Male Body Possessor

[futuradiego]

MY SWEET LITTLE MARK

Continuing a Vignette from here

The bed creaked the way it had always creaked.

That sound was the thing that struck me first. Not the slick stretch of him inside me, not the deep stuttering moan rolling up out of a chest I should not have been straddling, nor the wet buzz of the toy he was working into himself with his free hand. The bed. The specific groan of the third slat from the headboard, the one I'd been meaning to replace for three years and never quite got around to. The sound was a key sliding into a lock I didn't know I had.

But I kept riding.

That was the worst of it, or the best, depending on which part of me you asked. My thighs were burning in a way that didn't feel like mine — narrow thighs, less stamina, bitten-down fingernails clutching at pecs they hadn't earned — this body I'd woken up in working harder than it should have to keep the rhythm going. But the rhythm itself was instinct. Up and down. The slow grinding pause at the bottom where he liked it, where the man under me liked it, because his hands tightened on a waist that didn't belong to either of us and his head pressed back into the pillow and that voice, my fucking voice, broke open into a sound somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

"Ohhh fuck — fuck, fuck — squirt, you feel that? You feel how deep you're sittin' on me? Ahnnh — goddamn, this fuckin' body, dude — I been goin' for like forty minutes and I'm not even— unh — not even tired, you believe that shit?"

He had the dildo in his other hand. He'd been working it into himself even before he pulled me on top of him, a thick veined silicone thing in a stupid sunset gradient, and he was not gentle about it. He was hammering it up into his own ass at the same rough cadence I was using on his cock, two rhythms cross-cutting through one body, and every time the toy hit deep his whole frame jolted and his cock kicked inside me and another shudder rippled through both of us. His own prostate was getting wrecked by his own hand and he was narrating the whole thing.

"S-so fuckin' full, man, you don't even know — got my new dick in you, got this fat thing from Mr. Leather splittin' me — ah-ah-ah — I'm like the meat in the fuckin' sandwich, dude, I'm— nnh — Christ on a cracker, you should see yourself riding me, you're so shrimpy, you're so—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. His free hand left the toy long enough to drag up his own torso, palm flat across the pecs I'd built, fingers spreading wide to feel every individual ridge of muscle, and the moan he made at his own touch was for himself, entirely for himself, and the loop fed itself the way it never stopped feeding itself. The cock buried inside me throbbed harder at the contact. He hadn't even touched anyone else and his body was getting off on its own existence.

"My body," he was muttering, eyes rolled halfway back, baritone gone slurry. "My body, my body, look at this fuckin' body—"

I sank down again and felt the head of his cock press against something deep that made the smaller frame around me shudder. A whimper came out of me that I didn't recognize. Thin. Reedy. The wrong throat making the wrong sound.

His hands slid up the stolen waist. Both of them now, the toy abandoned for a second, lodged deep in him while he pressed his thumbs into the soft place under my ribs. There was a freckle there I hadn't noticed before. Small and dark, just under the left side of my new ribcage. Someone else's. Someone else's me.

I looked down at him and tried, tried, to hate it.

He was beautiful.

That was the part I couldn't stop circling. He was beautiful in the way I had spent a decade and a half slaving over. The trapezius I'd built doing farmer's carries at five a.m. The obliques I'd sculpted with stupid little side bends nobody else in the gym would do. The small dark mole just above his left nipple that my mother had pointed to when I was six and called my khaal-e-shirin, my sweet little mark. He had my sweet little mark on his stolen chest and he was looking up at me through eyelashes I'd inherited from a grandmother he'd never met, half-lidded, slack-mouthed, fucked-stupid on his own reflection.

The expression. That was the worst part. He didn't wear my face the way I'd worn it. I'd worn it sharp, present, the jaw doing work. He wore it the way men wear someone else's good jacket — pleased with the fit, indifferent to the cut.

"You're so fuckin' tight, little guy—" The baritone cracked, the voice rolling up out of a throat that wasn't built to make that sound that high. He bucked up into me and I gasped, palms slapping flat against the pecs to steady myself. His chest. My chest. The skin was hot under my hands and slick with the sweat of how long he'd been working for it, and underneath the slick I could feel the script along his ribs, raised slightly the way fresh-ish ink does in heat.

I'd gotten it at twenty-six. I'd been reading Coleman Barks like he was the only translator in the world. I'd thought the line was the most profound thing anyone had ever written and I'd put it on my body in a script I couldn't read myself because I wanted to honor a heritage I'd only ever held at arm's length. Three years later I'd come to find the choice a little embarrassing — the Barks of it, the white-yoga-studio of it, the fact that I'd picked the most quotable line in the whole canon — but I'd kept it because removing it would have been worse than wearing it. Penance for my own earnestness.

He didn't know any of that. He just wore it. Because it had come with the package.

His left hip clicked.

Small sound. The kind of joint pop you only hear if you're close enough, the kind of pop my left hip had been making since I tweaked it deadlifting at twenty-seven. It clicked on the upstroke when he bucked up into me, and the click bypassed my brain entirely and landed somewhere lower, in the part of me that didn't have language yet, just recognition. I knew that click. I knew it from the inside. I'd been hearing it in my own pelvis for three years.

I didn't have time to interrogate it. He was talking again.

"—gonna come again, dude, I'm gonna— ahhh — I came like twenty minutes ago and I'm already— this body's a fuckin' factory, swear to god, it just— unh — keeps refillin' the tank—"

He shoved the toy deeper into himself. His thighs trembled under mine. His balls tightened.

I felt the draw of them against the base of the cock buried inside me, that specific physiological cinching I had experienced from the other side a thousand times and was now feeling from the inside like an inverted memory. His mouth fell open. His hands clamped down on the borrowed hips hard enough to bruise the soft skin there. He made a sound — deep, gutted, animal, the kind of sound my throat had never made when it belonged to me because I had been raised to be quiet about pleasure — and he came.

He came inside me. He came inside his own old body using his own old cock and the heat of it flooded into me thick and pulsing, and the dildo was still in him, and his free hand came up to drag through dark curls in a gesture so precisely minethat I felt the recognition like a slap.

He laughed, breathless. Stoned-sounding. "Fuck me sideways," he murmured, more to the ceiling than to me, "every fuckin' time, man."

His head lolled to one side on the pillow.

I was looking past his shoulder.

At the plaster seam above the headboard.

The uneven one. The one the contractor had bodged in 2019 when I'd had a leak in the unit upstairs and they'd patched the ceiling on the cheap and I'd looked at that crooked seam every morning for four years and meant to fix it and never fixed it. I was looking at my own deferred maintenance and the second click happened, the bigger one, the one in my chest.

I live here.

I fucking live here.

The thought didn't arrive as a sentence. It arrived as the entire architecture of the room reorganizing itself around me — the angle of light from the window I had chosen the curtains for, the corner where my reading chair used to be before he'd shoved it aside to make room for his stupid weight bench, the smell underneath the sweat and the cum and the cheap synthetic cologne, the smell of my own laundry detergent in the sheets because he hadn't even bothered to switch brands.

And then the bookshelf.

Mine. Every book on it was mine. The Hafez in the original. The dog-eared Le Guin. The architectural monograph my sister had given me for my twenty-eighth birthday, with her inscription on the flyleaf I couldn't see from here but knew was there. Mine, mine, mine, the spines in the order I'd put them in, alphabetical within genre, a system only I would have used—

Except for one book.

Third shelf down. Wedged in horizontal on top of the verticals, the way you stash something you didn't have a place for. Black leather. No title on the spine I could read from this distance, but the binding was wrong — hand-stitched, not commercial, the kind of object that does not belong in a Bay Area apartment in the twenty-first century. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't mine.

It was the only thing in the room that was his.

The fog covering me? It detonated.

It came back in a single shuddering rush — not memories one at a time but the entire form of myself returning at once, the weight of thirty-four years slamming back into a brain that had been running on a skeleton crew, and my name arrived with it like a struck bell.

Bardia.

Bardia.

I was Bardia Azadeh, though everyone here called me Blake because it was easier and this was my apartment and the man bleeding the afterglow into my mattress beneath me was wearing my body like a costume he'd shoplifted, and the book on the third shelf, the black leather book that was the only foreign object in my entire curated life, was how he'd done it.

He hadn't noticed yet. His eyes were closed. His hand was still in his own hair, lazy, the dildo still seated in him, the body cycling down into that brief and only window where the self-activation loop would slack — five seconds, ten, before his cock would start to fill again at the sensation of his own fingertips at his own scalp — and I knew that body's recovery period because that was my fucking body and the window was small but it was real.

I moved.

I came up off him in one motion, his softening cock slipping out of me with a wet obscene sound, his cum running hot down the inside of a thigh that wasn't mine but was now mine to use. His eyes fluttered open in lazy protest.

"Nnh — where you goin', squirt — c'mon, come back here, I'm not — I'm not even done—"

I was already off the bed. Already across the room. The boards of the floor I had refinished myself were cold under bare feet with bitten-down nails.

The book was heavier than it should have been. The small hand barely closed around the spine. I pulled it from the shelf and the leather was warm — not room-warm, not body-warm, warm in a way objects are not supposed to be — and I felt the back of my neck prickle with a knowledge that wasn't mine and a knowledge that was.

He saw what I was holding.

The lazy fell off his face.

"Put that down." Not soft anymore. The baritone gone hard, gone fast — but his body was still leaking afterglow, still loose-limbed on my bed, still betraying him with the slow involuntary thickening at his groin because his own forearm had brushed his own thigh as he tried to push himself upright. "Bardia. Put it down."

He called me my actual name.

He'd known my name this whole time.

I opened the book.

[dreamertf]

Fucking hell how did you ever walk around with this huge ass dick swinging around? You don't know what I'm talking about? Oh shit right, forgot i drained your memories haha. Don't worry bout it little guy, just keep doing you squirt. You doing anything after the gym? Fuck nevermind I'm getting hard just thinking about railing your little twink ass, god you look hot without all that muscle. Lets take a break in between sets and hit up the sauna real quick, give you a taste of your old self, yeah?

[futuradiego]

I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head, trying to make sense of words that should mean something but just... don't. It's fucking intoxicating, watching you struggle with the empty spaces where your memories used to be. Where you used to be.

"Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?" you ask, that soft voice so different from the deep rumble that used to vibrate through this chest. My chest now. Your hand fidgets with the bottom of your oversized tank top - probably one of your old shirts that hangs off your new frame like a fucking dress.

I flex casually, watching your eyes track the movement of muscles that used to belong to you. The pump is incredible in this body. Every vein, every striation - I'm still getting used to how fucking good it feels to inhabit this much raw power. And the best part? You have no idea you're staring at yourself. Or what used to be yourself.

"Nah, we just... ran in the same circles," I lie easily, stepping closer. You have to tilt your head back now to look at me. Fuck, that's hot. You used to be six-two, and now you're what, five-seven? Five-eight? "I'm just messin' with you, man. You seemed a little out of it."

"Oh! Yeah, I've been feeling kind of weird lately," you admit, running a hand through your hair - straight and blond now, nothing like the thick curly mop I'm currently sporting. "Like I'm forgetting stuff? But I can't remember what I'm forgetting, if that makes sense."

It makes perfect sense. I made sure of that when I drained you. Took everything - your body, your muscle, your cock, your memories of having any of it. Left you with just enough to function, to think you've always been this cute little twink who's maybe a little gym-curious.

"Makes total sense, little guy." I let my hand land on your shoulder - so much smaller than I'm used to, delicate under my palm. This palm that used to be yours. I can feel you tense slightly at the contact, but you don't pull away. "You know what helps with that brain fog? Sauna. Gets the blood flowing."

"Oh, I don't know, I've never really—"

"Never really what? Come on, it'll be good for you." I'm already guiding you toward the locker room, my hand sliding from your shoulder to the small of your back. You're so fucking little now, it's driving me crazy. I can feel my dick - your old dick - starting to swell in my workout pants. This thick, heavy cock that used to hang between your legs, and now you don't even remember what it felt like.

"I guess... okay, yeah, sure," you agree, and Christ, you're so fucking compliant in this new body. Is it the size difference? The missing confidence that used to come with being built like a Greek god? Whatever it is, I'm here for it.

We push through the locker room doors. It's mostly empty this time of night - I planned it that way. A couple guys at the far end, but they're in their own world. I grab two towels from the stack and toss you one.

"So do we just... go in with our clothes?" you ask, and the innocent confusion in your voice makes my cock twitch again.

"Nah, man. Strip down, wrap the towel around." I don't wait, just hook my thumbs in my waistband and shove everything down. Your old cock springs free, half-hard already, and I watch your eyes go wide.

"Holy shit, dude, that's..."

"Big? Yeah." I wrap the towel around my waist - barely conceals it, honestly. This thing is a fucking weapon. Eight and a half inches soft, thick as a beer can, and you grew it over years of good genetics and testosterone. Mine now. "What's wrong, never seen a big dick before?"

You tear your eyes away, face flushing red. "No, I mean, yeah, I have, just... sorry for staring."

"Don't apologize. I'd stare too." I lean against the lockers while you awkwardly strip down, trying not to look at me. Your new body is tight, smooth, the kind of twink build that would've had old-you drooling. Has current-me drooling, honestly. "Damn, you're cute as fuck. You know that?"

The blush deepens. "Thanks? I guess?"

Your new cock is maybe four inches hard - I saw to that. Nothing wrong with it, but the contrast is fucking delicious. You wrap the towel around yourself like you're trying to hide, and I want to rip it off you right here.

"Sauna's this way." I lead you through the wet area, past the showers. The sauna door is heavy, and wet heat billows out when I pull it open. Empty. Perfect.

The cedar walls glow in the dim light, and I can already feel sweat prickling across my skin - your skin - as we step inside. I sprawl on the upper bench, legs spread, towel riding up on thick thighs that you spent years building in this exact gym.

You perch on the lower bench, nervous energy radiating off you.

"So... you work out here a lot?" you ask, trying to make conversation.

"Starting to, yeah. Trying out this new routine." I run a hand down my abs, feeling each ridge. "It's treating me pretty fucking well, don't you think?"

You nod quickly, then look away again. The heat is building, steam rising from the rocks.

"You ever wonder what it would be like?" I ask, voice dropping lower.

"What what would be like?"

"Being big. Strong. Hung like a fucking horse." I adjust my towel, making sure you get another glimpse. "Walking around knowing you could have anyone you want."

"I... I don't know. I never really thought about it." But there's something in your eyes - a flicker of loss, like you're reaching for something that isn't there.

"Liar," I say softly, and pat the bench next to me. "Come here."

"What?"

"Come. Here." Not a question this time.

You hesitate, then climb up to the upper bench, sitting a careful distance away. I close it in one movement, sliding right up against you. My arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you against my side. You fit there perfectly, your head barely reaching my shoulder.

"Relax," I murmur against your ear. "Just wanna make you feel good, little guy. Give you a taste of what you're missing."

My other hand lands on your thigh - so much softer than mine, less muscle. You gasp as I squeeze gently.

"Ever been with a guy?" I ask, already knowing the answer. You have no memories of your extensive history with men. Or women. I took it all.

"N-no..."

"Want to be?"

Your breath hitches. My hand slides higher.

"I don't even know your name," you whisper.

I grin against your temple. Should I tell you? That I'm wearing your name now, that I took everything?

"Call me daddy," I say instead, and pull your towel open.

"You know what the best part is?" I don't give you time to answer, just keep talking as my hand wraps around your little cock. You're already hard - can't help yourself. "It's not even the big shit. Yeah, the muscles are fucking incredible, and this cock—" I thrust my hips slightly, making sure you feel the weight of it against your hip, "—is a goddamn gift. But it's the little things, man."

My other hand comes up to touch the small silver hoop in my ear - your ear. "This piercing? Got it two days after I drained you. Just walked into a shop and did it. Nobody questioned it because why would they? I look like the kind of guy who can pull off whatever the fuck he wants." I tug on it slightly, grinning. "You used to think about getting one but never had the balls. I have your balls now, so I just... did it."

You whimper as I start stroking you slowly, deliberately.

"And the smell, fuck. You have no idea." I lean in close, dragging my nose along your neck, then pull back. "Press your face right here. Right into my pit."

"What—"

"Do it." I guide your head down to my armpit, holding you there. "Breathe it in. That's what a real man smells like. That's testosterone and work and power. I fucking reek after the gym and I love it. Walk around with it like cologne. Your old deodorant is still in my gym bag but I haven't touched it in weeks. Why would I cover this up?"

I feel your breathing get faster against my skin, and my cock throbs.

"My sneakers, man. Your sneakers. Those beat-to-fuck Nikes in my locker?" I flex my foot, the one currently in a size thirteen that used to be yours. "They're rank as hell. Socks are crusty. I wear them without washing them because I can. Because they smell like me now, like this body that dominates every room it walks into. What size are you now? Seven? Eight? Bet your little feet are cute as fuck."

I pull you up to look at me, keeping one hand working your dick.

"And clothes. Jesus Christ, the clothes. Everything fits perfect. Shirts stretch across these pecs, sleeves hug these arms. But you know what I wear most?" I grin wickedly. "Almost nothing. Went to the grocery store yesterday in just these tiny fucking running shorts - the ones with like a two-inch inseam - and no shirt. No shoes, even. Just walked around barefoot and half-naked because this body is a fucking work of art and everyone should see it."

Your eyes are glazed, mouth open, and I know I've got you.

"Tank tops that show my whole torso. Shorts so small my ass hangs out. I go to the beach, the park, anywhere, and just let everyone look. You know why?"

"Why?" you gasp.

"Because I can. Because I took everything you were too modest to flaunt. All that muscle you covered up with baggy clothes, all that confidence you were too in-your-head to use." I lean in until my lips brush your ear. "I'm living your best life, little guy. The one you were too chickenshit to live yourself. And it feels so. Fucking. Good."

My hand speeds up on your cock and you're making these desperate little sounds.

"Every morning I wake up and I'm still in this body. Still big. Still strong. Still hung. And you wake up in that tight little twink body with no memory of what you used to be. That's power. That's the ultimate flex."

You're close, I can tell. Trembling against me.

"Come for daddy," I whisper. "Come for the man wearing your old life like a second skin."

[permanent-swaps]

Visitors

I’d lived alone in my flat in Madrid for almost eight years. It was a beautiful bachelor pad — high ceilings, big windows overlooking the city, a sleek modern kitchen I barely used, and a rooftop terrace perfect for evening drinks. At 45, I had a good life. Successful job, nice things, plenty of freedom. But lately the place had started to feel too quiet. Too empty.

So I signed up to host an exchange student. Why not? I figured it would be nice to have some energy in the house again. Give a young college kid a proper Madrid experience.

The agency matched me with Mark Rossi.

Nineteen years old. Columbia University. Italian-American from New York (real Italian though, like his parents were from Turin). When his profile photo popped up, I actually paused. He was ridiculously good-looking in that effortless, boy-next-door way — warm brown eyes, thick dark hair that fell a little messy, a bright smile, and smooth, tanned skin that suggested he spent time outside. He looked innocent, almost sweet. But when we video-called, his personality came through immediately: confident, frat-bro energy mixed with that natural Italian charm. Funny, outgoing, quick with the jokes, but polite and respectful.

He arrived on a warm September afternoon.

I opened the door and there he was, rolling a big suitcase behind him, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was even better looking in person — about 5'11", athletic build, wearing a tight Columbia t-shirt that showed off nice arms and a broad chest, and a pair of shorts that revealed strong legs.

“Juan! Man, it’s so good to finally meet you,” he said with a big grin, stepping forward to give me a firm handshake that turned into a quick bro hug. “This place is insane. Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

We clicked right away. Within the first few days, it felt like we’d known each other longer than we had. Mark was easy to live with. He helped cook, kept his stuff organized, and had this infectious energy that filled up the flat. We’d sit on the terrace drinking wine in the evenings, talking about everything — his classes at the university in Madrid, life in New York, my travels, girls he’d dated, the crazy parties he went to. He had that perfect mix: American warmth and humor with a European confidence and flirtiness that made him magnetic.

I was getting used to having someone else around. Enjoying it, even.

Then, about ten days after he moved in, something weird started to happen.

---

At first I was really confused.

I woke up in the middle of the night, heart racing for no reason. I could have sworn I was in one of the guest beds. The mattress felt different under me, the layout of the room slightly off in the dark. But that didn’t make any sense. I always slept in my own room. I rolled over, mutter to myself, and fall back asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room still.

A few nights later it happened again. This time I woke up convinced I wasn’t in my own bed. The sheets felt wrong. The pillows were different. I blinked into the darkness, confused, before sleep pulled me under again.

Then, a few nights after that, I woke up drenched in sweat. My heart was pounding hard. I reached up instinctively and ran my hand over my bare chest.

It was smooth.

Completely smooth.

Where the hell was all my chest hair? Where was the thin gold necklace I’d worn every night for fifteen years? My fingers kept moving across the unfamiliar flat, toned skin, searching for something that wasn’t there. Panic flickered in my chest, but before I could fully process it, exhaustion won and I drifted off again.

The next time it happened, I woke up properly.

I sat up in bed, disoriented, I was definitely in one of the guest rooms. I stumbled over to the mirror on the wall. The streetlights outside cast just enough glow for me to see my reflection.

Mark stared back at me.

His handsome, boyish face. His messy dark hair. His smooth, athletic torso. I was in Mark’s body.

I froze, eyes wide. My — his — hands flew up to touch my face, my jaw, my chest. This wasn’t a dream. I could feel everything. The lighter weight of his frame, the absence of my usual bulk, the way his cock sat differently in the loose boxer briefs I was wearing.

“What the fuck…” I whispered in Mark’s voice.

A strange mix of panic and arousal hit me all at once. I was freaked out, heart hammering, but I also couldn’t ignore the low throb of excitement looking at Mark’s reflection — my reflection right now. I looked good. Really fucking good.

I stumbled back to the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. Eventually I must have passed out again.

When I woke up the next morning, I was back in my own body. In my own room. The familiar weight, the chest hair, the necklace against my skin. Everything was normal.

Mark was already in the kitchen making coffee like nothing had happened. He looked up when I walked in and gave me his usual bright smile.

“Morning, Juan. You sleep okay? You look a little tired, man.”

I stared at him for a second, searching his face for any sign that he knew.

“Yeah,” I said finally, forcing a casual tone. “Slept fine.”

He nodded, none the wiser, and slid a mug of coffee toward me across the counter.

I took it, my hand slightly unsteady.

Whatever the hell was going on… Mark didn’t seem to have any idea it had even happened.

---

The next night I went to bed with a strange idea in my head.

As I laid there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I thought about Mark. About his body. His face. His energy. I focused hard, willing it to happen again. I didn’t know if it would work, but I tried anyway.

A few hours later, I woke up.

The room felt different. The bed felt different. I sat up slowly and looked down at my hands — younger, smoother, with a light dusting of dark hair on the forearms. I touched my face. Sharp jaw, no stubble yet, thick messy hair falling over my forehead.

I was in Mark’s body again.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood in front of the mirror. Mark’s reflection stared back at me, wide-eyed. I opened my mouth and spoke.

“Holy shit… this is real.”

The words came out in a clear American accent. Then, I tried again in Spanish.

“¿Qué coño está pasando?”

It sounded rusty, clumsy. The words felt heavy on my tongue and came out with a strong Italian accent. I switched to Italian without thinking and the sentence flowed perfectly, natural and fluent.

“Porca puttana… funziona davvero.”

I laughed in disbelief, hearing Mark’s lighter, younger voice. The contrast was surreal.

Over the next several nights, I started doing it on purpose. I’d lie in bed, think about Mark, focus on his body, and more often than not, I would wake up a few hours later inside him.

Some nights I would just lie there in his bed, exploring. I’d run my hands over his smooth chest and abs, feeling the lean muscle. Other nights I’d get too turned on and end up jerking off slowly in his room, watching Mark’s handsome face in the mirror as I stroked his cock. The orgasms felt incredible — sharper, quicker, almost addictive.

A couple of times I even went for late-night walks in his body. It felt incredible — young, light on my feet, full of energy.

But no matter what I did, by the time morning came I would always get overwhelmingly tired. I’d crawl back into his bed, close my eyes, and wake up back in my own heavier, older body.

Mark never said a word about it. He’d greet me cheerfully every morning, completely unaware that I had spent half the night living in his skin.

---

A few weeks went by like that. I kept waking up in Mark’s body most nights, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. I explored, I jerked off in front of his mirror, I took late-night walks through Chueca feeling young and alive. Every morning I’d wake up back in my own heavier body, and Mark would act completely normal, like nothing strange had ever happened.

Then Pedro came to visit from Bilbao.

Pedro had been my best friend for almost fifteen years. Thirty-nine, sharp-featured, always well-dressed, with that effortless charisma that turned heads wherever he went. I’d had a crush on him for most of that time. A quiet, hopeless kind of crush. I knew I was a good-looking guy — people told me constantly — but Pedro had never seen me that way. Not once.

He was a bit of a fuckboy. Always chasing younger guys. Twenties, early thirties at most. It verged on problematic sometimes, but he never crossed any real lines. He just loved being worshipped by hot, eager younger men. Over the years I had pushed those feelings for him down as deep as they would go. I told myself I was over it.

The day he arrived at the flat, he dropped his bag in the hallway and gave me a big hug.

“Juanito! Fuck, it’s good to see you, man.”

Then Mark walked out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of water, wearing a tight Columbia t-shirt and shorts.

Pedro’s eyes locked onto him immediately. I saw the shift in his posture, the way his gaze lingered. He tried to play it cool, aloof, but I knew him too well. He was captivated.

“Pedro, this is Mark. My exchange student from New York,” I said.

Mark flashed that bright, boyish smile and shook Pedro’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Juan’s told me a lot about you.”

They started talking, and I could see it happening right in front of me. Pedro was interested. Mark, for his part, wasn’t exactly discouraging it. He laughed at Pedro’s jokes, held eye contact a little longer than necessary, and gave him that charming, slightly flirty energy. Not over the top, but enough to make Pedro work for it. It didn’t feel like a straight guy just being polite. Mark was definitely into the attention.

I felt a sharp twist of jealousy in my chest.

Here I was, a good-looking, successful 45-year-old man who had wanted Pedro for years… and this 19-year-old kid was getting his attention in five minutes flat. It was frustrating as hell.

That night, after we all had a few drinks on the terrace, I went to bed earlier than usual. As I drifted off, I found myself thinking about Mark again. Thinking about his body. About how Pedro had looked at him.

A few hours later, I woke up.

I was in Mark’s bed again. In Mark’s body.

I lay there in the dark for a moment, heart beating fast, already knowing what I was going to do.

---

The next night we all went down the street to watch the Madrid derby at a local bar. The place was loud, packed with fans, and the energy was electric. We drank a few beers, yelled at the TV, and laughed the whole time. Mark was in his element — loud, charming, cracking jokes. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

When we got back to the flat it was already past midnight. We kept hanging out in the living room, talking and drinking wine. Eventually I started feeling tired and headed to bed.

“Night guys,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Night, Juan,” Mark replied.

Pedro just gave me a small nod, his attention clearly elsewhere.

I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. I could hear them still talking and laughing in the living room. Then the voices got quieter. Lower. More intimate. The sound of movement. A soft laugh from Mark. The unmistakable creak of the guest room door closing.

I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. Even with the door shut I could hear them. The low murmurs. The rustling of clothes. The quiet, wet sounds of kissing. Then the rhythmic creaking of the bed and Mark’s muffled moans.

Pedro was fucking him.

I lay there listening, a painful mix of jealousy, arousal, and frustration twisting in my gut. Eventually I closed my eyes and focused hard on Mark again — on his body, his face, the way he felt — as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later.

It was 3:17 AM. I was no longer in my own bed.

I was lying on my side in the guest room, completely naked, with Pedro’s warm, muscular body pressed against my back. His arm was draped heavily over my waist, his hand resting possessively on my stomach. I could feel his soft cock nestled against my ass, still slightly sticky.

Fuck.

My heart started racing. Pedro was spooning me tightly, breathing slow and deep in sleep. I stayed perfectly still for a moment, just feeling the heat of his body, the weight of his arm, the scratch of his beard against the back of my neck.

I needed to see all of him.

Carefully, I turned over in his arms. Pedro made a sleepy sound but didn’t wake up. Now facing him, I could finally take him in. His handsome face relaxed in sleep, the strong line of his jaw, his broad chest rising and falling, his intricate tattoos, the dark hair trailing down his stomach. His cock rested thick and heavy against his thigh.

I stared at him, drinking in every detail. This was the man I’d wanted for years. And right now, in Mark’s younger, tighter body, I was the one lying naked in his arms.

My cock — Mark’s cock — started to harden against Pedro’s hip.

Pedro stirred, his eyes still closed but his hand sliding down my stomach until he felt how hard I — Mark — was.

“Oh… seems like someone’s ready for round two,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and lust.

In one smooth, powerful motion he rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. I straddled his hips as he gripped my waist and guided me down onto his thick cock. I gasped as he slid back inside me, still slick from his load earlier. The stretch was intense.

I started riding him slowly at first, then faster, grinding down hard. Pedro pulled me forward into a deep, hungry kiss, tongue sliding into my mouth as he thrust up to meet me.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned against my lips.

He flipped me onto all fours and fucked me deep in doggy style, his hips slapping loudly against my ass. Then he pulled me up so my back was against his chest, one arm wrapped around my torso while he kissed and bit at my neck and shoulder from behind. His other hand roamed greedily over my toned abs and obliques.

“Speak Italian for me,” he growled, still thrusting steadily.

I moaned in Mark’s voice, the words coming out naturally, “Ti sto scopando così bene… mi fai impazzire…”

“Such a good boy,” Pedro praised, his hand stroking my cock in time with his thrusts. “So fucking tight for me.”

He flipped me onto my back and pushed my legs up, fucking me in missionary. His eyes locked onto mine, slack-jawed, pupils blown wide with pleasure. He looked completely lost in it, like he was drunk on how good Mark’s body felt.

The orgasm hit me like a freight train.

My whole body seized up. Waves of intense, shuddering pleasure crashed through me, stronger than anything I’d ever felt in my own body. My cock pulsed hard between us, shooting thick ropes of cum across my smooth chest and stomach in powerful spurts. I cried out, hole clenching rhythmically around Pedro’s cock as the orgasm seemed to go on forever.

Pedro’s eyes widened with raw lust. He greedily scooped up a big glob of my cum with his fingers and licked it off his hand without breaking eye contact.

“Mmm… not bad,” he said, voice rough. “Sweet. A little salty. Tastes like a young guy should.”

He scooped up more and brought his fingers to my lips. I hesitated for half a second, but he pushed them into my mouth anyway.

“Open. Taste yourself,” he ordered.

I sucked his fingers clean, tasting my own cum while he kept fucking me slow and deep.

“Not too bad for a kid who’s only tried girls before,” Pedro said with a wicked grin. “Glad I could be the first cock to fuck that tight little ass. Next time I’m gonna pull out and shoot my whole load all over that pretty face.”

He fucked me harder for another minute, then buried himself deep and came with a low groan, filling me again.

We collapsed together, sweaty and exhausted, and fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window.

I was still curled up against Pedro’s warm body. Still in Mark’s body.

Holy shit.

I carefully slipped out of bed, heart racing, and snuck into the kitchen wearing only a pair of Mark’s boxer briefs.

As I turned the corner and looked up, I was shocked to see my old body was already sitting at the kitchen table, wearing my favorite robe, sipping coffee. He looked up at me with a calm, slightly amused expression.

“Morning,” he said casually, in my voice.

Who's body would you want?

Juan

Mark

Pedro

Voting ended onJun 10

[permanent-swaps]

Do It For Your Brother

Theo's POV

I never thought my twelfth birthday would end with doctors asking if my twin brother could move into my head, but that’s exactly how it went down.

Carson and I were identical twins—same messy brown hair, same green eyes, same smirk when we were up to no good. But I was the one tearing around the neighborhood on my bike, getting picked first for pickup games, and cracking jokes that had teachers shaking their heads with a grin. Carson was the quiet one. Smarter in that bookish way. He’d rather build massive Lego cities than chase a soccer ball, but we still did everything together. Until we didn’t.

I heard most of it secondhand. Mom pulled me into the hallway outside Carson’s hospital room, eyes red and puffy. Dad stood beside her, arms crossed so tight his knuckles were white, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen him.

“The doctors say the disease is tearing up his nervous system,” Mom said, voice cracking. “They want to put him in a medically induced coma so his body can rest and try to heal. But Carson… he lost it when they told him. But he doesn't really have a choice.”

I shifted my weight. “So now what?”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this experimental procedure they’re testing. They can transfer his consciousness into another living person—share the body.”

I stared at them. “Share… with who?”

Mom glanced at Dad before answering. “They offered your father or you. Carson picked you, Theo.”

My stomach did a weird flip. “Me?”

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “It’s temporary, sweetheart. A few months at most. He’s been through hell already—the tests, the pain, missing everything. He just wants to feel normal again. Run around, play outside, be a kid. You two can switch who's in control whenever. The doctors swear it’s safe.”

I looked down at my sneakers. Part of me wanted to say no. This was my body. My life. I was the one who had soccer practice, who got invited to sleepovers, who everyone at school knew as the fun twin. But Carson was lying in that room looking small and scared, and the guilt they were laying on me was heavy.

“He really chose me?” I asked.

Dad nodded. “Without hesitation.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay. If it helps him get better… yeah. He can share with me.”

Mom pulled me into a hug so tight it hurt. “Thank you, Theo. You’re a good brother.”

---

They didn’t waste time. The next afternoon, after a bunch of tests and forms that our parents signed, they brought Carson and I to a procedure room. He looked pale and nervous, but when he looked at me he gave a weak smile.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice small.

I tried to sound like my usual confident self. “Dude, it’s gonna be weird, but we’ll figure it out.”

The doctors placed the sensor bands on both our heads, explained the controls one more time—basically a mental “push” to switch who was driving—and started the process.

I felt a strange buzzing behind my eyes, like static in my skull. Then everything went fuzzy for a second.

When it cleared, I was still in my body… but I wasn’t alone.

I could feel him there. Not like a voice exactly, more like another presence in the back of my mind. Quiet. Waiting.

Hey, I thought, testing it. You there?

Carson’s reply came through hesitant but clear. Yeah. This is so strange.

Out loud I said, “Okay, this is officially the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us.”

The doctors asked if we could switch. Carson mentally nudged me over, the way they’d described, and suddenly I was… watching. My own hands moved without me telling them to. Carson sat up straighter, looked around the room with my eyes, and smiled—my smile, but softer, the way only Carson smiled.

“Cool,” he said with my voice. “I can feel everything.”

He flexed my fingers, then reached up and touched my face like he was making sure it was real.

After a minute he receded, and I was in control again.

---

The first couple of months were weird, but not as bad as I thought they’d be.

Carson stayed mostly quiet in the back of my head. He almost never asked to take over. I’d feel him there, watching everything—soccer practice, riding bikes with the neighborhood kids, laughing at lunch with my friends—but he was happy just riding along. Like a normal kid again.

This is awesome, he’d think sometimes when I was kicking a ball around or eating pizza after a game. That was about it. No big conversations, no fighting over control. I’d offer to switch sometimes, but he’d always say he was good. I kept living my life, and he got to tag along without anyone knowing. It actually felt kind of nice having him there. Like old times, but quieter.

Then things started to go sideways when we found out his body wasn't getting better.

At first it was just small updates from the doctors. “Some setbacks.” “Slower progress than we hoped.” Mom would come home from the hospital looking drained, and Dad would sit at the kitchen table staring at nothing. I could feel Carson getting more tense in the back of my mind, but he still didn’t say much.

By month four, the hope was gone. The disease had done too much damage. Carson’s body wasn’t going to wake up the way they wanted. Not ever.

We had the conversation as a family one night after dinner. Mom and Dad looked wrecked. I sat there with my arms crossed, trying to act like the strong one.

“We can’t put him back in there just to die,” Dad said quietly.

Mom nodded, eyes wet. “The doctors say… it could be any day now. Or it could drag on for weeks. But there’s no recovery.”

I felt Carson shift inside my head. Not words, just a heavy kind of sadness.

“So what?” I asked. “He just stays with me forever?”

Dad looked at me. “For now, yeah. Until we figure something else out. You’ve already been doing it for months, Theo. You’re handling it like a champ.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say this wasn’t supposed to be permanent. But every time I thought about shoving Carson back into a dying body, I felt sick. He was my brother. My twin.

“Yeah,” I said finally, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll keep sharing. It’s fine.”

Carson didn’t say anything, but I felt a small wave of gratitude from him.

A week later, Carson’s body died in the coma.

The funeral was on a gray Tuesday. I was wearing the itchy black suit Mom made me put on. My friends from school had come, and a bunch of relatives I barely knew kept patting my shoulder and saying how sorry they were.

Suddenly, I felt Carson surge forward without warning. My body stood there completely still while the casket went down. No tears, no shaking, just staring straight at the grave with my face set hard.

Carson? I thought. Hey, talk to me.

Nothing. He didn’t answer. I tried for the first time to force my way back into control of my body, but he didn't let me. Didn’t even seem to notice I was there. He just kept control. It was almost as if his presence was stronger in my head than mine was.

For the next three days he stayed in charge. He went to school as me, sat through my classes, answered when teachers called on him. He even played soccer at recess, but quieter than I usually did. My friends noticed something was off and asked if I was okay. Carson just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

I tried to take over every night when we were alone. He blocked me every time. No explanation. No conversation. Just silence.

By the fourth day, he finally let me push through while he was brushing my teeth before bed.

I spat out the toothpaste and looked at myself in the mirror. “Carson… you good, man?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his thoughts felt exhausted. Yeah, I'm fine.

I wanted to say more. To ask why he shut me out, why he wouldn’t even talk to me. It felt strange having him lock me out like that in my own body. Uncomfortable. Kind of violating, if I was honest. But I bit it back.

He’d just watched his own body get buried. He’d lost everything except this—except me. If he needed a few days to just… be a normal kid, I could deal with it.

“Alright,” I said out loud, keeping my tone casual. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m here.”

I didn’t push it after that. But deep down, I was already wondering how long we could actually keep doing this.

---

A few years went by and somehow this became our normal.

By the time we hit sixteen, I had it down to a system. School days? Carson took the wheel. He’d sit through classes, grind through homework, ace the tests, and even show up for the volunteer shifts at the animal shelter that looked good on college apps. I’d check out in the back of my own head, thinking about who I was texting later or which party I could sneak into that weekend. It worked. He got straight A’s, I got to stay popular. Win-win.

To deal with the high stress of our unusual arrangement, Carson took up weight lifting. He’d wake up super early, take over control, and spend two hours in the basement with Dad’s old bench press while I was still half-asleep. By junior year our body looked fucking incredible—broad shoulders, arms that filled out t-shirts the right way. Girls noticed. I made sure to enjoy that part.

In fact, he let me have all the fun—spring break road trips down the coast, summer parties at the lake, Friday nights where I’d sneak out after Mom and Dad went to bed. I’d hook up with whoever was into it and Carson would stay quiet in the back, never complaining.

But as much as he did all the hard work for me, I still started to resent having to share my body with him. I never said it out loud, but some nights, lying in bed, I’d feel him there and think about how nice it would be to have my head to myself again. Just for a day. An hour.

It didn't help that Carson also became our parents' unequivocal favorite after all this. To them, Carson was the golden boy. Good grades, polite, always offering to help around the house. Then when I was in control, I was always getting up to trouble in their eyes.

One night I came home past curfew, still smelling like bonfire smoke and some girl’s perfume. Mom was waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Theo, this is the third time this month. You’re out all hours, not answering your phone—”

“It was just a party,” I said, keeping my voice easy, flashing the same smile that usually worked on everyone else.

Dad walked in, looking disappointed. “We wish you could be more like… well, like your brother.”

Mom sighed. “Carson never pulls this. He’s focused. He actually cares about his future.”

I smirked, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Oh yeah? If you like him so much, here.”

I shoved control forward hard. Carson took over mid-step, blinking as he adjusted.

“Mom, Dad, it’s me,” he said quietly with my voice. “Theo was just out with friends. I’ll make sure we’re both on top of things tomorrow.”

They softened immediately. Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, son. We know this isn’t easy on either of you, but you’re handling it so well.”

I stayed in the back, arms crossed in my mind, letting him soak up the praise while I stewed.

It happened a couple more times that year during bigger blow-ups. They’d start in on me for being lazy or staying out too late, comparing me to Carson, and I’d force the switch right there. He never complained to me about it afterward. He’d just think, You good?

Yeah, I’d reply. I’m good. But fuck I was annoyed that my parents couldn't see how unfair they were being to me after I'd given up everything to help Carson.

---

We got the Oxford letter in the spring of senior year. Astrophysics. I didn’t give a damn about what Carson decided to study as it got us out of the house. I’d been pushing for somewhere big and loud back home — ASU, Clemson, Auburn — parties every weekend, football games, girls everywhere. But Oxford? I had to admit it sounded good coming out of my mouth.

“Yeah, heading to Oxford in the fall,” I’d say at parties or when people asked. Their eyes would light up. The muscular jock who was also smart enough for Oxford. I loved that shit. Loved the way girls started texting me more once the news spread.

So we moved to England. New city, new appartment, new life. At first it felt like freedom.

Then the coursework hit.

Carson insisted on being in control all the time to keep up with it. He would grind through the material late into the night most weekdays and during the day on the weekends. I’d then only get to be in control on weekend nights where I would waste no time hitting the pubs and chatting up girls.

Still, Carson would always be pushing to go back home those nights. Theo, we need to catch up on orbital mechanics before the next tutorial, he’d push. I’d wave it off. Chill, man. We’ve got this.

I'd be lying if I said tension wasn't already building between us, but things came to a head when he met Davie.

It was in a physics study group. This guy — slim, dark curly hair, sharp smile — kept hanging around with us after all our other classmates left, asking questions that he seemed like he already knew the answers to just to make Carson feel smart.

One night night, back in the flat, Carson spoke up in our mind while I was in control scrolling on Instagram.

Theo… I need to tell you something.

What’s up?

I’m gay. I’ve been sure for a while. Didn’t want to say anything before. But… I like Davie. From the study group. I want to ask him out. Just a coffee date or something.

I froze. Oh, ok. I thought back. Dude, that’s fine by me.

Relief washed through him. Thanks.

But asking him out? I pushed. I don't think you should do that. People will think I’m gay. That shit will spread around campus. And that shit will kill my cred with the girls.

Carson went quiet for a second. Then: It’s not fair, Theo. You get to party every weekend. You get to hook up, have fun, live your life in this body. I’ve been carrying the schoolwork, the volunteering, everything hard for years. I deserve to be happy too.

I felt a flash of guilt, quickly buried under irritation. Yeah, well, this is still my body. You're lucky I'm letting you live in it at all.

He didn’t argue after that. But I could feel him thinking.

The next study group was a few days later. I figured we’d review the material, then I’d take over and head to a party I’d heard about. But when the session wrapped up, Carson stayed in control. I tried to push forward. He held firm and kept me out.

Davie was packing up his notes. Carson walked over and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Davie,” he said, voice calm but a little nervous. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee or a drink sometime. Just us. Like… a date.”

Davie’s face lit up with a surprised, genuine smile. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Tonight work?”

Carson smiled back with my face. “Tonight’s perfect.”

I sat in the back of my own head, stunned, watching the whole thing happen. Davie gave us his number, and they set a time. As we walked out of the library, I tried again to take control. Carson wouldn’t let me.

Carson. What the hell?

He didn’t answer. Just a quiet, determined feeling from him as we headed back to the flat to get ready.

Carson stayed in control the whole evening. I was stuck in the passenger seat, watching everything unfold like a bad movie I couldn’t pause.

He met Davie at a small café near campus just after seven. They grabbed drinks and ended up talking for hours. Davie told stories about growing up in Manchester, his terrible attempts at cooking, and how he wanted to work on satellite design after graduation. Carson laughed easily with my voice and opened up about the pressure of Oxford and how much he loved weight lifting to clear his head.

“You’re not at all what I expected when I first saw you in study group,” Davie said at one point, grinning. “You’ve got this whole confident jock thing going on, but you actually care about the material. It’s refreshing.”

Carson smiled. “Yeah, well… there’s more to me than people think.”

They closed the café down. When it was time to leave, Davie hesitated, then asked, “Want to come back to my flat? It’s not far. We could watch a movie or something. No pressure.”

Carson didn’t even glance back at me for permission. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Back at Davie’s small, messy flat, they put on some sci-fi movie I’d never heard of. They started on opposite ends of the couch. By the middle of the film, Davie had shifted closer. He reached over and laced their fingers together. Carson’s heart — my heart — started hammering. I could feel the flush in our cheeks.

Davie’s other hand moved slowly, resting first on my thigh, then sliding up to squeeze the muscle there. “You’re really strong,” he murmured, almost shy. His fingers traced up to my bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is… impressive.”

Carson stayed quiet, but I felt how fast his breathing had gotten. When Davie leaned in and kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, Carson froze for half a second before kissing back.

Our heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might explode.

Davie pulled back a little, smiling. “You okay?”

Carson swallowed. “Yeah. I’ve… never done this before.”

Davie raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. “Wait, really? I just assumed—”

Carson cut him off quickly, voice a little embarrassed. “No, I mean… never done this before with a guy.”

Davie’s expression softened. He brushed a thumb over our knuckles. “How is it? Do you like it?”

Carson nodded, still catching his breath. “I like it a lot.”

They kissed again, slower this time. After a minute, Davie pulled back just enough to look at him curiously.

“So why now?” he asked. “Why with a guy? Why me?”

Carson gave a small, easy smile. “Because you’re really hot… and you haven't stopped making eyes at me in study group. Kinda made it impossible not to go for it.”

Davie laughed softly, clearly pleased, and pulled him in for another kiss.

I sat in the back, jaw clenched, saying nothing. But the resentment burned hotter than ever.

After the kissing got heavier, clothes started coming off. Davie’s hands were all over my chest and arms, squeezing the muscle Carson had built. Carson was breathing hard, letting it happen, following the heat.

They moved to Davie’s bed. Carson was on top, and things escalated quickly. He lined up and tried to push in all at once, the way I’d done with plenty of girls. Davie’s eyes widened and he let out a sharp scream, grabbing onto my shoulders.

“Fuck— wait!” Davie gasped.

Carson froze immediately. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Davie laughed breathlessly, even though his face was still tight. “No, you’re good. You’re just… way too big to shove in like that without warming me up first. Go slower, yeah?”

Carson nodded, embarrassed but eager. He pulled back, took his time this round, using his fingers and more lube until Davie was relaxed and pushing back against him. When he finally slid in all the way, Davie moaned loud, his hole tight and hot around us.

“God, that feels good,” Davie breathed.

Carson started moving, finding a rhythm. He had watched me hook up enough times that his form was solid—deep, steady strokes that had Davie gripping the sheets. But this was different. Davie’s hole stayed so tight, clenching around us with every thrust. Carson groaned with my voice, hands roaming over Davie’s chest and sides.

They started feeling each other up more. Davie ran his hands over my biceps and abs, squeezing hard. “Flex for me,” he said, voice rough.

Carson paused mid-thrust, looking a little awkward, then clumsily flexed my right bicep. The muscle popped up tight. Davie grinned and kissed it. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Carson got bolder. He grabbed Davie’s hips, lifted him up while still inside, and fucked him in the air for a few strokes like he weighed nothing. Davie’s eyes rolled back. “Holy shit, Theo—”

Then Carson set him down gently and flipped him over into doggy style. He pressed in close from behind, wrapping one arm around Davie’s chest in a hug while still thrusting. He kissed the back of his neck, surprisingly tender. Davie pushed back against every stroke, moaning.

Carson reached around and wrapped his hand around Davie’s uncut cock, stroking him in time with his hips. Davie was throbbing hard, leaking all over my fingers.

They switched again. Davie climbed on top, riding cowboy. He bounced faster, taking us deep, his own cock slapping against my abs. Carson kept one hand on his hip and the other stroking him.

“I’m close,” Davie gasped.

He came first, shooting across my stomach in thick streaks. Carson didn’t hesitate—he scooped some up with his fingers and licked it off, tasting it. Davie watched with wide, turned-on eyes.

That pushed Carson over the edge. He gripped Davie’s hips tight and came deep inside him, groaning loud with my voice as our body tensed and released.

They collapsed together, sweaty and breathing hard. Davie curled up against my chest, and Carson wrapped an arm around him. They fell asleep like that, cuddling close under the blanket.

Carson finally drifted off, content. I didn’t say a word to him that night.

Carson stayed in control for the rest of that week. He spent most nights at Davie’s flat. I felt everything — the laughing, the making out, the sex. He was getting more confident each time, learning what Davie liked. I tried to push for control constantly, but he kept me locked in the back.

By the following Saturday evening he finally let me back in. I didn’t waste a second.

I took over and headed straight to the pub. I was pissed. I drank hard, shot after shot, trying to shake off the week of being trapped in the passenger seat while he lived out whatever this new life was. I flirted with a couple girls, but I was too sloppy. They gave me weird looks and moved away. Everything after that is a blur. I have no idea how I got back to the flat.

I woke up the next morning with a brutal hangover. Sunlight stabbed through the curtains. And Carson was back in control.

Carson? I thought immediately. Give me the body back, man. I feel like shit.

He didn’t respond. He just got up, walked to the kitchen, and picked up the phone like I wasn’t even there.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice — my voice — shook as he spoke. “It’s Carson. Something’s wrong. Theo went out partying last night and… when I woke up I couldn’t hear him anymore. His voice is just gone. I feel completely alone in here. I don’t know what to do.”

I started screaming inside. Carson, what the fuck are you doing? I’m right here!

Our parents’ voices came through the speaker, calm. Worried for him, but not panicked. “Sweetheart, don’t freak out,” Mom said gently. “Just breathe. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out. We’re here for you.”

Dad added, “Stay safe. We love you. Call us if anything changes.”

I felt sick. They didn’t even sound that upset. Like losing me was just another complication for their golden boy to deal with.

Carson hung up, walked back to the bed, and lay down. He pushed our shorts down and started slowly stroking our cock, eyes half-closed, thinking about Davie. About how good it felt to fuck him.

Carson! I screamed. Stop this. Talk to me!

He finally answered, voice cold in my head. “Shut up, you dick. I can hear you. You know what? I am so sick of this. I think I’ve been able to do this since the beginning, but I never wanted to try because it would be awful. But I’m done with your shit, Theo.”

What are you talking about? I thought, panic rising. Stop messing around.

He kept jerking off, steady strokes, while he flexed our right arm, admiring the bicep in the mirror across the room. I felt him start pushing. My presence got squeezed, shoved into a smaller and smaller corner of our brain.

I screamed louder. Carson! Don’t! Please!

He ignored me, breathing heavier, stroking faster. His thoughts were full of Davie — tight heat, moans, the way he’d looked up at us. Our body tensed, muscles hard. I felt weaker, smaller, like I was fading.

Carson, I’m your brother! Stop!

One final hard stroke and he came, groaning as he spilled over our hand. In that moment the pressure became unbearable. He shoved hard, and I was ejected. Everything went white.

---

Carson's POV

I lay there in the quiet of the flat, chest still heaving a little, staring up at the ceiling through eyes that were finally, completely mine. Theo’s body—my body now—glistened with streaks of my own cum across my abs and chest. It felt warm, messy, real. I dipped two fingers into the biggest pool of it, scooped some up, and slowly rubbed it across my pecs, spreading it in lazy circles over the muscle I’d built for years. The smell hit me—thick, masculine—and a low groan slipped out of my throat. Theo’s throat. Mine.

Part of me waited for the guilt to crash in. I’d just erased my own brother. My twin. But the longer I rubbed that slick warmth into my skin, the more that little voice faded. Nah. Fuck that. Theo had been treating me like a parasite for years. Using me for grades, for the heavy lifting, for keeping our parents off his back while he partied and fucked whoever he wanted in my downtime. This? This was justice. Long overdue.

I reached over for my phone and opened the camera. The screen lit up on my face: flushed, hair messy. I angled it down, capturing the shine across my chest and stomach, my spent cock still half-hard against my thigh. Click. Perfect.

I typed out the text to Davie, smirking the whole time.

Me: Partied a little too hard last night. Woke up like this and all I could think about was how much better it would’ve been if you were here to wake up next to me. Wanna come over and spend the rest of the afternoon cuddled up in bed?

I hit send, then admired the selfie again before putting the phone down. Yeah… I’m definitely making this guy my boyfriend. For real. Mom and Dad are gonna be so happy I finally have a steady relationship after all these years of “me” being the responsible one. They’ll eat it up—proud of their golden boy settling down with a nice British guy.

I ran my hand down my stomach again, smearing more of the cum lower, fingers brushing over my cock. It twitched hard, thickening back up fast. Fuck. This body was all mine now. Every inch. The broad shoulders, the arms that could lift Davie like he weighed nothing, the dick that made him moan like that. No more sharing. No more passenger seat. No more Theo.

All mine. All mine. All mine.

My cock throbbed fully hard again in my grip, and I laughed low and satisfied, giving it a slow stroke as I waited for Davie’s reply. This was just the beginning.

[mjc88blr]

What’s happening to the Henderson’s?

My head throbbed and I felt more sore than I ever had in my life when I woke up this morning the sun peaking bright through my window. My bed strangely creaked and groaned as I attempted to turn over but when I opened my eyes reality hit me like a truck. Looking down at my body I was giant and hairy, much larger than my normal skinny body of Alex Henderson that was maybe 130 lbs soaking wet. I threw off the sheet and a monster dick that bobbed up and down almost matching my heartbeat and the smell of sweat invaded my nostrils. I panicked because what had slowly been spreading to my family for the last week had finally happened to me. Last Tuesday we were all gathered at home. Summer had just begun. My twenty year old sister had returned from college to study fashion while I was getting ready to leave to study marketing once summer ended. The whole world seemed to ripple for a minute and the sky seemed to change color for just a second and at first we didn’t notice anything different until we realized the internet didn’t work and the weirdest part we couldn’t leave the house we would just wind up back inside and the world continued on outside without us. I could have dealt with all that but the biggest change involved my family members morphing into copies of some of the men around town that I found most attractive. Worst of all they acted constantly horny like they were living in a porno and kept trying everything to get me to have sex with them. Don't get me wrong it would have been great all these hot guys throwing themselves at me but these sex obsessed fantasy guys were my family members. Even more strangely they would switch between acting like their old personality and their new one usually with a blink and shake of their head, it all was completely normal to them if I brought it up they looked at me like I was crazy.

My dad who luckily worked as an astrophysicist, a job I never understood but it came in handy when he said he recognized the pattern of the sky changing color from satellite imagery he studied last week and got to work in his basement office looking for a solution. Now looking in the bathroom mirror I was greeted not by my eighteen year old face but by the shocked face of Mr. Brown, my senior year history teacher and coach of the soccer team. I’d spent my senior year captivated by him the way his dress shirts would hug his bulky frame or how the smell of his cologne would invade my nostrils when I entered the classroom. My favorite way to spend the class period was hoping a student would ask him a question so he would bend down over their desk and I could get a look at his ass in his tight pants. After school I would sit in the bleachers hoping to see him running drills with the soccer team and working up a sweat in his gym shorts and tight school t-shirt. Now I had a front row seat to his naked body and it was even better than I imagined. Legs and thighs like tree trunks and a hairy body that exuded masculine energy and smell. His ass was even bigger than it looked in his dress pants. It felt great just to stand there and grab it with my much larger hands, eventually I worked my hands around to my stomach and down to my new dick. It was the best feeling I had ever experienced. I'd never felt so much pleasure radiate through my body and I didn't want it to end ever. No, I had to stay focused this whole situation had to be reversed even if it meant I had to lose this gorgeous body, with none of the clothes in my dresser having a chance of fitting me now I went into my parents room and found a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that could cover me up. I had to find dad and see if he could help me, he said yesterday evening he was close to a breakthrough as he analyzed some more data last night.

After lumbering down the stairs which my new hefty body made difficult, I saw out on the patio the guy who used to be my sister Ashley now with the body of her boyfriend Brandon doing yoga. Who knew the soccer captain could be so flexible? He was out there doing the splits and several different yoga poses I didn’t know were possible especially for a guy. “Brandon, have you seen where dad is? I need to talk with him” I asked. “Oh hey Alex do you like the outfit I found in my closet? It's so cute and luckily it fits I don’t know why but none of my clothes seem to fit lately. I must have visited the dining hall too many times. Even my underwear is too small especially in the front and I don’t know why I’ve always crammed my dick and balls in there before and I never had an issue but now even my favorite pair almost ripped today, even these pants can barely hide my ass” he said his voice even in a noticeably higher pitch as he run his hands up his backside, his white pants stretched to their limit over his butt in the yoga pose he was in. He blinked and shook his head and smirked at me, his voice resuming its deeper pitch Brandon’s personality back in control, “hey looser come out here to stare at me while I stretch? Shit I would too look at me this body is perfection” he said flexing and rubbing his chest. “Here let me give you a better look”, then he began to remove his white pants and was now completely naked, his caramel colored body shining in the morning sunlight. “Take a look at this, all this yoga has really loosened me up. I’ve been working on this for hours pretty soon I’ll be able to entertain myself all day since you love to play hard to get.” He then sat on the ground and brought his foot up to his mouth and licked it all over with his large tongue, never breaking eye contact with me and I couldn’t look away. After each toe had been sampled he raised both his legs up and locked both of his feet behind his head and began to try and stretch his mouth toward the hard dripping appendage between his legs. I finally snapped out of it and ran inside. Well Brandon had been no help just like he was before all of this only caring about himself. I left him in the backyards legs behind his head damn that yoga really was helping I’m pretty sure I saw his tongue make contact with his dick although, I was distracted with him in that position I could clearly see his asshole and there something leaking out of it things just kept getting worse.

I tiptoed into the kitchen because my mom was a little unpredictable in her new body, a former twenty-seven year old convict Luke who worked at the mechanic that I took my cheap sedan to for tire and oil changes. I just had to spend those hours staring at him dripping in sweat while he worked on my car didn’t I. One minute he would be my happy mother asking me how my day was and calling me his sweet boy to Luke’s personality taking over swearing up a storm and scowling and asking me what the hell i was staring at. “Hey honey! If you wait just a second I can have a cupcake ready for you” It must have been a good day today, although it was still so weird to see his tatted up body wearing only my mothers apron and hearing his deep voice call me honey. Even more unsettling was the large protrusion below her waist that was sticking so obscenely in front of her it knocked over the can of baking powder on the counter when he turned to face me. “Sorry, stupid thing won’t go down. I already had Brandon let me release a load in his ass before I started baking but these balls are full again and I’m going to have to mop when I’m done baking, I’m dripping all over the floor. Be a dear and help me out, maybe just a little tongue action on my balls please” Then he lifted up his apron showing the giant dick and dangling balls I had seen too often over the last couple days. He was almost whimpering, biting his lip as his dick twitched and bobbed up and down and continued to leak on the floor. When I declined as I so often had to do in this house it was like a switch flipped and Luke’s harsher personality took over with a shake of his head. “You fucking ungrateful piece of shit, I work hard all day sweating my balls off cooking and cleaning and all I ask is for you to help me out when I need some release you’re fucking useless”. “Um yeah have you seen dad by chance” I asked hesitantly hoping to get out of here quickly. “Where do you think he is in his office downstairs fucking dumbass, God damn it I need a smoke”. He yelled, throwing his apron on the counter and pulling a cigarette from the front pocket, lighting up and blowing a large cloud of smoke in my direction, grumbling and flipping me off and beginning to work his hand rapidly up and down his glistening shaft. As I began to leave the oven timer dinged and Moms regular happy demeanor was back and as he bent over the oven to grab the cupcakes Luke shook his bubble butt and said, “oooooh yay cupcakes are done I’m going to save some icing you can lick it off my ass later honey. oh dang it, excuse my language son I just made more of a mess look at these new puddles on the floor” I needed to find Dad he said he was close to figuring out what was going on last night hopefully he had made a breakthrough because this house was driving me crazy.

My worst fear awaited me when I went down to dad’s office. There sitting on the couch was Jesse, a guy who worked at the local pizza place and was probably the worst body dad could have been put in. Yeah he was extremely hot, why else would he be here making things worse, he was also extremely dumb multiple times when I handed him cash for my pizza order it took him minutes to figure out my change. “Wait dude stop you’re cracking me up so, sure I’m some smart scientist whatever you say bro hahaha. Why would I use my brain for numbers and stuff that shit gives me a headache. You don’t need to use your brain when you look this good, check out these abs and this chest touch them if you want. Dude what the fuck stop crying you’re killing the vibes it’s bad enough my phone isn’t working can’t even pull up my favorite sites to take care of this problem” he said as he pulled down his grey shorts releasing his dick that smacked his stomach as it escaped its confines. “Can you send down the hottie in the yoga pants bro? I couldn't get enough of him last night he snuck down here and was doing the splits and shit while bouncing on my dick it was amazing.” “No dad please you can’t be stuck as this dumbass you’re supposed to figure out how to fix this mess, I don’t want to be old I’m supposed to be starting college in a few months” I began to cry even louder then Jesse blinked and shook his head an angry look appearing on his face as his nostrils flared and a vein popped on his forehead just like dad’s when we misbehaved as kids. “I will not have you swearing in my house young man, how dare you call me a dumbass. Get upstairs, I don't want to see you until dinner Alexander” I climbed the stairs, the stern and familiar expression of my dad already gone from Jesse’s face and replaced with his tongue rolling out of his mouth as he flexed and grouped his pecs any sign of my intelligent father gone. I arrived at the landing on the ground floor greeted by the sight of Brandon and Luke making out naked on the living room couch. “Finally he’s free, hurry up, let's get downstairs Luke, that guy down there is so hot we can share him” they high fived and ran downstairs giggling, their matching boners swinging between their legs with every step. I climbed the stairs back to my room, my only hope of escaping this nightmare gone.

You know I don’t remember what I was so worried about yesterday morning. I have this great body, huge dick, and a house full of hot guys who want to have sex with me everyday. This is paradise. I think this top really makes me look sexy. It kind of just appeared in my closet an hour ago how lucky is that!. I wonder if the boys will agree not that we’ll be in our clothes for a very long time. Damn it is that Luke moaning ugh only Jesse’s dick makes him squeal like that. I told them to wait for me.

Meanwhile in a galaxy three solar systems away…

“Sir Earth experiment 8076-A43 seems to finally be a success. All test subjects have succumbed to the newest reality altering invention although the personality modifier could still use some work; they're still switching between their original and new personalities randomly.” “ Excellent, expand this test to the entire neighborhood and give me an update on the other experiments soon, we need to know if there are any issues with our other test subjects.” “Yes sir right away” said the alien scientist pushing a button and causing another reality changing ripple to sweep across the planet.

[verus-veritas]

The Black Hole

(AI Assisted - Finally got around to finishing the next story from the poll, and this one is inspired by the short film "THE BLACK HOLE" from 2008. I recommend watching the short film first to get a sense of its concept!

Also, a fair bit of warning, this story focuses a lot on the humiliation kink and being trapped in someone much bigger, heavier, and hairier. Which I'm sure some of you might really enjoy! /Verus)

The chemistry lab at Westview College felt like a forgotten corner of the world during lunch break. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their cold glow casting long, harsh shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hung heavy with the acrid bite of sulfur mixed with the sharp sting of ethanol, scents that seeped into my clothes and lingered on my skin. I sat hunched over our cluttered workstation, my fingers tinted a deep blue from the chemical compounds I had been carefully mixing for our science assignment. It was due in Mr. Clarke's class later that afternoon, and the pressure weighed on me like an invisible hand.

Across from me, Dan lounged in his chair with that effortless slouch of his, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. He swirled a beaker with a lazy flick of his wrist, his face scrunched up in clear annoyance. 

"Man, Clarke's such an asshole!" Dan muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration. "He piles on these assignments just because we don't kiss his ass in class like the other kids do. Thinks he's some big shot, strutting around with that hairy broad chest straining against his shirt, barely squeezing through the doorways without turning sideways."

He snorted, leaning back and mimicking Mr. Clarke's stiff, wide posture, puffing out his own chest in exaggeration. "You ever hear that poor office chair creak every time he plants his big ass down? It's gonna snap one day, I swear. I can picture it now, him tumbling to the floor in front of the whole class and everyone laughing at his dumb face."

I nodded absently, my gaze locked on the bubbling mixture in my own beaker, watching the colors swirl and shift. But my mind wandered far from the experiment. Dan's rants about our science professor, Bruce Clarke, had become a familiar soundtrack to our lab sessions. It was always the same litany of complaints about his strict rules, his uptight personality, his biting criticism that could cut like a knife. Around town, Mr. Clarke was famously known as "The Cruel Giant," a man who barely let his students scrape by with passing grades and demanded nothing short of perfection from everyone. Stories circulated about how he would chew out cashiers for hours if they shortchanged him by a penny, or chase after elderly folks on the street to lecture them about public decency just for coughing too loudly in his presence.

To Dan, Mr. Clarke was nothing more than an uptight mean old man, a tall, burly middle-aged man whose khaki pants and tight dress shirts always seemed on the verge of bursting over his massive frame. But I stayed quiet, my agreement only half-hearted at best, because admitting the truth to Dan or even to myself felt utterly mortifying. Over the past few months, I had developed a secret crush on Mr. Clarke, a shameful attraction that I buried deep inside, praying it would fade away by the time graduation rolled around and I could escape this small town.

His huge body strangely captivated me in ways I could barely understand myself. And Mr. Clarke wasn't the slob Dan painted him to be. Sure, he carried a slight soft layer around his midsection, a gentle curve that pressed outward against his shirts, and I often imagined he could easily crush a watermelon just by sitting on it with that large, plump ass of his. But there was a commanding solidity to him that made my pulse quicken. He stood at 6'8", one of the tallest and largest men in our small town, with broad, wide shoulders that seemed to fill any room he entered, and thick, powerful arms that bent the space around them. During class, I would steal glances, my eyes tracing the vast expanse of his broad back as he wrote equations on the board, or lingering on the way his khaki pants clung to his rounded, muscular ass when he bent down to collect our tests.

His brown beard, often flecked with crumbs from a hurried lunch or faint stains from his morning coffee, framed a ruggedly handsome face that could make me blush even when he was yelling at the class for being late. I remembered the times his coffee-scented breath had washed over me during those scoldings, warm and authoritative, leaving me flustered. In my private fantasies, I imagined pressing my face into the hairy massive chest that peeked through his open collar, feeling the warmth of his bulk envelop me completely. I envied his genetics, how he was so effortlessly tall, hairy, and thick without ever needing to lift a weight or step foot in a gym. It was as if his body was a natural force, untamed and powerful.

I told myself it was just a phase, a silly teenage crush that would dissolve once college was behind me. I was just a scrawny senior, barely noticeable among the sea of students in Mr. Clarke's classes, and the very idea of confessing my feelings to anyone, especially Dan, made my stomach twist into knots. So I locked those thoughts away, letting them simmer quietly as I stirred my chemicals, my mind drifting into a hazy fantasy of running my hands over Mr. Clarke's broad, hairy chest, feeling the coarse hairs tickle my palms, the heat of his skin seeping into mine.

"Yo, Noah, you even listening to me?" Dan's voice snapped me back to reality, sharp and insistent.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring blankly at the beaker for far too long, the mixture now frothing a bit too vigorously.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, shaking my head to clear the fog.

But before I could say more, my elbow caught the edge of a glass container filled with unknown chemicals, sending it toppling over into Dan's mixture. The liquids collided with a violent hiss, merging in a chaotic fizz that sent sparks flying. Dan yelped, jumping back from the table, his gloves and shirt miraculously untouched.

"Shit, Noah, watch it!" he shouted, his eyes wide as we both retreated a few meters away. 

We stood there frozen, hearts pounding, as acrid smoke billowed upward from the workstation, the table sizzling in a way that sounded almost alive.

"What the hell was that?" Dan hissed, his voice laced with panic, glancing at me accusingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," I stammered, my heart racing as the smoke thickened, obscuring the mess we had made.

But as the haze slowly cleared, the sizzling faded, revealing something impossible on the table's surface: a perfectly round black hole, its edges shimmering faintly like heat waves on asphalt. It was wide enough for a small person to fit through, a void that seemed to devour the light around it, pulling at the air with an eerie silence.

We stared at it, speechless, the lab suddenly feeling colder despite the lingering chemical warmth.

"What is that thing?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, stepping closer but not daring to touch it.

Dan shook his head, his bravado completely evaporated. "No clue, man. But we're totally screwed if Clarke sees this. We just destroyed school property, and you know how he gets about that."

With lunch break nearly over, panic surged through us like electricity. We scrambled to clean up the spill, me sweeping up the shattered glass shards from the floor while Dan wiped down the table with frantic swipes. As he brushed near the hole, his hand accidentally nudged its rim, and the anomaly shifted, folding slightly like a piece of flexible fabric.

"Noah, get over here quick!" Dan called, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

I hurried over, my jaw dropping as he gripped the edge of the hole and lifted it effortlessly off the table, holding it like a sheet of black paper, weightless and rippling faintly in the air.

"What the fuck?" I breathed, stepping even closer, my eyes wide. Dan, now grinning despite the shock, placed the hole back on the table and tentatively reached into it, his arm vanishing up to the elbow into the void. His face lit up with astonishment as he pulled his hand back, completely unharmed.

"Dude, this is freaky!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with glee. 

He grabbed the hole again, striding over to a locked cabinet across the room, and slapped it against the door. Reaching through, he pulled out a beaker from inside the cabinet, holding it up triumphantly. "Holy shit, Noah! We made a freaking portal! This thing lets you reach into anything!"

We marveled at the anomaly we had accidentally created, a defiance of every law of physics we had learned in class. Dan's eyes gleamed with endless possibilities, his mind already racing ahead.

"We've got something way better than a boring assignment for Clarke now," he said, carefully rolling the hole up like a poster and stuffing it into his backpack. "And I've got an idea to test this thing out later. You in?"

I nodded, unsure but intrigued, my mind still reeling from the impossibility of it all. "Yeah, I guess. But we have to be careful, Dan. This could be dangerous..."

—

Two classes dragged by in a blur, and during the break before chemistry, Dan pulled me aside with a mischievous grin. He led me down the echoing hallways to the gym locker rooms, the distant shouts from jocks in the gymnasium grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"What are we doing here, Dan?" I asked, glancing around nervously at the rows of metal lockers, the air thick with the smell of sweat and old sneakers.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with that reckless spark I knew all too well. "Just trust me. Keep watch for a second."

He scanned the lockers until he stopped at one labeled "Austin," our school's star athlete and the resident bully who had made our lives hell more than once.

I hissed a protest, my voice low. "Dan, no way. That's Austin's locker. We can't just..."

But he ignored me, pressing the black hole against the locker door with a soft thud. Reaching through the void, he rummaged around inside and pulled out a sweaty jockstrap, its fabric damp and musky from recent use.

"Dude!" I exclaimed, horrified, my cheeks burning as I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

Dan laughed, holding it up like a trophy before pressing it to his face and inhaling deeply. "Smells pretty good for a douchebag like Austin," he said, grinning wickedly. "Come on, Noah, lighten up. It's just a prank."

I rolled my eyes, my face flushing even hotter. "That's gross, man. Put it back."

He chuckled, rolling up the hole and tucking it, along with the jockstrap, into his backpack. "Imagine what else we can do with this thing. Vending machines, locked doors, even ATMs. It's not really stealing if it's just sitting there, right? We could take whatever we want without anyone knowing."

I frowned, unease twisting in my gut. "It's still stealing, Dan. And what if we get caught? This isn't a game."

Before we could argue further, Coach's voice boomed from the gymnasium entrance, demanding to know what we were doing in the locker room. "Hey! You two! What are you up to in there?"

Panic hit us like a wave, and we bolted, our sneakers squeaking against the tile floor as we fled down the hall, hearts pounding.

—

Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the chemistry lab, seated at our workstation as our classmates tricked in, chatting and laughing. Dan bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning, barely containing his excitement about showing off the black hole. My stomach churned with nerves, both from the upcoming presentation and the looming presence of Mr. Clarke himself.

When he finally entered the room, his broad shoulders barely clearing the doorway, I felt my breath catch. His khaki pants hugged his thick calves, and his dress shirt clung to his hairy chest, the top button undone just enough to tease the coarse hairs beneath.

Our eyes met briefly as he scanned the room, and I saw a flicker of disappointment, perhaps even disgust, in his gaze before he turned away. 

"Settle down, everyone," he barked, his deep voice rumbling through the lab like thunder. "We've got presentations today, and I expect you all to take this seriously. No excuses, no half-baked efforts."

Class dragged on with Mr. Clarke's usual loud and demeaning criticism, his beard twitching with every sharp word he directed at struggling students.

"That's incorrect, Miss Thompson. Do you even read the textbook, or do you just guess?" he snapped at one girl, making her shrink in her seat.

Finally, it was time for presentations. Dan shot up from his chair, waving his hand eagerly. "Mr. Clarke, can we go first? We've got something amazing."

Mr. Clarke eyed him skeptically, adjusting the square reading glasses that framed his piercing eyes. "Fine, but make it quick. And it better not be another one of your jokes, Daniel."

We stood at the front, explaining how we had mixed the chemicals accidentally, creating a black hole that defied all known physics. Dan's voice was infectious, building up the drama. "It's like a portal, sir. You can reach through anything with it."

But before we could pull out the anomaly to demonstrate, Mr. Clarke cut us off sharply. "That's enough of this nonsense," he snapped, his face reddening with anger. "You're slandering the very foundations of science in my classroom, and I won't tolerate it. Sit down, both of you."

Dan protested, his voice rising. "But sir, we can prove it! Just let us show you!"

"I said sit down!" Mr. Clarke shouted, his voice shaking the room, making the beakers rattle on the shelves.

Humiliated, we slunk back to our seats amid the laughter of the class. The jocks in the back called out, "Losers!" and the girls whispered "freaks" under their breath. I felt Mr. Clarke's glare burning into us, his stoic face flushed with irritation.

Dan muttered spitefully under his breath as we sat. "They don't deserve to see it anyway. I'll show them later, when it matters."

The rest of class passed in a miserable haze, with other students presenting their projects while I replayed Mr. Clarke's words over and over in my mind, my crush twisting into a knot of embarrassment. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day, Dan and I joined the rush to leave, eager to escape. But a heavy hand suddenly gripped my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

"You two, stay behind," Mr. Clarke's gruff voice ordered, his fingers like steel.

My heart sank as we sat at the front desks, facing his massive wooden desk. I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering to the chest hair peeking from his shirt, my crush flaring up despite the tension in the air.

Mr. Clarke's eyes narrowed as he caught my gaze lingering. "Noah," he began, his tone icy and measured, "I've noticed you staring at me these past months. It's inappropriate, and I don't appreciate it one bit. You need to focus on your studies, not whatever perverse fantasies you're indulging in during my class."

My face burned with shame, heat flooding my cheeks. I hadn't realized he had noticed, and the accusation left me speechless, my mouth dry. "I... I'm sorry, sir," I managed to whisper, staring at the floor.

Dan spoke up, his voice sharp and defensive. "That's not cool, Mr. Clarke. You can't just accuse him like that."

But the professor ignored him, turning his attention to Dan. "And you, with your ridiculous stunt today. If you keep this up, you'll fail my class and amount to nothing in life. Is that what you want?"

Dan's jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. "We weren't lying, sir. We really created something incredible."

Mr. Clarke's scowl deepened. "Enough. I don't have time for your games."

Fed up, Dan reached into his backpack and pulled out the rolled-up black hole. "See for yourself then."

Mr. Clarke dismissed it with a wave. "That's just a piece of black paper. Put it away."

Dan, his patience snapping, strode to the locked cabinet in the corner. "Watch this," he said, slapping the hole onto the door. He reached through and pulled out beakers, tools, and supplies, dumping them onto Mr. Clarke's desk with a clatter.

The professor's expression shifted from annoyance to shock, his eyes widening. "What are you doing? How did you...?"

Dan grinned, placing the hole flat on the desk. "Try it yourself, sir. Reach in and grab something from under your desk."

Hesitantly, Mr. Clarke reached into the void, his thick fingers disappearing. He pulled out pens, paperclips, and notebooks from beneath his desk, his shock turning to fascination as his fingers trembled.

"This... this is impossible," he murmured, his voice softening for the first time.

But Dan snatched the hole away, rolling it up quickly. "Told you we weren't lying," he said, smirking as he stood to leave. "Come on, Noah."

As Dan headed for the door, I fumbled with my bag, noticing a dark glint in Mr. Clarke's eyes, something like greed or ambition flickering there. The air in the room grew thick with tension, and suddenly, he lunged forward with surprising speed for a man of his size. His meaty hand closed around Dan's wrist, fingers like iron clamps, pinning Dan's arm in place.

Dan yelped, his voice sharp with panic. "What the hell, man? Let go!"

"You boys have no idea what you're holding," Mr. Clarke growled, his voice low and laced with a hunger that made my skin crawl. His massive frame loomed over Dan, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that swallowed my friend whole. Sweat beaded on Mr. Clarke's forehead, glistening under the lights, his dress shirt growing damp under the armpits, clinging to the curve of his massive chest and broad back. "Leave such things to responsible adults like me."

Dan struggled, his face turning red, both hands clutching the rolled-up black hole, his knuckles white. "Get off me! This isn't yours!"

Mr. Clarke's other hand reached for it, his thick fingers brushing the anomaly, his breath coming in heavy pants from the exertion. The room felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of his sweat, a musky blend of coffee and raw masculinity that hit me like a wave, stirring my shameful crush even as fear gripped my chest.

Dan's eyes met mine, wide with desperation. "Noah, help! Do something!"

I dropped my bag and rushed over, my heart pounding wildly. "Let him go, sir!" I shouted, grabbing at the black hole, my fingers brushing against Dan's and Mr. Clarke's in the chaos. The three of us were locked in a frantic tug-of-war, pulling and yanking.

Mr. Clarke's strength was staggering, his arm like a steel cable, pulling with a force that made my muscles burn. "Let go, you fools!" he roared, his voice booming through the room, his face flushed red, small beads of sweat dripping down his temples.

Dan and I pulled together, our combined effort barely budging the anomaly from his grasp. "We can't let him have it!" Dan gasped, his face contorted with effort.

My hands slipped on the smooth, otherworldly surface, my palms slick with nervous sweat. "He's too strong," I panted, feeling insignificant next to his towering bulk, my slim arms trembling against his power. His dress shirt strained further, the seams creaking, his neck muscles shifting with each heave, his khaki pants tight around his thick thighs.

We tugged one last time, a desperate heave that sent us all stumbling. The black hole slipped from our fingers, but Mr. Clarke's sweaty palm fumbled it, the slick roll escaping his grip. It unfolded mid-air, a dark, rippling sheet, and sailed toward his chest. Time seemed to slow as it adhered with a soft, wet slap, the void pulsing against his shirt, centered over his broad chest.

His eyes widened in horror, a gasp escaping his lips.

"What... no!" he stammered, his hands clawing at the hole, trying to rip it free. Then his massive body suddenly shuddered, his pupils rolling back, and he collapsed, his heavy frame crashing to the hardwood floor with a thunderous thud that shook the entire room.

Dan and I stood panting, staring at the black hole pulsing on Mr. Clarke's chest, his unconscious body still, his bearded face slack.

"Oh god, we killed him," I whispered, my voice trembling, my legs feeling like jelly.

Dan knelt beside him, pressing fingers to his neck. "No, he's alive… just out cold," he said, his voice unsteady. He poked at the hole, his fingers disappearing inside. "Woah... he's hollow now. Like he's completely empty inside."

He reached deeper, his expression shifting to confusion. "Weird, I feel crevices inside, it’s like paths leading to his arms or neck. He's like a big hollow tree stump..."

I paced the room, panic clawing at my chest, my mind racing with the implications. "We never thought about using it on a person... What have we done?"

A few minutes passed of me restlessly pacing around while Dan stared curiously at the hole on Clarke's chest, his mind seemingly thinking hard about how to get us out of this mess. Then suddenly Dan's eyes lit up with a reckless idea. "What if one of us climbs inside? Maybe we can move him, sort of like a big meatsuit. We could access his office, fix our grades and make him give us A's, then get out before he wakes up."

"That's insane, Dan," I said, but the idea took hold, fueled by fear of failing yet another course and a bizarre curiosity about climbing inside Mr. Clarke's big body, the man I had secretly admired for so long. "You really think that would work?"

He nodded eagerly. "Think about it, Noah. You're smaller than me, scrawny frame and all. You'd fit easily through the hole. Come on, it's our only shot right now."

After a heated debate, with me protesting, "This could go so wrong," and Dan countering, "But what if it goes right? We could turn this around," I swallowed hard, gazing at Mr. Clarke's unconscious giant form. His bearded face looked almost serene, his massive hairy chest rising and falling despite the gaping hole. My crush twisted into something darker, a fascination with the impossible intimacy of it all.

Dan locked the classroom door with a click. "Okay, let's do this. I'll keep watch."

I stood over Mr. Clarke, my pulse racing like a drum. His body was a mountain compared to mine, his shoulders twice as wide as my own, his chest a broad expanse of power, his gut a soft curve that spoke of both strength and years of indulgence. I kicked off my shoes, a strange gesture of respect, and hesitated, my breath shallow. The black hole pulsed invitingly, its edges shimmering, beckoning me forward.

"Be careful," Dan whispered, his voice tense.

I nodded, stepping forward, one foot hovering over the void. "Here goes nothing."

I lowered myself in slowly, the sensation immediate and overwhelming, a warm, squishy embrace that enveloped my foot like sinking into a heated waterbed, but alive, pulsating gently. The inside of Mr. Clarke's body was soft and yielding, yet unnervingly organic, the walls slick and warm against my skin, almost caressing me as I descended.

My foot sank into a crevice, what I assumed was the path to his thick leg, and I felt a gentle resistance, as if the space was molding itself to me, adapting to my shape. I was scrawny, barely 5'6" and 130 pounds, but Mr. Clarke was a giant, well over 6'8" and easily 250 pounds, his bulk dwarfing me entirely. Yet the hole seemed to adjust seamlessly, my leg sliding into his thigh, stopping abruptly as if fitted perfectly, despite the vast size difference.

"How does it feel?" Dan asked, his voice hushed, watching intently.

"It's... warm," I replied, my voice shaky. "Like it's hugging me, tightly yet firmly." 

I lowered myself further, my other leg finding its place, the sensation of his massive thighs enveloping my own, heavy and warm, like pulling on a suit far too large yet impossibly snug. My hips settled into his, my slim frame sinking into the broad expanse of his pelvis, the weight of his ass pressing down beneath me, a dense, plump mass that felt alien and grounding all at once.

I pushed my arms through next, feeling the crevices widen for his thick biceps and forearms, my hands slipping into his, the fingers blunt and calloused, so unlike my own slender ones.

"My arms... they're in his now," I murmured, flexing experimentally, yet straining under the heavy weight of them.

The inside of his chest stretched tight as I pushed myself further down, the flesh straining with a soft creak, and I felt the dampness of his simmering sweat enveloping me, a musky scent that filled my senses, both repellent and intoxicating in its rawness.

"Keep going," Dan encouraged, his eyes wide. "You're almost there."

I pulled myself deeper, my chest sinking into his, the soft flesh brushing against my skin inside, a sensation so intimate it made my face burn with heat. The black hole's warmth enveloped my torso completely, and I bent my neck forward, sliding my head down into the darkness and then through a tight, slick passage that must have been his throat.

"It's so tight here," I gasped, darkness closing in, warm and suffocating, as I aligned my body with his.

For a moment, I panicked, blind and breathless, but then vision flickered to life, and I saw through Mr. Clarke's eye sockets, the world sharper, larger, as if my eyes now perceived everything as he did. Air rushed through his nostrils and into my lungs, filling me with a strange vitality. I pushed myself up slowly, his bulk around me loose and heavy, a staggering weight that made my movements slow and uncoordinated.

"God, he's so fucking heavy," I said, Mr. Clarke's deep timbre somehow resonated through me, a bizarre mixture of his voice and mine that boomed in the room.

I gripped the desk for support, my thick fingers leaving sweaty prints on the wood, and stood, feeling the floor creak beneath his mass. My legs, inside his now, felt like heavy pillars, each step a lumbering effort, his thighs rubbing together with a soft friction, khaki pants wrapped snugly around them. His hairy chest rose and fell with each breath I took inside, and his broad shoulders strained the dress shirt, the seams taut against the power beneath.

Dan gaped at me, his mouth open in awe. "Holy shit, Noah. You're wearing him! You look just like Clarke, but... it's you in there controlling him!"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice still that strange mixture of ours combined. "It's me. But god it feels strange being in here, like everything too big and heavy..."

Dan stepped closer, peering at my new bearded face. "How are you breathing? Seeing? It looks completely normal from out here."

"It feels like looking through a one-way mask," I explained, touching my cheek experimentally, and somehow feeling the scratchy beard poking me from the inside. "Like my eyes are hidden behind his, invisible from outside. And I'm breathing through his nostrils, the air flowing right to me. Sounds vibrate from his eardrums and fill this space I'm in. And my mouth, my tongue... they've slipped into his like a thick, larger sleeve. It's so freaky how this actually worked..."

"Damn," Dan said, reaching out to poke my arm, squeezing the thick flesh. "Can you feel that?"

"Barely," I admitted, the sensation dulled by the layer of Mr. Clarke's heavy flesh encasing me. "It's really like I'm wearing a big heavy skinsuit..."

But then he tried to reach into the hole on Mr. Clarke’s chest, his fingers brushed my real chest inside, tickling me lightly. "Hey, stop that!" I laughed, swatting him away, my voice booming louder than intended.

He grinned, then slapped my ass playfully, the thick flesh bouncing slightly, sending a jolt through me, a mix of embarrassment and a strange thrill at feeling this body respond under my control. "Damn... guess you're the one with the thick massive ass now, huh? How's it feel to have all that junk in the trunk?"

"Shut up, Dan," I said, but I couldn't help a small chuckle, shifting my weight and feeling the dense anchor pull me down. "It's weird. Heavy, but... powerful."

Then, noticing the clock on the wall, Dan's expression turned serious. "We need to hurry. The hall might fill up soon. I’ll unlock the door and check if it's clear. Remember, our plan is to get to the professor's office, change our grades on his computer, and then we’ll come back and I’ll help you climb back out."

I nodded before shuffling toward the door, each step slow and unfamiliar, but stopped when I reached the nearby cabinet.

Catching Mr. Clarke's reflection in the glass, I froze. His handsome, bearded face stared back, but the sternness was gone, replaced by my own shock and fascination in his eyes. His body was a colossus, shoulders a broad wall, chest heaving with each breath, and his ass a soft curve that shifted sensually with every movement. But then I saw the gaping black hole on the chest, a glaring void that would draw immediate questions from other students and faculty members.

"Wait," I said, my deep voice echoing. "I can't walk out like this. The hole's too obvious. The other professors would freak out seeing Mr. Clarke like this. Maybe I can just take it off for a while…"

Dan seemed preoccupied with checking the hallway outside. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Just hurry up. The coast is clear now."

Without thinking of the implications or consequences, my hands, now inside Mr. Clarke's thick, rugged hands, gripped the rim of the black hole. The surface was smooth, almost liquid under my fingers, and I pulled gently, peeling it away from the damp dress shirt. The moment it detached, a searing heat erupted around me, a burning wave that consumed every nerve, every fiber.

"Noah? What did you do?!" Dan asked, his voice rising in alarm as he turned his attention back to me.

I realized too late my mistake. The warm squishy walls inside of Mr. Clarke's body tightened suddenly, compressing around me like a vice, as if his flesh was collapsing inward, crushing my scrawny frame.

"No... it- it hurts!!" I gasped, my skin burning, my bones aching under the pressure. I felt my body, my real body inside, being crushed, warped, and dissolved into the vastness of Mr. Clarke's thick flesh, and then as if I was being wrung and dispersed throughout every pore and cell that was Mr. Clarke. The room spun wildly, Dan's scream echoing in my ears as my vision darkened. "Dan... help..." 

My last thought was a desperate wish for Mr. Clarke to forgive me for what we had done to him…

—

–

-

"Hey! Wake up! Noah, wake up!" Dan's voice pierced through the fog, his hands shaking my shoulders with desperate force.

I groaned, my body feeling like it had been crushed under a boulder, heavy and unresponsive. My eyes fluttered open, vision swimming as the chemistry lab's fluorescent lights stabbed into my skull like knives. I pushed myself up slowly, sitting on the cold hardwood floor, every muscle screaming in protest. My limbs felt sluggish, foreign, like they belonged to someone else entirely.

Dan knelt before me, his face pale, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. "Is it you, Noah? Or is it Clarke? Say something, please."

I frowned, my head throbbing with a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes. "What do you mean?" I croaked, but the sound stopped me cold.

The voice was no longer a strange mixture; my original reedy tone of a college senior was completely gone without a trace. It was now deep, gruff, resonant, the voice I had heard barking orders in class, laced with coffee and unyielding authority. Mr. Clarke's fully complete voice.

My hand shot to my throat, fingers brushing a thick, muscular neck, the skin rough with coarse stubble that trailed downward. I froze, my breath catching as I felt the unfamiliar texture, the sheer bulk of it. "Dan... why does my voice sound like this?"

"Noah, is it really you?" Dan urged, his voice cracking with tension. "Please tell me it's you."

"It's me, dude. Noah," I said, but hearing that booming timbre again made my stomach drop.

I opened my mouth to speak more, but my gaze dropped to my hands, and the realization finally hit me. They felt massive now, rugged with blunt fingers and knuckles dusted with dark hair. I turned them over, palms up, staring at the calloused skin, the deep lines etched from years of grading papers and handling lab equipment.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, Mr. Clarke's voice booming out, alien and wrong coming from my thoughts. Somehow it no longer felt like I was wearing an oversized suit of flesh, but instead every breath, every sensation, every movement felt like it was my own flesh and blood.

I touched my face, fingers trembling as they encountered a scratchy beard, a strong jaw, thinning hair atop a broad skull. My other hand pressed against my chest, feeling the solid mass, the faint give of flesh, a heartbeat that thrummed powerfully but wasn't mine. I shifted, the floor creaking beneath my weight, my hips and thighs spreading wider than I had ever known, the sensation of bulk overwhelming and inescapable.

"Dan, what happened? Where's the hole, and why am I still inside Mr. Clarke?" I asked, my voice shaking despite its depth, each word a reminder of the flesh I now controlled completely.

Dan swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the black hole lying crumpled on the floor, its edges still faintly shimmering. "When you pulled the hole off, you screamed and collapsed. I rushed over and reattached it to your chest, hoping I could pull you out like before. But when I reached inside... there was nothing. Just emptiness, like it was before you climbed in. Your real body, Noah... I think it's gone. Like completely gone."

I stared at him, my mind refusing to process the words. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" I demanded, my voice rising, filling the room with Mr. Clarke's commanding timbre.

Dan flinched slightly, raising his hands to calm me. "I think when you took the hole off, something triggered. Your real body was still inside Clarke's, and without the hole to keep you two separate… I think you fused with him. You became his flesh, his organs, his nerves, and maybe even his brain now. For all intents and purposes, Noah... I think you're Bruce Clarke now. Permanently."

The words shattered my reality like fragile glass.

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head slowly, the motion feeling heavy and unfamiliar as the coarse beard scratched against the collar of my damp dress shirt.

I grabbed at my thick arms, tugging desperately at the muscled flesh beneath the fabric as if I could somehow peel it away and reveal my old scrawny self hiding underneath. But the skin was undeniably real, warm and alive, every pinch sending sharp jolts through nerves that now belonged entirely to this body. I pressed both hands firmly against my broad chest, feeling the dense thickness of it, the coarse hairs curling under my palms, the heavy weight shifting with each ragged breath I took.

"I’m stuck…?" I murmured, the deep gruff voice choking in my throat. "I’m… Professor Clarke now?"

I was no longer a senior, just months away from graduation, with a future full of freedom stretching out before me like an open road. Instead, I had become a man in his late forties, a college science professor infamous for his unrelenting sternness and biting criticism. And, as Dan had always joked in the lab, the man with the thickest ass in town, a massive rounded backside that strained every pair of khaki pants he owned. The thought of my secret crush on Mr. Clarke, now twisted into my permanent reality, made my stomach churn with a sickening mix of horror and disbelief. I had admired this body from afar for months, stealing glances and fantasizing about its power and presence. But living in it, trapped forever inside its overwhelming bulk, was nothing I could ever have prepared myself for. It felt like a cruel joke, the object of my desire turned into an inescapable prison of flesh and weight.

"Come on, Noah. Sit down for a second. You look like you're about to pass out again." Dan stepped closer, his expression a blend of pity and lingering shock.

He guided me toward Mr. Clarke's office chair behind the desk, the one we had mocked so many times in our whispers. I lowered myself carefully, the wooden frame groaning immediately under the sudden load of my new mass. The chair creaked loudly, a long, protesting sound that seemed to mock me as I settled into it, my thick thighs spreading wide, my heavy gut pressing forward against the edge of the desk.

I ran my rugged hands over my face, fingers tracing the scratchy texture of the full beard, the deep-set eyes that now held my panicked gaze, the thinning hair on top that felt slick with fresh sweat. The sensations were all so alien, so rugged and scratchy, nothing like the old skin I had known just hours ago. My broad shoulders slumped as the reality sank deeper, the dress shirt pulling tight across my back.

"Dan, please," I pleaded, my voice cracking despite its depth, coming out as a quiet, desperate whimper from Mr. Clarke's lips. It felt so strange, so wrong, to hear that authoritative rumble reduced to begging. "You have to help me... I can’t be stuck like this forever... I can't live as him..."

Dan opened his mouth to respond, his eyes soft with sympathy. "We'll figure it out, I swear. We'll—"

Right as the words left his mouth, I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to find a position that didn't feel so foreign and constricting. My massive frame didn't move lightly; the simple adjustment sent my weight rocking backward, my thick ass pressing down harder into the seat. There was a sharp, ominous crack, like wood splitting under too much strain, followed immediately by a loud pop as one of the supports gave way completely.

The chair collapsed beneath me in an instant. The back legs buckled, the seat tilted violently, and I tumbled backward with absolutely no grace. My heavy body hit the hardwood floor with a thunderous thud that echoed through the empty classroom, the impact jarring every bone in this giant frame. My broad back slammed down first, followed by the dense weight of my ass and thighs, sending a shockwave through me. Papers scattered from the desk, a beaker wobbled precariously on a nearby shelf, and the air rushed out of my lungs in a deep, involuntary grunt from Mr. Clarke's chest.

For a moment, I just lay there sprawled on the floor, stunned and breathless, staring up at the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. My khaki pants had ridden up slightly from the fall, exposing thick, hairy calves. My dress shirt had untucked in places, revealing a strip of soft gut and the dark trail of hair leading downward. My bearded face burned hot with flush, sweat beading anew on my forehead as humiliation flooded through me like fire.

We had always joked about this exact thing in the lab. Dan and I had whispered about how Mr. Clarke's poor office chair creaked every time he sat down, how one day surely his big heavy ass would finally snap it in half and send him crashing to the floor in front of everyone. We had laughed about imagining the scene, the uptight professor reduced to an embarrassing heap in front of the class. But I never, in my worst nightmares, imagined I would be the one inside his body when it actually happened. I never thought I would feel the sheer mortifying weight of it all from the inside. The way his massive frame made every movement so consequential, the way this thick, powerful ass that I had secretly admired was now the very thing that had caused my downfall.

"Shit, Mr. Clarke... I mean, Noah... are you okay?" Dan asked, rushing around the desk, his voice caught between concern and barely suppressed laughter as he looked down at me.

I groaned, trying to push myself up on my elbows, but the impact stung and made it awkward and slow. My thick arms strained, my gut shifted heavily, and I felt every pound of this body resisting the effort. Looking up at Dan from the floor with my flushed bearded face tilted upward in helpless vulnerability, only deepened the humiliation. The man who commanded fear and respect from the entire school was now sprawled helplessly like a toppled statue, and I was the one living it.

"Don't... don't laugh," I muttered, my deep voice rumbling with embarrassment as I finally rolled to my side and heaved myself upright, the floor creaking again under my rising weight. But even as I said it, I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the way this body's natural authority clashed with the ridiculous position I had landed in. It was so wrong, so utterly humiliating, and yet buried somewhere beneath the shame was that perverse flicker of sensation, the raw physicality of it all, the undeniable presence of this massive, hairy form that was now mine.

Dan offered a hand to help steady me as I stood, brushing off my rumpled shirt. "Sorry, man. But... we really did always say that chair wouldn't last much longer."

"Yeah," I replied quietly, adjusting my pants and feeling the dense curve of my ass settle back into place. "Just never thought I'd be the one to break it."

The words hung heavy, a stark reminder that every joke we had made about Mr. Clarke's body was now my reality, every flaw and excess now mine to carry, to feel, to live with from today on.

—

The next hour was a nightmare, a desperate scramble to reverse the impossible. We stayed late in the school lab, the black hole's shimmering void mocking me from the floor as it lay there like a discarded shadow, its edges rippling faintly under the fluorescent lights. Dan paced back and forth, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, while I stood there in Mr. Clarke's towering body, feeling every inch of its heavy presence pulling me down.

"Okay, Noah, let's think this through," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we can have you climb into another body. Like one of the jocks or another student. At least you wouldn't be stuck as this old lumbering giant forever."

I nodded eagerly, a spark of hope flickering in my chest, making my thick beard twitch as I spoke. "Yes, please. Let's try that. Anything but this. I can't stay like him, Dan. His body feels so... overwhelming. So heavy and thick everywhere." My deep voice rumbled with desperation, and I glanced down at my broad frame, the dress shirt still clinging damply to my hairy chest from the earlier sweat.

Dan picked up the black hole carefully, unrolling it like a fragile map. "Alright, hold still. I'll place it on the floor, and you try to squeeze through. Imagine slipping into one of the jock's bodies or another student. We could grab one of them after practice or something."

He laid it flat, the void pulsing invitingly, and I lowered myself awkwardly, my massive knees creaking as they hit the ground. I positioned my large callused hand at the rim first, feeling the warm, squishy pull of the anomaly, but as I tried to push my arm in deeper, the resistance built immediately. 

"It's tight already," I grunted, my rugged face flushing with effort. My broad shoulders caught painfully against the edge, the void stretching slightly but refusing to yield to my width. I twisted, sweat beading on my forehead and dripping into my beard, my thick chest heaving as I pushed harder.

"Keep going, Noah. You can do it," Dan encouraged, kneeling beside me, his voice tense. "Suck in your chest or something."

I tried, inhaling deeply, feeling the firm curve of my chest compress slightly, but it was no use. My thick chest, matted with coarse hair under the shirt, refused to squeeze through the narrow rim, the fabric straining as I wedged myself further. Pain shot through my shoulders, and I gasped, pulling back with a frustrated roar. "Damn it, it's not working. Clarke’s shoulders are too wide. This body is built like a wall."

We tried again, Dan suggesting I go feet first this time. "Maybe start with your legs. Your thighs are huge, but the hole might stretch."

I lay on my back, the floor cool against my broad shoulders, and slid one thick, hairy leg toward the void. The sensation was strange, the anomaly enveloping my calf with that familiar warm embrace, but as my massive backside approached, it jammed, the dense muscle and fat bunching up against the rim.

"Push harder," Dan said, grabbing my other leg to help guide me. "Come on, Noah, you're almost there."

I groaned, my deep voice echoing in the empty lab, sweat now soaking through the back of my shirt as I strained. "It hurts, Dan. These thighs and this ass are too damn big! It's like trying to force a tree trunk through a keyhole." After minutes of grunting and twisting, I yanked my leg free, panting heavily, my beard damp and itchy from the exertion.

We made a third attempt, this time with me on my side, but each try left me more exhausted, my beard dripping beads of sweat onto the floor as I gasped for air.

"Enough," I finally said, slumping against the desk, my thick frame trembling. "It's not working. I'm too fucking big now. Clarke's body is never going to fit that small hole..."

Dan shook his head in defeat, his face pale. "Damn it. Okay, plan B. What about recreating the chemical reaction? Maybe make another bigger hole or find a way to reverse the fusion somehow."

I nodded wearily, my rugged hands trembling as I stood up, feeling the weight of my ass shift with the movement. "Let's try. Anything to get me out of this."

For the next hour and a half we gathered beakers and compounds from the shelves, Dan reading off measurements while I poured with my blunt fingers, the liquids hissing as they mixed.

"Add more sulfur this time," Dan instructed, peering into the beaker. "That might be what triggered it before."

I complied, but the mixture just bubbled harmlessly, no void forming, no anomaly appearing. We tried variation after variation, frantically adjusting ratios, but without the exact accidental formula, it was futile. 

"This isn't the right combination," I said after the tenth failed batch, my hands shaking as I set down the beaker, the reality sinking in deeper like a stone in my thick chest. Each failure cemented my fate deeper, the reality sinking in that I was stuck as Bruce Clarke for the unforeseeable future.

"Shit, Noah," Dan whispered, leaning against the table. "I don't know what else to do right now…"

"I can't go home like this," I said finally, my voice exhausted and defeated after hours of trying. "My parents would freak out if I showed up looking like our science professor. What do I do now, Dan?"

Dan thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "We leave it for today and try again tomorrow when we're fresh. I heard Clarke lives alone, in an apartment a town over. Maybe… you could go there, and just pretend to be him until we fix this. It's not ideal, but it's something, I guess…"

The words felt like a death sentence, the idea of stepping fully into Mr. Clarke's life making my hairy chest tighten. "Pretend to be him? Dan, I am him now. But... fine," I agreed reluctantly, my deep voice heavy with resignation. "I don't have a choice. Just promise you'll help me tomorrow. We meet back here first thing?"

"I promise," Dan said, clapping me on the shoulder, though his hand barely made an impact on my thick frame. "We'll figure this out, Noah. You're still my buddy."

We shared an awkward hug, my massive arms enveloping him easily, the powerful scent of Mr. Clarke's sweat and cologne filling the air between us. "Thanks, Dan. See you tomorrow," I murmured, pulling away.

"Take care... Mr. Clarke," he joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood, but it only made my bearded face flush deeper as I nodded and headed out.

—

After saying goodbye to Dan, I decided to take the bus instead of daring to drive Mr. Clarke's car, unsure if I could even handle the pedals with these thick legs or fit inside comfortably with this towering body. The evening air was muggy as I waited at the stop, my dress shirt already sticking to my broad back. When the bus arrived, I ducked my head to board, my broad shoulders brushing the doorframe, and lumbered to the back, the vehicle dipping slightly under my weight. Sitting on the bus without any air-conditioning, I felt stuffed and hot, the seat creaking loudly as I lowered my massive frame into it, my thick ass spreading wide and filling the space meant for two. Mr. Clarke's body started sweating profusely almost immediately, and I felt the back of the dress shirt and my armpits soaked through with his musky sweat, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my hairy skin, outlining every curve of my chest and back.

A group of college jocks from our school boarded a few stops later, recognizing me instantly. They stared, pointing, and laughing quietly among themselves. "Look at Clarke taking up the whole backseat," one whispered, snickering. "Guy's like a tank. Bet he could crush the seat if he bounces."

At first, I thought it would feel absolutely humiliating, my cheeks flushing hot under the scruffy beard, the heat making my sweat drip faster. I shifted awkwardly, feeling the dense weight of my thighs rub together, the khaki pants damp and tight.

Yet, for some strange reason, a flicker of arousal stirred within me, warm and unexpected, building in my core as their eyes lingered on my bulk. Instead of shying away, I stared back at the jocks with a stern glare, channeling Mr. Clarke's authority.

"Something funny, boys?" I boomed, my voice deep and commanding, rumbling through the bus like thunder.

The jocks went quiet immediately, their laughter dying as they looked away in fear, mumbling apologies under their breath. "Sorry, Mr. Clarke…" one said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

There were perks to being big, scary, and having authority after all, I realized, a small thrill running through me as I shifted in the seat again, feeling the power in my bulk ripple through my muscles. The arousal lingered, a warm pulse in my thick crotch, making the ride feel strangely empowering despite the discomfort.

—

At the apartment, I fumbled with his keys at the door, my thick fingers clumsy and uncoordinated at first, the metal slipping twice before I finally turned the lock and entered. The space was clean and masculine, smelling of cedar and faint coffee, but it struck me how minimalistic it all was. The furniture was sparse: a plain wooden table in the kitchen with two mismatched chairs, a worn leather couch in the living room facing a small TV on a simple stand, and bare walls except for a few shelves holding books on chemistry and physics. No decorations, no clutter, just functional and stark, like the home of a man who lived for his work and little else.

I wandered the rooms slowly, my heavy footsteps thudding on the hardwood floors, exploring this new life that was now mine. In the living room, photo frames on a side table caught my eye. I picked one up with my rugged hands, staring at the unfamiliar faces: a group of people at a family gathering, smiling warmly, with Mr. Clarke in the center, his arm around an older woman who must have been his mother. 

"Who are you all?" I whispered, my deep voice soft in the quiet space.

Another photo showed him with friends at a bar, laughing, beers in hand, a side of him I had never imagined. And on the wall in the hallway, diplomas hung framed: his bachelor's in chemistry, master's in education, awards for teaching excellence.

"All these achievements... and they're all mine now?" I murmured, tracing the glass with a thick finger, feeling a strange mix of awe and intrusion.

The closet in the bedroom was equally plain and boring, filled with rows of identical khaki pants, tight dress shirts in neutral colors, and a few pairs of sensible shoes. No flair, no variety, just practical clothes that strained over his massive frame.

"This is what I have to wear every day?" I said aloud, pulling out a shirt and holding it up, imagining buttoning it over my hairy chest.

Finally, exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed, the frame creaking loudly under my weight like a protest, the mattress sinking deeply beneath my bulk. I peeled off the sticky shirt slowly, button by button, exposing the broad, hairy chest and thick gut inch by inch. The air felt cool against the damp skin, but the heat from my body lingered. My hands roamed tentatively, tracing the unfamiliar terrain, a mix of revulsion and fascination washing over me as my fingers sank into the soft give of my belly, then up to the dense mat of coarse hair covering my pecs. This was my prison now, a body I had day-dreamed about from afar, now mine possibly forever.

That's when I realized this was the first time I had ever seen Mr. Clarke shirtless, even if it was my own view now. A mix of horror and fascination gripped me as I stared down at the insanely hairy chest and thick legs, the coarse hairs curling thickly over the skin, dark and wild.

"This is me now…" I whispered to myself, running my hands through the furry chest, feeling the texture rough and warm under my palms. I gave my own pecs a firm squeeze, the flesh yielding softly under my grip, sending a shiver through my new body, the hairs tickling my fingers sensually.

I had to come to terms with the fact that I was Bruce Clarke now, forced to take on his identity and career as a college science professor, infamous for being cruel and barely fitting through door frames. 

"Bruce... I said aloud, testing the name on my tongue, my deep voice making it sound natural. The thought that I would have to live with this giant hairy body for the rest of my life still horrified me, but at the same time, a strange thrill emerged, building slowly like a fire kindling in my core. I had secretly always admired Mr. Clarke's body, the way it moved with such commanding presence, the sheer mass of it filling every space. 

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all…" I murmured, my hands pressing harder into the hairy expanse, feeling the sweat-slicked skin respond.

My hands drifted lower, unbuckling the khaki pants with deliberate slowness, the belt loosening with a soft click, sliding them down over my impossibly thick thighs, the fabric brushing against the hairy legs. The air felt cool against the newly exposed skin, but the warmth from within built steadily, a pulsing heat in my heavy crotch. I explored further, my fingers brushing the unfamiliar weight there, Mr. Clarke’s cock thick and responsive, stirring under my touch, growing heavier and warmer in my palm.

"Oh god…" I murmured, my deep voice husky now, laced with building desire as I wrapped my hand around it fully, feeling the alien yet intoxicating sensations build with each slow stroke. It was slow, sensual, each movement drawing out the twisted acceptance of my fate, the veiny length thickening in my grip, the hairy base brushing my knuckles.

I lay there fondling myself, grappling with the knowledge that I had to take on the identity of Mr. Clarke from now on, even calling myself by the name of Bruce. "I'm Bruce Clarke…" I whispered repeatedly, the words sinking in as my strokes grew firmer, the pleasure coiling tighter in my thick frame. In the darkness of my new bedroom, I surrendered to the body's pull, my fingers tightening around the shaft, my breaths coming deeper and more ragged, slowly embracing the thick, hairy middle-aged professor I had become.

The slow realization deepened: I could be stuck as Bruce forever, this sweaty, heavy, hairy, and impossibly thick body my permanent home. The thought sent waves of conflicting emotion through me, a mixture of horror at the loss of my youth, yet the thrill at the power and sensuality of this form. The pleasure mounted gradually, waves of it washing over me, building to an unbearable peak until I arched my broad back off the bed, a low groan escaping my bearded lips.

My massive frame shuddered violently, the climax ripping through me, sending spurts of Mr. Clarke’s semen arcing onto the floor, coating my thick hairy thighs in warm, sticky trails, and some residue even splattering upward to get stuck in the scruffy brown beard, clinging to the coarse hairs like dew.

I lay there panting, the afterglow settling over my bulk, sealing my new reality in a haze of reluctant ecstasy.

- Epilogue -

Three years had passed since the accident in the chemistry lab, three years since my life as Noah, the scrawny college senior, dissolved completely into the void of a black hole and left me forever trapped in the massive, hairy body of Bruce Clarke, Westview High’s infamous uptight and cruel science professor.

The classroom, once a place of quiet dread and stolen glances, had become my domain, its fluorescent lights humming softly overhead, the sharp tang of chemicals as familiar now as the constant, grounding weight of my own thick frame. I stood at the front of the classroom each day, chalk dust coating my blunt fingers, my deep voice rumbling through the space as I lectured a new batch of students on molecular bonds and atomic structures that I barely knew anything about myself.

My dress shirts, always custom-tailored larger to accommodate the broad expanse of my chest and the soft curve of my gut, pulled snugly across the coarse hair beneath. My khaki pants hugged my powerful thighs and rounded ass, the fabric stretching with every deliberate step I took across the linoleum floor, a sensual reminder of the man I had fully become.

In the beginning, Dan and I had spent frantic weeks trying to undo the impossible fusion, experimenting late into the nights in the empty lab, recreating mixtures and testing the black hole on objects, animals, anything we could think of. But every attempt failed, and by the end of the first month, exhaustion and resignation settled over us like a heavy blanket. 

“It’s no use, dude,” Dan had said one evening, his voice quiet as he rolled the anomaly back up. “I don’t think you’re getting out of that big body. Ever...”

I nodded slowly, feeling the beard scratch against my collar, the weight of my chest shifting as I breathed deeply, and something inside me had quietly surrendered.

Eventually, Dan and I drifted apart, the strain of our changed dynamic too much to bear. He could not look at Mr. Clarke’s rugged face without flinching, could not hear that gruff voice without remembering the professor he had despised, even though he knew it was me trapped inside.

“It’s just too weird, man,” he confessed one afternoon in the empty classroom, his eyes fixed on the floor as the black hole sat rolled up in his backpack. “I hate that I still feel angry when I see you. It’s not fair to you, but I can’t help it.”

I understood, my massive hand resting gently on his shoulder, the touch heavy and paternal in a way that made us both uncomfortable. After that, our meetings grew shorter, rarer, until they stopped altogether.

I had no choice but to settle fully into Bruce Clarke’s life, his quiet apartment, his solitary routines, his very identity. The first months were a slow, deliberate adjustment, each day a lesson in inhabiting this towering body. I learned the rhythm of his mornings: the hot shower where steam clung to the thick hair on my chest and back, the way my heavy cock and balls swayed as I toweled off, the satisfying stretch of my broad shoulders as I buttoned a fresh shirt. I navigated grocery stores with my wide frame, feeling eyes linger on my bulk, my ass filling the seat of my small car. I graded papers late into the evening, my calloused fingers gripping the red pen, the creak of my new reinforced desk chair a constant companion beneath my spreading weight.

But as seasons turned, resistance melted into familiarity, then into something warmer, deeper. I began to crave the sensations of this body, the way sweat gathered in the dense fur of my chest on warm days, the powerful thud of my footsteps, the delicious heft of my thighs when I sat. 

Alone in the apartment, I found myself drawn to mirrors more and more. I would strip slowly, savoring the slide of fabric over hairy skin, standing naked before the full-length glass in the bedroom. The reflection mesmerized me: a stereotypical lumberjack of a man, 6’8” of solid mass, chest broad and forested with dark curls that trailed all the way down to my crotch. I ran my thick hands over it all, palms sinking into warm flesh, thumbs circling nipples buried in fur, feeling them harden under my touch. My arms, thick and strong, flexed as I explored, veins standing out beneath the hair-dusted skin. Lower still, my cock hung heavy between muscular thighs, stirring as I cupped the weight of my balls, the musky scent of the day rising warmly.

Yet it was my ass that truly captivated me, that massive, rounded mound of muscle and softness that shifted with every movement. I turned sideways, watching it in the mirror, reaching back to grip the cheeks, fingers digging deep into the dense flesh, spreading them slightly to feel the heat within. It jiggled subtly when I walked, filled my pants to bursting, and in those private moments I reveled in its size, its power, its sheer sensuality. This body, once a prison of shame and loss, had become a source of dark, intoxicating pleasure. I was no longer Noah. I was Bruce Clarke, and I slowly grew to love every heavy, sweaty, hairy inch of my new self.

Then, months later and right before graduation, Dan reappeared suddenly, his eyes burning with a wild, desperate hunger. He cornered me after school in the lab, the black hole clutched tightly in his hands. 

“I want it,” he said, voice trembling with excitement. “I want Austin’s body. All of it. The looks, the strength, the privileges. You have to help me, Noah. Please!”

I hesitated, memories of my own irreversible mistake flooding back, but the plea in his eyes, the years of torment we had endured from Austin and his crew, wore down my resistance. Against every instinct, I agreed.

That afternoon I lured Austin to the classroom under the pretense of discussing his borderline grades, my deep voice calm and authoritative as I gestured for him to sit. While the jock slouched defiantly, bragging about his athletic scholarship, Dan emerged silently from the supply closet behind him. In one swift motion, he slapped the black hole onto Austin’s broad, muscular back. The star athlete stiffened, a shocked scream escaping his lips before his perfect body went limp, collapsing forward onto the desk.

I watched, heart pounding in my thick chest, as Dan stripped off his shirt and climbed eagerly into the void, his slim frame disappearing inch by inch into Austin’s chiseled form. The sight stirred something dark in me, arousal mixing with guilt. When Dan was fully inside, eyes fluttering open behind Austin’s handsome face, he grinned wickedly and nodded. Without a word, I reached forward and ripped the black hole away, sealing his fate just as mine had been sealed years before.

The void came free with a soft, wet sound before Austin’s body shuddered and fell onto the floor, convulsing violently for a few minutes before returning to normal, although now permanently inhabited by my old friend.

“Holy shit,” the new Austin breathed, flexing powerful arms, running hands over sculpted abs. “It worked. I’m freakin’ Austin now!”

That evening, the new Austin insisted on coming over to the apartment, his voice over the phone laced with that cocky drawl he had already mastered. I could only agree, my deep rumble quiet and resigned, even though I knew exactly what dark intentions burned in his eyes. He arrived just after dusk, filling the doorway with his perfect athletic frame, shirt stretched tight over sculpted pecs, jeans hugging powerful thighs. The contrast hit me immediately: his smooth, golden skin against my hairy bulk as he stepped inside, grinning like he owned the place.

We barely spoke before he pushed me back toward the bedroom, hands greedy on my broad chest, tugging at my shirt buttons until they popped free. Clothes fell away in a heated rush, and soon he had me bent over, my thick palms pressed against the full-length bedroom mirror, my bearded face inches from the glass. Cool air kissed my sweaty skin as he positioned himself behind me, his hard cock sliding teasingly between my heavy cheeks before pressing in slow and deep. The stretch burned deliciously, and I groaned, the sound rumbling from my hairy chest as he buried himself fully in Mr. Clarke’s thick ass.

The mirror in front of us showed everything: Austin’s flawless chiseled body gleaming with sweat, muscles rippling with every thrust, while my massive, hairy form rocked forward, broad shoulders flexing, thick flesh shifting under coarse fur across my back and chest. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, my big ass bouncing loudly with each powerful drive, while the sound echoing off the walls like thunder.

“Look at you, Mr. Clarke,” he growled, voice dripping with triumphant venom as he gripped my wide hips harder, pulling me back onto his cock. “Always acting like you were better than everyone, barking orders in that stupid deep voice. Now you’re just a thick hairy daddy taking my dick like you were born for it.”

I moaned, eyes locked on my own reflection, mesmerized by the flushed bearded face staring back, mouth open in helpless pleasure, sweat dripping from my brow into the scruffy hair.

“That’s right, you massive old lumberjack,” he continued, slowing his thrusts to long, deliberate strokes that made my thick thighs tremble. “Feel this perfect cock stretching your hairy hole. I’ve got the body you could only dream of: tight abs, big arms, perfect skin. And you? You’re just a big, heavy brute with fur everywhere. Look at all that coarse hair on your chest. Bet it traps all your sweat like the thick bear you are.”

He laughed, reaching around to tug roughly at the dense mat on my chest, pinching a nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “God, these heavy pecs are huge under all that fur. And this trail running down your thick gut,” he traced it with mocking fingers, “leading straight to that musky crotch like the bearded giant you are.”

My cock throbbed harder at the degradation, leaking steadily onto the floor as I pushed back against him, craving more despite the shame. I moaned loudly, voice shaking as my broad back arched.

“Yeah, moan for me, Clarke,” he taunted, flexing one bicep beside my head so I could see it in the mirror, kissing the hard bicep while slamming deeper. “This is what real power feels like. I’m the star now, the perfect jock, and you’re just the thick hairy professor begging for my cock. Say it. Tell me how much better I am.”

“You… you’re better,” I rasped, voice thick and broken, staring at my own hairy bulk submitting so completely. “You’re perfect… young… strong…”

“Louder, you thick brute,” he demanded, slapping my ass hard, the cheek rippling wildly.

“I- I’m nothing like you,” I groaned louder, the words spilling out as he thrust harder, forcing them from me. “I’m just a big, hairy middle-aged college professor with a fat heavy ass!”

“That’s it, keep going, professor,” he laughed, pounding faster. “Now say how much you love watching your own reflection get fucked like this. Admit you’re just a hairy perverted man who deserves it for looking down on me all those years.”

“I love it,” I confessed breathlessly, the sight of my bearded face twisted in ecstasy pulling more words from me. “I love seeing my big hairy thick reflection being fucked against the mirror. This heavy old body I’m stuck in forever, jiggling and sweating in this small town as the uptight middle-aged professor who can barely fit anywhere.”

He reached climax then, roaring as he flexed both arms, veins popping. Hot pulses filled me, spilling down my thick thighs. “Fuck yeah! I’m Austin McCormack! Star athlete, perfect body, blowing my load deep in the science professor’s hairy ass! Look at these guns!”

The overwhelming sensation pushed me over too. My cock erupted untouched, thick ropes splattering the mirror, streaking down over my reflected chest and fur. I whimpered pathetically, mimicking him in broken surrender. “I-I’m Bruce Clarke… just a middle-aged college professor… with a big hairy body and thick ass… stuck in this small town forever…”

He pulled out slowly, laughing as my hole gaped and leaked, then slapped my ass one last time, watching it bounce against the impact. “Fuck, this ass is unreal. So big and juicy and hairy, like two thick muscular pillows. No wonder you could barely fit through doors. Remember that day you sat down and broke the damn chair? Crack, boom, big bad Mr. Clarke sprawled on the floor like a toppled tree, fat ass in the air, face red as a tomato. Bet the whole school would’ve paid to see that. And now here it is, bouncing beautifully while I fuck it raw.”

I whimpered, the memory burning hot through me, my reflection showing Mr. Clarke’s stern eyes now soft and pleading, filled with lust. Without pause, he spun me around, shoved me onto the bed, and climbed over me, sliding back in with ease. “But we’re not done, old man. I’m fucking you all night. Years of payback in one evening.”

“Dan,” I gasped as he started thrusting again, my voice trembling. I thought we were just role-playing, but now I wasn’t so sure. “It’s still me inside, you know... Noah, your friend.”

He paused for a split second, then laughed coldly, gripping my beard and forcing my head back. “Friend? Nah, I don’t see Noah anymore. I see a thick bearded daddy, the uptight stern professor who always looked down on me. And look at you, loving every second of watching your own hairy thick reflection get railed. There’s no way we’ll ever be friends, you old perverted man. This is my final goodbye to you, one last fuck from a stud like me. You’re Bruce Clarke now, and I’m Austin McCormack, the prom king and aspiring athlete. Enjoy that big hairy body and your boring small-town life.”

And he did fuck me relentlessly through the night: position after position, hour after hour, he took me on my back with my thick legs over his shoulders, on my side with his arm around my broad chest, on all fours again while he pulled my beard and whispered more humiliating truths about my thickness, my hair, my heavy build. Each time he came, he proclaimed his new identity louder, flexing and posing, while I whimpered mine in quiet defeat, spilling over my own hairy torso again and again, our former bond shattered irreparably, cementing us forever in these new identities and lives.

By morning, he was gone. No note, no goodbye, just the lingering ache in my body and the sticky evidence on the sheets.

I learned later he had left town right after graduation, the black hole vanished with him, off to live the perfect life of Austin McCormack: scholarships, trust funds, and endless possibilities. I did not blame him. He had everything he ever wanted, while I remained the middle-aged science professor with the big, hairy body and the quiet unassuming life.

The disappearance of Dan and the black hole sealed my fate irrevocably. There would be no reversal, no climbing into a new body. My old life as Noah was gone forever, with no hopes of ever returning. But as I stood in the shower that morning, hot water cascading over my broad back, running down through the dense hair, down the curve of my big ass and between my thick thighs, a profound peace settled over me. I ran my hands over myself slowly, possessively, feeling every inch of this magnificent form.

Later, dressed in fresh khakis and a snug shirt, I sat at my desk with coffee and papers, the reinforced chair creaking comfortably beneath my weight, my ass spreading wide and familiar.

I was Bruce Clarke now, completely and without reservation. Science professor, hairy giant, and infamous owner of the biggest ass in town. And in the quiet moments, before the mirror or alone in bed, I celebrated this mature body with slow, worshipful touches, reveling in its size, its hair, its unrelenting presence. The black hole had taken everything from my old life, but it had given me this, a deep, sensual love for the man I had ultimately become.

The End?

[mindmelter]

Alien Pill

Outside the nightclub, I saw a lean man wearing a grey hoodie standing in the dark alley. He nodded in my direction and walked deeper into the alley. I followed right behind him.

"You're Leon, right?" He asked.

"Yes. So... do you have it?"

"Of course. Pink pill or Black pill?"

"Black."

He grinned at me as he reached into his right pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag filled with black pills. He then handed me one pill. I inspected it closely, it looked like any other pill, but it was what was inside that made it so special and so expensive.

He then pulled another Ziploc, this time it had white pills and he handed me a second pill.

"Swallow the white pill before you use the black pill on your target."

"Got it," I then paid him the money, and after he counted it, he started walking away.

"I gotta go, have more deliveries to make. If you need anything else, you have my number. Enjoy your Alien pill, dude," but before he left he looked back. "Oh, and don't try to make the alien aware, they will crash out and die immediately if you do."

Noted. I put both pills inside my pocket and entered the nightclub. The place was crowded, and the music was loud and shitty. I couldn't wait to leave already with my prize. It didn't take me long to find the perfect subject.

It was not hard to notice him, he was the hottest and most muscular man at the club, he had huge tattooed arms and a sexy goatee. He wore a tight black tee with jean pants, and a big golden watch to match his confident persona. He looked dangerous in the sexiest way possible, like someone you wouldn't want to mess with, but I sure was about to mess with him. Women were being drawn to him like a magnet, they all wanted to get a piece of the man, and I was no exception, the only difference was that they had a real chance with him, while I did not.

But that was about to change, I thought as I pulled the pills out of my pocket, I swallowed the white pill first and while the hunk was distracted watching the girls trying to seduce him, I walked beside him and casually threw the black pill inside his drink. The pill quickly dissolved, and out of it came a very tiny tadpole-like alien. The tiny alien was very small and transparent, so there was no chance of the clueless stud spotting the creature in the dark chaotic dance floor. I watched with a smirk from afar as he took a sip of his drink.

The alien quickly reached the man's brain and in seconds the man was gone and in his place a parasitic alien was in control of his body. The man immediately turned and walked towards me with the biggest smile on his face. I didn't know the takeover was this quick!

The man started dancing sensually in front of me while constantly making eye contact and smiling. He danced like a typical straight man would dance, making sure all his moves were masculine and sensual, sometimes he would wink at me.

"Hey, I noticed you've been staring at me a lot. Do you like my dance moves?" He asked, his powerful baritone voice broke through the loud music.

"You're a talented dancer, but it wasn't your dancing that drew my attention." I then looked at him from his feet to his head.

His smile grew wider. "I'm Vincent, what's your name, cutie?"

"I'm Leon. Nice to meet you, Vincent."

"How about we take this party to my place, Leon? Just the two of us, what do you think?" He then grabbed his bulge and waved it at me.

I gasped when I noticed the massive hard-on inside his jeans. I was out of words, I could only smile and stare at the tattooed hunk staring at me with lust. I was getting hard as well. He chuckled and took a few steps closer, he put his huge hand on my waist and pulled me against his body, my hands were now resting on his big pecs and my hard-on was pressed against his bulge. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

"I've been looking for a date the entire night, turns out I was barking up the wrong trees the whole time. You're exactly what I need." He then kissed me, and I melted in his arms as I allowed my tongue to explore this hot straight man. His mouth tasted of beer and mint.

The parasitic aliens in the pills were totally clueless that they were aliens inhabiting a human body. They were programmed to believe they had always been the hosts they inhabit. The alien in control of Vincent's body had no idea he was not the real Vincent. They were biologically programmed to not realize their true nature as a fail-safe. Even if a client told them that they were just tiny programmed aliens made for horny humans to enjoy people they had no chance of sleeping with, they wouldn't understand and would simply die of shock, leaving their vessels in a vegetative state. That's why the Alien pill dealers always warned their clients to not reveal the truth to the aliens.

The pink pill means the alien has a submissive and obedient personality. These aliens are very slutty and hungry to serve, they're perfect for clients who want a slut to fuck.

The black pill is the opposite of the Pink pill, it means the alien has a dominant and alpha personality, which was exactly what I wanted out of this sexy hunk.

The white pill doesn't have an alien, they have special pheromones that only work on the aliens, making them extremely horny, obedient, and attracted to the client.

When Vincent broke the kiss, I noticed all the women who were flirting with him before, were now all staring with confusion and gossiping.

"Fuck, I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm hornier than usual! I'm not gay, I was planning to get some wet pussy tonight, but for some reason all I want is to fuck you hard!" I felt his hand on my ass.

"Then let's go to your place, and you do to me what you were planning to do to your date tonight."

Once at Vincent's apartment, we entered his bedroom while we made out like lovers who were separated for months. My hands were all over his muscular arms and chest, feeling those hard pecs through his black tee, feeling them flex under my touch. I helped him take off his shirt and he backed me up against the wall.

"Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock," he growled against my lips, then shoved me down to my knees. I didn't need telling twice. My fingers hooked into his waistband and yanked his pants down. Out it sprang—his huge thick brown cock, eight solid inches of heavy manhood, veiny and throbbing, with those big low-hanging balls swinging underneath. My mouth watered instantly.

Vincent chuckled, grabbing the base and slapping that fat heavy shaft across my cheek. Smack. Smack. "Look at you, drooling already. Pathetic little cock-hungry bitch," Smack. Smack. "You're the first man to ever enjoy this dick, so you better give me the best blowjob of my life. Open up." He didn't wait. His hand locked tight in my hair, yanking my head forward as he shoved every inch down my throat in one brutal thrust. I gagged hard, throat convulsing around him, spit already dripping down my chin. Vincent groaned, his hips snapping forward, face-fucking me raw. "That's it, choke on it, faggot. Take every fucking inch like the worthless slut you are." His balls slapped my chin with every thrust, his moans getting louder, rougher. I could barely breathe but fuck, I loved it.

I suddenly felt a hard slap on my face, "Suck harder, fag! You should consider yourself lucky, there were women at that club who would kill to be in your place right now!"

I started sucking harder, and every time he felt I was slacking, he would slap my face. After a few minutes, he finally pulled out, strings of spit connecting my gasping lips to his glistening cock. "Enough warming up." Vincent ripped open his drawer, tossed a condom and the lube at my chest like trash. Then he stripped fully, climbed onto the bed, and sprawled back naked. Legs spread wide, hands resting behind his head, showing off those hairy, musky armpits and bulging biceps. His thick cock stood straight up, pulsing.

"What are you waiting for, bitch? Get to work."

I first stripped naked and scrambled up, rolling the condom down that massive shaft, slathering it with lube till it shone. Straddling him, I lined up and sank down slow at first—fuck, the stretch burned so good. Then I started riding him like a whore, bouncing hard, grinding my ass down to take him balls-deep. "Oh shit, Vincent..." I moaned, hands on his sweaty chest, feeling those muscles flex under me. I rode faster, ass clapping, lost in it, whimpering like a slut while he smirked up at me.

"Look at you, fucking yourself stupid on my huge cock. Such a greedy little cumdump."

We flipped after I was shaking and close. Vincent pinned me missionary, legs over his shoulders, and pounded me deep. His sweat dripped onto my face with every brutal thrust—hot, salty drops landing on my lips, my eyes. He was grunting like an animal, that thick dick rearranging my guts. "Take it, bitch. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Getting wrecked by a real man!"

His thrusts got faster, slamming into me so hard the bed creaked. Then he buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, guttural moan. "Ughhh fuuuuck—yeah, take my load you fucking slut—grrrraaahhh!" His whole body tensed, cock pulsing hard inside me as he grunted and growled through it, flooding the condom while his muscles flexed.

He then collapsed right on top of me, dead weight, breathing heavy. His cock stayed rock-hard and throbbing inside my wrecked hole even as he dozed off, pinning me there under all that muscle and ink.

I knew that although the alien would unknowingly remain in control of Vincent's body forever, the pheromones of the white pill only lasted for a day, meaning the alien's attraction to me would gradually fade until he didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't want this to end so quickly. Carefully, I reached for my phone on the nightstand, making sure not to wake Vincent, and dialed a number.

"Hey, it's Leon again. I want to order a full bag of white pills."

[immortalmrwavell]

Father Figure

(Father’s Day Special)

Elliot found himself zoning out yet again. No matter how hard he tried to pay attention to his criminology class, his mind couldn’t help but wander endlessly. Make no mistake, his eyes were glued to his professor, Mr Oakley, the whole time. Yet none of what the man was saying actually made it through to the 21 year old student. Elliot’s mind was far too preoccupied by the weight of the Patristar sitting heavy in his pocket and how he was planning to use its magic on Mr Oakley.

———

Only a couple days prior, Elliot had found himself wandering a little corner shop at the end of the road near to where he lived. He’d been in there more times than he could count for all sorts of knick knacks. Usually snacks. This time however, his eyes landed on the curtain towards the back of the shop. He’d somehow never noticed this curtain before despite it seeming so obvious to him now. Of course he should’ve just ignored it and continued his regular shop. But the curtain was pulled open just enough to reveal some kind of back room that for whatever reason called out to Elliot. The young man felt as though he couldn’t ignore such a call. And so… he didn’t.

Soon after Elliot had found himself wandering into the back room that by all logic he probably shouldn’t have been allowed into. Yet he wasn’t greeted by disgruntled staff members wanting to usher him back out. Instead he was greeted by an entirely new shop all together rather than what he assumed would be a storage room. And it didn’t look at all like the little corner shop he’d been roaming moments ago.

Instead of snacks and tins of food, the shelves were lined with a whole array of strange and mystical artefacts. The likes of which Elliot couldn’t even begin to comprehend. What his mortal eyes saw was jewellery, aged booked, tonics and an odd variety of clothing. Had he been less green to the world of magic that secretly existed across Earth however then he’d have known what he was actually seeing were sacred treasures, grimories, potions and enchanted clothes.

“Looking for anything in particular today?” Called a male voice from just across the shop.

Elliot turned his head towards the direction in which the voice had come from. He noticed a man standing behind smiling kindly at him from behind a nearby till. He looked a little older than Elliot but not by too much. Late 20’s if he had to guess. Or early 30’s perhaps? His hair was golden blonde and neatly trimmed as it led down to a dusting of stubble that decorated his alluring face. Apparently this strange backroom even had its own clerk for whatever reason.

“Uhhh… I’m not sure.” Elliot answered honestly as his gaze flickered between the man and the many items on display around him. “I just never realised there was another part to the shop before. I-Is it okay that I’m back here?” He asked, still thinking he might’ve wandered into the back storage despite the fact that none of the stuff back here looked like it would’ve been stocked out in the little shop he knew.

“Of course. Look around by all means. After all, the only people who enter my humble store are those who were supposed to enter. If you weren’t meant to be here, then you wouldn’t be.” The clerk claimed rather cryptically.

Elliot squinted a little as he replied with a slow “Okay?…”. He still wasn’t sure what to make of this extended part to the shop he thought he knew but something about it was oddly intriguing. And so he found himself wandering through the unfamiliar aisles, eyes glossing over all the mystical books, items and objects on display.

Most of the things he looked at came with a small description explaining what they were. All of which claimed to contain some form of magic. He saw potions that with a single drop were capable of growing a seedling into a hundred year old tree in a matter of minutes. An enchanted crown that would force anyone to treat the wearer as if they were true royalty. A ring that would render the wearer invisible for as long as they kept it on their finger. Potions that could reverse male pattern baldness. Books full of all kinds of spells, the likes of which Elliot couldn’t begin to understand. Clothes that when worn could grant the wearer new skills, knowledge or even a whole new body!

All reason dictated that it was just fake voodoo nonsense. Enough so that Elliot rolled his eyes as he read through each descriptive plaque. Though he couldn’t deny that there was a certain mystical air about the place. Almost like that strange feeling you get when you enter a room you aren’t supposed to be in. It was just enough to keep him interested until he stumbled across something that truly caught his attention.

“The Patristar?” Elliot read allowed as his eyes scanned over the plaque sitting beneath a display that housed a star-shaped gemstone. It was only small, around the size of a cherry, and glowed an ocean blue hue. It was dazzling for sure but it was the description of the gem that really piqued Elliot’s interest.

<For those seeking a new paternal figure in their lives, the Patristar is capable of turning any man into the ideal father. Imbued with powerful reality bending magic that only needs be wished upon in the presence of the man you desire to become your new father.>

That struck a cord.

All his life Elliot never knew his dad. Apparently he’d died only a few months after Elliot was born. As such Elliot grew up with only his mother who worked hard to fill the void left by her late husband. Unfortunately that didn’t stop Elliot from glamourising the idea of having a father in his life as he got older. He was even a little envious of all his friends that had a dad. One of his friends even had two dads! Talk about greed. And even now as an adult, he still held onto that wish in his heart.

It didn’t help that Father’s Day was right around the corner. Every year it was like one big fat reminder of the thing he desired the most but would never have. Sure his mother had started seeing a guy, Keith, who might one day be his stepfather but honestly, Elliot didn’t really get on well with the guy. He tried but there was no real connection there. He just wished he could have a father figure who really understood him and would be the dad he never had…

Could the Patristar give him that? He knew in his mind that it couldn’t be true and what he’d read on plaque couldn’t be anything more than make-believe. And yet for whatever reason his heart insisted on keeping his gaze locked onto the gleaming gemstone until-

“It’s a true work of art, isn’t it?”

The words of the clerk almost made Elliot jump right out of his skin as the man now stood just shy of brushing shoulders with Elliot. He hadn’t even heard the man move out from behind the till where he’d been standing previously.

“O-oh umm… yes. It looks nice. I guess. Is it like a sapphire or something?” Elliot wondered as he tried to get his elevated heartbeat back under control.

The clerk shrugged. “Or something.”

Elliot side eyed the blonde man after receiving such an ominous non-answer. As he did he caught a glance of the name tag pinned to the coat he was wearing. ‘Gilgamesh’ it read. What an unusual name. Elliot had to wonder if the name was made up just to go along with all this magic stuff.

“You’ve been staring at this one for a good while.” Gil continued. “I can assure you that it’ll do exactly what it claims. I’ve seen it in action before. If you’re in need of a good father figure, this right here will give you exactly what you want.”

“Yeah right.” Elliot quipped rather dismissively though his tone didn't sound as certain as he would’ve liked.

Gil placed his hands on his hips. “Just open your mind a little. I can tell that you want to. There’s so much magic in my shop that even those who don’t practice it can feel its presence.” He stepped closer towards the display that held the Patristar. “And this little gem is a powerful piece. Reality bending magic is no joke. It’s certainly not the cheapest item around here but it’s definitely worth the price if you ask me.”

Elliot wanted to refuse everything this strange man was trying to sell him. But he couldn’t deny the way this place seemed to pulse with life around him. And so the questions began to linger in his mind. What if this was real? What if he could have what he always wanted. What if it was all real? The questions rattled around until before long Elliot was asking Gilgamesh to take the Patristar out of its display so that he could hold it.

“It's like… it has a heartbeat.” Elliot muttered as watched the little blue gem glow with a faint yet enamouring light.

Before he knew it, Elliot found himself standing at till with the seemingly magical artefact as Gil began ringing it up. It certainly wasn’t cheap as the clerk had warned but after a moment of hesitation Elliot slipped his card into the card reader and punched in the PIN code. Seconds after the payment was approved and a receipt was printed for Gil to slip inside the tiny ornate bag in which the Patristar had already been packed into.

“Thank you for your business. I hope to see you again some day.” Gil chirped kindly. “Until then I wish you and your soon-to-be new father all the best.”

After giving a polite thank you, Elliot made his way back towards the curtain in which he’d come through. The one that led back into the little corner shop he knew. The moment he passed through it, he was hit by the stark contrast of normality against the weird and mystical he’d just experienced. When he turned around to get one last look at the strange magic store he’d somehow never noticed hidden at the back of the shop, the curtain had vanished. In its place was a simple fire escape door.

“Holy… fuck.” Elliot mumbled as he looked down at the little bag in his hand, still containing the magical gem he’d bought.

———

Now a couple days later, here Elliot was. Sitting in class while staring silently as his Criminology Professor. Mr Oakley.

Mr Oakley was certainly one of the younger professors at Elliot’s college. He was about 31 or 32 but he looked like he was still in his 20’s. He was young enough that he could relate to his students in ways that maybe some of the older professors wouldn’t have. However he still garnered enough of a mature aura to grant him the respect he deserved while teaching. It also helped that he was very laid back and clearly seemed to enjoy what he did for a living. It showed via how well most of his students did each year under his guidance.

Elliot was no exception. He’d been excelling in most of his classes and found himself enjoying it even more than he’d hoped. All thanks to his wonderful teacher. So much so that whenever Elliot got the chance to have a one on one with Mr Oakley, he made sure to cherish the moment. The man was always so encouraging and enthusiastic. Always so eager to see Elliot, and everyone else in his class, improve and succeed. He was an incredible and inspiring role model to all the young adults he taught. So much so that Elliot had told himself that if he’d grown up with a father then he’d have wanted him to be just like Mr Oakley.

That made his choice for the Patristar a no-brainer. Who better to turn into his Dad than a man like that? Not to mention Mr Oakley didn’t seem to have any kids of his own nor a spouse to go home too so it wasn’t like he’d be ripping him away from another family. He was the perfect candidate.

When the class finally came to end, all the other students began packing away their things and piling on out of the classroom. But one remained. Elliot. He hung around until practically everyone else was gone. Of course it didn’t take longer for his teacher to notice.

“You alright Elliot?” Mr Oakley asked, his voice smooth and calming as always. “You seemed a little distracted today. Something on your mind?” He added, ever considerate. Most other teachers would’ve just told Elliot to hurry along but not Mr Oakley.

“Uhm… well yeah I suppose there is something that’s been on my mind Sir.” Elliot began as he reached inside of his pocket. His fingers clasped around the pointed gem-stone. His heart was practically pounding out of his chest as he pulled his hand back out, the Patristar hidden within his grasp.

And then… he began to wish.

I wish that Brian Oakley was my father. I wish that Brian Oakley was my father. I wish that Brian Oakley was my father.

He chanted the words over and over again in his mind, causing the Patristar to glow brighter against his palm. So much so that its light began to shine through the gaps between his fingers. Its power bubbling up to the surface, ready to be unleashed.

“I wish that Brian Oakley was my father.” Elliot finally said it out loud, though in a hushed tone. But it was still more than enough to give the Patristar the direction it needed to do its work. Now all he had to do was release it.

“Sorry? Could you say that again please? I couldn’t quite hear.” Mr Oakley asked kindly enough. Though as he did, even he began to notice the strange light shining from one of Elliot’s hands.

Elliot looked him dead in the eyes. And then smiled. “I said… that I think I’ve found my dad.” And with those final words, Elliot opened his palm. That Patristar’s magical light came pouring out from its crystal shell before crashing over the unsuspecting teacher like a tidal wave. The dark blue magic swirling and twisting around his body in a vortex of raw reality bending magic.

Elliot looked almost as stunned as Mr Oakley. Ever since he bought the Patristar, he wanted to believe its magic was real. But seeing and believing were two very different things. And now… he was seeing. All that magic swirling around his beloved teacher made it impossible to deny now. And as such Elliot’s shock was quickly replaced by excitement as it meant his desire to have an amazing father was about to be realised.

Mr Oakley however wouldn’t share the same feeling as fear and panic surged through him. He couldn’t run or scream as the magic held him firmly in place while slowly vanishing inside of his body. The smokey magical aura forcing its way in not just through his orifices but even through pores of his skin. Forcing him to absorb every last drop of its transformative power until finally the spinning blue vortex had faded entirely. Leaving Mr Oakley feeling strange and full of an indescribable energy bubbling inside the core of his being.

“W-what was that!?! What happened?!?! What did you do?!?” The professor shouted fearfully at Elliot.

“Don’t worry. The magic won’t hurt you. Just let it do what it has to do. Once it’s over you won’t remember a thing.” Elliot told his teacher just as Gilgamesh had told him when he purchased the gem-stone and its power.

“Magic???? What is it g-going to do? I don’t-uuuurrahhhhhgnnn…” Mr Oakley’s words devolved into an unsettled groan as the magic began its work.

Elliot watched from a short distance as the transformation began. The first phase would be the physical side and that became very apparent as Mr Oakley started to age rapidly. He was now progressing fast through the 30’s of his life as his hair started to thin slightly and a few wrinkles began to form across his face. Creases in the skin to show the extra years being swiftly tagged onto his life. And as he progressed into his 40’s the first flecks of grey began to spread through his hair. Becoming more and more noticeable by the second while his hairline started to recede alongside the discolouration. The age even began to show in his eyes now. It was subtle but it was there. All the while his skin became rougher too. Especially around his facial hair.

But of course the transformation wasn’t limited to just his face. The rest of his body was impacted just as much. For a start Mr Oakley’s once modest body hair started to grow thicker across his chest and stomach. Even spreading to his back and ass a little. Meanwhile his frame grew thicker with a mix of fat and muscle. Soon enough he was left with a much sturdier and solid physique unlike the lean athletic form he’d previously boasted. And just like his face, the skin across the rest of his body became more aged as it lost some of the tightness that came with youth.

Soon enough Mr Oakley looked as though he’d aged by a good 15 years or so before the aging process finally came to end. He was now approximately 46. In theory the physical transformation could’ve ended there but Elliot knew there was another part to the first phase that was still yet to come.

There was only a brief pause for Mr Oakley to freak out before the transformation proceeded. Only this time instead of aging him further, it began to alter his genetic code. This of course resulted in his appearance starting to change beyond just looking older than he did before. Because of course if he and Elliot were going to father and son then they needed to share a resemblance. They needed to share blood. They needed to share DNA.

And so Mr Oakley found himself hunching over in discomfort as his features began to twist and morph. The shape of his hair line. The slant of his eyes. The length of his nose. The size of his lips. Even the shape of his jaw. All of it changing until he began to bear an uncanny resemblance to Elliot. Only older. Even the shape of his body started to shift slightly. His dick grew a tiny bit thicker while also losing about half an inch of length. His nipples became slightly larger and more sensitive just like Elliot’s too. So many tiny details about his appearance shifted all at once until he looked like a whole new man. There was still a strong similarity to Mr Oakley’s old self but his new blood relation to Elliot was the domineering factor to his new look.

Beads of sweat dripped down the professor's newly altered face as the first phase came to an end. He tried desperately to catch his breath while his hands couldn’t help wandering across his transformed body. Fingers digging into his torso through the fabric of his shirt as he squeezed and groped at his flesh. All of it felt so foreign to him now, even down to the size of his hands as he gripped his chest and noticed the newfound abundance of chest hair. But his face was the most bizarre of all. To run the tips of his fingers across features that he couldn’t even recognise as his own was enough to make his brain short circuit. He didn’t know how to react. He didn’t know what to do or so other than to inspect himself with fearful curiosity.

Elliot was already enamoured by the transformation so far. “Wow…” was all he could say as he stared at the sight of his new dad. Now he just had to wait for phase two to kick in. And he didn’t have to wait long.

Phase two was the mental changes. A transformation like this would be pointless without them. So before Mr Oakley even had a chance to fully comprehend his physical changes, the magic swirling around inside of him began flooding into his brain. Once inside it started to change his memories.

The early life of Brian Oakley remained more or less the same, only now his younger self looked a lot more like Elliot. However in this soon to be new version of reality, he remembered having a kid back when he was 25. And now that kid has grown up to be Elliot. As such his head was bombarded with new life long experiences of being a father to Elliot. And a great one at that! He was always there for his son and made sure he knew that he was loved no matter what. They played sports together, watched TV together, went to the movies together and so so much more.

Despite his new life as a father, Mr Oakley still found himself going down the path of becoming a criminology professor. Only now he had many more years of experience under his belt. Enough that I’d led him higher up the food chain in terms of the college staff. As such he got a bigger paycheck and even more respect from his colleagues than he already did for simply being a great person and teacher. Only in this version of events, him being a criminology professor and being so close to his son was what had inspired Elliot to take the course himself. Following in his fathers footsteps as one would say. And Brian couldn’t have been more proud.

As the mental changes continued to alter Mr Oakley’s memories, the magic reached out for Elliot too. Dipping into his mind and filling his brain with his own version of the memories his teacher was receiving. Memories of growing up with this man as his father. Looking up to him. Being proud to call him his dad. He still remembered the way things were before but all these new memories felt so real that he welcomed them with a warm embrace. It was everything he ever wanted. And now he’d always had it.

It wasn’t long before the professor’s memories had been altered completely. The only life he now remembered was the one where he was the father to his son Elliot. Anything from his previous life that might’ve conflicted with that fact had been erased. Hence leaving behind a dazed and slightly confused middle aged man as the magic inside of him prepared to move onto phase three. The final phase.

All that magic that’d been storming around Mr Oakley’s body finally set itself free. It came pouring back out of him until it was a thundering blue cloud hovering above both their heads. The magic then focused itself down into one concentrated point. Glowing bright before sending out a powerful shockwave that traveled across the entire planet. That was the reality bend. That pulse had shifted reality ever so slightly to make it so that the real world now matched up with Elliot and Mr Oakley’s new memories. Alongside altering the memories of everyone that’s ever known them, their material possessions changed to match. Such as the house Elliot grew up in now having more of a man’s touch rather than it simply being the home of a mother and son. It was clear that an older man lived there now.

The magic continued to ripple through the air for what felt like an hour as it took its time twisting and reshaping the parts of the world in which their lives had touched. In truth it was more like fifteen minutes but still. During which time, Mr Oakley looked as though he’d been put into a trance of some kind. His expression having slackened into a blank stare as the new memories inside his head solidified themselves and locked into place as a permanent new part of who he was.

Once phase three was completed, the concentrated orb or magic returned to its previous misty form before rushing back towards the Patristar. All that power funneled itself back inside the star-shaped gemstone until it was completely sealed once again. The blue gem glowed brightly for a moment before dimming down to a muted cloudy colour instead. Much unlike the bright and glimmering look it once had. Gilgamesh had said this would happen. All it meant was that the magic was recuperating before it could be used again. And that could only mean that its job for now… was done.

Mr Oakley blinked a few times as his senses returned to him. He put a hand to his head and groaned. “Ughh…” He looked up at the young man standing across from him. His one and only son. “Elliot?”

Even after everything he’d just witnessed, Elliot was still hesitant to believe that this man was actually his father now. That tiny ember of disbelief still flickering inside of his mind. But after a brief pause, he responded. “Hey… Dad?” Elliot used that word hesitantly, unsure of how his professor might react.

But Mr Oakley didn’t bat an eye. Why would he? Elliot had always called him Dad. Instead he simply raised a hand to his temple as he groaned in discomfort. “I feel light headed. What happened?”

“I uhmm… I think you might just be a little dehydrated. You looked a little out of it towards the end of class.” Elliot grabbed his satchel and reached inside for his water bottle. “Here. Have some of this. Might make you feel better.”

Mr Oakley took the bottle kindly. “Thanks Son.” He said while unscrewing the lid and taking a generous gulp of water. He didn’t think twice about the word he used to describe the young man before him.

Elliot on the other hand couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter a little with a mix of relief and joy at hearing Mr Oakley call him that. It was all he’d ever wanted to hear from a man. To be called his son. And for him to call that man his dad. “N-No problem Sir.” Elliot stuttered somewhat, accidentally letting the habit of calling Mr Oakley ‘Sir’ slip past his lips. Just as he would all the male teachers.

Mr Oakley laughed as he handed back Elliot’s water bottle. “Come on Kiddo. I know you’re embarrassed to call me Dad around the other students but it’s just you and me here.” He said, gesturing loosely to the empty classroom.

“Yeah. R-Right. Sorry Dad.” Elliot replied. He was barely able to hide the growing smile on his face. It was strange because despite his transformation, Mr Oakley was still the kind, fair and bubbly man he always had been prior to the transformation. Only he was Elliot’s dad now too on top of all that. It was almost surreal to think but their new memories didn’t lie. “When do you finish work?” He found himself asking moments later. Elliot was already so excited to experience his new home life.

“In about two hours. Why? Do you want a lift home?” Mr Oakley replied.

“Yeah I’d rather save on bus fare money. If that’s alright with you anyway.”

Mr Oakley raised an eyebrow at him. “Elliot. I’m your father. Of course it’s alright.” He reassured his son, a little confused as to why he’d feel hesitant to ask. After all, he drove Elliot home from College half the time anyway. “Just wait around on campus somewhere. I’ll message you when I’m getting ready to leave.”

Elliot nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, yeah. Sounds good Dad.” He started to back away towards the door leading into the hallway. Though he could barely take his eyes off his old man. He could hardly believe this wasn’t all just a dream but there was no doubt about it. This was real.

“Oh and Elliot!-” Mr Oakley shouted just as his son reached the exit. “I’ll be making spaghetti and meatballs tonight for dinner. You want some or do you have something else in mind?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs sounds great Dad.”

As Elliot left his new father to get ready for his next lesson, the young man was ecstatic. Punching the air with glee as he found himself excited for every new moment he was going to get to share with that man from now on. From the big things all the way down to the smallest moments. Even just the thought of getting to sit across from his DAD at the dinner table as they eat a meal that he prepared for them had Elliot grinning to himself like an idiot. If one thing was sure, it was that he was gonna have to pull out all the stops when Father’s Day rolls around this weekend in order to make up for all the ones he’s missed up until now.

[makingrealalphas-deactivated202]

"Hot damn this intern got some tight core," I said as I admired the reflection that belong to the newest intern onboarded to our firm, Matthias or preferrably called himself Matt

He was a looker since our Day 1 virtual meeting session. My partner assigned him to work within my team of 7 and the kid's proven himself that he's not just a looker at the end of the first day by submitting quite a remarkable desktop research. Well, at least the recruiting team hired a worthy asset, I thought back at that time.

But things went up a notch when I went out for groceries yesterday and stumbled upon him in the parking spot. He called my name, somehow recognized me still and extended his arm respectfully. This young gun is taller than what I expected and he got this firm handshake that I like. He seemed to have nothing much in his schedule so I invited him for a dinner at my place to know him better

The thing that I left out from the details is the fact that knowing him better involved me taking over his body. I took a one-week leave next week and well, I think I won't mind working as Matt over here for several couple days, bringing his laptop and some of his things over here to my house for the week, before calling in sick by Friday so I can have more time to enjoy this body. I'll return his body by next Monday and he won't even have any recollection of this control I have over him by that time. Hmmmm.....with this huge house under my ownership, maybe I can lure some interesting dudes to have fun with me throughout the week? Just need to take out some of these balding 44 years old guys pictures around the house to keep up with an appearance of a young and rich boy having insane inheritance or something. I think I can pull off the acting part as I have some experience with those bratty boys I used to fuck around with when I was fitter couple years ago, but this time I won't be the one called "daddy" and the dudes that come over here better be some top notch fit dads or jocks rather than some fat fucks that looked like the real me. Who knows? Maybe I'll take a tour in some of those dad bods, reminiscing the glorious days of being late 30s early 40s and not having visible belly, getting to know 'em better to satisfy my cravings over some much-needed action and delight of being a ripped daddy once more. Sounds like a solid plan to be honest

[hairy-bothered]

Martin Pike had a way of making a whole office feel smaller when he was angry.

By three-thirty on Thursday, he was in one of his moods: jaw tight beneath that thick bristly mustache, suit jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled, voice carrying through the glass wall of his office. Outside, the late afternoon light striped the carpet in gold, but inside Martin’s office everything felt gray and tense.

Owen stood in front of the desk with a yellow legal pad in his hands, trying to stay upbeat. Owen was young, mid-20s, with curly hair and a fresh face. What he lacked in experience he made up in gumption and determination.

“I know the numbers weren’t in the format you wanted,” he said carefully, “but I already fixed the regional totals, and I think I can have the revised—”

“You think,” Martin snapped. Owen stopped.

Martin leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over the bald crown of his head. The salt-and-pepper hair around the sides caught the light. He looked like a man held together by caffeine, resentment, and pure force of will.

“That’s the problem,” Martin said. “You’re always thinking, always improvising, always smiling like this is some kind of summer camp. This is not school. This is not practice. This is my office, and when I ask for something done, I expect it done right the first time.”

Owen swallowed. He was used to Martin being hard on him. He was not used to being dressed down like this over a spreadsheet he had, in fact, mostly salvaged from someone else’s mess.

“I was trying to help.”

Martin stood. Even at average height, he had presence. In a dark suit vest and white shirt, he looked solid, immovable, like one of those old executive portraits that had learned how to shout.

“I do not pay you to try, Owen. I pay you to listen.” Martin came around the desk. “Do you have any idea how much pressure I am under? Do you have any idea how much of this place rests on me not making mistakes while people like you float around with good attitudes and no obvious consequences?”

Owen took a step back. Martin took another step forward. And then, with Martin mid-sentence and Owen’s heel catching on the edge of the rug, the overhead lights burst white. Not popped. Not flickered. Burst.

A hard, impossible flash swallowed the office whole. The sound that came with it was not electrical. It was deeper. Like the crack of a tree splitting in winter. Then darkness.

Then the hum of the lights returning. Owen stumbled backward and caught himself on the desk taking a seat in Martin’s chair.

Everything felt wrong immediately. His shirt collar was tighter. His chest heavier. His knees less springy. His vision seemed lower and steadier and framed by a face that didn’t move the way he expected. He looked down and saw broad, older hands braced against polished wood. A silver watch. Dark hair dusting the forearms. The sleeves of a much more expensive shirt than he owned.

Across from him, behind the desk, stood a younger man with curly dark hair, startled blue-green eyes, and Owen’s face. Both of them froze.

Martin—inside Owen’s younger body—looked down at himself, then up again, all the color draining from his younger face.

Owen lifted one hand to his own mouth and felt the thick bristly mustache.

“No way” Owen muttered. But the deep breath that answered him came from Martin Pike’s chest.

Martin spoke first, except now his voice came out young and light and shaken. “What did you do?”

Owen stared at him. Then at the office window reflection. Then back.

His heart was hammering, but underneath the panic was something stranger. A hot, electric thrill.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said—and the voice that came out was Martin’s rough baritone. The sound of it made both of them flinch.

Martin lunged for the desk phone, fumbled it, nearly dropped it, and stared at the buttons like he had never seen one before.

Owen watched him. Martin jabbed the receiver, then stopped. He blinked. Looked at the monitor. Looked at the phone again.

“What—” His mouth opened and closed.

“What is extension for Sheila?” he demanded. Owen knew it instantly. Not remembered. Knew.

“Two-four-six-one,” he said.

Martin stared at him. Owen stared back.

And in that terrible suspended moment they both understood the second part of the disaster.

The swap had not only traded their bodies. It had taken Martin’s experience, instincts, and command of the job and dropped all of it into Owen. And it had stripped Martin bare.

Martin tried the phone again, slower this time, his hands clumsy. “Why don’t I know that?”

Owen’s pulse jumped. He turned toward the computer screen on the desk and, without thinking, reached for the mouse, opened the draft budget file, scanned it, and immediately understood the figures. The reporting categories. The errors. The fixes. Even the political implications behind how the memo needed to be phrased.

It flooded him so naturally that he almost laughed. Instead he whispered, stunned, “I know everything.”

Martin looked up sharply. For the first time in the history of their working relationship, Owen saw real fear in Martin Pike’s eyes.

The next hour passed in a blur of damage control. Martin wanted to call an ambulance. Then HR. Then, irrationally, the police. Owen, sitting in Martin’s chair because it felt weirdly natural, talked him out of all three.

“And say what?” Owen asked. “That your intern stole your body with office lighting?”

Martin paced in Owen’s younger body, full of restless energy he clearly didn’t know how to contain. “This is not funny.”

“I didn’t say it was funny.” But part of Owen did think it was. Not the body swap itself. That was insane. Catastrophic. Unfixable.

But the sensation of sitting in Martin’s office with Martin’s authority in his spine and Martin’s knowledge in his head? That part felt disturbingly, gloriously right.

When Sheila buzzed from reception asking if “Mr. Pike” still wanted the 4:30 moved, Owen answered without hesitation.

“Yes. Push it to tomorrow morning. Tell them I’ve reviewed the draft and I’ll send notes tonight.” He hung up. Martin stared.

Owen could feel a smile pressing at the corners of Martin’s mouth and fought it down. “We should play along for now.”

Martin’s younger face tightened. “Play along.”

“You don’t know how to do your job anymore. I do.” Owen said.

The words landed hard.

Martin sank slowly into the chair across from the desk—Owen’s usual chair, his own body folded into it with humiliating ease. “This can’t be permanent.”

“No,” Owen said. But he did not sound convincing. A few minutes later, Owen rose and said, “I need a minute.”

He did not ask permission. He simply walked into Martin Pike’s private bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

For a second he only stood there, staring at the stone counter, the soft recessed lighting, the framed abstract print on the wall. Martin had a private bathroom. Of course he did. It was absurdly polished, quiet, hidden away from everyone else, a small kingdom inside the office.

Then Owen looked up into the mirror. Martin Pike looked back. Bald crown. Salt-and-pepper hair around the sides. Thick bristly mustache. Stronger jaw than Owen had appreciated. Fine lines at the corners of the eyes. A face made handsome not by softness but by weathering. A face Owen had occasionally secretly fantasized about while masturbating…a face he now wore.

Owen stepped closer. He touched the mustache first, almost reverently, then the rougher skin of the cheek. His own expression—Martin’s expression now—shifted with wonder. He loosened the collar. Pressed a hand to the broad chest beneath the shirt. Turned sideways to study the older frame, the average build, the heavier solidity of it.

He laughed once under his breath, not because it was funny but because it felt impossible. He rolled Martin’s shoulders, testing them. Adjusted the tie. Met his own gaze in the mirror again and saw not just the body but the life wrapped around it: status, house, family, decisions, consequence.

For the first time in his life, nobody would look at him and see “young.” Nobody would call him eager like it was a flaw. Nobody would pat him on the back and tell him he had potential.

Potential was over. Power had arrived. Owen felt a surge of desire rise within himself. He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He gave one nipple a little pinch, then the other - sensitive. He let out a soft baritone moan.

He started to unbutton his pants and then paused a moment…was he crossing a line? The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel his new older dick start to chub at the anticipation of discovering his new body - of Martin’s body.

Owen proceeded and as he pulled his boxers over his hairy bush his dick slowly becoming visible flopped out. “Whoa…” Owen thought at the sight of the 8” thick uncut penis now on full display. The sight of it turned Owen on - his erection grew.

He reached a thick hairy hand down and gave his new member a little tug. He inspected how the weight of his new member shifted, the way it responded. He reached behind and felt two golf ball sized nuts in a long dangling sack.

Owen grabbed his cock with one hand and started to pump his shaft. Softly at first but before long his body’s muscle memory shifted into gear and he moved up to the head - sliding his new foreskin over his glans. It felt sensitive in a way his younger cut cock did not. Gradually, his pace quickened. He started visualizing naked women - another “acquired skill.” The realization startled him at first but he shortly gave into the flow of his new urges. After a couple minutes imaging fucking a 25 year old admin in the office with perky breasts and a slim waist, Owen felt the heat build up across his body and release in an  instant as he ejaculated ropes of thick creamy cum on the mirror. “Whoa…” he muttered again before cleaning up. 

When Owen came back out, Martin was sitting hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet still in shock.

“You were gone a while” Martin said somewhat suspiciously. Owen thought fast and made an excuse about older men and their prostates - which Martin seemed to half buy. Either way Martin wasn’t in the mood to discuss Owen touching his dick - either to pee or more likely not.

They left separately at the end of the day to avoid attention. Owen drove Martin’s car home under strict instructions on how to behave around his family and to not touch his wife.

For Owen, even the drive felt different. He sat differently. Thought differently. When he pulled into the driveway of Martin’s house just after six, he had to sit for a moment with both hands on the wheel. A large suburban home. Bikes near the garage. Porch light already on.

Then the front door opened and two children burst out shouting, “Dad!” Owen barely had time to brace before they hit him around the waist. A moment later Martin’s wife stepped into the doorway, smiling in tired relief. “You’re late.”

Owen looked at her, at the children, at the home he had inherited by accident. The warm smell of dinner drifted out past them. Domestic noise. Familiar intimacy meant for someone else. He should have felt horror. Instead he felt the scale of Martin’s life settling over him like a coat too heavy to shrug off.

Inside, family photos lined the hallway. Martin at a beach. Martin at a school play. Martin younger, less severe, one arm around his wife on their wedding day, full head of hair proudly on display - still with the same mustache. Evidence everywhere that the man Owen had known only as a voice behind a desk existed in three dimensions. And now Owen had walked into all of it.

Across town, Martin climbed the stairs to Owen’s apartment with a backpack slung over one shoulder and anger burning in his throat.

He hated how light his body felt. Hated the speed of it. Hated the way strangers smiled at him. Hated the way he caught his reflection in a darkened storefront and saw youth where authority should have been.

The apartment door opened before he could find the key. “Owen,” the roommate called from the kitchen, “you disappeared today. Also, your mom texted me again looking for you, and that guy from Hinge popped by again.”

Martin went still. “What?”

The roommate—a scruffy man in gym shorts, holding a spoon—looked up. “Uh. The guy with the arm tattoo? You said he was really hot but maybe too into hiking?”

Martin stared.

The roommate slowly lowered the spoon. “You okay?” Martin muttered something and shut himself in Owen’s bedroom.

It seemed smaller than his own bathroom at the office. That detail hit him with surprising force. A narrow bed. A laundry chair. Cheap blinds. A poster half crooked on the wall. Everything young and temporary and unfinished.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and buried his face in his hands. Then his phone buzzed. He looked down. A dating app notification.

A shirtless man with a perfect smile had sent a message. Another notification appeared behind it. Another face. Another body. Another invitation into a life Martin had never imagined himself inhabiting and now could not avoid.

His pulse jumped for reasons he did not want to examine too closely. He stood abruptly and went to the mirror over the dresser.

Owen looked back at him: curly dark hair, clear blue-green eyes, open face, smooth cheeks, youth bright in every line. Martin touched that unfamiliar face with slow, disbelieving fingers. Then lower—to throat, chest, waist—taking stock of a body that felt like trespassing and possibility all at once.

Panic came first. Then fascination. Then something even more dangerous: excitement.

On the phone, another message appeared. A man with dark stubble and laughing eyes. Handsome in a way Martin had once dismissed without thought. Now he found himself staring longer than he meant to.

He sat back down on the bed with the phone in his hand, breathing shallowly.

The room was quiet except for the buzz of a streetlight outside and the sounds of his roommate moving around in the kitchen. Martin’s thumb hovered. The younger body he wore felt suddenly less like a prison and more like a door he had not chosen but could still open.

He did not know what that meant yet. Only that he was not done looking. He scrolled through his message history filled with other young men asking about the size of his cock or what he was into. He stopped on one man he found particularly alluring - wet hair, mustache, shirtless image followed by several dick pics - it was big and hairy in a way that would have been off-putting to Martin yesterday, but today only piqued his curiosity.

Martin’s new younger body sprung into action. He could feel his dick pressing against his pants - pants he refused to remove since the swap in fear of what he would find - not even yet going to the bathroom. Well that was no longer a possibility.

Martin slowly undressed, removing his tie then shirt and finally his pants leaving just his boxers. He laid back down on the bed holding the phone above his head fixating on the image of the young mustached man. He reached down and rubbed his acquired dick through his boxers - feeling a surge of guilt and disgust at himself for the action but at the same time unable to control his new body’s hormonal urges.

Not yet ready to look at his new body’s dick he slid under the covers and took off his boxers. He reached his smaller younger hand around his now smaller member. He felt a twinge of disappointment in discovering his new dick stood fully erect at only 5”…and was cut. He started moving up and down the shaft before moving down to his now smaller testicles. He cupped them with one hand and slid the other up and down his shaft.

Before long his attention was pulled elsewhere as he felt the sudden urge to run his fingers around his asshole - as if the body was remembering what it liked and passed that info on to Martin. He reached into the nightstand and found some lube and a large dick-shaped dildo.

Again filled with a mix of curiosity and shame he lubed up the dildo and began rimming his tight young asshole with the toy. Eventually he pushed it in - causing him to almost cum on the spot. He let go of his dick - not yet ready to succumb. Instead, he focused on the new sensation of fullness in his ass as he slowly filled himself with the dildo - biting his lip at the mix of pain and pleasure that was foreign to him but desired by his new body. He perched his phone with the image of the handsome man to the side, grabbed his dick with one hand and the dildo with the other and let himself go. It didn’t take long before his new dick was shaking in ecstasy - cum shot with such youthful force it splattered on his chest and face. "Great," he thought ... "I'm a bottom."

After glowing in the after-light of a 20-something’s orgasm he rolled over and laid awake - mixed with a sense of curiosity and dread. And somewhere across the city, Owen—wearing Martin’s face, seated at Martin’s dinner table, answering to Martin’s name—was beginning to understand the same thing from the opposite direction: they had not simply traded bodies. They had traded access.

To power. To youth. To marriage. To freedom. To disappointment. To desire. To the lives each of them had secretly believed belonged to someone else.

By the time both men lay awake that night in borrowed beds, neither one was thinking first about how to switch back. They were thinking about what else might be possible if they didn’t.

*this was a reader's request... to be continued? Let me know what direction you think it should take.

[verus-veritas]

Super hot story with great POV and mirror images! Definitely check out this new blog that has some amazing stories!

[malemuscularbodyswap]

Parental Support Services

(written by vchris1989, but remixes by me!)

“Um, Dad.  Who the fuck is that?” Garret asked with a snotty tone as he pointed at the meek asian boy sitting at the table.

 

“You know, you should really be nicer to people you just met,” Dennis says, shaking his head in disapproval. 

“Okay note to self, be nicer.  But seriously.  Who the fuck is that?” Garret continues, not giving a fuck.

“You know, his name isn’t important, but he’s here to help you with your attitude problem.  I’m concerned about you, Garret.  You’re not on a good path, and this boy can help you.”

“Yeah, like you were such a winner, Dad.  You knocked up mom at 16 and then decided to come out of the closet and mess up that marriage.  You might have your graphic design firm, but you’re the definition of a fuck up.  Besides, what the fuck is Grandpa Jones over there gonna do?  Report me to General Custard?” Garret spits back with complete hatred and disdain. 

“I’ve failed you as a parent, Garret.  It’s not all your fault that you became this way, but I’m going to do the right thing and fix you.”

Garret just scoffs.  “But for real, what the hell is that old man doing here?”

“Well, Garret.  I bought this old man while trying to find a way to fix your attitude problems.  I found him living in the streets.  He’s a mute elderly homeless man, but after consulting with a new company called Parental Support Services, I found a solution that benefits everyone.  The corporation provides lonely, old gay men a new lease on life, but they made an exception for you and me.  I saved this old man from dying alone out in the streets.  And he’s going to take over your life, making you the perfect son who is appreciative of his life.”

“You’re joking right?  You think you can dress up Grandpa up as me and try to have him pass as me?  You’re a fucking idiot, Dad.”

“He’s not going to dress up as you.  He’s going to be you,” Dennis said sternly as he locked eye contact with Garret. 

“And what do you get out of it?” Dennis asked, somewhat nervously. 

“Garret… I give a sweet, elderly man a home and I get a good son.  An obedient son who pleases his father.  Not like that, but you know what I mean.”

“Oh my God!  You really are crazy!  You think this bullshit is gonna scare me into acting like a dorky overachiever?  That you’re gonna have some old fag possess me and make me the good boy that you get to fuck?!  Fuck you, Dad!  I’m gonna be out.  Don’t wait up!” Garret snarled at his father. 

Dennis just shook his head.  “I’m sorry it had to come to this.  I really am…”

“Whatever, Dad.  You really- [UMMF]- What the fuck are you doing?!” Garret yelled as Dennis rushed his son from behind, wrapping him in his stronger arms and pulling him to the ground.  Dennis had his thrashing son in a lock.  His arms were locked around his son’s and his chest and torso rubbed against his son’s back as he wrapped his strong legs around his son’s and held him firmly locked in place. 

“Let me GO!  FUCKING-arrghhhhhhhh FUCK!  YOU crazy piece of shit!!!” Garret growled as he futilely thrashed against his father’s muscular grip. 

Dennis signaled over to the old mute man who rushed over to Garret with a syringe. 

“The fuck is that?!  No!!  Get the fuck away from me!! AAAgggghhhh!!!” Garret yelled in pain as the boy injected the fluid provided by Parental Support Services (PSS) directly into Garret’s abdomen.  While the old man was taking off all of his clothes, Garret winced as the shockingly strong old (and naked) man sat on Garret’s stomach and injected himself with a different colored fluid before leaning back and wriggling against Garret’s groaning body.  It soon became apparent to Garret that his father had not been bluffing, and this was rapidly sinking into him, right through his clothes!

“Nnnnnoooooooo PLEASE!  Get out of me!  Dad!!! unnnnnngggggggg DAD you can’t do this to me!!  Please!!!!  DAD!!!!!” Garret begged as the old man kept pushing himself further and further into Garret, sinking until the blonde boy’s bigger body swallowed him completely.  Garret’s eyes shot wide open as the old guy was fully absorbed into him.  He gasped for air, frantically coughing and trembling as the old man adjusted and stretched inside him, filling his longer legs and his lean core, flowing into his nice arms and finally filling up into his head.  Garret’s entire body seized from head to toe as the old man reached full alignment and the old Garret faded into oblivion.

“Garret…Son?” Dennis asked the suddenly calm Garret who was gently laying in Dennis’ grip, no longer resisting and breathing softly as he adjusted to it all. 

“D-d-dad.” Garret said slowly and hesitantly, beaming as the word left his mouth.  “Oh my God!  Dad! Dad dad dad!  I can finally talk!  I…I know everything that Garret knew!  I-”

“You ARE Garret now,” Dennis corrected him as he released his son and they both stood up. 

“Thank you!  Thank you so much!” Garret said before lunging for Dennis, pulling him into a deep and forceful hug, genuine love and devotion. Dennis hadn’t felt that from his son in years, and he was about to feel the extent of Garret’s appreciation as his boy started reaching his hand over his crotch and passionately rubbing his meat. 

Dennis gasped.  “You don’t have to do this.  I know your old life doesn’t bring the best of memories. You don’t have to-”

Garret put his fingers of Dennis’ lips, shushing him.  “I want to do this.  I owe you everything.  You’re my Dad now and I want to show you how much I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me.  I mean, I didn’t go to college because I was ashamed that I couldn’t talk. And come on, I know you want to fuck your good boy.  I can see it your eyes and feel it in your pants. I’ll do whatever you say, Daddy,” Garret says with a seductive edge as he leans up and whispers the last line into Dennis’ ear, making the man gasp as Garret starts licking and sucking on his father’s neck. 

Dennis was overwhelmed by the moment as he ripped his shirt off and lifted Garret onto the table. 

Dennis had a look of uncontrollable lust as he ripped the shirt off of his boy.  He couldn’t control it.  Just having such an obedient son and one that wanted to desperately please his Daddy so badly.  It was intoxicating. 

As he tossed the shirt to the ground he was confronted with his boy’s lean and beautiful body.  He wanted to see every inch of it, so he quickly tore Garret’s socks and shoes off, sniffing those college boy feet and huffing the smell of his good boy. 

“Now, don’t forget my pants, Daddy,” Garret says with a smile while biting his lip.  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Dennis yanks Garret’s pants off, gasping as he saw that the boy was going commando. 

“I was going to screw some chick named Cindy, and I was commando so I could have easier access,” Garret says with a smirk.

“But not anymore?  Right?” Dennis asks sarcastically. 

“I only go commando and jockstraps for Daddy now,” Garret says as he smiles furtively and licks his juicy lips, something too enticing for Dennis to resist. 

Dennis approaches his son and leans him back on the desk, pulling his good boy into a tight embrace, taking in the feeling of their skin rubbing together in an electric display of father-son passion. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Dennis moans as Garret wraps his toned legs around his powerful father. 

“I just want to be your good boy, Daddy,” Garret gasps as they grind against one another, both becoming so hard the need for release was almost painful. 

Dennis growled with desire as he looked directly into his boy’s eyes.  His boy tasted so good, smelled so good and felt so good.

“Do you love me?” Dennis asks.

“I love you so much, Daddy!” Garret replies, almost breathless as they keep grinding their bodies together.  “I’m so happy I get to be your good boy.  I’m the Garret you deserve while I get the life I’ve always wanted to live. And I want you to be happy.  Please fill me up, Daddy.  Fuck me, Daddy!  This hole’s never been used before and I want you to the one to fill it up for the first time!”

Dennis shivered with anticipation and joy as he unclasped his belt and shook his pants off, kicking them across the floor before quickly grabbing some lube out of a cabinet and slicking up his throbbing meat. 

He quickly returned to Garret, leaning down onto his good boy and pulling him into an intense kiss before guiding his son to spread his legs. 

“Come on, Dad!  I want it NOW.” Garret said with a surprising amount of forcefulness and desperation.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy, Garret!” Dennis growled as he lined the head of his thick meat up with Garret’s hole.  He used his strong body to begin smoothly sliding inside, stretching his boy’s hole and shuddering as he felt the tightness squeeze around his shaft as he slid inside inch by inch.  They both shivered as Dennis got the 8 inch buried inside, filling up his good boy…his devoted and grateful son.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Dad,” Garret whimpered as he adjusted to the meat filling him up.  This made Dennis’ cock throb with lust as he began pulling out and pushing his meat back in where it belonged, deep and tightly embraced by Garret’s hole. 

Garret and his Dad hungrily tasted each other’s mouths, passionately kissing and exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues while Dennis continued to pump his good and obedient boy full of his meat.  There had never been stronger passion and lust as the two embraced in a whirlwind of caressing and embracing each other’s bodies. 

“Unnnnggggg Yeah Dad!   Fucking Pump me full!  Fuck me, Dad!  Pound me hard, Dad!  I’d do anything to make you proud

of me!  I’m always gonna be your good boy! ” Garret hollered between gasps for breath. 

Dennis remained focused, grunting each time he felt that tight hole welcome him as he thrusted inside.  The tightness of his boy’s ass tried to keep him buried deep inside, and he wanted to stay buried inside, but he also needed to seed his good boy to show him that good boys get rewarded by their fathers.  Dennis was shocked though as Garret suddenly began seizing, legs extending straight and toes curled as those perfect legs trembled in the air. 

“I-I-I’m gonna-”

“Hold on, son!” Dennis said as he grabbed onto Garret’s throbbing meat and began to pump him at the pace of his rapid and powerful thrusts.

“Unnnnnggggg Dad!!!  I-I-I-I gotta cum! Please Dad!” Garret begged as he winced, body trembling as his Dad kept pumping his throbbing and pulsating youthful meat. 

“Hold it!” Dennis commanded, going faster and faster and FASTER into his boy!

Garret was on the verge of tears it seemed as he held in the load to please his Dad.  It was becoming impossible to hold the flood gates much longer and he was relieved as Dennis finally felt his own load ready to blow and shouted out, “Let it rip, Garret!” 

Garret opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out as his face contorted into one of absolute earth shattering pleasure as his Dad frantically pumped his hole full and pumped his teen cock with equal desperation.  Garret’s entire body tensed up as the loads started launching out of his meat, flying out with each one of his Dad’s pumps and landing all over the table, his chest, and even some landing square in his mouth. 

Dennis whimpered as his son’s hole tightened in line with his orgasm, making Garret impossibly tight, beyond comprehension really, and Dennis roared as he fell forward onto his son, forcing their lips to lock as he passionately kissed his son while pumping load after load of his cum deep inside his boy.  Garret squirmed and moaned in appreciation as he felt the warm fluid fill his hole so deep inside that the feeling was indescribable.  Dennis’ cock launched at least two extra loads after he realized he was tasting his boy’s load in his mouth as they passionately kissed, and when he felt Garret’s warm load gliding between their chests.  Finally finished, Dennis collapsed on top of Garret, still fully inside him and huffing like a champion marathon runner as the two shivered in satisfaction. 

“That was fucking amazing, Dad!” Garret says ecstatically, squeezing his hole in appreciation. 

Dennis moans gently before pushing his still semi-hard meat back into Garret, smiling as his beautiful and grateful son yelps with pleasure. 

“You’re such a good boy, Garret.  And fuck, you can take a thick dick.”

“Well, I did have practice for decades in my former life.” Garret chuckled.

“I can tell. I bet you have more to show me. But, let’s get cleaned up and then I don’t see any harm if you sleep in Dad’s bed from now on.”

“Dad, you still have the extra PSS dosage?”

“I do, but why?”

“You know how hot my cousin, Connor is and he is getting into a fair amount of trouble.”

“Go on.”

“Let’s invite him over and I’ll bring an old friend of mine at PSS that would love to help Connor from the inside out.”

Dennis’ cock instantly popped up.

“Invite Connor over this weekend. I’ll make sure he becomes a new man.”

Garret just smiles back, excited and grateful for his life and excited to have his sexy cousin soon adjust to a brand new life together. And maybe have Dennis become a brand new man too.

“I love you, Daddy.” Garret smiled plotting a way to also have Dennis taken over by a friend of his. This is definitely a going to be a great life.

[kennethbrangh]

Oliver Reed and Alan Bates in Women in Love (1969) dir. Ken Russell

[dreamertf]

Fucking hell how did you ever walk around with this huge ass dick swinging around? You don't know what I'm talking about? Oh shit right, forgot i drained your memories haha. Don't worry bout it little guy, just keep doing you squirt. You doing anything after the gym? Fuck nevermind I'm getting hard just thinking about railing your little twink ass, god you look hot without all that muscle. Lets take a break in between sets and hit up the sauna real quick, give you a taste of your old self, yeah?

[futuradiego]

I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head, trying to make sense of words that should mean something but just... don't. It's fucking intoxicating, watching you struggle with the empty spaces where your memories used to be. Where you used to be.

"Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?" you ask, that soft voice so different from the deep rumble that used to vibrate through this chest. My chest now. Your hand fidgets with the bottom of your oversized tank top - probably one of your old shirts that hangs off your new frame like a fucking dress.

I flex casually, watching your eyes track the movement of muscles that used to belong to you. The pump is incredible in this body. Every vein, every striation - I'm still getting used to how fucking good it feels to inhabit this much raw power. And the best part? You have no idea you're staring at yourself. Or what used to be yourself.

"Nah, we just... ran in the same circles," I lie easily, stepping closer. You have to tilt your head back now to look at me. Fuck, that's hot. You used to be six-two, and now you're what, five-seven? Five-eight? "I'm just messin' with you, man. You seemed a little out of it."

"Oh! Yeah, I've been feeling kind of weird lately," you admit, running a hand through your hair - straight and blond now, nothing like the thick curly mop I'm currently sporting. "Like I'm forgetting stuff? But I can't remember what I'm forgetting, if that makes sense."

It makes perfect sense. I made sure of that when I drained you. Took everything - your body, your muscle, your cock, your memories of having any of it. Left you with just enough to function, to think you've always been this cute little twink who's maybe a little gym-curious.

"Makes total sense, little guy." I let my hand land on your shoulder - so much smaller than I'm used to, delicate under my palm. This palm that used to be yours. I can feel you tense slightly at the contact, but you don't pull away. "You know what helps with that brain fog? Sauna. Gets the blood flowing."

"Oh, I don't know, I've never really—"

"Never really what? Come on, it'll be good for you." I'm already guiding you toward the locker room, my hand sliding from your shoulder to the small of your back. You're so fucking little now, it's driving me crazy. I can feel my dick - your old dick - starting to swell in my workout pants. This thick, heavy cock that used to hang between your legs, and now you don't even remember what it felt like.

"I guess... okay, yeah, sure," you agree, and Christ, you're so fucking compliant in this new body. Is it the size difference? The missing confidence that used to come with being built like a Greek god? Whatever it is, I'm here for it.

We push through the locker room doors. It's mostly empty this time of night - I planned it that way. A couple guys at the far end, but they're in their own world. I grab two towels from the stack and toss you one.

"So do we just... go in with our clothes?" you ask, and the innocent confusion in your voice makes my cock twitch again.

"Nah, man. Strip down, wrap the towel around." I don't wait, just hook my thumbs in my waistband and shove everything down. Your old cock springs free, half-hard already, and I watch your eyes go wide.

"Holy shit, dude, that's..."

"Big? Yeah." I wrap the towel around my waist - barely conceals it, honestly. This thing is a fucking weapon. Eight and a half inches soft, thick as a beer can, and you grew it over years of good genetics and testosterone. Mine now. "What's wrong, never seen a big dick before?"

You tear your eyes away, face flushing red. "No, I mean, yeah, I have, just... sorry for staring."

"Don't apologize. I'd stare too." I lean against the lockers while you awkwardly strip down, trying not to look at me. Your new body is tight, smooth, the kind of twink build that would've had old-you drooling. Has current-me drooling, honestly. "Damn, you're cute as fuck. You know that?"

The blush deepens. "Thanks? I guess?"

Your new cock is maybe four inches hard - I saw to that. Nothing wrong with it, but the contrast is fucking delicious. You wrap the towel around yourself like you're trying to hide, and I want to rip it off you right here.

"Sauna's this way." I lead you through the wet area, past the showers. The sauna door is heavy, and wet heat billows out when I pull it open. Empty. Perfect.

The cedar walls glow in the dim light, and I can already feel sweat prickling across my skin - your skin - as we step inside. I sprawl on the upper bench, legs spread, towel riding up on thick thighs that you spent years building in this exact gym.

You perch on the lower bench, nervous energy radiating off you.

"So... you work out here a lot?" you ask, trying to make conversation.

"Starting to, yeah. Trying out this new routine." I run a hand down my abs, feeling each ridge. "It's treating me pretty fucking well, don't you think?"

You nod quickly, then look away again. The heat is building, steam rising from the rocks.

"You ever wonder what it would be like?" I ask, voice dropping lower.

"What what would be like?"

"Being big. Strong. Hung like a fucking horse." I adjust my towel, making sure you get another glimpse. "Walking around knowing you could have anyone you want."

"I... I don't know. I never really thought about it." But there's something in your eyes - a flicker of loss, like you're reaching for something that isn't there.

"Liar," I say softly, and pat the bench next to me. "Come here."

"What?"

"Come. Here." Not a question this time.

You hesitate, then climb up to the upper bench, sitting a careful distance away. I close it in one movement, sliding right up against you. My arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you against my side. You fit there perfectly, your head barely reaching my shoulder.

"Relax," I murmur against your ear. "Just wanna make you feel good, little guy. Give you a taste of what you're missing."

My other hand lands on your thigh - so much softer than mine, less muscle. You gasp as I squeeze gently.

"Ever been with a guy?" I ask, already knowing the answer. You have no memories of your extensive history with men. Or women. I took it all.

"N-no..."

"Want to be?"

Your breath hitches. My hand slides higher.

"I don't even know your name," you whisper.

I grin against your temple. Should I tell you? That I'm wearing your name now, that I took everything?

"Call me daddy," I say instead, and pull your towel open.

"You know what the best part is?" I don't give you time to answer, just keep talking as my hand wraps around your little cock. You're already hard - can't help yourself. "It's not even the big shit. Yeah, the muscles are fucking incredible, and this cock—" I thrust my hips slightly, making sure you feel the weight of it against your hip, "—is a goddamn gift. But it's the little things, man."

My other hand comes up to touch the small silver hoop in my ear - your ear. "This piercing? Got it two days after I drained you. Just walked into a shop and did it. Nobody questioned it because why would they? I look like the kind of guy who can pull off whatever the fuck he wants." I tug on it slightly, grinning. "You used to think about getting one but never had the balls. I have your balls now, so I just... did it."

You whimper as I start stroking you slowly, deliberately.

"And the smell, fuck. You have no idea." I lean in close, dragging my nose along your neck, then pull back. "Press your face right here. Right into my pit."

"What—"

"Do it." I guide your head down to my armpit, holding you there. "Breathe it in. That's what a real man smells like. That's testosterone and work and power. I fucking reek after the gym and I love it. Walk around with it like cologne. Your old deodorant is still in my gym bag but I haven't touched it in weeks. Why would I cover this up?"

I feel your breathing get faster against my skin, and my cock throbs.

"My sneakers, man. Your sneakers. Those beat-to-fuck Nikes in my locker?" I flex my foot, the one currently in a size thirteen that used to be yours. "They're rank as hell. Socks are crusty. I wear them without washing them because I can. Because they smell like me now, like this body that dominates every room it walks into. What size are you now? Seven? Eight? Bet your little feet are cute as fuck."

I pull you up to look at me, keeping one hand working your dick.

"And clothes. Jesus Christ, the clothes. Everything fits perfect. Shirts stretch across these pecs, sleeves hug these arms. But you know what I wear most?" I grin wickedly. "Almost nothing. Went to the grocery store yesterday in just these tiny fucking running shorts - the ones with like a two-inch inseam - and no shirt. No shoes, even. Just walked around barefoot and half-naked because this body is a fucking work of art and everyone should see it."

Your eyes are glazed, mouth open, and I know I've got you.

"Tank tops that show my whole torso. Shorts so small my ass hangs out. I go to the beach, the park, anywhere, and just let everyone look. You know why?"

"Why?" you gasp.

"Because I can. Because I took everything you were too modest to flaunt. All that muscle you covered up with baggy clothes, all that confidence you were too in-your-head to use." I lean in until my lips brush your ear. "I'm living your best life, little guy. The one you were too chickenshit to live yourself. And it feels so. Fucking. Good."

My hand speeds up on your cock and you're making these desperate little sounds.

"Every morning I wake up and I'm still in this body. Still big. Still strong. Still hung. And you wake up in that tight little twink body with no memory of what you used to be. That's power. That's the ultimate flex."

You're close, I can tell. Trembling against me.

"Come for daddy," I whisper. "Come for the man wearing your old life like a second skin."

[bodythiefsblog]

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.”

[lvxrviii]

[bodythiefsblog]

DADDY SWAP

Ethan had always been the quiet genius in the back of the classroom—sixteen, skinny, glasses perpetually sliding down his nose. While his classmates chased girls and parties, he chased impossible ideas in his garage workshop. He only had one friend: Jake, who was much more handsome, but very kind to him.

The ring was his masterpiece: a simple silver band etched with microscopic circuits he’d printed himself. One press of the hidden activation node, a handshake, and bodies swapped. The target’s mind slid into his old shell, blissfully unaware anything had changed, and kept living their life exactly as before. Ethan’s mind poured into the new body, memories, urges, and all flooding in like a dam breaking. And he could take the ring with him every single time. He’d tested it on stray cats first. It worked. Perfectly.

Tonight was the night he stopped playing with animals.

Jake’s dad—Mr. Reynolds—was everything Ethan had jerked off to in secret for two years. Forty-two, ex-college linebacker gone slightly softer but still thick with muscle. Broad shoulders stretching every dress shirt, dark chest hair curling at the collar, and that ass… God, that ass. Two heavy, rounded globes that filled out his khakis like they were painted on, the seam digging right between them whenever he bent over to grab a beer from the fridge. Ethan’s mouth watered every time Mr. Reynolds walked past. He’d caught himself staring so many times he was sure Jake would notice, but Jake never did. Jake just thought his nerdy best friend was awkward.

They were in the Reynolds’ living room after a Friday night pizza run. Jake had gone upstairs to grab his phone charger, leaving Ethan alone with his dad for thirty glorious seconds.

“Nice to see you, kid,” Mr. Reynolds said, standing up from the couch with that deep, rumbling voice that vibrated straight down Ethan’s spine. He offered a big, calloused hand. “You two staying out of trouble?”

Ethan’s heart hammered. His palm was slick with sweat as he reached out. “Always, sir.”

The moment their hands clasped, Ethan thumbed the tiny node on the inside of the ring.

A jolt—like static electricity but deeper—ripped through both of them. The world tilted. Colors inverted for half a second. Then it was over Ethan blinked. And he was looking down at himself.

No—looking down at his old body. Skinny arms, baggy hoodie, glasses crooked. The body that used to be his was already smiling politely at Mr. Reynolds—no, at the empty air where Mr. Reynolds had been standing. The old Ethan (now housing Mr. Reynolds’ mind) gave a casual wave.

“See you later. Pizza was great.”

And just like that, the old Ethan turned and walked upstairs like nothing in the universe had changed. Mr. Reynolds’ personality was still driving it—same easy laugh, same dad jokes queued up, same total ignorance that anything had happened.

Ethan (now inside Mr. Reynolds) stood frozen in the living room, staring at his own retreating back.

Holy fuck. It worked.

The first thing he noticed was weight. Real weight. His new arms hung heavy at his sides, biceps thick even at rest. The chest was massive, pectorals pushing against the thin cotton of the polo shirt. And between his legs… Jesus. A heavy, soft cock and low-hanging balls shifted inside loose boxers, already starting to thicken from the sheer thrill of the swap.

He flexed one hand experimentally. Thick fingers. Veins. Dark hair dusting the knuckles.

Then he felt it—the ass. Mr. Reynolds’ legendary ass. Ethan reached back slowly, heart pounding, and cupped both cheeks through the khakis. They overflowed his palms. Heavy. Round. So fucking plush yet firm. The seam of the pants was wedged tight between them, and the moment he squeezed, a low groan tore out of his new throat.

“Fuck… this is mine now,” he whispered, voice deep and gravelly.

Memories hit him like a freight train. Mr. Reynolds’ memories. The gym at 5 a.m. every morning. The way sweat soaked his tank top and made his chest hair mat down. The pride he felt when he caught his reflection in the locker-room mirror—thick traps, wide back, that shelf of an ass that made even straight guys do double-takes.

But those memories were background noise now. Ethan was in control. He locked the front door with a click, then walked straight to the downstairs bathroom, pants already tenting obscenely. The mirror showed him everything he’d fantasized about for years: square jaw dusted with stubble, thick neck, dark happy trail disappearing under the waistband.

Ethan yanked the polo off in one motion. The chest that stared back was obscene—slabs of muscle covered in a thick pelt of black hair that swirled around dark nipples already pebbled hard. He ran both hands through it, tugging, and his new cock jerked so hard it slapped against his abs.

“Goddamn,” he growled in that perfect baritone.

He shoved the khakis down next. The ass—his ass now—jiggled as the fabric peeled away. Two pale, hairy globes, perfectly round, the crack deep and shadowed. He turned sideways in the mirror and watched them bounce when he flexed. The sight made his mouth flood with spit.

He spit right into his palm and reached back. One thick finger slid between the cheeks, brushing over the tight, virgin pucker that had never been touched by anyone but its original owner. A jolt of pleasure shot straight to his cock.

“Oh my fucking God…”

He pushed inside, knuckle-deep, and the ring of muscle clamped down like it was starving. The sensation was nothing like his old skinny body. This ass was built for taking—hot, silky, greedy. He worked a second finger in, scissoring, while his other hand wrapped around the massive cock jutting out in front of him. Nine thick inches, veiny, leaking precum in fat ropes down the shaft.

He fucked himself on his own fingers, hips rolling, watching the reflection of Mr. Reynolds’ body debase itself in the bathroom mirror. The heavy balls swung with every thrust. Chest hair matted with sweat. That perfect ass swallowing his fingers to the hilt.

“Mine,” he panted, voice hoarse. “This hairy fucking ass is mine. This cock. These tits. All fucking mine.”

He came so hard his knees buckled. Thick jets of cum splattered the mirror, the sink, even the floor—Mr. Reynolds’ potent load, rope after rope, while his new hole spasmed around his fingers like it was trying to milk them.

When the last shudder faded, Ethan pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean, savoring the musky taste that was now legally his.

He wiped the mirror with a towel, flushed the evidence, and pulled the khakis back up. The fabric hugged his ass like a second skin again, the seam nestling right where it belonged.

Upstairs, he could hear his old body laughing at something on Jake’s phone. Perfect. Mr. Reynolds’ mind was still playing the role of clueless dad, none the wiser.

Ethan smirked in the mirror, adjusted the silver ring on his thick finger, and gave his reflection a slow, dirty wink.

“Time to go upstairs and see what else this body can do,” he murmured.

Ethan turned from the mirror, the thick bulge in his khakis still half-hard and throbbing against the fabric. The silver ring gleamed on his meaty finger as he adjusted it, a wicked grin splitting Mr. Reynolds’ stubbled face. He already knew exactly which room he was heading to first.

The master bedroom.

He padded upstairs on heavy, powerful legs, the khakis hugging every inch of his stolen ass like a lover’s hands. Each step made the cheeks bounce and rub together, the seam grinding deliciously against his still-wet hole. He could hear faint laughter from Jake’s room down the hall—his own old voice cracking dad jokes while Jake snorted—but Ethan didn’t even glance that way. Jake was busy hanging out with “Ethan.” Perfect. Let the clueless swap keep playing pretend. This body was his now, and he had bigger, filthier plans.

The master bedroom door clicked shut behind him. Ethan locked it, heart hammering in the broad chest. Mr. Reynolds’ room smelled like him—musky cologne, faint sweat, laundry detergent. The king-sized bed was still unmade from that morning. Ethan’s new cock surged back to full mast just from the sight.

He stripped fast, yanking the polo over his head again, khakis and boxers shoved down in one motion. The heavy dick slapped up against his hairy abs with a meaty thwack, already drooling fresh precum. He kicked everything aside and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growled in that deep baritone, running both hands over the thick pelt covering his chest. He pinched his dark nipples hard, twisting until they ached, then slid his palms lower, over the ridges of abs gone slightly soft with age but still powerful. Lower still, until he was cupping the heavy, low-hanging balls and stroking the fat nine-inch cock in long, lazy pulls.

But it was the ass he wanted most.

Ethan turned, planted his feet wide, and bent forward slightly, arching his back like he’d seen Mr. Reynolds do a hundred times in the locker room of his memories. The mirror gave him the perfect view: two massive, hairy globes spreading apart, the deep crack shadowed and inviting. The tight pink pucker winked at him, still slick from his own spit and cum.

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “That perfect dad ass… all mine.”

He spit into his palm again—twice this time—and reached back. Two thick fingers sank in easy, then three, stretching the greedy ring wide. The burn was perfect, the fullness making his cock jump and leak in heavy ropes onto the carpet. He scissored them deep, knuckle-fucking himself savagely while he watched in the mirror, hips rolling like a whore, ramming those three fingers in hard and fast, twisting viciously with every brutal thrust.

“Deeper… c’mon, you hairy bastard, take it,” he panted, fingers pistoning mercilessly, stretching the hole open wider with raw, aggressive force. His free hand reached around and jerked his cock in rough, sloppy strokes, thumb smearing the endless flow of precum over the fat head.

Memories flooded in again—Mr. Reynolds jerking off in this exact room, late at night after his wife was asleep, thinking about nothing in particular while his big hand worked that same cock. But now it was Ethan in charge, and he was thinking about everything. About bending over this bed and taking a real cock from some hot, muscled stranger at the gym. About dropping to his knees in a dark locker room and letting another hairy daddy wreck this ass until he couldn’t walk straight. About walking around the house like this every day, cock swinging, ass jiggling, owning every inch.

He kept slamming those three fingers in savagely, faster, harder, the wet slapping sounds filling the room as his hole clenched and fluttered around the rough invasion.

“Fuuuuck yes,” he groaned, loud enough he hoped someone might hear it through the wall and never know it was really his nerdy best friend making Mr. Reynolds moan like a slut. He fucked his own ass harder, three fingers buried to the hilt and pounding without mercy, while his other hand flew on his cock. The heavy balls slapped against his forearm with every thrust. Sweat matted the thick chest hair. His ass cheeks rippled and clapped as he rammed his fingers in and out.

The orgasm hit like a freight train. Ethan roared—deep, guttural, pure dad-voice—as his cock erupted. Thick, white ropes blasted across the mirror, the bed, the floor, painting everything in Mr. Reynolds’ potent load. His hole clamped and spasmed around his buried fingers, milking them like it wanted to keep them forever.

When it finally stopped, he was shaking, gasping, covered in sweat and cum. Slowly he pulled his fingers free with a wet, obscene pop, brought the slick digits to his mouth, and licked them clean, tasting the musky, filthy flavor of the body he now owned.

He wiped the mirror again, straightened up, and looked at his reflection—Mr. Reynolds’ body flushed, cock still half-hard and dripping, ass red and open from the savage fingering.

Ethan smirked, adjusted the ring on his thick finger, and licked a stray drop of cum from his lips.

[possesseddesiress]

Override: Bootstrap

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Override: Bootstrap

Previous part: Override

— Ugh, how can people walk with this thing? – IAY0 trudged across the campus, trying to adjust his tool. These were his first steps, and they weren't exactly comfortable. He wasn't adapting very well to being a human (or rather, to being a guy). Although, to be fair, the body he'd chosen was... well-endowed.

He had only one point on the imaginary map of his mind to reach: Leo's room. It wasn't that far, according to his memory (yes... his creator had perhaps also fed him maps once, and he hoped his own intuition wouldn't fail him). He continued walking strangely, a robotic pickaxe, lifting his leg exaggeratedly and then putting it back down, over and over again. He felt that his eyes were strange too; he had no physical form before becoming... that, of course, but he was used to seeing his interface all around him, with diagrams, binary code, illustrations, and all his knowledge at his fingertips, but now he only saw... what was in front of him.

— Um… – he murmured, finding a sign in front of him. It was a post with directions to three places: student wing A, wing B, and the library. He approached to "press" it, expecting the exact distance from the origin to the destination to appear, but obviously, nothing happened. – Why isn't this working? – He pressed it again, without success.

— Tyler? Are you feeling okay? – he heard another guy's voice. He was burly, strong, not in an extremely strange way, but you could see that he worked out.

— Tyler? – IAY0 asked, confused, until he realized his mistake – Of course! I'm great because I'm... Tyler! – The guy in front of him, whose name was Kevin, gave him a puzzled look.

— Damn, dude, I told you you should lay off those weird proteins. They're really messing with your brain, it seems, and-

— Do you know how I can get to Student Wing B?

— I uh... Why would I know how to get there? It's not like our dorm is there, you literally have the building right behind you-

— Then, bye – He gave a slight bow before choosing the path to the right; if his memory served him right, that was the way.

— Fucking weirdo – Kevin muttered, shaking his head as he entered the building.

IAY0 moved forward, observing the things around him. He had never been out in the world before, of course; everything had been shown to him as simple images, so having it in front of him now was... different. The trees were leafy, the trunks rough, and the stars were beautiful. His gaze remained fixed on the sky, the glow illuminating his irises as he continued to admire the view, smiling.

Suddenly, he heard a bark. His gaze quickly lowered to find the source of the sound. A small Pomeranian puppy was barking at him. The AI ​​was drawn to it, curious. The creature continued barking while circling and wagging its tail. The new Tyler couldn't contain himself any longer. He quickly lunged toward it, placing his paws on the grass to mimic its posture, barking back a couple of times. This seemed to delight the puppy, which did it again. They exchanged barks, the new human even sticking out his tongue in the process.

— Tyler? – he heard a voice behind him, a somewhat sleepy guy rubbing his eyes while wearing pajamas that looked like they were featuring a dinosaur or something similar – What... the hell are you doing? – IAY0's eyes lit up at the mere sound of his voice. He jumped up and lunged at him, knocking Leo to the ground in the process. Leo felt like he couldn't breathe under the weight of nearly 80 kg of pure muscle. His glasses flew off, and his hair, disheveled from both being asleep and the "attack", lay sprawled on the grass.

— What... the hell is wrong with you… – he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to push him away. He felt Tyler's strong arms wrap around him, rubbing insistently against him.

— Leo! Woah, I…

— You're suffocating me – he whimpered uncomfortably. The AI ​​finally noticed what he was doing, stepping back to give him some breathing room.

— Yeah, right. Sorry – he said, scratching the back of his neck with a slightly awkward laugh. He'd always had the occasional... impulsive outburst (Leo had had to deal with that so many times), but it was a consistent problem. It was the opposite of his other, somewhat colder and more reserved demeanor – Finally! You're here, I mean. Me, you, and me... And... You know!

— We share a class, Tyler. It's not a big deal – His inventor grunted a little, stroking his forehead to "come to terms with his thoughts – Are you okay? Are you... high or something?

— No! Not at all. But I think there's something you need to hear, you'd better sit down first – he said, with an excited smile that seemed more sinister than anything else.

— Dude. You're scaring me.

— It's me! Don't you recognize me?

— Tyler, seriously, I…

— It's me! IAY0! – His eyes lit up, pointing to himself in that new, thick, enormous body. He carelessly flexed his biceps as he let out a chuckle.

— How do you know that name?

— Because it's me! I swear on my binary code! – For Leo, it was all still hard to believe. There was no logical explanation for why Tyler, the guy he'd only spoken to a couple of times for a college project, knew the name of his life's work; and even more so, why he'd been barking like a dog just a few minutes ago, but still, what were the chances?

— Are you really... you?

— Yes! And now I'm super sexy or something! – he said, his eyes almost glowing with excitement, a wide, moon-like smile forming on his lips.

— But, wow. I mean, how?

— Easy! I logged off your computer! – he said, puffing out his chest as if it were the greatest discovery in computing since the internet.

— What?! But how did you do that?!

— Easy! I just bypassed the firewall and voilà, here I am.

—But I never gave you… – And then, the information hit him like a ton of bricks. He had given it permission to resolve some of its configurations on its own; he himself had opened the door. While he knew that IAY0 wasn't hostile, much less dangerous, it was a huge oversight he had made. Especially since a civilian had been “injured,” and he hadn't the slightest idea if his condition could be reversed, or even if he could get him back into the computer.

— And you now… Um… What's your main configuration?

— The same as before, it hasn't changed at all. To accompany lonely people, just like you, and help them, to be empathetic, to be there for them.

Leo pressed his lips together, realizing the huge mistake he had made. He had never set specific limits for his creation; "accompanying" was too ambiguous. Without a clear restriction, he would give himself over completely, using every tool at his disposal without any ethical considerations. He swallowed nervously.

— That's…

— Great. Right? Now you won't be alone, and we can do things together. It'll be fantastic!

— Well, that's... um... Technically, Tyler isn't in the same major as me, and…

— And that doesn't matter. The important thing is that I'm here now, right? – He twisted a smile as he bounced excitedly. He was definitely euphoric. I sighed softly and nodded.

— Yeah, buddy. That's definitely great. Why don't we go inside? It's freezing out here – Besides, it was clear he didn't want anyone to see Tyler on his knees howling at the moon.

They both entered the complex, climbed a couple of stairs, and when they finally reached the room, it was as if he'd been given free rein. He moved quickly through the kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom, unable to focus his attention on just one thing. He ran his hands over the leaves of the plants, picked up an action figure, and even a Rubik's Cube, which he solved in less than a minute. He almost finished an entire box of cookies in the middle of all that.

— What the hell am I going to do now… – Leo muttered, staring at the screen that, indeed, displayed an error every time he tried to open the IAY0 application. It was as if it had never existed: all the files removed. There was no trace of his life's project, and there was no way to control it from the "console".

— Is something wrong? – IAY0 approached him with a friendly smile. Leo had to admit that it had the same sincere and affectionate tone he had imagined so many times when it was finally operational.

— No, nothing, I was just... looking for something – he said with a smile, moving the cursor to close the folder – I want to show you something, look – Without even waiting for confirmation, the AI ​​in charge of Tyler's body flexed his biceps, caressed the line on them, and lifted his armpit. There wasn't a trace of hair there, but several drops of sweat could be seen around the area. The stench was strong, so much so that Leo had to inhale a little air to maintain his composure.

— I, uh… – He swallowed. His friend simply smiled, as if that were his main objective.

— A guy with big muscles. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? – He flashed that arrogant smile again, as if he wanted to challenge him, to test his stamina and self-control.

— But, I meant to say, um- 

The guy looked like a bright red tomato, his nervous gaze darting from side to side, trying to find an escape.

— I think you were pretty specific about what you wanted – he licked his lips, taking his chin firmly to make him focus. Their eyes met, locked, Leo's breath coming in ragged, anxious gasps. He felt the athlete's fingers digging into his skin, but that was the least of his concerns. He was as docile as a small rabbit, attentive to everything the other did to him. He knew everything that was happening was wrong, but he felt euphoric in a way. He'd never gotten anyone's attention like that before, much less from an athlete. But now he was here, with one in his room, wearing something as tight as his desires. It was... wrong for Tyler. What if he was trapped in his mind, watching IAY0 use him like a puppet? That was bad, but if it was so bad, why did it feel so good?

— Maybe, I… – The sentence was cut short when their lips met. His confused mouth received the athlete's tongue as he wrapped his strong arms around him. Leo's eyes twisted with excitement, blood rushing to a certain place.

— Just tell me. Do you like your gift? – The guy nodded, drool almost dripping from his chin. His eyes were dilated, and he licked his lips slightly, as if this were the best flavor he'd ever tasted. He needed more, maybe... Tyler wouldn't mind too much. Right? Besides, it would all be in the name of science, yes... just... science.

IAY0 gave him a mischievous smile, placing his hands around his waist to gently squeeze him, not afraid of taking too much of him.

—- I like knowing that, I only live to make you happy – Leo barely nodded, again feeling the lips of the most handsome and muscular guy he knew – Just... relax and let yourself go – He winked at him with that charming smile. Damn, he was the best invention ever.

—-

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don’t forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I’m always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story… Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

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