Unbetitelt @boiman13432914 - Tumblr Blog

Exam

Finally, I'm here in front of this hot stud. And if I fail to possess him, I'll be royally fucked.

This is my third and last attempt to get a final grade and pass Junction. We all call it Possession just like in the days of our pa and ma, but textbooks and institutions have started to exclusively use the former word. It's considered more politically correct. In Ethics, we're told that usage of the word 'possess' alone, ableism asides, implies an inherent hierarchy that places possessors at the top and hosts at the bottoms. Now, I may get flake for saying this, but I've never been fond of the bookish term. It grates my ears (but don't tell Faculty that I'm telling you this).

Why third try? See, normies from trash majors like Telekinetics or Divination think possession finals are easy-peasy: hop in, hop out and you're done. No, it's fucking not. Every single time, it's a logistical nightmare for everyone involved. First there's the miserable student – me, that the faculty thinks is always up to no good. I don't deny that, but I would never stoop so low as to hire a professional possessor to pass the exam for me. And since someone did come up with that genius thought seven years before I became enrolled, security nowadays is tighter than my ass. Think airport security but they check your soul, too, so you have to move from room to room half-linked to your body with hands full of documents under the watchful eyes of the staff.

feinecutasy

They were all drunk. Perhaps some more so than others.

Aleh had just being playfully teased by the host of the house party, Danik, and was now showing off his hard-earned strength by lifting the third of the bunch, Nazar, with ease. On the table near them stood a variety of foodstuff, or what's left of them. There was a half-downed 1-litre bottle of Kvas Taras, standing upright next to a bowl of salted fish. In a less orderly state were several beer cans, and an empty container of vodka.

Danik was drunk. Maybe not. Unless his hollering guests happened to have brought with them an alcohol meter and whip it out right now to measure his breath, he might as well be counted as totally pissed. People act very differently when drunk, and as a result you don't need much to pretend like you're drunk. He liked to think he was a good actor. One needed to be a good actor to fit in a rigidly androcentric environment, so that till the end of his life, he would never be singled out as different from most.

alimpbanana

The Benefits of Being a Slug Trainer.

"Hey man, I noticed you were looking around. I'm done with this machine if you need to use it."

"Thanks man, but I'm actually looking for someone right now. Thanks for the offer though."

It's a crowded weekend as usual. Normally, I would be one of the many people doing their reps, but today I'm here for a different reason.

In my bag is just the normal stuff. Water, a protein shake, a rag to wipe down the machine after I'm done because I'm not barbaric, but with one exception. A mason jar with 2 grey slugs inside. The slugs really aren't capable of any semblance of thought at all, only having one base instinct to suck on whatever thing comes across their face. Anyone they bring home is usually only fed using large baby bottles for them to suck on. But over the course of a few months, I've managed to train them on a few very simple commands.

After a while, my eyes spot some suitable targets. On the side wall of the weight room, I see 2 brothers silently doing their reps. I wait for them to finish their workouts and follow them back to the locker room.

I check to see if the coast is clear, before discreetly opening the jar onto the floor. "Alright you two. You know the drill." The slugs rush out, slithering across the locker room floor, and up directly into their targets' ears in a smooth clean motion before they could notice. This was a move they have pulled countless times. The two men jump in surprise and try to remove the mysterious slimy objects from their ears, but after a few seconds they both completely stand emotionless, turning around robotically and returning back to their master.

I smirk. I make my way to the exit, two hot men in tow and walk back to my place. I plop down on my bed and direct them to be on both sides of me. They move themselves to their assigned positions.

"Ok, I don't know these two's names so I'll going to call you... Xavier, and you will be.. Daniel."

I pull Xavier in for a kiss, which he immediately reciprocates, wordlessly sucking on my mouth. I pull away, then going in for another one with Daniel.

Then I grab both of their heads and pull them next to each other.

"Xavier, why don't you go give your brother a big kiss?"

I then watch the two brothers mindlessly make out, not caring about a thing in the world except slobbering all over each others mouths. God it was such a good idea to train alien slugs.

alimpbanana

The Downsides (Benefits) of being a Slug Trainer

Ok, so there may be a few downsides to training brain invading slugs to possess hot guys.

They may just end up places where they are not supposed to be.

Today was another one of our bi weekly Smash get togethers at my place with my 2 buds. Ben and Derek decided to one v one each other, so I left to the kitchen to go grab some snacks in the downtime. When I came back to the living room I was met with the sight of the two mindlessly making out with each other on the ground. The match still going on the TV, but no-one was picking up the controllers. Ben was on top of Derek, and the two were chest to chest sloppily going at each other. And on the ground next to them was a slightly ajar mason jar. It must've fallen down from the shelf and released the slugs, who as they've done many times over, immediately went for the nearest suitable targets.

Well, looks like Ben and Derek are going to be brainless vegetables for the next few days. But oh well, might as well make the most of the situation.

alimpbanana

The Downsides (Benefits) of being a Slug Trainer

Ok, so there may be a few downsides to training brain invading slugs to possess hot guys.

They may just end up places where they are not supposed to be.

Well, looks like Ben and Derek are going to be brainless vegetables for the next few days. But oh well, might as well make the most of the situation.

dirtyfuckingmuscle

bigandhuskyfellows

grabbed and snuggled

malebodytf

The tattoo

It was supposed to just be a small tattoo. The first one he would get.

Ethan had never been the intimidating type. He was thin, nervous, the kind of person people accidentally interrupted in conversations and ignored because of his weak appearance. At twenty-three years old, he never had a girlfriend and was the guy everyone talked over, the guy who apologized even when he hadn't done anything wrong. So when he finally decided to get a tattoo, he wanted something simple, something that would make him look a little tougher.

He finally gathered the courage to get one and went to a tattoo shop.

The tattoo artist stood tall behind the counter, broad-shouldered and heavily built. Tattoos covered both arms, crawling up his neck and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his black shirt.

The guy noticed he was nervous and immediately asked: "First time?".

And Ethan nodded, embarrassed by how obvious his fear was, as the artist opened a book of designs.

"Looking for something small?" the artist asked. Ethan nervously nodded. The artist smiled and said: "I think I have just the thing".

And there it was: A dragon. An oriental style dragon. Powerful. Fierce. Exactly the meaning he wanted to be associated with. Ethan stared at the design for a few seconds. It was bigger than what he had originally planned but he was tired of seeming weak and something about it felt right.

"Yeah", he finally said. "Let’s do that one".

The artist’s smile widened. "Excellent choice".

A few minutes later, Ethan was sitting in the chair, trying not to tense up as the machine buzzed to life.

The moment the needle touched his skin, he felt a strange jolt in his arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was noticeable enough that he flinched.

"Is that normal?" he asked.

"Depends on the ink", the tattoo artist said with a small smile. "You never know how the body will react".

Ethan frowned, immediately feeling ridiculous for worrying.

Once finished, the tattoo looked incredible. It had a lot of detail and looked imposing. A black dragon in his right bicep.

As Ethan was about to leave, the tattoo artist called out to him.

"Hey. Don't forget to take care of it"

Ethan stopped and turned around. "Uh... what?"

The artist pointed toward the counter. "You forgot the aftercare kit".

"Oh. Right". Feeling slightly embarrassed, Ethan grabbed the small bag containing the cleaning supplies and left the store, returning to his apartment. As he walked down the street, he glanced at the dragon on his arm. For a moment, he could have sworn the ink seemed darker than before.

The next morning, he woke up with a strange heaviness in his arm. Something about it felt different. He tried to shake off the feeling and stepped in front of the mirror.

The tattoo looked bigger.

At first he thought he was imagining it. The tail seemed longer. The scales seemed to cover more skin than before. Then he noticed something else. His arm looked bigger, his bicep was straining against the sleeve, harder and thicker than ever. And not only that. He could feel a strength in his arm he had never felt before. Ethan spent several minutes flexing in front of the mirror. He knew he should be worried, but every time he looked at the size of his bicep, he worried less and less.

By the end of the first week the tattoo now covered a larger part of his arm. His arm looked defined like those of a professional bodybuilder, even though he hadn’t lifted a single weight in his life. It looked absurd compared to the rest of his body.

Days later one afternoon he felt the same tingling sensation as always traveling across his shoulder. He looked at the tattoo and noticed new black scales were appearing near his chest. Minutes later, his shirt began to tighten.

He looked down watching how the fabric of his shirt was slowly stretching as his pectorals pushed against the tight shirt. His pecs were swelling relentlessly, massive slabs of muscle ballooning outward. The pressure built until –pop– the buttons flew like gunfire, leaving his enormous pectorals completely exposed. Two thick rock hard mountains rising and falling with every breath, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

And so, over time, each new blot of black ink brought with it a new wave of energy, a strange jolt under his skin that stimulated that area, making it progressively more pleasurable. His shoulders already widened, his chest thick, his other arm also massive. His shirts became too tight, so he decided to start wearing more tank tops in order to show off his muscles. Ethan loved his more rugged gym bro appearance.

Next came Ethan's once soft, unremarkable midsection. It has transformed into a rock-hard, deeply etched six-pack that now commanded worship of its own. V-lines appearing that framed his lower abs and pointed toward his thick, throbbing cock.

He remembered what the tattoo artist had said about taking care of the tattoo. The strange thing was that every time he looked at it, he felt an urge to do something. Massage it. A few push-ups. A quick workout. Anything. As if the tattoo disliked staying idle.

He spent long periods looking at it in the mirror, massaging it and running his fingers over the scales, admiring how they spread across his body. Over time, his life revolved around the gym, working out constantly and eating more protein. He knew the dragon would reward him for it, every workout becoming easier than the last, each new muscle giving the scales more space to claim. And the pleasure of watching his muscles grow became better and better.

Then, nearly a month after getting the tattoo, one night while lying alone in his bed, he was rewarded. Ethan felt a sudden surge of raw energy flood his groin. His once inferior, small cock began to throb and pulsate, forcing him to thrust his hips forward instinctively as a prominent, obscene bulge strained against the front of his boxers. Blood rushed hot and heavy into the shaft, stretching and expanding its length inch by inch with every powerful heartbeat, thickening it into a heavy, veined monster that curved upward aggressively. At the same time, his balls swelled dramatically, growing fuller and heavier as they dropped low between his spread thighs, forcing his legs apart to accommodate their new weight. The thin fabric of his boxers quickly grew soaked and sticky with thick streams of precum that leaked endlessly from the swollen head. Pleasure surged through him in waves, yet no matter how desperately his newly enhanced cock twitched and throbbed, he couldn’t release, not yet. The dragon wasn’t finished with him.

Over the following weeks the dragon kept expanding across the rest of his chest, back and legs. Reaching his spine, the change became impossible to ignore. A powerful stretch ran through his body. His back cracked. His posture straightened. He could feel himself growing as the dragon crossed his vertebra. The world seemed to shrink around him. His legs thickened with dense muscle. His calves expanded. His feet grew so much they could break a pair of sneakers. And it was no longer just confidence, he felt a strength that made him feel superior.

There was a new confidence dominating his body, and people noticed. People looked at him differently and treated him differently. Strangers seemed to respect him more. Some even stepped out of his way without thinking. Ethan found himself enjoying that feeling much more than he wanted to admit.

It was inevitable that his shy personality would begin to fade. His only focus became pushing his body further, seeing how far it could be transformed. He started admiring himself whenever he passed a reflective surface. He stopped caring as much about things like hygiene, often leaving the gym drenched in sweat and carrying the scent of his workouts with him. He found himself cutting people off in conversations, taking up more space, speaking louder. Before long, he was acting like an inconsiderate brute who believed everything belonged to him.

New desires surfaced as well. Once, the thought of being with a man would have seemed strange to him. Now it barely registered as worth questioning. More and more, he found himself drawn to showing other men where they stood beneath him.

The tattoo on his back now reached his neck. And with it he could feel his voice deepening, becoming more masculine. Grunts. Beastly sounds. The changes reached his face. His facial features became more symmetrical and masculine. His jaw grew broader, his features sharper and more rugged. He looked older as though several years had passed in only a few seconds.

The last change could feel penetrating his brain. Fogging his mind and his once intelligence. Memories disappearing. Thoughts that once came effortlessly now drifted away like smoke. His head felt heavy. Slow. A dull primitive warmth spread through his thoughts, smoothing away worries, questions, and doubts until there was almost nothing left. He couldn't recall his own name. His old life felt worthless. Why would a beast like him concern itself with the worries of a timid man?.

And just like that, the mental transformation reached its climax. His entire body seized as his newly massive cock surged, thick veins pulsing along its enormous length. A guttural, broken moan tore from his throat as he erupted violently, rope after heavy rope of thick, potent cum blasting out of him in powerful jets that splattered across his own carved abs and chest, painting the roaring dragon tattoo. With every devastating spurt, the last fragile memories of his old, weak self were violently wiped away, erased completely by the dragon’s overwhelming power. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging slack and open as a thin strand of drool slipped down his chin, dripping onto his glistening pecs. His heavy balls continued to throb and tighten, pumping out the final surges of his old life. When it finally subsided, his body relaxed, now utterly transformed, completely owned.

Only the dragon remains.

Weeks passed. At first, it was enough to admire itself. Hours spent in front of mirrors, tracing the scales that covered its body and flexing the massive muscles beneath them. The Dragon had not transformed itself into such a magnificent creature merely to be ignored but just one man wasn't enough. The dragon demanded more attention.

He was satisfied posting pics online, watching the flood of comments and admiration pour in from strangers. But the dragon's hunger continue to grow. Before long, it found itself browsing apps like Grindr, inviting admirers into its place.

He stood at the center of the dimly lit room, his massive muscular frame gleaming beneath a coat of oil. Admirers gathered around him, hungry eyes fixed on the fierce black ink dragon tattoo that coiled across his powerful chest and shoulder. One man already eager on his knees. Various men, stripped, hard and trembling with lust, stepped forward carrying more bottles of warm, slick oil.

He raised his arms, flexing slowly, letting his enormous pecs bounce. The tattoo stretched and shifted with the movement, scales gleaming as the thick streams of oil poured over his shoulders, his bulging biceps, and heavy slabs of pecs. Hands being everywhere, lips and tongues traced every cut and curve of his muscle. One of them let out a desperate moan and buried his face hungrily between the massive, sweat-slicked mountains of his pecs, pressing deep into the warm sweat.

They all moaned against him, entranced and lost in the heat of his scent.

He grabbed one man by the hair and forced him down to his knees, then the next. They had fed his hunger. Now it was his turn to feed theirs.

One admirer was bent over the wide bench, oiled ass up, while he drove him into him in long, punishing strokes, his massive chest pressed against the man’s back, the dragon tattoo rubbed against sweating skin. Another was pulled up into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, impaled as he bounced him like he weighed nothing. The remaining ones made to kneel and lick every drop of sweat and oil from his flexing muscles while he fucked their friends senseless, tongues dragging desperately over his pecs, sucking on his nipples, kissing the dragon’s roaring maw. Every thrust, every moan, every slap of flesh pleasing the beast, then rewarding them with his own seed while they begged for more.

Finally, standing in front of the mirror, the Dragon ran his now thicker, more sculpted hand over the black scales that wrapped around his body. A faint, meaningless echo of the weak creature he once was passed through him and faded almost instantly. He took a progress pic, knowing that the tattoo would grow even more, spreading beneath his skin and slowly claiming more of him with every passing day. Soon the Dragon would cover everything, and he could hardly wait to see what he would become.

The dragon rests, satisfied… for now.

——————

My longest TF story yet! I've been inactive for a while, but thanks to everyone who follows, likes, and supports my stories

repossesseddesires

Slipped: Invasion

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.

Slipped: Invasion

A Slipped's Story

Greendale used to be a quiet town. It had its own university, a lovely residential area with quaint houses, a downtown area with shops, a mall, a few restaurants, and a good school district. It was surrounded by forest, and part of the town was even divided by a lush "mid-space" made up of pines and other trees that gave the area a natural feel.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in Greendale. It was almost three in the morning, and people had already woken up to... work? In the town's gym area, some athletes were milling about, moving back and forth with glazed eyes.

The machines and other exercise equipment were pushed to the sides, leaving a huge space where others were actively working at tables, putting what looked like cookies and other desserts into boxes while other mindless athletes carried them outside. They all wore tight, somewhat revealing clothing, their chests, arms, and armpits perfectly exposed, as were their thick thighs, covered only by tiny lycra shorts.

But at the front of the table, on the opposite side from the exit, there was something more than unsettling. Some athletes were taking the cookies out of their packaging, only to then lick them, leaving a slimy, thick paste on the food that would be absorbed and disappear in a couple of hours.

Other athletes were stuffing the food under their armpits or through their feet, smearing everything with their pheromones and essence as the production line continued. They didn't speak to each other; they seemed lost in thought, completely absorbed in simply completing their duty, their vigorous muscles serving to carry the heavy boxes to the city center in the morning, ready to face the day.

The most worrying thing about all this wasn't the actions of these guys, but rather… the other “deposits” that were moving in parallel at different points throughout the town. Some cafes had their “customers” drooling or rubbing the food that would be ready to be served as soon as they received an unsuspecting customer.

At a gas station, one of those mindless, willless “puppets” had come up with a better way to fill the food with his essence, moving his mast up and down while aiming to cover everything within reach with that viscous liquid.

The residential area was no exception either; the typical respectable men, role models, faithful husbands, and exceptional fathers, were now drooling from the comfort of their homes, rubbing food and other things with their slimy tongues and sweaty armpits, making sure to fill every inch with that essence that was vital for this “mission”. In fact, right within the residential area was where the head of the operation was located.

— Echo has completed its load, Lieutenant – another muscular athlete approached the man who was supposed to be the neighborhood council president, a man with enormous muscles that usually remained hidden beneath long-sleeved shirts, modest sweaters, or nothing too "naughty", but who now had no interest in maintaining modesty. Shirtless, he sat watching the entire production line move, a stern look on his face.

— Foxtrot is also ready to move – another muscular man approached, giving a slight bow as he reported the load's status.

— Perfect – the man said coldly, examining everything around him as thoroughly as possible – And the status of the Alpha load?"

— Almost ready as well, sir. We'll send it to the specific locations and people the Commander requested.

— I don’t want any delays. We already have enough to deal with, depending on these sacks of meat, these inferior life forms – he muttered, clenching his fists – Tell Splitter to speed up production. There can’t be any delays; it’s the most important cargo – The second athlete nodded, almost starting to run toward one of the houses, the largest and most well-kept of them all, though the “lieutenant” cleared his throat before he could, making him stop dead in his tracks to see what he needed.

— Sir?

— Make sure you find the human’s house too. He’s with the rebels. If we capture him, we’ll have what we want. Move it now.

He nodded. The guy used his new, powerful legs and thick thighs to sprint through the night. He opened the front door and went upstairs. The atmosphere felt "normal", as it should be in the early hours of the morning, though a gasp echoed from upstairs, from the master bedroom. The guy entered the bedroom. Inside were two men, one settled at the foot of the bed, while the other sat, sweaty and flushed, shirtless. He made strange noises as he clutched the sheets, his eyes slightly rolled back. His legs twitched, his toes tense, as the other man leaned in to put his fingers in his mouth.

He gasped, a gummy groan mingling with his slurped voice, regurgitating. Something began to rise from his throat to his tongue. His eyes continued to roll erratically back as he clutched the sheets. Finally, he spat something into the other man's palm:

A gelatinous mass of greenish hues that barely moved. It was still very new, in fact, it was shapeless, more like a lump of slime. The man nevertheless approached a box and carefully placed it inside. Inside were other similar shapes, of different colors: most black, some green, even one or two blue. They all moved slowly, peacefully, almost asleep, ready to fulfill their function in a few hours.

— The lieutenant wants to know the status of the shipment.

— Tell the lieutenant to start regurgitating if he wants to speed up the process – the man in the bed groaned, exhausted. His body was sweating, and the air stank.

— We only need a few more – the other replied more calmly.

The “soldier” nodded, stepping back and descending the house's stairs to rejoin the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood. Its inhabitants were awake, moving about with boxes, drooling and spreading their essence. The mission was simple: Propagation.

The Oblivara race had a method of mind control to “infect” others and bend their will, without needing to forcibly enter their bodies. It would be a waste of resources to generate more and more members; it was easier to dominate the minds of less important and average individuals, simply to use them like zombies and monitor every part of the city, all connected to the hive mind, and all following the same objective: To find Edmund.

On the other hand, the new aliens' quest had another objective: to generate the necessary "force" to obtain the main artifact that the rebel group held in its control, capture it, and return it to the home planet so that the invasion of other worlds could begin. Earth would only be another stepping stone, a weak "link" that had gotten in their way, an opportunity to possess and replace the planet's dominant life form: humanity.

The night still held these secrets while the "rebel group" remained separated, unaware of everything that was happening in the safety of Edmund's hometown.

Because in Greendale, nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

—-

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.

This is my new temporary blog. I'll be here until the situation with @possesseddesiress improves (if it ever does). If it doesn't, this will become my permanent account, but until I see more activity, this is just temporary. I hope you'll follow me here and support me by reblogging, commenting, or whatever you like. Your support would really help me get back on my feet.

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?

—-

repossesseddesires

Rent-A-Possessor: Passing A

Gale's job was actually quite simple. He just had to check his inbox for requests, sort them into categories, schedule them, and arrange appointments to collect personal items from the person who was going to possess them. Those requests that would go straight to the trash because they were so strange or nonsensical. Although, the lure of money always won him over at the end of the day. His family had money, yes, they were well-off, and he'd never lacked anything. But Gale wanted to forge his own path, and if he had to use his power to achieve it, he would do so without hesitation.

The requests almost always followed the same pattern: some people wanted revenge against someone and wanted them to be publicly humiliated so they would "pay" for their actions; others wanted an easy grade with the typical grumpy teacher; others wanted a final date with their ex to properly end the relationship; and still others wanted a first date with their lifelong crush so they could feel something, even if it was just for show.

Everyone always wanted something, and the pool of potential suitors was laid out before Gale, who, in exchange for a few bills, was more than happy to help (especially if there was an attractive body to be possessed).

However, certain requests always spiked when a specific time of year arrived: finals. At that time, Gale would always receive requests to possess a professor and get grades raised, passes, final projects forgotten, or for them to turn a blind eye.

— Damn, this itches – he muttered uncomfortably as he tried to adjust the thin lycra shorts he was wearing, which were digging uncomfortably between his fat, round buttocks. That body was... heavy, without a doubt. He couldn't understand how such a big, heavy man could be the coach of one of the tennis teams. Wasn't that sport supposed to be agile and elegant? What was a gorilla like this doing managing the team? Maybe that's why they never won…

But what was Gale doing inside him? Simple, it was a request from one of his friends.

— For the last time, can you repeat what you want me to do?… – Gale narrowed his eyes, somewhat confused, a saliva-filled whistle in the palm of his hand. He felt disgusted but tried to hold it back as he looked at Roy, nervously across the table.

— Dude, you have to help me. I just want you to get inside him and make sure he doesn't kick me off the tennis team. My grades have dropped, and he threatened that if I didn't improve them, he'd kick me off the team. I can't lose that, Gale. My scholarship depends on it, and-

— Okay – The body-jumping man nodded, patting the guy's shoulder, inhaling softly as he mentally prepared himself to possess the coach. Roy was one of the only people who knew about his gift, although let's just say… Gale wasn't exactly discreet about his magical abilities when it came to his friends – I'll fix it, I promise.

Although now he was regretting it. It turned out that Coach Castle was a tough, grumpy man, legendary for his punishments for being late, making a bad play, and countless other reasons that could irritate him and cause him to make the athletes run almost 20 laps around the track without a break. Anyone who dared to stop would have to do double the laps and pack up all the equipment, no matter what time it was over. Yes, he was a jerk. Big, burly, and smelly, as Gale was noticing with his new appearance.

— Damn, this is… Ugh – He gagged slightly in the middle of the sports field, shook his head, inhaling sharply to try and calm himself. The putrid stench burned his nose, but luckily, the court was empty. There was only "him", with his enormous thighs, biceps the size of mountains, pecs like watermelons, and athletic wear so tight you could see every last sliver of muscle. Although, honestly, Gale couldn't understand how someone could be so… Stinky. He could smell the notes of deodorant and cologne. How could his pheromones be more potent than all the hygiene products combined?

Gale was having trouble managing that body properly. It was too heavy. He felt… gigantic, as if his legs weren't responding as they should. He felt clumsy, bumping into everything. Those massive shoulders barely fit through a doorway. The guy inhaled discreetly again, sniffing around him, and the more he sniffed, the more… free he felt.

It was a damn side effect of his power; the body's original things, habits, and thoughts would gradually become familiar again. He thought maybe the memories would come back to give Roy a passing grade, but it seemed the habit of his new, foul odor had arrived first.

He felt… strong, he had to admit it. Gale was usually thin, very skinny, he had his own charm, yes, but he didn't have an ounce of muscle, something this new body had plenty of. Everything about him was big, thick, and fleshy, even his hands were gigantic, like his fingers were sausages and his palms were plates, they even had a peculiar aroma too and… Sniff sniff. Damn, they smelled good, salty, laden with that soft note of sweat, the new coach Castle had to restrain himself from licking his hand right there. But damn, it felt good, those strong thighs supporting all his weight, his strong shoulders, his big arms, and those huge hairy armpits… Mfhhh, damn, he could feel a tent forming in his pants, causing his clothes to ride up even more.

He needed a more… private place to continue this game. Finding Roy's folder could wait a few more minutes; Treating that godlike body the way it deserved? No.

He headed towards the locker room, guessing by sheer luck which of all those lockers was his. He unlocked it and found a couple of clothes inside, which, let's just say, weren't very discreet. They were thin tank tops with necklines that dropped to his chest, showing it off. They were loose-fitting, so his arms and armpits were also on full display. The guy looked at his new clothes with a certain lust in his eyes, licking his lips slightly. He didn't know if it was his psyche working in conjunction with that new, muscular body, or if it was his body's own instincts, but he felt so… good, shit.

He moved from the sports area toward the parking lot. It wasn't hard to spot the coach's truck – enormous, imposing, with a couple of rackets in the trunk and a ball hanging like a keychain from the rearview mirror. He patted his pockets to open the door, sat down, and felt somewhat uncomfortable in the driver's seat. It was… cramped. He could feel the seat pushed back as far as it could go, but it was as if it couldn't quite support him properly from the sides. It really was huge. So… big.

Gale couldn't help but stifle a giggle as he looked at those imposing hands. They were thick, really. He sniffed and licked them again like crazy, exploring every inch of the rest of his body: his pecs, his biceps, everything. The connection between his chest and arms, manifested in those smelly, hairy armpits, made him lift his head as he watched himself in the rearview mirror, delighted.

— Heh… Yeah, I look like a gorilla – Gale's mind felt… Heavy, blurry.

Even for the best body-jumper, suddenly entering a psyche so charged with hormones and testosterone was like diving headfirst into a pool. The “water” felt heavy, and staying afloat was difficult while you swallowed everything in sight. His mind was becoming more and more filled with Coach Castle's dominant presence. He patted his chest, rubbing it between his hands as if it were Play-Doh, gasping with delight. His fingers quickly found their way to his areolas, twisting around them like a pair of tweezers. Gale blushed and stuck out his new, enormous, wet tongue. He was truly behaving like a total pervert in that luxury SUV, without shame or control. It was a miracle no one was around because, without a doubt, seeing the coach so uninhibited would raise a lot of questions.

repossesseddesires

Invaders

— Whoa... Nice pecs, huh, human? – Francis murmured with a mocking smile, flexing his arms and bouncing his thick pecs as he grinned while the water cascaded down his back, soaking him completely. The sensation was so damn delicious. He was captivated by every second of this "ritual" in the bathroom, letting the drops run against his skin, the flow of water cascading over his chest, falling directly onto his abs before reaching his manhood, his strong legs with those enormous, smelly feet that seemed impossible to rid of, even with shower after shower. He was so focused on all of this, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from something important in the bathroom: the soap.

— Or what? Is something bothering you? – The "guy" chuckled again, finally taking the bar of soap and lathering it all over his body, those armpits heavy with his putrid stench, his tool, making sure to scrub well, even between his buttocks, "just in case". When he finished, he held the bar in front of his hand, squeezing it and letting the lather run to the floor – I mean, it's not like there's much else you can do.

The dark-skinned guy chuckled again, finally setting the object aside. Inside it, was the real Francis, screaming in panic, unheard by anyone, completely terrified and not quite understanding what was happening. The only thing he could "understand", if anything, was how his body was acting like a pervert under the control of someone else, or rather, something.

Francis had decided to take a shower late at midnight. His body ached with a satisfying feeling after his workout, and he wanted to wash away the sweaty gym sock smell. He turned on the water, leaving the window open. Perhaps he was being a little... arrogant with himself. He imagined some curious or unsuspecting neighbor might catch him bathing, his body in its full glory. But the fool hadn't noticed something enter the room with him – a kind of rubbery figure that clung to the soap just as he picked it up to lather up.

The creature hid perfectly, and as soon as the soap touched his skin, it slid upwards towards his mouth. The movement was so fast that Francis couldn't do anything but gasp in confusion. As soon as that thing slid deeper into his throat, he let out a guttural groan. His eyes rolled back, his expression became confused, as if he wanted to vomit. His body began to spasm, moving from side to side until something else emerged from his throat. It was also a gummy substance, like jelly or slime, but it looked… luminous, as if it were energy. Francis stuck his tongue out further, still in a catatonic state, and that source of light fell against the bar of soap, melting into one.

When the initial chaos of the situation finally subsided, a mocking smile appeared on the dark-haired man's face.

— Woah! What a nice body, huh? – He moved his hands to his chest and squeezed it carelessly, as if his pecs were a stress ball he was frantically pressing over and over again – Damn, and I thought this whole mission to Earth was a waste of time, mffhhh!

His fingers found his areolas, twisting them with a gasp, his tongue lolling out.

— Oh holy shit! – he let out an almost hysterical laugh, his expression completely idiotic, as if all that lustful energy was too much for him to handle for the first time.

It turned out that "the thing" that had entered through the bathroom window was some kind of extraterrestrial being that was part of an expedition to Earth. And although their race was far more skilled and intelligent than ours, they had a huge weakness: their anatomy- Too soft and delicate to survive the harsh world that was our planet. So… the only solution was to occupy a larger, more robust body, and unfortunately for Francis, he had been in the right place.

— MFHHH! Shit, yes – the guy kept going like a madman, checking every inch of his body, sticking his fingers in his mouth and sticking his tongue out as if he wanted to take “measurements”, slapping his buttocks a couple of times, until his gaze dropped to the obelisk that stood there, imposing.

He was about to pick up that great tool when he sensed what seemed to be mental waves, trying to trace their origin, noticing the bar of soap on the ground; the consciousness of the real Francis was there.

— Oh, hello. You don’t mind if I give you a show of how I use your body, do you? – He smiled – You better get comfortable, this is going to get good.

To be continued.

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Hey everyone!

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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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repossesseddesires

0. The Fool

Professor Hudson's gaze darted wearily from side to side as he surveyed the university's end-of-semester fair. He could see his stupid students running around, the occasional amorous couple practically devouring each other, athletes flexing, and some overweight guy stuffing himself with cotton candy. They all seemed so... idiotic.

Hudson was the typical academic who made life miserable for his students, always thinking he was a brilliant genius walking the earth (and, well, his almost three doctorates plus a master's degree only made him more arrogant and prone to exploding at the slightest idiotic action).

He despised athletes above all else, those fraternity members who didn't strive for anything other than getting ripped at the gym to impress girls, or even guys. All this talk about inclusion, for crying out loud. How could anyone prefer having muscles over brains? And it wasn't like he didn't take care of himself, of course he did, but he had brains.

— Stop running, you're going to cause an accident! – The professor practically barked at some students who were running around carelessly. Those brats were going to give him an aneurysm.

His gaze lingered on one of the fair's tents; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, some for target games, others for food, and there were even photo booths, but this one The tent was different… It had intense, striking, yet calming blue colors on its walls and ceiling, and a scent that seemed to be sea breeze emanated from it.

In no time, the man was already walking inside. There was only very dim candlelight and… sand? He looked up, finding a young, blonde woman with a slight smile behind a glass table.

— Hello, welcome. Can I help you?

— I… Excuse me, what is this? – the man said, somewhat confused. He didn't even know how he had gotten there; it was as if an alluring, hypnotic force, almost pure magnetism, had drawn him in.

— Would you like me to tell your fortune? I think it's better if I explain it this way – Cirse moved the deck in her hands; the cards shifted elegantly from side to side, almost floating in the air. They were engraved with bluish details and vibrant colors, as if they wanted to convey the essence of the summer that was almost upon them.

— Fortune? – the man asked. He let out a mocking laugh, shaking his head – That's for charlatans and people without their own judgment. It's obviously false – He was about to turn away when she spoke again.

— Of course, it's easy to believe what you can see, but what's imperceptible to the human eye, that's what's truly fascinating. If you're a man of fact and not faith. Great philosophers have pondered this doubt, the real question here is… If you're so sure of your knowledge, why would it matter to put it to the test?

The professor's jaw tightened. The most sensible thing would have been to leave the shop and leave the woman alone, but the urge to prove a point took hold of him. He approached the table and sat down on the other side.

— Cost?

— Our first reading is always free – She winked at him confidently as she passed the cards from one side to the other. The sound between them was like clicks. Everything moved so quickly that he didn't have a second to distinguish the different cards. The Magician, Judgment, Fortune, Knight of Wands – everything moved like a hurricane until finally one touched the table, sliding across it. Circe's smile appeared like a painting, accompanied by a giggle.

— And what's that?

She turned the card over to reveal the Fool.

— Wow, what a great turn… – she whispered, fascinated, touching the card with her elegant nails – The Fool card tells us about the beginning of a new journey, and I think it will be a very long one... With all the potential that's trapped inside you. And more than anything, liberation.

Her lips pronounced that last word as if it were silk, letter by letter. The candles slowly extinguished until the place was plunged into complete darkness. The man just rolled his eyes.

— Yes, yes, it's clear you know how to put on a good show. Can I go now? – The silence was total. Hudson sighed, about to stand up when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He had to throw himself back down in the chair; it was a pain Disabled. Shit, was he having a heart attack? – Hello?! Something's wrong with me, I need help!

He expected to hear the woman's voice again, but only felt another pain in his ribs. He clenched his jaw, trying to stifle a scream, but it was useless. He felt as if his bones were being torn apart. He gripped the armrests tightly, gasping for breath.

— MFHHH! H-Help! – he pleaded again, desperately seeking someone's attention. Without hearing the way his clothes began to rustle, as if the seams were about to burst, the man groaned. Suddenly, his pectoral muscles expanded forward, like the yeast baking a cake fresh from the oven. He felt his shirt begin to tighten, trying to accommodate his new changes, but without much success. Buttons flew off, and the "elegant" sweater he was wearing ripped like cracks in an earthquake. The pain was excruciating; his skin burned. Something similar was happening to his lower torso, his abs heating up to melt away all the accumulated fat. His years-long belly began to reintegrate with the rest of his body, leaving behind a well-defined six-pack and a glistening, pearly complexion.

— MFHH! M-Miss! – He shouted again, a burp escaping his lips inexplicably. He tried to cover his mouth when he felt another one, but instead felt a tingling in his arms that quickly filled with that same wave of energy, expanding in a snap of his fingers. His biceps were defined, though not usually so exaggerated, but now they had grown exponentially, as if he were a gym addict. His armpits, usually hairless, were now covered in hair, and a strong smell hit his nose. Shit, why did he smell like a gym? It was the same smell that filled his classroom when the damn athletes came in after a rigorous training session. The aroma left him so confused that he didn't realize when the sensation shifted to his legs, his muscles beginning to expand, using stored fat to transform it into pure, dense muscle. The man groaned, feeling his pants begin to rip.

— Shit! No! – He watched as his tailored trousers tore to shreds, his boxers tightening as his tool began to mutate in the same way. He was well-endowed, a good 15cm, but these began to grow longer and longer, becoming heavier, thicker, and longer. His balls followed suit, becoming more rounded and filled with that precious whitish fluid. The sensation was still uncomfortable, but there was a more lustful charge in these final stimuli. The man gasped, his tongue lolling out, caressing himself as the transformation moved down to shape his calves. Again, the changes accelerated in his feet. The khaki shoes ended up torn and shredded as his feet grew, smelling and sweaty. Hudson let out a loud, confused groan, his face flushed.

— S-shit, t-this isn't right – he stammered, trying to stand. He paced aimlessly, trying to lean against the table for air, but his shoulders and back swelled, becoming larger and more massive. The stern professor's careless hand brushed against his manhood, panting. Slowly, he felt his rear end begin to grow and become rounder, as if air were being pumped into a pair of shiny balloons. The little that remained of his clothing tightened around the new shape. The air was warm, though a loud thud from his buttocks shattered it completely – PPFFRHHHHT.

His stomach ached as if tons of protein were inside him. Another thunderous fart escaped. The professor had no idea what was happening.

— N-no, it can't be – He tried to take another step forward, another burp escaping his lips. He was so desperate and confused that he didn't even notice the body he now had, which bore no resemblance to his usual physique. It looked as if his head had been attached to the body of some college athlete, and in fact, that was the extent of the change.

Energy surged up his spine to his neck.

— Shit! – What came out of his mouth was a sound completely foreign to his polite and refined tone. Now it was deep, resonant, as if he didn't have many brain cells. His voice sounded almost 20 years younger, hmmm! Little by little, his neck changed, becoming more muscular and rugged.

A huge Adam's apple rose, and his skin gradually became smoother, perfect, like that of a high-level athlete. His chin sculpted, and every trace of a double chin disappeared in the blink of an eye. His cheeks followed the same path, becoming firmer, his nose more upturned, his head grew a little, his old glasses broke from the sides and fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

— MFHH! SOMEONE HELP! – he shouted again, his voice unfamiliar to him. The transformation reached his hair, turning it a deeper brown, styled in a shorter, more modern way. The man was slamming against the walls. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Like a jolt of energy, he suddenly froze, face up, his eyes slightly crossed, his mouth ajar with saliva escaping.

— Ughh… – He was almost in a catatonic state, only grunts and guttural sounds escaping his thick throat – Mfhhh…

His eyes remained almost blank. Apparently, from the outside, nothing was happening. But inside his mind, it was as if the Library of Alexandria were under fire again; all his knowledge, his academic degrees, everything was being thrown away while something else was forming in its place. Why worry so much about IQ when he could keep training to grow those fantastic pecs? Hehehe, one more size and he'd have to wear a sports bra, hehe. His brain was slowly slowing down as other priorities tore down each of the islands that were important to him in his psyche. Goodbye to teaching, hello to partying. Why would he be interested in teaching others when he was barely in college, bro? What kind of nerd would he be?

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He wouldn't have a fixed preference; bread is for everyone to enjoy, right? He'd be like a beast in bed, bro! Although nervous twinks were definitely his weakness, hammering them for hours, so damn sweaty. With that damn stench emanating from every part of their bodies that he loved so much.

His mind was slowly adapting to the new frat-brother body he now had, with those nice muscles, that attractive face that could make anyone swoon. He could sweat like nobody else on campus; they called him "Stinky Danny" for a reason. Ha, his farts were fucking legendary! They smell like tear gas, but he loved them – pure protein, honey!

The old, strict, and bitter professor was a complete jock now. The image of the student he so detested, the one he thought was a waste of student funds, was now Danny.

The good old Danny, a member of the football team – hopefully he'd be captain someday, stinky, he spent more time in the gym than in his classes, which were fucking boring. He didn't think much, duh. He'd gotten into college on an athletic scholarship; he could pay some nerd to do his homework for him (or better yet, do it "in person").

The whirlwind of hormones and testosterone settled within him, his tool still hard, as were his areolas. His hand automatically moved to the area, beginning to stroke it back and forth, lost in this final mental transformation. One drop and it would completely seal off this change; there would be no going back, no more Professor Hudson, no more teaching, only being a stupid jock.

— MFHH! I-I… I… This is wrong! H-help. I-I… – The deep, gravelly voice of the new college student body rang out, his eyes rolling back in his head again. He tried to speak, but a jet of whitish substance shot out like an avalanche, spreading the stench of dampness and chlorine everywhere. His thick pecs rose and fell before his vision slowly cleared.

— Ugh, shit, my head, bro – he muttered. Around him, only the rest of the fair remained; it couldn't have been more than five in the afternoon. Perfect for finding his fraternity bros and going on other rides. Shit, he even saw a guy working at the mirror house earlier; he was so cute. Maybe he could convince him to take him downstairs and show him how good he was at hide-and-seek, damn, hehe.

The jock stretched a little. Inhaling the scent of his hairy armpits, he stroked his pecs; he looked fantastic. He'd been training nonstop for when summer came. He planned to go to the beach in the tiniest swimsuit he could find. He might go with his friends for the holidays, or even by himself. He didn't want to share all the hotties he'd hook up with when he was in the middle of the saltwater and sand. Ah… It felt so good to be free. Screw college.

— BRAWWWPP – he blurted out, letting out a laugh and shaking his head as he walked away, patting his belly. Those hot dogs hadn't agreed with him, haha. Lol. Danny let out a soft laugh as he scratched his fat butt with his hand. He loved being a stinky, farting jock so much, ha. Wait, why did he have some kind of handkerchief in his pocket? Ugh, like he's some kind of refined loser or something, get ready world, because Stinky Danny is here to have some fun, booyaaaah!

Circe could only watch from afar as old Professor Hudson, now ridiculously improved in all his glory (well, surely if he were still aware of his new appearance, he'd be going crazy), but that was the least of her concerns.

— Mwhaaaa – she heard a kind of soft, gentle grunt from her bag, and she just patted it.

— Shhh, calm down – she whispered into her deck of cards – I promise there will be more transformations soon. Litha is just around the corner, and magical energy is more abundant – She seemed to feel the air around her, taking in the sea breeze, the color of seashells etched against the sky, the refreshing sound of waves crashing against the shore – I think I know exactly where we need to go, buddy. Let's go.

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Hey 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. Summer it's almost here, and as you know, I love writing with the thematic of the months / seasons. So in the next months, I'll try to write about summer transformation, bodyswap, possessions and more.

I really love writing about this Tarot series, so. I have a question for you:

Which Tarot / Major Arcana Card would you like to see next?

The Wheel of Fortune

The Sun

The Temperance

The Hierophant

Voting ended onJun 3

The cards of The Lovers, The Strenght, The Justice, The Tower, The Star, The Moon and The Judgement are available on my blog. If you have any particular ideas, I'd love to hear them. Thank you!

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swapsrus

The Pervert Next Door pt. 1

Mr. Reynolds, my neighbour, is a creepy perverted 58-year-old divorced man who spends his day oggling my friends and I. He’s spent years peering through his windows whilst my mates and I swim in the pool, or play a quick game of backyard cricket. He rarely ever interacts with us, and I always tried to keep it that way, but recently something changed…

While my mate Cooper was over at my place last weekend, Reynolds used some fucked up ritual he’d been preparing for months. The second Cooper stepped outside to take a phone call, it happened. His soul was ripped out and stuffed into Reynolds’ old, disgusting body… while Reynolds took full control of Cooper’s hot, athletic one.

And now he’s turned him into a total slut.

At the lake yesterday, Reynolds, in Cooper’s body, showed up in those tiny, colourful swim briefs that left nothing to the imagination. He stood there in front of everyone, chest hair glistening, abs on full display, casually pulling the waistband down even lower while grinning like an idiot.

He kept adjusting the briefs, running his hands over Cooper’s toned stomach and thick thighs, openly showing off the bulge. Every time someone looked, he’d flash a cocky smile and flex, loving the attention Cooper’s body was getting.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice sounding exactly like Cooper’s but dripping with Reynolds’ sleazy tone. “This body was made to be stared at.”

This morning he sent me this mirror selfie from Cooper’s bathroom.

He’s standing there shirtless again, phone in hand, wearing the same pair of ridiculously slutty patterned briefs. One hand is pulling the waistband down teasingly while he bites his lip at his own reflection. You can practically see how hard he is in them.

Reynolds has been parading around in Cooper’s body non-stop, taking shirtless selfies, posting thirst traps on Cooper’s Instagram, hitting the gym in the tightest clothes possible, and openly flirting with anyone who looks his way.

He even sent me a video last night of him jerking off in Cooper’s bed, moaning loudly in my best friend’s voice while he came all over those perfect abs.

I begged him to switch back. I told him Cooper was straight, that this was wrong.

Reynolds just laughed, sent me another selfie of him showing off Cooper’s body in the mirror, clearly having just left the shower, and typed back:

“Too late, mate. This tight, hairy, hung body feels way too good. I’m slutting it out every single day from now on. Cooper’s gone. I’m keeping him.”

He’s still out there right now, wearing my best mate’s body like his own personal fuck suit, living his filthiest fantasies without a single ounce of shame.

And he has absolutely no plans to ever give it back.

swapsrus

The Pervert Next Door Pt.2

Four months have passed since Mr. Reynolds stole Cooper’s body, and the old man has shown no signs of ever returning it.

He has fully taken over my best friend’s life. Cooper’s once-straight, athletic routine has been replaced by something much more open and sexual. Reynolds now walks around the neighbourhood and gym shirtless or in tight tanks whenever he can, proudly displaying Cooper’s hairy chest and muscular build. He carries himself with a constant, shameless confidence that Cooper never had.

He’s also started dating someone.

The guy is Tyler, one of Cooper’s old straight friends from the group. A cocky, tattooed tradie who used to come over for backyard cricket and beers. At some point, one of Reynolds’ perverted old mates performed the same ritual on Tyler and took his body too. Now the two stolen bodies are together, living as an openly gay couple.

From what I’ve seen, they’re inseparable. They go out together, act very affectionate in public, and seem completely comfortable in their new dynamic. Reynolds and the man now wearing Tyler’s body spend most of their time using their stolen bodies for pleasure, something that’s become obvious from the way they behave and the occasional photos Reynolds sends.

The real Cooper and the real Tyler are both still trapped inside their own bodies, forced to watch as two dirty old men use their young, muscular forms to live out every fantasy they want.

He continues to parade Cooper’s body around without shame, showing off the hairy chest, the abs, the arms, while enjoying his new boyfriend in Tyler’s stolen skin. Every new photo or update is another reminder that my best friend’s life and body now belong completely to our creepy old neighbour.

And from the way things look, Mr. Reynolds has never been happier.

Epilogue

Yesterday, Reynolds sent me one final photo, cooper standing shirtless in the bathroom, towel hanging low, hairy chest pushed out as he smirked at the camera.

The message read:

“Still the best decision I ever made. This body never gets old. By the way… I’ve been watching you lately. You’ve got a nice build too. Might be time for my mate to try on a new suit. Keep your phone close 😉”

He ended it with a voice note in Cooper’s voice, low and mocking:

“See you soon, mate.”

I stared at the message, stomach sinking.

It looks like I’m next…

repossesseddesires

CORPUS, Inc - World Cup 2026

With the World Cup just around the corner, starting in Mexico City. Tourism had undoubtedly exploded like lava from an erupting volcano: fans, tourists, everyone eager to see what the Soccer World Cup had in store and the wonders the host country could offer.

But at the same time, thanks to the need for lodging, transportation, and everything else that tourists would inevitably require, prices had skyrocketed. One-night stays were more expensive than a new cell phone, flights were overbooked, and available spaces weren't exactly... comfortable for the price.

This created the perfect opportunity for CORPUS, Inc. and its new summer project. Why stress about booking a flight, finding a decent hotel, and still having to get close to the wonders that Mexico City had to offer? Why not take over the body of a local? Language barriers vanished in the blink of an eye, accommodations weren't so complicated, and in most cases, you ended up with a perfect body for the rest of your vacation.

Or at least that was the experience of most of the clients who dared to approach CORPUS, Inc. and place their trust and love of soccer in their hands.

Youssef, Morocco - 48 years old

I have to admit that when I first saw the CORPUS, Inc. ad, I had my doubts. I thought it was a scam. It landed in my work email, and I thought: Body swapping? Possession?

I was about to delete it, but a little curiosity got the better of me. I'd always been a soccer fanatic, and my life was kind of... monotonous. I had a good (and very routine) office job, a wife, no sons, no daughters. And at my age, I highly doubt that ever happened. I kept checking the site for testimonials, and I have to admit something caught my attention. That, and the fact that the prices were ridiculously low compared to a flight and even the hotel that was still to come. Just one month, all paid for and included, cost the same as a round trip! لقد كانت صفقة رابحة.

I tried to convince my wife to come with me but she flatly refused, saying it was unnatural and blah blah blah, so I preferred to leave my body "stored" while I possessed this guy. لا أندم على أي شيء!

The tan of this skin is so damn attractive! His pecs are gigantic, my shirts barely fit and I'm always afraid they'll rip because of the volume of his muscles, haha! And damn, being back in my early twenties is fantastic, I'm in the prime of his youth, and with this body? I've never been this muscular or well-endowed (the guy has a killer ass!). His biceps are gigantic and I'm truly fascinated by everything about being here, the food, the music, the men. Uh… It's kind of weird, but it turns out the original owner of this body is gay. I didn't have a problem with it, the other bodies were taken and I thought it didn't matter, I'm straight as a fiddle, but damn, not in this body, haha! In my old body I would never have dared to do this, the customs and traditions are very, very strict, but here? I've kissed as many guys as there are streets in Mexico, they never stop wanting to get their hands on me! Do I feel bad for my wife? A little. I still talk to her and call her at night, but other than that, it's like I'm in a state of perfect euphoria; and she can't be hurt by something she'll never know about. Right? What happened in Mexico, stays in Mexico.

Valentín, Argentina – 32 years old

Pelutudo! How could I miss this? As soon as I got notifications on my phone about the CORPUS, Inc. promotion, I was immediately pulling out my card to pay! I love soccer, it's in my blood.

I have a somewhat… average physique, I won't say it's a marvel of the world but I'm not too out of shape either. I'm slim with a slight belly from not exercising as much as I used to. The demands of a job and the stress of it all take their toll. But in this body, hohoho! These biceps are tremendous! Like freaking grapefruits, sometimes I feel like biting them!

I don't know what the original owner of this body is doing in mine. It was cheaper to just let him stay inside me than to possess him. I guess he's sightseeing or something, but what the hell do I care? I'm going to take the win-win situation! He can have my skinny body all he wants while I keep his muscles. Look at these thighs! I bet I could burst something between them!

The only thing that bothers me a little is how huge my feet are. I must have gone up almost four sizes. They feel clumsy. It's not something I'm used to, but if I have to put up with big feet in exchange for being a damn stud, bring on those gigantic feet! Hahaha. I don't have to worry about not being able to see the match, about people respecting me, or about them trying to rob me. That used to worry me a lot! But now, any guy moves aside to let me pass. I feel powerful! I'm seriously thinking about extending my stay. I thought about following the World Cup by changing bodies little by little, but I think I can watch it on TV or something. The only thing that matters to me now is staying in this perfect body.

Lachlan, Australia – 24 years old

I think jet lag is one of the things I hate most about traveling to other parts of the world. Australia almost always has a huge time difference compared to Western countries. And I love to travel!

My original plan was to go to Mexico and then head to one of its beaches. I love feeling the sand, the salt water, riding the waves – it's in my blood, you know? But jet lag was a real headache that I didn't want to deal with this time, so when I saw CORPUS, Inc. displays at the airport, I thought it was better to trade my round-trip ticket for a local body.

And dude, I wasn't disappointed! Mexico is a fantastic place, its beaches are great, but wow! Their bodies were so much better! I'm loving this muscular physique; it's similar to mine but at the same time so damn different! Their thick legs, their biceps, that ass, god! I love how jet-black hair looks on me; I'm usually blonde, but this tan is worth every second. I never understood the supposed "Latin charm", but now that I'm living it, in a very literal sense, it's fabulous! Maybe watching football wasn't one of my main goals, but it turns out they give you your national team's uniform or something like that, and hehe, I love how it looks.

Would I prefer to watch it in a swimsuit? Yeah, but a trip to a swimsuit shop can wait. Maybe I want to have a little more fun in front of the mirror – new body, new limits to explore.

Camille, France – 45 years old.

Ces fils de putes! I was supposed to have arranged my exchange with CORPUS, Inc. to find me a female body, not a fucking stinking gorilla! What am I supposed to do in this body?! I wanted to accompany my husband in his athletic pursuits in the body of some young Latina woman, that was my idea! Not this! It sucks!

The sweat is so earthy and acidic it's going to make me cry, and that… thing! between my thighs is fucking uncomfortable, I have to keep adjusting it no matter how small the steps I take. What am I supposed to do for a month trapped in this body? I can't ask for a refund, or exchanges, and to top it all off, my husband is who knows where, like some fucking lost suitcase. It seems they sent his consciousness to another body because of a system error. I don't know where he is, I don't know who he is now, or what I'm going to do. We'll see each other in a month, that's for sure, but… merde! Am I going to have to be a stinky man for a month?!

I don't even have tickets to any match; my husband had those. What am I going to do?! Ugh! And this feels so… sticky. Oh no, no, no, no. I need to go to the bathroom again. I'm going to have to touch that thing. No! How disgusting…

Chase, United States – 20 years old.

Was I interested in soccer? Well, a little. I think I'm more of a basketball or American football fan, but! CORPUS, Inc. had launched a special program for university students under the pretext of the World Cup. Several of my classmates decided to go to other host countries or cities, but me? I wanted Mexico.

Why? To be honest, I haven't the slightest idea. But there's something about the vibe that's incredibly appealing! The festive atmosphere, the music, I always wanted to go, but I was worried about looking like an… Pendejo? Woah! It feels so good to pronounce it correctly! Besides all the stigma surrounding foreigners, so having your own “local” body and using it however you want is fantastic.

Like the movie Avatar! It turns out this body has a tremendous tolerance for drinking, and it's attractive to other guys here; it's like a hot magnet!

It wasn't hard for me to do this in my old body; I'm what you might call a "fratbro", proud of it, by the way. But being in this body is... different, sooo different. I don't know if it's the steroid-fueled nerd look, the short hair, or the fact that I can't see without his glasses, but I'm fascinated by being in this body here!

The parties, the streets, shit, the encounters! Did you know what happens in the last car of the subway? In my old body, I didn't feel very comfortable exploring my sexuality. I knew I liked other men, but I don't think that would be very well received in the fraternity. I depend a lot on my athletic scholarship, and I don't want to throw away my future just to... experiment. I know I have to be brave to come out, but I don't think I can in my own body. So, being in someone else's body and being able to do everything I was afraid of is fucking fantastic. Do I like it? No, I LOVE IT. It's the best experience of my life!

I hope the guy who ended up with my body is enjoying being a stereotypical frat bro, blond and with more muscles than brains, because I'm enjoying being in this Mexican body so much!

Alejandro, Spain – 34 years old.

This wasn't the damn body I was expecting, macho. In the application I filled out, I clearly specified that I wanted a muscular guy, my same age, very hairy, dark-skinned, with black hair, and an almost stallion-like physique. I paid a fortune to have those VERY specific wishes fulfilled. And what greets me when I arrive?

A hairless, blond, skinny guy with legs and arms as long as spaghetti, and in his early twenties.

And what does the company end up telling me? That they can't offer refunds, they can't give me back my old body, that they apologize, and in return, they'll give me a 10% discount on my next purchase. No me jodas!

I was supposed to come to Mexico to make out with guys and have them worship me like I was their god!

I saved every single penny of my shitty job as a computer programmer for this, just one month where I would be a huge Latino guy, making locals and foreigners tremble the moment I walked in anywhere. I expected a testosterone-fueled musk, that the slightest trace of sweat would stink like chili peppers in vinegar. And you know what this guy smells like?! It's like he's practically oozing vanilla from his pores!

Have I tried to pick up guys with my new look? Ah, here's the worst part! I want to pick up men, but they're trying to dominate ME. I didn't come here for this! And the really worst part is... I don't feel a thing! Turns out this body is straight. I thought that wouldn't matter. The form said it was a minor issue and that the body would adapt to my psyche, but no! I don't know what I'll do. I don't feel comfortable doing anything heterosexual with this body, but at the same time, it's the only thing it's comfortable with. I just want this fucking month to be over. It was supposed to be the best vacation of my life.

Ren, Japan – 19 years old.

My family wasn't entirely sure about taking over CORPUS, Inc. But they were all huge soccer fans; they went crazy for being in the stadium, cheering and shouting whether their favorite team won or lost. They were... passionate. On the other hand, I'm not like that; I'm a nerd. I prefer reading comics, mangas and playing video games, which was a problem for my father, who was always trying to steer me toward the "right path", and this was one of his many attempts to do so.

At the CORPUS, Inc. travel agency in Japan, they convinced him that if they placed me in a soccer-fanatic body, the passion would become more comfortable for me, and I would accept it as my own. My father bought five spots without hesitation: his, my mother's, my older brother's, my middle sister's, and mine, the youngest of the three.

What was the problem?

My dad didn't read the terms and conditions of the bodies he was renting properly, and they all turned out to be male. This was a huge problem for my mom and sister; they obviously weren't too happy about having huge muscles and buzz cuts while their voices were ridiculously deep, haha（そして付け加えておかなければならないのは、彼の「寛大な」美徳はそれだけにとどまらなかったということだ。）

My dad tried to file a complaint, but his signature on the documents invalidated any claim, so… My parents slept in separate rooms for about three days; customs surrounding homosexuality weren't very positive in Japan. But what happened last night? Oh, haha, it turns out their feelings are way stronger than their ideology, and they got tangled up in bed. I thought we were having an earthquake when I felt the whole house shake, haha!

Oh, and me? Well, like I said, I was used to being a nerd: straight hair, almost mushroom-shaped hair, thick glasses, skinny, short, and the body I got is gorgeous!

It has tanned skin, is about 50cm taller than me, weighs about 70kilos, and most of it is muscle mass, and damn, I have these gigantic arms! I couldn't be happier to be in this body. I love how my areolas harden when they rub against the shirts I wear; But the million-dollar question is… Have I felt more passion for football? Ha, 絶対にありえない、それは全く不可能だ！

I flatly refused to go with them to the stadium. I preferred to stay put playing video games and exploring this body. The pecs are fantastic, I love the chin, and the scent is… Damn, it's fantastic. I've never smelled such a strong odor, or at least not coming from myself. I can't stop smelling my armpits or reaching down to collect some musk between my legs. Ugh, shit, it's hard again… Well, I guess if I act like a pervert in this body, it doesn't matter much. It's “my” body at the end of the day, right?

Callum, England – 67 years old.

My glory days were a couple of decades ago. I'm not what I used to be. I used to have a great physique, I was athletic, I had charisma. Now I'm just a wrinkled raisin waiting to end up six feet under. I loved soccer; there was nothing else I preferred to watch on TV. My life was already so monotonous: just being in a nursing home, walking around, sitting for hours in front of the TV, sleeping, and then back again.

CORPUS, Inc. appeared at the perfect time. And they ended up putting me in this guy's body! See these biceps? And these abs, oh, oh! These pecs! I seriously wonder if it would be a good idea to wear a sports bra or something, hahaha. They're truly gigantic and heavy. This guy can't be more than twenty-five years old. My back doesn't hurt, nor do my joints. I'm strong and can run like a damn gazelle!

I haven't done anything but fiddle around here and there, also playing with… a couple of his things. It turns out this guy is also gay, and not just any gay guy – he seems to be seriously kinky. At first, I was shocked. I'd been married for almost thirty years to the love of my life, may she rest in peace. We were heterosexual and monogamous our whole lives; “games” in the bedroom weren't exactly common.

So, finding this guy's apartment full of leather outfits, harnesses, toys of all sizes, colors, and textures, and a laundry basket overflowing with musky socks and sticky underwear was disruptive, but woah, I've never felt so alive!

Do I feel like a pervert? Yes. Am I regretting it? No! Being young again is so fantastic, and the best part is I can eat again too! I can stuff myself with as much pizza and soda as I want. A few days ago, I was so horny and so hungry that I started rubbing a piece of chicken on… You know, it ended up all greasy and the chicken covered in a whitish liquid that was fucking delicious in my mouth!

I don't know if it's his psyche mixed with mine or if I had this dark side inside me, but I really love being in his body. Fuck! I was supposed to be at the stadium over an hour ago, the game already started, it was the one I cared about! Oh well… If I'm not going then…

Thiago, Brazil – 28 years old.

The body I received was very different from the one I had ordered. I'm a bodybuilder, I have a tan, my muscles are like rocks, always masculine and imposing, like a wild beast. But my new identity is the complete opposite: thin, blond, with silky hair like Rapunzel, with certain mannerisms that, no matter how hard I try to control them, still come naturally.

Mas eu gosto disso. I thought I would hate it from the first second I opened my eyes. The staff tried to explain, almost tripping over each other's words as soon as they noticed me looking at my reflection more closely than usual, but this was perfect! I don't know why I loved it so much, but this figure is so different from my usual self.

The soft cheekbones, the designer hair, the lack of muscles – I don't have to worry about bending down and hitting my head on the doorframe, or if I'm too wide to sit somewhere. I don't feel heavy or gigantic. I like the way other, stronger guys look at me, and, wow, I just want to run into their arms.

Maybe the only thing I don't like is that this guy's personality clashes with mine, and it turns out he's really, really shy. It's making it so hard for me to go out and meet new people. But all is not lost. He has friends, and he even has a… boyfriend. Did he tell him about the exchange? No. Does he know? Definitely not. So, I guess for the rest of the month, I can enjoy being thinner, having a loving boyfriend who has no idea who I really am, and spending hours and hours admiring myself in the mirror.

Adoro a incompetência desta empresa, obrigada.

Diego, Mexico – 22 years old.

Did CORPUS, Inc. also have coverage in the very country it was promoting, so others could occupy our bodies like miniature hotels? Yes. Did people complain? Yes. Did the government, FIFA, or CORPUS, Inc. itself do anything about it? No.

Did I take advantage and grab someone else's body? Of course I did!

I must admit that I don't like soccer at all; on the contrary, I hate it. I've never had a good relationship with that sport, and I simply find it silly to watch two men chasing a ball like idiots. But, being in someone else's body and having all their attributes is like pure bliss; having these pecs is fantastic! It turns out this guy's body belongs to an influencer who wanted to go on vacation to Europe. I was lucky enough to find the body available before another foreigner took it, and now I am him!

Tall, muscular, wearing expensive clothes, living in a luxury apartment, they gave me a long, boring lecture about soccer and things to do in the city, just out of obligation (cómo si no supiera yo a dónde ir en mi propia ciudad).

I still record things for his social media, and I make sure he sees everything I upload. It turns out the terms and conditions of the exchange exempt me from or don’t make me responsible for the "misuse" of his body, as long as I don't leave marks or permanent physical damage, everything will be fine. But that doesn't cover reputation or what I can do with his personal brand.

I love fame, but I would definitely love to see more of the "leaked" things about this body, see him on his knees with his tongue hanging out, more... intimate videos, scandals about "indecent" acts in public places. Do I want to humiliate him? Of course! Am I going to feel bad about it? A little, but I want to have several tangible memories when I get back into my body. I've been sending my old number hundreds and hundreds of photos and videos in very compromising positions. You'd be surprised how flexible this body is.

The best part is that he signed a contract that clearly specifies that nothing can be mentioned about the exchange or use of CORPUS, Inc as a company that rents his body, if I do something, “he” did it of his own free will and conscience.

And I'm going to do whatever I want with it. Poor guy, he would have been better off going on vacation by plane.

----

Hey 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.

Remember that in the coming months, I'll mostly be posting summer-themed stories. Other series you enjoy, like Haunted, Slipped, and others, will still be available, but I'll try to give them a more summery feel. I hope you're enjoying it!

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notquitehimself

Entry #53: His Body Is A Temple

I always go for solo travelers—fit, straight, and focused on “finding themselves.” Makes it easier when I take over and redirect their little journeys. Why book a flight when I can slip right into a tight-bodied tourist already deep in paradise?

This one was perfect. You could tell by his clothes and haircut—definitely some kind of Euro backpacker. Moped. Clean buzzed hair. Bro was gripping the handlebars, lips slightly parted, focused on the road like it was a mission. Serious, hot, unaware he was about to become mine.

I had other plans.

Slid into him mid-ride. His back arched, thighs clenched, jaw dropped with a grunt—“Uuhhhhnn…” That thick accent wrapped around the sound so perfectly. He pulled over fast, body twitching, chest heaving. I made him lift the phone and snap that first selfie. Damn. That face? Brooding. Sculpted. You can see it in the shot—brows drawn, eyes intense, lips pressed like he’s deep in thought. Serious. Focused. Like he’s still trying to figure out what’s happening… but I’m already in full control. That calm, collected expression? All mine now as I made him flash a cocky smirk. I looked down to see his body more. His chest was the first thing I noticed—tight, defined, sweat clinging to it, begging to be enjoyed.

No more sightseeing. He’s the attraction now.

Fast-forward to tonight. Local club, packed and steamy. I got him shirtless the second we walked in, sweat already working down his tight chest and abs. Arms up, hips grinding into the next guy who couldn't keep his hands to himself. The locals eat him up—fingers dragging over pecs, tracing the lines down his stomach, sneaking under the waistband.

I’m the one making this damp, glistening body thrust, flex, moan.

“Fffuuckk… yeah—touch me right there…” I groaned through his lips, head rolling back, the voice drenched in lusty need.

He’s not just sweating anymore. His cock throbbed in the shorts, soaked with pre, twitching from the overload. Every movement, every one of his moans—mine.

I’ve had him going nonstop, his body fully trained to obey my every filthy urge. He wanted self-discovery. I gave him a new identity.

Mmm, yeah… he was supposed to be finding temples. Now he’s the one being worshipped.

swapsrus

The Pervert Next Door pt. 1

And now he’s turned him into a total slut.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice sounding exactly like Cooper’s but dripping with Reynolds’ sleazy tone. “This body was made to be stared at.”

This morning he sent me this mirror selfie from Cooper’s bathroom.

He even sent me a video last night of him jerking off in Cooper’s bed, moaning loudly in my best friend’s voice while he came all over those perfect abs.

I begged him to switch back. I told him Cooper was straight, that this was wrong.

Reynolds just laughed, sent me another selfie of him showing off Cooper’s body in the mirror, clearly having just left the shower, and typed back:

“Too late, mate. This tight, hairy, hung body feels way too good. I’m slutting it out every single day from now on. Cooper’s gone. I’m keeping him.”

He’s still out there right now, wearing my best mate’s body like his own personal fuck suit, living his filthiest fantasies without a single ounce of shame.

And he has absolutely no plans to ever give it back.

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.

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