been hanging around a lot of gay strip clubs lately, picking up guys so I can fuck them raw. I used to dream about being dominated by guys like Ronaldo but now I'm one of those guys, all I want to do is bury my cock inside some twink's cute little bubble butt. Fuck, I'm getting hard again. It's time to go out and find my next conquest
