oh-god-of-desire, son of Elen, and the all-god, Mandred. Desires have a funny way of connecting people to the human experience. You might find a place that touches the darkest parts of your soul, here.
Imagine there is some random guy on Grindr who keeps writing to you. He not unattractive, but he’s just not your type and seems a little creepy from the way he writes so you just don’t respond.
The next day, you’re no longer in your young, slim body but you’re in his! You’re so hairy now and you can scratch your thick beard. You must easily be 40 now. You start feeling a little horny so you open Grindr. You look at the muscle hunks that you like but somehow you’re not interested in those. Your new body betrays your mind and you keep looking at the cute twinky boys. Somehow anyone older than 24 is a turn off for you now. You try and ignore it and do something else, but you’re just so horny now.
Your mind says it’s a bad idea, but your body is stronger. You write to some cute twinks. “Hey boy, looking cute”. Most don’t respond. Normally you’d stop here, but you’re too horny. You can’t help it. You send some unsolicited dick pics. “Wanna sit on daddy’s lap?”
And that’s how you became one of those creepy guys on Grindr.
I adjusted my sunglasses as I stepped out of the taxi, the warm tropical breeze ruffling my shirt. Before me, the Azure Sands Resort loomed—a sprawling paradise of palm trees, infinity pools, and cabanas dotting the shoreline. I smirked, rolling my shoulders. Finally. After months of nonstop training, I deserved this: a week of sun, expensive drinks, and maybe a little harmless flirting.
The lobby was sleek and airy, all white marble and soft ocean hues. A cheerful attendant beamed at me from behind the desk.
"Welcome to Azure Sands, Mr. Desai!" she said, sliding a keycard toward me. "Your orientation starts in thirty minutes at the Sapphire Lounge. Mandatory for all guests!"
I frowned. "Orientation?"
She blinked. "Oh! Did your booking agent not mention? Azure Sands is famous for our Body Harmony Experience."
"The what?"
"It’s our core policy!" she said brightly. "Everyone swaps bodies for the duration of their stay. Temporary, of course—unless…" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Well, if you get intimate with your old body before the swap reverses, the change becomes permanent. But that’s very rare." She winked.
I exhaled sharply. What the hell had I signed up for? But a quick glance around the lobby reassured me—most guests were in peak physical shape, just like me. If I ended up in some other fit guy’s body for a week, so be it. I could still relax.
The Sapphire Lounge was packed, guests murmuring with excitement as a staff member explained the process. I slouched in my seat, arms crossed, until—
"Raj Desai, you’ll be paired with… Charlie Mercer!"
A petite woman with short, tousled brown hair shot up from her seat. "What?"
The staffer paled, tapping frantically at their tablet. "Oh—oh no. There’s been a mistake. Charlie was marked male in the system—this has never happened before!"
My pulse spiked. "You’re joking."
Charlie crossed her arms. "Yeah, no. I didn’t sign up to be some guy."
The staffer stammered apologies—the system couldn’t be reversed. The swap would happen automatically at dawn. As compensation, our drink packages were comped.
Great. Just great.
The next morning, I blinked awake—and immediately registered two unfamiliar weights on my chest.
No. Not weights.
Breasts.
I groaned, sitting up and running a hand through long, silky hair that definitely wasn’t mine. My hips were narrower, my frame lighter. My fingers—smaller, manicured—flexed in front of my face.
Okay. This was happening.
By the time I made it to the pool, I’d adjusted. Mostly.
The way people looked at me now was different. Men’s eyes lingered. Their smiles came easier. And I, despite myself, leaned into it.
"That’s a strong swimmer’s build you’ve got there," I teased a guy doing laps, resting my chin on my palm.
The man—tall, broad-shouldered, clearly relishing his borrowed form—grinned back. "Thanks. First time I’ve ever had the stamina for it." He flexed slightly, and I laughed.
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
I still felt weird about the flirting, though. I was straight. Wasn’t I?
Then—I saw myself.
Or rather, I saw Charlie.
My own body—my face, my dark hair, my lean but toned frame—was lounging by the pool, surrounded by a group of fit guys. But the way Charlie carried himself was… different. I had always been quick to laugh, to gesture, to fill silence. Charlie, though? She was relaxed. Quiet. A small smirk played on her lips as she listened to the others, her arms crossed behind her head, biceps flexing under the sun.
Damn. I look good.
Then a woman approached—tall, confident, her fingers brushing Charlie’s arm as she laughed at something she said. Charlie didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t pull away either. Just gave her that same calm, knowing smile.
My stomach twisted.
Oh, this is weird.
The woman’s hand lingered on Charlie’s bicep, her thumb tracing the curve of muscle. Charlie’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in the way she held herself—like she was savoring it.
I should’ve looked away.
I didn’t.
Over the next week, I tried to relax.
It wasn’t easy.
Sure, Charlie’s body was in great shape—lean, toned, with an effortless grace that turned heads—but I missed the solid weight of my own muscles, the familiar strength in my limbs. Worse, I missed the way people looked at me before. Now, the attention was different.
I’d attempted flirting a few times—testing the waters—but every interaction left me unsettled.
At the bar, a guy with sun-bleached hair and a lazy smirk had leaned in, eyes flicking over my borrowed form. "You here alone?"
I had stiffened. "Uh. Yeah."
"You look like you could use some company." The guy’s fingers brushed my wrist.
I had yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. "Not—not into guys."
The stranger had laughed, not unkindly. "Could’ve fooled me."
That was the problem.
I was fooling them.
Because Charlie’s body was attractive—just not in the way I knew how to work with. And the few women I’d tried talking to either weren’t interested or weren’t gay. Not that that mattered, I wouldn’t have known what to do without my equipment anyway.
So I waited. Counted the days. Tried not to think about the fact that my own body was becoming something of a legend. But everywhere I went, whispers about my old body followed.
"That’s the girl in Raj’s body. Holy shit, have you seen her move? Like she was born in it."
"How the hell does someone get arms like that? Dude’s carved out of marble."
"Whoever’s in there now? They’re owning it."
Flattering. Annoying, but flattering.
Then, a few days later, I heard something new.
Two guys at the poolside bar, voices low but carrying.
"You hear about that girl in Raj’s body? Word is she fucked her old self to lock in the swap."
I choked on my cocktail.
"No way," the other guy snorted. "Why would the original owner agree to that?"
"I dunno, man. Look at her." A nod toward the pool deck, where Charlie—my body—lounged like a king, a half-circle of admirers around her. "I’d do what she wanted, and I’m not even gay. Besides…" A pause, loaded. "You really think whoever’s in there is giving that body back?"
My stomach twisted.
I looked across the water.
Charlie—my body—was stretched out on a lounge chair, biceps flexing as she reached for a drink. She laughed at something a woman said, the sound deep and effortless. The way she moved… it wasn’t just comfort.
It was ownership.
And for the first time, I wondered—
What if she doesn’t want to switch back?
The rest of the week passed in a strange, suspended tension.
Charlie and I never spoke—never even came close. But our eyes met sometimes, across the pool or in the dim glow of the resort’s evening parties. Every time, it sent an odd flutter through my stomach, a sensation I couldn’t name.
Why did it feel like this?
It wasn’t attraction—at least, not the kind I recognized. Maybe it was just the surrealism of seeing myself from the outside, watching my own body move with a confidence I’d never quite had.
Charlie would smirk, slow and knowing, like she was privy to some joke I didn’t get.
And every time, I was the one to look away first.
Meanwhile, if I was struggling, Charlie was thriving.
She’d abandoned shirts entirely, strutting around the resort in borrowed swim trunks—first board shorts, then, by midweek, a tight navy speedo some guy had lent her ("Lost a bet," the guy had muttered, eyes glued to Charlie’s thighs).
My body had always turned heads, but Charlie wielded it like a weapon. She lounged poolside, biceps flexed behind her head, abs on full display. She laughed louder, moved smoother, drew crowds without even trying.
And the women—god, the women.
I lost count of how many times I saw Charlie slip away with someone different: a brunette with a sharp laugh one night, a redhead who bit her lip when she looked at her the next. Each time, my jaw tightened.
Was she using protection?
The thought lodged in my brain like a splinter. It shouldn’t matter—it wasn’t my body right now, technically—but the idea of Charlie carelessly risking… me… made my skin prickle.
On the last night, the farewell party was in full swing, the air thick with salt and the scent of rum cocktails. I leaned against the bar, nursing a mojito and watching the crowd. A redheaded guy—some finance bro who’d clearly never been this jacked before—was mid-rant to me about how unfair it was that the swap was ending.
"I mean, I’ve been hitting the gym in this thing every day," the redhead said, flexing an arm that looked like it could crush coconuts. "I can’t just go back to being… me."
I smirked. "Yeah, well, tough luck."
"Maybe I should try and convince the guy in my body to stay swapped. I mean, I’m rich—I’m not gay, but I think I could do with one night to keep this," the guy grumbled, then perked up as his gaze flicked over my shoulder. "Oh damn. Speaking of unfair…"
A shadow fell across the bar. I turned—and there she was.
Charlie—wearing my body like it had always been hers—stood there in a fitted black tank top, shoulders broad, biceps flexing as she rested a hand on the bar. She didn’t say anything at first, just gave the redhead a slow, knowing look.
"Mind if I steal her?" she asked, voice smooth.
The redhead blinked, then grinned. "Oh, hell no. Go for it."
Before I could protest, Charlie’s fingers—my fingers—closed gently around my wrist. "Come on," she murmured, leading me away from the bar with effortless authority.
My pulse jumped. This is weird. This is so weird.
We stopped near a quieter stretch of the pool, the water reflecting torchlight in rippling gold. Charlie leaned against a palm tree, arms crossed, studying me with an amused tilt to her mouth.
"So," she said. "Charlie, right?"
I exhaled. Okay, we’re still keeping this up.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a casual shrug. "And you’re… Raj."
Charlie grinned—my grin, calm and confident. "Nice to meet you, Charlie." She let her gaze drag over me, slow and appreciative. "You’re cute."
My face warmed. Jesus.
"Uh. Thanks," I muttered, taking a sip of my drink just to have something to do.
Charlie didn’t seem bothered by the awkwardness. She just shifted closer, closing the space between us with an easy confidence that left no room for protest. "So," she said, voice low. "How’ve you been enjoying your vacation?"
I shrugged. "Fine. Relaxing."
"Just fine?" Charlie arched a brow—my brow—and smirked. "Come on. You’ve been here a week. What’d you do? Lounge by the pool? Flirt with strangers?"
I snorted. "Maybe a little."
Charlie’s hand brushed my waist, casual but deliberate, fingers warm against the thin fabric of my sundress. "Good. That’s what this place is for."
I swallowed. The way she touched me—like she knew she could, like it was the most natural thing in the world—was doing things to my head.
"What about you?" I asked, desperate to shift the focus. "How’s… Raj’s body treating you?"
Charlie chuckled, low and rich. "Oh, you have no idea." She rolled my shoulders, the muscles shifting under smooth, sun-kissed skin. "The ladies? Wild for it."
I watched, transfixed, as she flexed an arm—just slightly, just enough to make the veins stand out.
"I mean," Charlie continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "can you blame them?"
My mouth went dry.
No.
No, I couldn’t.
I took a slow sip of my drink, watching Charlie over the rim of the glass. The music pulsed around us, laughter and whispered conversations blending into the humid night air. I hesitated, then decided to just say it.
"So." I said. "Heard a rumor about you."
Charlie tilted her head, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Word is, you got so comfortable in that body, you decided to make it permanent. Had a little... encounter with your old self."
Charlie let out a laugh—deep, rich, my own damn laugh—and shook her head. "Please. As if the original owner would ever let this go."
Charlie shifted closer, her arm brushing against my shoulder. "You cold?"
I blinked. "What? No. It’s like eighty degrees out."
"Hm." Charlie’s hand slid around my waist anyway, pulling me in with an effortless confidence that left no room for protest. "Just making sure."
I should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve laughed it off, made a joke, something. But the warmth of my own body—the solid weight of muscle, the familiar scent of my cologne—was weirdly intoxicating.
Before I knew it, we were back in Charlie’s villa (my villa, technically), the balcony doors open to let in the ocean breeze. Charlie stretched out on the bed, arms behind her head, watching me with that same confident smirk.
"You’re staring," I said, crossing my arms.
"Am I?" Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. "Just appreciating the view."
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t leave.
Somehow, I ended up beside her on the mattress, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. Charlie’s fingers traced idle patterns along my arm—light, teasing, possessive in a way that made my breath hitch.
"What are you doing?" I asked, voice dry.
Charlie just smiled. "Enjoying my last night in this body." A pause. Then, softer: "Wanna wake up still feeling close to it."
I didn’t answer.
But I didn’t move away either.
Damn, my body wasn’t even registering as mine anymore.
And right now, that woman was spooning me, her—my—thick arms wrapped possessively around my waist. Her chest pressed against my back, the light dusting of hair tickling where the silk of my bra didn’t cover. I should’ve been tense, should’ve been fighting this, but her hands were too good at melting my resistance.
For an hour, she’d been lazily dragging her palm up and down my side, slow, hypnotic strokes that made my breath deepen. Then, without warning, her grip shifted. A firm, knowing squeeze around my breast, her thumb brushing over the peak until it stiffened beneath the fabric. A soft noise escaped me—her—and she pulled me closer, lips grazing my neck in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.
Her hand drifted lower, teasing the waistband of my panties, tracing the lace edge with a maddening lightness. I held my breath, thighs tensing, until—
There.
A single finger slipped inside, pausing as if savoring the warmth before moving with deliberate, torturous slowness. In. Out. Then her thumb found my clit, circling with an expertise that made my toes curl. It was effortless for her. Natural. Like she’d been touching this body her whole life.
I came with a gasp, hips jerking against her hand, but she didn’t stop. Just kissed my shoulder and kept going, working me through the aftershocks before peeling my panties down and replacing her fingers with her mouth.
By the time she was done, I was a trembling mess, sweat-slick and boneless against the sheets. She left me there, dazed, while she stood and walked to the bathroom. When she returned, she was naked—my body, tall and lean, but the way she carried herself was all her.
She climbed back onto the bed, her gaze steady, voice low.
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
No question. No hesitation. Just fact.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve pushed her away, reminded her—reminded myself—that if we did this, the swap would be permanent. But the words died in my throat. There was something about the way she looked at me, the absolute certainty in her touch, that unraveled every last thread of resistance.
When she pushed inside, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was controlled. Dominant. Every thrust deliberate, like she was savoring the way my pussy clenched around her cock. And when her rhythm stuttered, her breath hot against my ear, she murmured, “I’m going to cum, ” calm and confident, like it was a promise.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, gentle but firm, as her hips snapped forward one last time. I felt it—the pulse of her cock, the heat spilling inside me—and with it, the finality.
AE-1184 is a recently identified drug first reported by local authorities in Medellín, Colombia. Since its initial appearance, distribution has spread across multiple criminal networks throughout South America, with confirmed cases in Bogotá, Lima, and São Paulo.
The substance is primarily used by organized groups targeting foreign tourists. All recorded victims have been Caucasian males from upper-middle-class or affluent backgrounds. Confirmed cases include individuals from the United States (87), the United Kingdom (43), Australia (4), and Ireland (1). Victims are typically identified in high-end hotels, bars, and nightlife venues.
Perpetrators approach in small groups, engage targets in casual conversation, and build trust before guiding them away from populated areas—most commonly into quiet streets or private vehicles.
Administration is direct and controlled. In most cases, the substance is injected into the side of the subject’s neck using a fine-gauge needle. A secondary syringe is then used to extract [REDACTED] from the subject.
The effects begin within seconds. Subjects enter a dazed, compliant state, showing no resistance or awareness of their surroundings.
Following exposure, subjects are abandoned. Extracted [REDACTED] is trafficked through underground networks and sold to [REDACTED] individuals for the purpose of [REDACTED].
No subject has been successfully reverted.
———————-———————-——————————-
Case File – Subject B-3 (FKA: Daniel Gallagher)
Daniel Gallagher squinted at his phone as he walked, the bright screen lighting his face in the otherwise dim street. The music from the club still rang faintly in his ears, bass echoing in his chest as he tried to follow the map back to his hotel.
The Irish tourist had been in the city three days, thinking he knew the area by now. But São Paulo looked different at night. It didn’t help that there weren’t as many people out now. Not as many lights either.
Daniel slowed, turning slightly as the map recalculated. “So, left… here?” he muttered to himself.
“E aí, mano.”
Daniel looked up. A man stood a few feet away, hands relaxed at his sides. Early-20s, casual clothes, nothing threatening about him.
“You… not from here, yes?” the guy said, his English broken but clear enough.
Daniel gave a small laugh. “Uh-”
The guy was young - Daniel’s age. There felt like there was an unspoken bond. The guy smiled, nodding. “This area… not so good. Especially with phone.” He gestured toward Daniel’s hand. “People see. They take.”
Daniel instinctively lowered the phone. “Right. Yeah, fair.”
“I help you,” the man continued, friendly, easy. “Where you go?”
“Uh—hotel,” Daniel said, turning the screen toward him. “This one.”
The man leaned in, glancing at it. “Ah, yes. I know. Is not far. I go same way.” He straightened up, already turning slightly down the street. “Come. I walk you for safety.”
Daniel smiled graciously.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. What is your name?”
“João.” The boy shook the Irish tourists hand firmly and the two begin walking.
The man kept an easy pace, hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing back to make sure Daniel was following. The street grew quieter the further they went. The lights were dimmer here. Fewer windows. No people.
Daniel noticed it, faintly. Something about it felt… off.
“Hotel is this way?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” the man said quickly. “Shortcut.”
They turned down a narrower street.
That was when Daniel felt it.
Two men grabbing him from behind, forcing his hands behind him holding him in position. They knock the tourist to his knees.
“Jaysus!”
As his knees hit the ground, João pressed something sharp into Daniel’s neck. He felt whatever liquid enter his vein spreading throughout his body. The world didn’t spin. It didn’t go black.
It just… slowed.
The tension in his body drained almost instantly. His thoughts, sharp and alert a second ago, dulled like someone had turned the volume down.
“Hey—what—”
The words came out wrong. Too slow. Little did Daniel know, his DNA was becoming like puddy. Completely mailable.
“Segurem-no firme. Prontos para a extração.” João readied a second device. This one was empty.
Before Daniel could react, João jabbed the device into Daniel’s neck, slowly draining a white liquid substance out of him. It just kept coming and coming, filling up the vial in the device.
As the gang member extracted the white liquid from Daniel, Daniel’s awareness dimmed. He didn’t notice as his skin slowly darkened, taking on the warm, sun-kissed tone of someone raised under the blistering sun, not the pale green pastures of his family’s farm back in Ireland.
His features shifted subtly but unmistakably. His nose broadened, eyebrows thickened, and his lips grew fuller. Each change felt impossible, yet inevitable, as if his body was being extracted of everything that made Daniel the Irish man he was.
Heaviness plumped into Daniel’s glutes, as two fat brown globes bounced outwards, splitting his pants. His two jiggling Brazilian cheeks begging to be free from his tight constricting Irish jeans. The same for his front. His average 5 inch white cock fattened and pushed forwards into a fat 7 inch uncut brown cock.
One of the men leaned closer, watching Daniel’s face rapidly grow facial hair. It was ginger, just like the hair on his head. One of the men holding Daniel scanned Daniel’s ginger beard. Against his darkening skin, it looked almost comical. A comical reminder of his diminishing Irish heritage.
“Olha a barba ruiva dele.” One of the men said, voice low and amused. “Eles vão pagar muito por um ruivo.”
Daniel felt it before he saw it—his beard losing its fiery hue. Slowly, the ginger strands darkened, blending into a uniform black, indistinguishable from the men holding him down.
João continued the extraction, the vial already three-quarters full.
Daniel’s mind began to fog. Words jumbled in his head, English slipping away like sand through his fingers. He tried to speak, to protest, but the sounds coming out were broken, confused. Two vocabularies warring inside him, one destined to win, the other to vanish entirely. Portuguese words eliminating his English vocab, like cells killing a virus.
“Por fa… me ajuda,” Danogo croaked, his voice weak and lethargic. His limbs felt like lead, as they thickened up with big beefy muscle. But even with his new Brazilian muscles, he couldn’t push the men off him, though he desperately tried.
Memories surged through his mind like a virus, rewriting him from the inside out. He saw himself as he used to be—skinny, pale, ginger, standing in front of a mirror.
That image flickered, unstable, before being overtaken by something else. A darker, fuller body. Broader. Warmer. Bigger. Round oversized pecs. Big large thick hands. His fat brown Brazilian cheeks wobbling behind him.
His memories of growing up... the cold, open fields of his family’s Irish farm. The green grass, grey skies, early mornings. They didn’t exist anymore, replaced by hot sunlight and salt air, long days by the sea, heat pressing into his skin. His massive body bouncing on the sand as passerbys ogled him up and down.
His years of GAA training, discipline, dedication. All of it began to be overwritten. In its place came football in the streets, laughing with friends. It came so naturally. Like his body was meant for it. Fuck, he was obsessed with it. Football took up so much of his mind. A new obsession that felt like it had been there forever. It was at that point where he questioned what GAA even was.
His memories of himself were overwritten too. His self perception of being a quiet dedicated bookworm with a love for Irish sports VANISHED. As if it was never there. In its place came something louder. Music thumping through crowded rooms. Late nights. Easy laughter. A need to be around people, to be seen.
He tried to push the memories away. To hold onto his Irishness, but it was no use. His thick Brazilian accent prevented anything he said from even sounding vaguely English.
“Sou irlandês… sou… eu… por favor.” Diogo cried to the men, in his dazed stupor. But he looked anything but Irish. “Estou tão confuso.”
He slumped onto the concrete as the men withdrew the device from his neck. The vial was full of the thick, white liquid.
Diogo moaned softly, every movement painful, his body heavy and unresponsive.
“Boa sorte, cara.” João said with a casual wink, leaving the newly Brazilian man sprawled on the ground.
The gang melted into the night. Diogo inspected his unmistakably Latino hand before passing out.
———————-———————-——————————-
Post-Exposure Analysis – AE-1184
AE-1184 does more than just sedate or confuse its targets. The drug extracts the subject’s whiteness (their background, heritage, English fluency, cultural knowledge and memories) - storing it in the white liquid from the subject.
Evidence shows that local gangs are selling this material on the black market. Buyers are often non-white individuals who aim to attain the advantages, social status and privilege associated with white populations, by injecting the stolen whiteness, making themselves privileged white men.
The network appears highly organized and the drug is highly sought after. Victims are carefully chosen for appearance and socioeconomic background, targeted in wealthy areas, and then harvested efficiently.
FCA continues to investigate the buyers and distribution channels. The scale suggests a deliberate, profit-driven trade in human cultural and social capital, with international implications.
Victim Overview – AE-1184
Recovered individuals have been effectively stripped of their original racial and national identities. White, Caucasian tourists lose their English fluency entirely, and in cases in South America, their genetic markers are altered to align with local Latin American populations. Skin tone, facial features, and other inherited traits shift accordingly, leaving the subject biologically and socially indistinguishable from local populations.
Despite some awareness that they no longer belong to their former nationality, subjects are unable to recall meaningful details about their previous lives—names, family, education, or social history are largely inaccessible. Memories of cultural practices and social structures are erased, replaced by the cognitive void left after extraction of privilege and heritage.
All victims are taken in for monitoring and initial assessment. Following containment, they are relocated to supervised housing across Colombia, Peru & Spain (for now Spanish speaking subjects) and Brazil & Portugal (for now Portuguese speaking subjects). Subjects are effectively unable to return to their countries of origin, as the loss of English fluency and cultural familiarity renders them incapable of independent functioning in those societies.
Image of Diogo Galvão (formerly Daniel Gallagher) in São Paulo.
Ongoing Notes
New cases of AE-1184 exposure are reported daily. The drug appears to be spreading beyond South America, with victims now appearing in parts of Africa and India. In these cases, subjects are observed to adopt local racial and cultural traits, effectively becoming African or Indian men following the extraction of their original identities.
At present, it is unknown whether affected individuals can ever be returned to their original identities. By this stage, their original cultural, linguistic, and genetic essence is likely too extensively extracted, used, and dispersed to recover.
They were both the sweetest boyfriends there could be. Same interests in books and studying. Both soft spoken, skinny, nerdy but in a cute way. But then came the innocent dare. Why not act like dumb bros for a night. They both despised them, but didn’t they also kind of envy them? Their carefree attitudes, the muscle…. In any case a little roleplay would be a fun way to spice up their lovemaking a little. Did they realize how much they’d get into it? No. Did they notice how much their voices naturally deepened every time they jokingly said bro or dude or how easily the jock lingo started to roll of their tongue? No, the passion was building too much. Not the sweet tender kisses and care they usually had. No, if they were pretending to be dumb jocks, they had to be rougher, passionate, aggressive. Peeling off clothing, commenting on how hot and swoll each other looked, flexing and massaging swelling muscle that wasn’t there a few moments ago. But they didn’t care. Bro was so hot. So big. So hard. Brain emptying of all thoughts felt good when there was just pleasure, just muscle. Just two dumb jocks hot for each other.
You are so tired. The kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from a life you’re not even sure you’re living anymore. Your head hits the blankets, and the world of the quiet small, log cabin you are staying in fades away.
And then, you are there.
It’s the same log cabin, the air thick and warm with the heat from a crackling fire and too many bodies, and much, much louder than before. The scent of cheap beer, pine, and sweat fills your nostrils, and it smells, for the first time in your life, like home. Light from a rustic chandelier glints off Solo cups and bouncing shoulders. A rowdy group of young men fills the space, a sea of crewnecks, backward baseball caps, and joyful, vacant smiles.
They are beautiful. Not in a chiseled, magazine-cover way, but in a vital, overwhelming way. They are broad-shouldered and thick-necked, with stubbled jaws and clear eyes that sparkle with simple, immediate pleasures. They are your brothers. You know this, feel it in your core. You are one of them.
You look down at yourself. You’re wearing a worn-out flannel over a tight white t-shirt that stretches across a chest you suddenly possess - firm, muscular, alive. Your hands are bigger, the knuckles scarred, the fingers strong. A red Solo cup is in your right hand, full to the brim with lukewarm beer.
“Dude! Fucking drink it already!” someone shouts, and you look up to see a blond guy with a jaw you could cut glass on. He’s grinning at you, his eyes half-lidded and playful. He’s your best friend. His name is... it's... it’s... it doesn’t matter. He’s your bro. That’s all that matters.
“Fuck off, Kyle, I’m savouring it,” you hear yourself say, your voice a low, easy rumble you’ve never owned before. The sound of it vibrates in your new, solid chest.
The main room is a chaotic symphony of masculinity. At a large, makeshift table, two guys are locked in a furious game of beer pong. The thwump-thwunk of the ping pong ball is a steady, satisfying rhythm. They’re shirtless, their torsos gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, muscles flexing with every triumphant throw or dejected miss. One of them sinks a shot and lets out a primal roar, his head thrown back, the veins in his neck cording. The other just grins, chugs his beer, and slams the cup down. No hard feelings. It’s just the game.
On the overstuffed leather couch, a tangle of bodies is making out. Two guys, lost in each other. One is sitting, the other is straddling his lap, their hands buried in each other’s hair, their kiss messy and passionate and utterly without shame. A few others are watching, hooting and hollering, shouting encouragement. “Get it, Z!” “Show him who’s boss, bro!”
This is normal. This is life. The casual intimacy, the raw physicality, the complete absence of any thought beyond the next beer, the next laugh, the next touch. It’s intoxicating. Your mind, which always felt like a cluttered attic full of anxieties and half-remembered obligations, feels suddenly empty. Clean. There’s just the pounding beat of the music, the warmth of the fire, and the presence of your brothers.
Back in your real bed, in your real life, your body begins to change.
It starts as a deep rumble, a pins-and-needles sensation that is both painful and euphoric, pulsing in time to the music of your dream world. Your limbs, thin and reedy from years of desk work, begin to thicken. Muscle fibers, dormant and forgotten, knit and swell. Your shoulders broaden, the bones creaking and popping as they realign. Your jaw shifts, becoming squarer, more defined. A light dusting of stubble sprouts on your chin and upper lip. Your gut tightens, softening into a hard, inviting plane of ab muscle. Your fingers curl, becoming thicker, stronger. You are being re-sculpted, your body a memory being overwritten by the vivid, throbbing reality of the dream.
But you don’t feel this. You feel only the dream.
“Yo, new guy!” Kyle yells, slapping your back. The impact is solid, friendly, and sends a pleasant jolt through your new frame. “Stop staring. Come on, we’re doing a shot-gun train.”
You’re pushed towards a line of guys. Someone hands you a cold can of beer. You see the guy in front of you, a dark-haired, smoldering dude named... you think it’s Jake. Maybe it's Jake? Who cares. He punches a hole in the side of his can with a car key, puts it to his lips, pops the top, and chugs. The golden liquid spills from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin, his neck, and disappearing into the collar of his t-shirt. He finishes with a gasp and a triumphant “Fuck yeah!”
Then it’s your turn. You fumble with the key, but Kyle’s big hand closes over yours, guiding it. “Like this, bro.” He helps you punch the hole. You put the can to your lips, feeling the cold aluminum. You tilt your head back, pop the tab, and the beer floods your mouth. You gulp it down, the bitter, fizzy liquid burning its way down your throat. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The world erupts in cheers. Hands slap your back, your shoulders, your ass. You are one of them. You have passed the test.
The fire crackles and spits. The music thrums. The night deepens.
Later, you find yourself on the couch. The tangle of bodies has shifted. Now, it’s just you and the smoldering guy, Jake. He’s looking at you, his eyes dark and intense, a lazy smile playing on his lips. He leans in, and you meet him halfway.
The kiss is electric. It’s not tentative or questioning. It’s a statement of fact. His lips are soft but demanding, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting of beer and salt. Your hand comes up, almost of its own accord, and cups the back of his neck, his short hair bristly against your palm. He groans into your mouth, and the sound vibrates through you, settling deep in your gut. He pushes you back into the cushions, his body heavy and warm on top of yours. You can feel every inch of him, the hard press of his thighs, the firmness of his chest. This is right. This is what you’re for.
The background noise of the party fades. The hoots and hollers become a distant roar, like the sound of the ocean in a shell. There is only Jake. His mouth leaves yours and trails down your jaw, your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. Your head falls back, a low moan escaping your lips. You’ve never felt anything like this. Your whole world has narrowed to the point where his mouth touches your skin.
He sits up, straddling you, and pulls his shirt over his head. The firelight plays over his torso, highlighting the cut of his abs, the dark hair trailing down from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He’s perfect. He’s yours. He leans down, his mouth finding yours again as his hands work at the buttons of your flannel, pushing it aside, then tugging at your t-shirt. Cool air hits your hot skin before his chest presses against yours, skin to skin. It’s a perfect, maddening friction.
His hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle, and then lower, palming you through your jeans. You buck your hips into his touch, a guttural sound tearing from your throat. He grins against your mouth, a self-satisfied, predatory smile.
“You want this, bro?” he murmurs, his voice thick.
“Yeah,” you breathe, the word a prayer. “Fuck, yeah.”
He shifts his weight, and his hand works at your belt buckle, the button of your jeans. The sound of the zipper is impossibly loud. He stands just long enough to shuck your jeans and boxers down your legs, leaving you naked and exposed beneath him, wanting. You watch, mesmerized, as he makes quick work of his own jeans, kicking them aside. He’s beautiful, hard and ready, and he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious, most desirable thing in the world. You don't care that the other bros can see. Why would you? All that matters... is Jake.
He leans over you, his body another warm blanket. You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, and then he’s pushing inside, slow and steady, filling you completely. A sharp, bright pleasure-pain rips through you, and you cry out, your hands flying to his hips, gripping the solid bone. He pauses, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.
“You okay?” he whispers.
In answer, you pull him deeper. He groans, his composure cracking, and begins to move. The rhythm is slow at first, a deep, luxurious roll of his hips that has you seeing stars. Then it builds, faster, harder. The old couch squeaks in protest beneath you. The sound of your bodies moving together, the wet sounds of your kisses, his grunts, your moans, fill the room. But the rest of the world is silent. There is only Jake. Only this.
And as you move together, as your body responds to his with an instinct you never knew you had, something fundamental shifts in your mind.
It’s not a sudden snap, but a gentle, final dissolving. The last, fragile threads of your old life simply wash away. You don’t remember your real name. You don’t remember your apartment. You don’t remember the life you had before you walked into this cabin full of brothers. In its place is a warm, blissful emptiness, ready to be filled.
Your name is... it’s... fuck... you’re just a bro. You like beer. You like your brothers. You like this. You like Jake. You like... Jake's cock, bro. The thought is simple, complete, and utterly peaceful. You are a dumb, horny jock, and your entire universe is the feel of Jake’s cock moving inside you, the weight of his body, the smell of his skin. This is your purpose. This is your truth.
You cum with a shout that is pure animal release, your body arching off the couch, your release hot and sticky between you. The feeling of your own climax triggers Jake’s, and he buries his face in your neck with a deep, shuddering groan, his hips stuttering as he spills himself inside you.
You lie there, wrapped around each other, panting. The world slowly comes back into focus - the dying fire, the low murmur of voices from elsewhere in the cabin, the sticky mess on your stomach.
Then, everything goes black.
You surface from sleep slowly, a deep, physical contentment anchoring you to the bed. You’re warm. Incredibly warm. And there’s a wet, rhythmic sensation that’s pulling you the rest of the way to consciousness. It’s good. It’s really fucking good. God it feels incredible. You moan in pleasure, and then you open your eyes.
You’re not in your apartment. You’re in a small, bunkroom-style bedroom. Rough-hewn logs make up the walls. Weak morning light filters through a small window. And there’s a head of shaggy brown hair between your legs.
You lift your head, your new, muscular body moving with an unfamiliar ease. The guy is... you know him. He’s one of the guys from the party. His name is... Chris? He’s got your cock in his mouth, and he’s bobbing his head enthusiastically, but clumsily, like he just started. He looks up as he feels you stir, and his brown eyes go wide. He pulls off, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of your dick.
“Oh, shit, dude!” he whispers, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to wake you. You were just... you were right there, and you looked so hot, and I couldn’t help it...”
He looks genuinely flustered, a deer in the headlights. He starts to pull away.
But there is no shock in you. No confusion. No outrage. There is only the fading memory of the dream - the fire, the brothers, Jake - and the very real, very insistent pleasure of Chris’s mouth. The dream wasn't a dream. It was a memory. This is your life. Waking up with a bro’s mouth on your dick is just... well, it's just another day, bro.
A slow, easy grin spreads across your new, handsome face. Your thoughts are simple, direct, unburdened by any concept of right or wrong. They are the thoughts of a creature driven by appetite and comfort, and pure lustful desire.
That felt good. Why’d he stop? I want him to keep going. I want to feel that again. Suck. More.
Chris is still staring, waiting for your reaction, looking like he’s about to apologize again or bolt. You see his uncertainty, and a new feeling blooms in your simple mind: the desire to take charge. To show him what you want.
Your hand, thick-fingered and strong, shoots out. Before he can move, your fingers are tangling in his shaggy hair. You don't yank, but you exert a firm, undeniable pressure. You push his head back down. Chris’s eyes widen again, but this time in surprise, not fear. His mouth opens to protest, but it’s too late. You guide his lips back onto your cock, which is still slick from his saliva.
“Don’t stop,” you hear yourself say. Your voice is a low, commanding rumble, the same one you used in the dream. It feels natural. It feels right. “You wanted it, so fucking do it right.”
Chris hesitates for only a fraction of a second. Then, a spark of something - relief, excitement, submission? - lights up in his eyes. He moans, a low, appreciative sound, and takes you deeper into his mouth. His enthusiasm returns, but now it’s focused, eager to please. He bobs his head with renewed vigor, one of his hands coming up to grip your thigh, the other stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth.
You let your head fall back onto the flat, unfamiliar pillow. The wood of the bunk bed creaks pleasantly. You close your eyes, a blissful sigh escaping you. This is it. This is everything. The simple, perfect sensation of a warm, wet mouth. The knowledge that you are wanted, that your body is something to be worshipped. The sounds of Chris’s eager slurping fill the quiet room.
Your mind is blank and content. There’s no room for complex thought, only sensation. The rough sheets beneath you, the morning chill on your skin contrasting with the heat of Chris’s mouth, the building pressure in your groin. You’re just a dumb jock, getting his dick sucked by his bro. What else is there?
You feel the familiar tightening in your balls, the rush of pleasure that signals the end. You grip Chris’s hair tighter, holding him in place. He makes a surprised, muffled sound against your skin, but he doesn’t pull away. He just looks up at you, his eyes wide and waiting, his cheeks hollowed.
“Take it,” you grunt, the command primal and simple. “Swallow it.”
And you do. You cum with a series of deep, guttural groans, your hips bucking slightly off the bed, spilling yourself directly down Chris’s willing throat. He gags a little, but he holds on, doing as he’s told, swallowing everything you give him until you’re done and you release your grip on his hair, your body going limp with satisfaction.
Chris pulls off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks up at you, a wide, goofy, satisfied grin on his face. “Fuck, dude,” he breathes, his voice a little hoarse. “That was hot.”
You look down at him, at his flushed face and shining eyes. You don’t know his last name. You don’t know what classes he might be taking. You don’t know anything about him except that he gives a decent blowjob and he’s your bro. And that’s more than enough. That’s everything.
A slow, lazy smile spreads across your face, mirroring his. You feel a deep, unshakeable contentment. The last vestiges of your old self, the man who worried and wondered, are gone, drowned in a sea of cheap beer and brotherly love. You are new. You are made of muscle and horniness and simple, dumb friendship.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” you reply, your voice a low, satisfied rumble. You stretch, your new muscles flexing and popping pleasantly. You can hear the sounds of the cabin waking up around you—footsteps on the wooden floor, muffled laughter, the clink of someone making coffee or cracking open a beer. Your brothers.
Chris flops down next to you on the narrow bed, his body warm against your side. He pulls a rough blanket over both of you. You don’t think about getting up. You don’t think about where you were yesterday. You don’t think about the life you left behind.
You think about the fact that you’re hungry. You think about whose turn it is to make a store run for more beer. You think about the way Chris’s hand feels on your stomach. You think about your cock, still half hard and ready for more. You think... fuck thinking, actually. Life is too good for thinking dumb shit. You jerk off right next to Chris, smirking and flexing, letting your musk wash over you. You are fuckin' perfect.
A teaser for another upcoming CYOA Adventure book: The Cabin!
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With a pep in his step and a beaming grin on his face, Javi strut down the hotel hallway with his bag in tow. The annual vacation with Tom was the one thing that he looked forward to more than anything— he and his childhood best friend made plans every year since they had graduated high school, each destination getting more and more exciting. In just ten years, they’d visited six new states and four countries. It was a far cry from their summers in rural Indiana, and each time was a new opportunity to relive those days of playing the PS3 at his house until 4 in the morning and spending every waking hour together surrounded in laughter and excitement. Now, as the lovely New York City hotel rolled out the red carpet to room 1709, the simple task of pressing his room key on the door and the click of the door unlocking marked the beginning of his yearly respite. Javi pressed his hand against the door, and pressed it wide open.
"You're early," Tom said, his voice gruffer than Javi had ever heard it.
Javi looked up from his phone, his heart skipping a beat. The hotel room looked normal, just as the website had advertised, but something was definitely off. The lights were dimmer, the air thick with an unusual musk. And there, snapping a selfie in the mirror, was Tom. Or at least, someone who looked like Tom, but this Tom was… different. His skin was covered in a fine layer of hair, his body bulging with muscles that seemed to have been photoshopped on overnight. Javi's eyes lingered on his friend's feet, noticing the way his toes curled and flexed in those dirty, sweaty black socks. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.
"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Javi's voice cracked as he took a tentative step closer. Tom's reflection in the mirror smirked, turning to face him with a swagger that was entirely foreign to him. His warm brown eyes had a feral glint to them, his teeth baring wide in a snide smirk. Javi stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do… what to say… what to think.
"You like what you see?" Tom's tone was laced with an arrogance that made Javi's cheeks burn. He couldn't help but nod, his eyes darting back to those bulging muscles and the way the fabric of Tom's jockstrap strained against his shockingly massive bulge. The smell in the room was intoxicating, a buttery stink wafted off every inch of Tom's chiseled body. Something that sent a thrill down Javi's spine and made his knees weak as Tom stepped forward, his socks squelching with every footfall and leaving a trail of sweaty footprints as he strode forward. The walk, the voice, the fact that his formerly 5'8" band geek friend was now suddenly at least 6'0" and hulked out… There was an innate panic that swelled within him, but just the carnivorous eyes that New Tom flashed at him had Javi shuddering.
Tom stepped closer, and Javi found himself backpedaling until his knees hit the bed. "Yeah, I know you do," he said with a cocky grin, his teeth gleaming like a frat boy who had just scored a winning touchdown. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you follow me around with those puppy dog eyes." He leaned down, his breath hot and minty on Javi's cheek. "I've seen you staring at my feet, Javier. How much you want to kiss them?" His words were a taunt, a challenge wrapped in a velvet threat that made Javi's cock throb.
Javi's heart raced as he tried to form a coherent sentence. "T-Tom, what happened to you?" He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the bulge in Tom's jockstrap. "You're not acting like yourself."
Tom flexed his biceps, his muscles rippling like waves under the dim hotel room light. He let out a deep, guttural laugh that seemed to shake the walls of the room like an earthquake. "You think?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, let me tell you, the old Tom is gone, baby. This is the new Tom, and boy, do you ever look like you're going to love him." He winked, his new, alpha-male persona oozing out of every pore.
Javi felt his body betraying him, his own cock straining against his pants as he took in the sight of Tom. He had always had a thing for jocks, for the way they could make him feel so… small, so insignificant, yet so desired. And now, here was his best friend, his secret crush, transformed into the epitome of masculine dominance. He could feel his resistance crumbling like a cookie in a vice, and as much as he wanted to flee, his ass remained rooted to the spot.
"T-Tom, this isn't funny," Javi stammered, his voice a mix of fear and arousal. "You need to go to the doctor, something's seriously wrong."
Tom just snickered, the sound sending a cold shiver down Javi's spine. He took a step closer, and before Javi could react, his massive, hairy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. The mattress groaned under the weight of Tom's new form, and Javi found himself pinned down, the scent of his friend's sweat and musk enveloping him.
"There's nothing a doctor can do for me, Javier," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "This is who I am now. And it's about time you admitted who you really are, too." Tom's grip on Javi's chin tightened, forcing their faces closer together, his breath hot and minty. Javi's eyes searched Tom's, looking for some semblance of his friend, but all he found was a ravenous hunger that reflected his own hidden desires.
"What the fuck do you mean?" Javi's voice was a whisper, his body trembling beneath the weight of Tom's towering form.
Tom's grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, his grip on Javi's chin tightening. "You've had the hots for me since we were in high school. Don't even try to deny it." His eyes bore into Javi's, and for a brief moment, Javi could see the flicker of the old Tom, the one who had been his confidant, his ally. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, hard stare of the new Tom. The one who was in complete control.
"You're wrong," Javi protested feebly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tom's grip on his chin tightened, his thumb tracing the line of Javi's jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the power behind it. "Am I?" His eyes searched Javi's, looking for the truth that they both knew lay just beneath the surface. "You've been pining after me for years. Now's your chance to show me how much you want this." His breath was hot and minty on Javi's face, the scent of his minty breath mingling with the musky aroma of his body.
Javi's mind raced, trying to piece together how Tom could have changed so much in such a short time. It was impossible, it had to be some kind of prank, or maybe a really good costume. But the feel of those muscles beneath his fingers, the way Tom's body seemed to radiate heat and power, it was all too real. He tried to fight the urge to kiss him, to touch him, but his body was already responding, his cock straining against his pants.
Tom's grin grew wider, his eyes never leaving Javi's. "Feeling a little excited, are we?" His hand slid down to Javi's crotch, giving his erection a squeeze through the fabric. Javi's eyes went wide with shock and arousal. He couldn't believe this was happening, but the proof was in the way his body was begging for more. "Told you," Tom said, his voice a low purr. "You can't resist New Tom can you?"
Javi's mind raced, trying to find some rational explanation. He'd seen prosthetics in movies, maybe Tom had gotten really into cosplay. The smell of his sweat, the way his muscles bulged, it had to be a silicone suit. It had to be. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that had been building up. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Tom. I get it. You're just… playing a role."
Tom leaned in closer, his grin turning predatory. "You want to play along?" he whispered. "You want to find out who's really in charge here?"
Javi nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The musky scent of Tom's body washed over him, making his head spin. He could feel the heat emanating from his friend's body, the power in every inch of him, and it was intoxicating. Tom grinned wickedly, rising to his feet and strutting over to the chair.
"Come on, then," he said, gesturing to his socks with a jerk of his head. "Take them off, I want you to get a good whiff."
Javi's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire as he slid off the bed and onto his knees. He felt the plush carpet against his skin, the fibers sticking slightly to the sweat that had gathered on his body. As he crawled towards Tom, the room felt hotter, the air thick with the scent of unwashed socks and virile musk, something that was making his cock throb even more insistently. He reached out tentatively and took hold of the top of Tom's sock. The fabric was warm and damp, and he could feel the outline of Tom's toes through it. His stomach fluttered as he tugged it down, revealing the hairy, sweaty arch of his friend's foot.
"Look at them," Tom said, raising one of his massive, muscled legs and pointing a toe at Javi's face. "These are what you've been dreaming about, aren't they?" The room was so silent, it was as if the very walls held their breath. The smell of Tom's unwashed feet hit Javi like a truck, a powerful aroma of butter and roquefort that seemed to fill every molecule of the air around them. The sight of those size 15 soles, glistening with sweat and grime, had him feeling lightheaded with a mix of fear and arousal.
Tom's toes curled and flexed, the muscles in his legs bulging like those of a Greek statue come to life. He placed his foot firmly against Javi's cheek, his toes digging into the side of his face. "Worship them," he ordered, his voice a thunderclap of dominance that reverberated through Javi's body. And despite his racing thoughts, despite his better judgment, Javi found himself leaning in, his nose brushing against the furry, sweat-soaked arch of Tom's foot.
The scent was… indescribable. It was like a symphony of manliness, a concert of musk and sweat that played a siren's song to Javi's deepest, most secret desires. It was the smell of power and strength, of a man that knew no bounds, that could take what it wanted with no apologies. It was a scent that made him feel small and helpless, ensnaring him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the odor filling his nose and mouth, coating his tongue. It was thick and heavy, with notes of gym socks and washed rind cheese, of locker room floors and the faint hint of something… animalistic. It was a scent that made his cock throb, his knees wobble, and his heart race.
Tom's voice was like a serpent whispering sweet nothings into his ear, urging him closer, deeper into the rabbit hole. "That's it, baby," he crooned, his toes sliding along Javi's cheek, the calloused skin leaving a trail of heat. "Sniff them, lick them, show me how much you love these stinking, sweaty dogs." The words were a command, a declaration of ownership that Javi found himself obeying without thought. He leaned in, his nose buried in the high arch of Tom's foot, inhaling deeply. The scent was overwhelming, but as he let his tongue snake out to slide across the slick sole, he found it… delicious. The salt of his sweat, the faint cheesy tang of his skin, it was a feast that had Javi's mouth watering. He licked along the length of Tom's foot, from his heel to the base of his toes, savoring every inch, every taste.
"Mm, yes," Tom murmured, his foot pressing harder against Javi's face. "You've always been such a good boy, haven't you?" Javi couldn't help but moan into the arch of Tom's foot as he continued to worship the musky flesh before him. "But now, you're going to see just how good I feel in this body." Tom leaned back in the chair, his muscled chest heaving with each breath, his abs rippling like a mountain range.
With a swift kick, Tom sent his other foot flying through the air, the smell of his sweat-soaked sock smacking Javi right in the face. "Take them off," he said, his voice a growling command. Javi's eyes watered, but his hands were already moving, eager to obey. He peeled the sock off, the fabric sticking to Tom's skin with the suction of a vacuum seal. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the potent stench of his friend's foot.
"Now put them on," Tom said, his foot still pressing down on Javi's head. Javi took the sock, his heart racing, and slid it onto his own foot. It was like sliding into a warm, wet glove that had been marinating in a frat house's lost and found. The fabric clung to his toes, the scent of Tom's sweat enveloping him. He took a deep breath, the smell of his friend's feet filling his nostrils and making his cock throb even harder. He couldn't believe what he was doing, but he also couldn't believe how much he liked it.
"Good boy," Tom said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction that made Javi's stomach flip. "Now the other one." Javi obeyed, his hands shaking slightly as he slipped the other sock onto his foot. The smell was overpowering, a heady mix of musk and sweat that made him feel like he was inhaling pure, concentrated masculinity.
Tom's foot remained planted on Javi's head, his toes digging into his hair like they were anchors holding him in place. "Now, sniff them," he ordered. "Let me hear how much you love the smell of your new master's stench." Javi brought his best friend’s foot to his nose, his eyes rolling back in his head as the damp, sticky sole pressed against his nose. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he inhaled the scent that seemed to fill his very soul with a dark, delicious hunger.
“Ahhh fuck, Tom. Shit that’s so good.” With every suction of the thick miasma wafting now from both Tom’s foot and his own, he fell deeper and deeper into the thralls of lust. Letting his hand slide past the waistband of his shorts, the touch of his sweaty fingers gliding against the throbbing meat within made him gasp, droplets of Tom’s ripe sweat soaring into his lungs. Before he could take the initiative to pump, an even firmer pressure against his length was felt on his pleading groin. Opening his eyes, Javi could have burst just from the sight of it: Tom’s wicked smirk and his grimy left foot rubbing him through the pre soaked fabric.
“Such a good boy, Javi. I think I may deserve a treat, don’t you think?” Tom’s devilish grin sent shivers down Javi’s spine, and all he could do was nod in affirmation as the sweaty foot gently slid back and forth. “Yeah. I deserve a treat. I deserve you, Javi. Are you willing to give me my treat?” A guttural moan burst from his lips, the flavor of Tom’s sole against his face breaking any notion of resistance. He cried out with a muffled ‘mmhmm,’ desperation deep in his tone. That’s all Tom needed to hear.
It started as an ever so quiet little squeak, barely perceptible to the enraptured Javi. Though as he continued to lap at the slick sole, it wasn’t the wet squelches or the rubbery stretching that echoed in the hotel room that caught his attention; no, it was the sole. The way it started undulate, to bubble and warp beneath the smelly skin— Javi opened his eyes to see just what was truly happening. Tom’s sweat drenched boxer briefs, pulled down just below the pendulous balls, his long uncut shaft bulging and warping before his eyes as a grotesquely bulbous lump began to squirm up the length of his cock.
“Awww yeah. Javi, I’m gonna love it in there. You’re gonna love it too.” Tom’s teeth gritted with euphoric fervor as the bulge breached the tip of his stretching cockhead, wiry gray hairs slithering out wet and shellacked to the wrinkled, albeit handsome head of a man he did not know. Javi froze, the funk wafting from the feet his only comfort as the cock bloated and gaped around a vascular neck and broad shoulders. His eyes darted between Tom’s still smirking and wicked face and the hulking muscular man slithering out of his urethra.
“Oh… ohhh… unghhh…” The moans of pleasure that bellowed out of Javi’s mouth made Tom’s smirk widen as he continued to rub Javi’s throbbing appendage. Javi couldn’t process the surreal sight of the muscular man crawling out of his rod, down his thick, hairy legs toward him. As the man’s calloused hands pushed Tom’s foot from his face and his round rump and slimy cock sprang from the engorged slit, Javi’s mouth sat agape in mind numbing shock.
“Give me my treat, Javi.” Tom laughed wickedly as the man’s first few fingers slipped past Javi’s lips without so much as a gag of resistance. The taste of Tom’s cum coating the man’s form flavored his tongue with the sweetness of pineapple and tang of spunk as the man’s hands squeezed into his mouth— then his forearms, then his head… no pain, no discomfort, just… surrender. Once the foothold was established, the man’s arms thrust deeply down his bulging throat and into his core, it took little more than a firm tug for the man to slurp the rest of his chiseled form into Javi’s yielding body.
His cock tightening back to its thick, 9.5 inches as the last of the man’s ripe stinking size 15 feet slopped out of his slit, Tom let his head fall back onto the back of the chair as he wrapped his own hand around the length. He snickered to himself, listening to the schlorp and squelch of the man’s toes squeezing past Javi’s lips. The very same euphoria that overcame him when the leather daddy had dominated and entered his own body in the LaGuardia bathroom merely hours before was now overtaking Javi as the man made himself at home within his second body. Though it was not truly Tom in drivers seat behind those big brown eyes, he reveled in the addition of his host’s best friend into the cavalcade of identities merged into his consciousness— one more body to enjoy and experience. As he slipped on Javi’s skin, the overwhelming exhilaration of feeling the sensations of two bodies at once flooded his synapses while he pumped and smugly admired the hairy stud he’d created from the blank canvas of Tom’s skin.
“Heh, yeah boy. We’re gonna have some fun.” The sound of stretching rubber and elastic squeaks emanating from Javi’s warping form accompanied the slick, slimy noises of his lazy stroking. Gurgles and murmurs rang out with increasing frequency, mirroring the pace of his hand movements, until he grunted as the man’s head slipped into Javi’s like a silicone mask.
*SNAP*
Silence. Then a wry snicker as Javi stood- now mirroring his 6’4” stature and muscular, with the stench to boot. He towered above Tom, tugging on the elastic skin of his cheeks before they snapped into place, permanently.
“You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna join me?” Tom chided as he watched himself flex Javi’s thick, muscular arms- sweat dripping from his hairy armpits. His new acquisition still pouring in the body’s memories and incorporating them into his dominant consciousness; Javi leaned in, his tattooed hands landing squarely on either side of him on the armrests.
“Yeah, let’s have some fun.” Javi’s formerly sweet and innocent voice now thick with his gravel and grit, he sneered as their lips collided and tongues tangled.
———
“He’s on his way.” Javi leered as he fell backward onto his couch, kicking his funky, three week worn socks onto Tom’s lap as he sipped the last of his beer.
“You take the front, I’ll take the back. Nice spit roast for us.” Tom placed the empty Heineken on the table, resting his own identically ripe feet on either side of Javi. “Suckin’ and fuckin’, all at once. That’s the good shit.” Three weeks of wild debauchery in New York, and he had all but mastered the art of piloting two vessels at once. Tasting two brews simultaneously, savoring the buzz of poppers from two perspectives, feeling the tightness of latex on Javi and the creaks of leather on Tom… Manhattan had proved to be quite the training grounds for him. He wasn’t planning on letting that education go squandered.
“I know. That little twink won’t know what squeezed into him.” Javi smiled wryly, wriggling his toes beneath the grimy socks. “But until he gets here, give Javi some attention. The twink shouldn’t be the only one to enjoy him.” Tom grinned, letting his hands grip onto Javi’s damp foot, pulling it close to press against his face. “But you know, two is a party- three is a rave.”
I've always wanted to use Chronivac, but I could never decide what I wanted to become. Last night I had a strange dream. I think the devil appeared to me. But he was really nice and asked me what I wanted most. We talked and talked, and eventually he got me to say, “I wish my intelligence would turn into beauty.” Well, being a hot model has always been a dream of mine. Luckily, it was just a dream, because otherwise I'd be hot, but also dumb as a brick. And who knows if the wish wouldn't also have side effects on my character 🤦🏻♂️
You feel the transformation penetrating deeper into you, and with each step, not only does your body become more perfect, but your desire becomes more intense. The Chronivac hasn't just taken your wish literally – it's spiced it up with a touch of devilish malice, turning your sexual hunger into something insatiable. Let's dive deeper into the sexual moments of this weekend, while the rest of the transformation continues. You'll become dumber, hotter, trickier, and your life will revolve around these raw, animalistic encounters.
Friday Evening: The First Spark of Lust After pulling off that little online scam – you tricked your friend out of 50 bucks with a fake story and chuckle dumbly about how easy it was – you scroll through Grindr. Your head is already a bit foggy, your IQ dropping, and instead, your cock throbs at every profile pic. You match with a guy nearby, a regular dude with a beard and tattoos. He comes over, and you notice how your new looks work: Sharper cheekbones, smooth skin – he stares at you like you're a god. You barely talk; you push him against the wall, your hands gripping firmly into his pants, feeling his hard cock. You rip off his clothes, lick over his chest, bite his nipples until he moans. Your own body feels stronger, more athletic, and you lift him effortlessly, lay him on the bed. You smear on lube – or wait, no, in your new dumbness you almost forget it, but you don't care. You thrust into him, hard and deep, pounding rhythmically while he gasps and begs. Your mind is empty, only instinct matters: Fuck, cum, then the next one. He shoots over your new six-pack, and you pump into him until you explode. Afterward, you send him out, already hunting for more. Your character is changing – you're no longer the nice guy, you take what you want.
Saturday Morning: The Athletic Rush With your new body – broad shoulders, defined muscles rolling under your skin – you go for a jog. Every step makes you feel how athletic you've become, and the stares from the guys in the park turn you on. Your IQ is now so low that you barely think about work or books anymore; instead, you plan your next trick: You call a colleague, lie about needing money for a "charity," and he sends it because your charm and dumb grin are convincing. Back home, you shower, and the water runs over your perfect muscles. You masturbate under the shower, thinking about the jogger from earlier – your hand wraps around your thick cock, rubbing hard until you cum and splatter the wall. But that's not enough. You invite two guys you met online. The first arrives, a slim twink, and you throw him on the sofa, strip him, and lick his ass, shoving your tongue deep in until he trembles. Then you fuck him doggy-style, your strong hands holding his hips, thrusting brutally while he screams. The second knocks on the door – you let him in, and it turns into a threesome. You take them both: One sucks your cock, the other rides you, your bodies sweaty, sounds of slapping and moaning filling the room. You cum in one while the other shoots over your face. Your dumbness makes it perfect – no thinking, just pure sex. You trick them out of some tip money afterward, laughing dumbly.
Saturday Afternoon to Evening: The Insatiable Hunt Your face is now model-like: Intense eyes, a smile that makes anyone weak. You head to the club, your athletic body in tight clothes, and the guys stare. Your mind? Empty as a straw – you forget what you said five minutes ago, but it's enough for scams: You convince a bartender to give you free drinks with a lie about your "birthday." Then the hunt: You spot a muscular guy, push him into the bathroom. No foreplay – you kneel down, take his cock in your mouth, suck deep, feel it pulsing in your throat. He grabs your hair, fucks your face until he cums and you swallow it all. Outside, you grab the next one, an older daddy type. In the car in the parking lot, you rip down his pants, sit on him, ride his hard cock, your muscles tensing as you bounce up and down. He digs his nails into your back, and you cum together, your seed mixing with sweat. In the evening at the club, you fuck three more: One in the darkroom corner, where you press him against the wall and take him from behind, hard and fast; another on the floor, 69-style, licking and sucking until you both explode; and the last one in the taxi home, where you blow him while the driver doesn't notice. Anyone who doesn't run away fast enough is yours – your new character is a hunter, tricky and sex-obsessed.
Sunday Morning: Total Surrender By Sunday, you're the epitome of beauty: An athletic god with a body made for sex. Your IQ is rock bottom, but you keep scamming – you con online, sell fake tickets, and chuckle dumbly over your easy money. You start the day with a hookup: A neighbor comes over, and you fuck him on the kitchen table, your strong arms lifting him up while you thrust deep into him, your bodies slapping rhythmically. He bites your shoulder, and you cum with a roar. The rest of the day? An orgy in your apartment – you invite a group, four guys, and it gets wild: You lie in the middle, one fucks you while you blow another, hands everywhere, cocks in every hole. You rotate through them, take them all, cum multiple times, your body glistening with sweat and semen. No regrets, just dumb, pure ecstasy. The devil has turned you into this: Hot, dumb, a trickster con artist and a fuck machine.
At the end of the weekend, you lie there, surrounded by chaos, and think only: "More." Your new life is here, and it feels damn good. If you want even more detailed adjustments, let me know! 😈
Ethan’s boots felt heavier with every step down the sixth-floor hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed like dying insects, and the carpet was the same cheap beige it had been for twenty years. 3:47 a.m., Valentine’s Day was finally bleeding out and from the hallways, Ethan could hear the happy couples celebrating this special day. “Last delivery...” he said still fuming about this shift his boss forced on him or he would be fired. Pepperoni and mushroom, extra cheese, delivered to 612, Maple Street. Then he could climb back into his car, drive the twenty minutes home to Sarah, and pull the little velvet box from the glove compartment. He’d been practicing the words all night between runs:
“Sarah, you’re my best friend and the love of my life. Will you marry me?”
The ring was simple white gold, exactly what she’d hinted at for months.
He knocked twice on the door, polite but firm.
The door opened on a guy who could have been anyone. Mid-twenties, wire-rimmed glasses, brown hair sticking up in every direction, wearing white T-shirt and baggy sweatpants. Alex, the app said. Just another lonely customer who’d probably spent the night alone with his phone and a bottle of cheap wine.
“Eighteen fifty,” Ethan said, holding out the warm box.
Alex reached for his wallet on the little entry table. “Yeah, uh… keep the change, man. Sorry it’s so late. I guess you had better things planed for tonight.” Alex said kindly to Ethan as he kept looking for his wallet before handing the money.
“Here you go, and you can keep the change. Thanks!” Alex finished as he grabbed the warmed pizza box from Ethan’s hands.
The hallway lights flickered and unbeknown to them both, an invisible presence just happened to fly away from the gay couple apartment’s next door.
“Looks like I still have time for one more gift for tonight…” Cupid said as he watched Ethan giving the pizza box to Alex.
Cupid got closer and still being invisible, he smiled cockily as he exhaled a deep sensual gush of warm pheromones straight in Ethan’s opened mouth.
Ethan suddenly felt like a warm wave invaded his body and suddenly, the light around faded from his eyesight.
The floor rushed up at him. He grabbed for the doorframe, but his fingers slid off the wood. His knees folded like wet paper.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there!” Alex lunged, catching him under the arms before he could hit the mat. The guy was stronger than he looked; his grip was solid, warm. “You okay, dude? You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Ethan’s head spun. His skin prickled with sudden heat. “I… yeah. Just… long night. Overdid it, I guess. Sorry.”
Alex didn’t let go. “No worries, man. Come inside for a second. Sit down. I’ll grab you some water. You’re not driving like this.”
Before Ethan could argue, Alex was guiding him over the threshold, kicking the door shut with his heel. The apartment smelled like stale popcorn and laundry detergent. A single lamp cast a soft yellow glow. The pizza box landed on the coffee table with a soft thump.
Cupid followed them just before the door closed and hovered invisibly near the ceiling, wings half-folded, one golden sandal swinging lazily. His golden tanned skin caught no light yet; the open toga clung to every carved line of his body. His thick cock was already hard, leaking a thin, glowing strand of pink precum. He licked his lips, eyes bright with bored cruelty.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.” He said to no one as his cock spasmed in the air, making a drop of precum fall directly on Alex’s bare arms.
Alex felt the same feeling Ethan had just been through as the precum was absorbed directly in his blood.
Cupid smirked watching his precum disappearing and both of the boys slowly gaining back their composure as they were now slowly looking at each other’s in the eyes.
The thought bloomed in both their heads at once, thick and sweet and impossible to ignore.
God… he’s so hot.
Ethan blinked. The idea felt wrong, alien, but it was already sinking in, warm and sticky. Alex’s messy hair, the way his shirt hung off his shoulders, the faint stubble on his jaw… suddenly it all looked good. Really good.
Alex’s breath caught. His cheeks flushed dark. “Fuck… why is it so warm in here?”
Neither of them questioned it. The thought just felt right.
Ethan’s hands moved on their own. He tugged at the zipper of his uniform jacket; it slid off and pooled on the floor. Alex mirrored him, yanking the shirt over his head, revealing a soft, pale torso. Ethan’s pants followed, then Alex’s sweatpants. They stood there in the dim light, Ethan in his boxer briefs, Alex in nothing but socks, both of them breathing harder than the situation called for.
Cupid drifted lower, cock in hand, stroking slowly. You should jerk off, he whispered into their skulls. It feels so fucking good.
Ethan’s fingers wrapped around his cock through the fabric, stroking lazily. A low groan slipped out. Alex did the same, eyes half-lidded, jerking himself with slow, dreamy pulls.
“Sorry dude, … I just have to,” Ethan murmured, but his voice was thick, almost smiling. “God… You are so hot.”
Alex nodded, stepping closer. “Thanks. You are not bad looking either.” He answered getting closer and closer in a seductive tone.
Cupid chuckled silently, pre-cum dripping onto the carpet.
The next thought slid in even deeper as Cupid got closer to Ethan’s opened ears: On your knees. Taste him.
Ethan dropped without hesitation, knees hitting the carpet. He looked up at Alex with glassy, hungry eyes, then leaned forward and took the dude’s cock into his hungry watering mouth.
The taste was salty, warm, intoxicating. Ethan’s lips stretched around the shaft, tongue swirling, sucking with eager, sloppy enthusiasm. Alex groaned, fingers threading through Ethan’s hair, hips rocking gently. “Fuck… yeah, just like that…”
Ethan bobbed his head, taking more, gagging softly when the head hit the back of his throat. His own cock throbbed untouched in his briefs, leaking into the fabric. He was lost in the haze, moaning around the thick length, saliva dripping down his chin.
Cupid floated directly above them, legs spread, jerking himself in time with Ethan’s bobs. “That’s it, boys,” he purred to the empty air. “Get him nice and wet for what’s coming.”
After a few minutes Alex pulled Ethan off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to the glistening cock. He stood, spun Ethan around, and bent him over the back of the couch.
The blunt head of Alex’s cock pressed against Ethan’s hole.
And suddenly, the fog of lust in Ethan’s mind shattered as he realized what was happening while Sarah crossed his lost mind.
Reality slammed back into Ethan like ice water as Sarah’s heartwarming laugh echoed in his ears and brought him back.
“What the fuck am I…,” His eyes flew wide. He was bent over, completely naked, ass up. Alex’s cock was right there, hot and slick and pushing.
“No, wait, stop!” Ethan gasped, trying to twist away. But his body wouldn’t obey. His hole was slick, open, aching. Alex pushed forward anyway still lost in the maze of Cupid’s lust.
The first inch slid in.
Ethan’s scream was pure terror. “Get off me! I’m not… I have a girlfriend! I’m straight, I’m…”
Laughter exploded from the ceiling, bright, delighted, vicious.
“THE FUCK IS THIS!!!” Ethan screamed as he heard Cupid’s laugh and voice and suddenly the fog covering and hiding Cupid’s presence vanished slowly, revealing his presence to Ethan’s aware eyes.
“Oh finally,” the voice sang. “I was getting bored watching you two idiots go slow.”
The first pale gold of sunrise crept over the windowsill.
Cupid began to appear clearer and clearer.
It started at his feet, golden Spartiate’s laced up thick, sculpted calves, the leather straps gleaming as the light touched them. Then his legs materialized, tanned and powerful. His cock came next, thick and veined and still leaking glowing pink. The open grey toga fluttered into view, clinging to a torso carved like a god thanks to a heart shaped golden broach. Black angel wings unfurled behind him. Finally, his face, beautiful, cruel, lips curled in a smirk.
He floated there fully visible now, cock in hand, watching them with open hunger.
Ethan’s eyes locked on the creature. His stomach dropped through the floor. “What the… who the fuck are you?!”
Cupid’s smirk widened, slow and predatory. “Me? Let’s just say I’m the one who gifts love once a year on a special occasion like this special day, princess.”
Without warning, Cupid’s hips bucked forward in the air. His massive cock throbbed violently, the slit flaring open, and with a single blink of the eye looking at Ethan’s gapped mouth, he came, not normal cum, but a thick, glowing arrow of solidified seed that shot from his tip like a crossbow bolt. The arrow streaked through the air and slammed straight into Alex’s chest with a wet thwack as it vanished instantly, getting absorbed in his soul and skin.
Alex’s body exploded with power, he didn’t even realize they were not alone in the room anymore.
Muscle detonated across his frame in violent, wet surges. Shoulders broadened with audible cracks, widening until they strained the air around him. His chest ballooned outward into heavy, veined slabs of pec meat, nipples hardening into dark, sensitive coins. Abs carved themselves into deep, ridged valleys that flexed with every thrust. Arms thickened into veined pythons, biceps peaking like softballs. Legs became tree trunks, calves and quads swelling with raw, brutal power. His face sharpened, jaw squaring, cheekbones rising, stubble darkening into a perfect five-o’clock shadow that made him look dangerously handsome. And his cock, still buried balls-deep inside Ethan, swelled brutally, thickening to the girth of a wrist, lengthening until Ethan could feel the head pressing against his stomach from the inside. A fat, throbbing knot formed at the base, locking them together with a wet, obscene pop.
Alex’s new voice was a deep, rumbling growl, but his eyes stayed glassy, lost in the maze Cupid had woven. He didn’t wake. He just kept thrusting, hips snapping with machine-like power, the knot grinding relentlessly against Ethan’s rim.
Ethan twisted his head, horror flooding his face in a cold wave.
“Alex, Alex, look at you, oh God, what the fuck, you’re… you’re huge… this isn’t real, this can’t be happening…”
Cupid laughed again, already stroking himself with long, lazy pulls aiming for Ethan now. His cock pulsed once more.
“Time for round two, princess!” Cupid said as Ethan turned his back to Cupid only to watch him jerking off his huge dick one last time and laughing hard. Another glowing cum-arrow erupted from the tip.
It struck him square in the sternum.
The heat hit him like molten lava pouring straight into his bones as Ethan started to scream in pure terror as he kept on watching Alex’s feral face thrusting deep in him.
His shoulders narrowed with a sickening pop, bones shifting, muscle melting away like warm wax. His chest deflated, then swelled again, soft, perky mounds forming where hard pecs had been, nipples puffing into sensitive pink buds that throbbed in the cool air. His waist cinched brutally tight, ribs pulling inward until he felt like he might snap in half. His ass surged outward in two heavies, jiggling waves, fat piling on in obscene amounts, cheeks rounding into perfect heart-shaped globes that clapped wetly with every brutal thrust from Alex. He felt his anus start to spasm and contract around Alex’s cock. He could feel it getting, puffy and slick, drooling sweet fluid down his smooth thighs in steady streams. His cock, still seven and a half full inches, remained, but the rest of his body had become almost completely smooth and delicate: slender limbs, a tiny waist, a soft, boyish chest with almost no muscle definition at all. He looked like the ultimate twink, fragile, fuckable, utterly helpless.
Ethan stared down at his transformed body in pure, gut-wrenching panic. His mind was still screaming that this was all a nightmare. He could see Sarah’s smiling face as they wake up side by side while he felt Alex’s thrusting deep in him, now almost clearly seeing the bulge created by his cock through his stomach.
“No, no, please, this isn’t me, give it back, give my body back… You can’t do this…”
Cupid’s laughter rang out again, low and filthy, echoing off the walls. “Don’t worry princess, we still have some more time before the sun rise and I’m sure you’ll fall in love with the results!”
Cupid drifted lower, wings beating lazily, and reached down to one of his golden Spartiate’s. With a flick of his fingers, he pulled free a long, shimmering ribbon of pure golden, shimmering silk that seemed to pulse with inner light, glowing faintly pink at the edges.
“These are godly ribbons, princess,” he purred, voice dripping with mock tenderness as he floated closer. “Once they’re tied, only a god can untie them. And I’m feeling very generous tonight for a secondary gift.”
Ethan’s eyes widened in fresh terror as Cupid approached. The creature was breathtakingly beautiful, golden skin, black wings, that massive leaking cock, but the smile on his face was pure sadism. Ethan tried to pull away, but Alex’s knot held him fast, the bigger man still pounding away like a machine.
Cupid ignored him completely smiling to the vision of Ethan’s hard and leaky cock in front of him. He knelt in the air right in front of Ethan’s still-hard cock, the ribbon dangling from his fingers like a promise. Ethan could feel the heat radiating off the god’s body, smell the sweet, musky scent of his arousal.
“Yes, that’ll do perfectly…” Cupid said to himself between Alex’s feral moans.
The ribbon moved on its own.
It slithered forward like a living serpent, cool and silky at first, then warm as it made contact. It wrapped around the very base of Ethan’s 7.5-inch shaft, then began to coil upward, slow, deliberate, loop after loop, encircling every inch of his length all the way to the sensitive tip. The silk tightened with each turn, squeezing gently but insistently, pulsing in time with his frantic heartbeat. It felt alive, warm, throbbing, almost affectionate in the most humiliating way. Ethan whimpered, hips twitching uselessly, his cock twitching and leaking despite the terror flooding his veins.
“It’s too tight, fuck, it hurts, please, take it off, I can’t… This is not supposed to feel like this…”
Cupid leaned in closer, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. He exhaled slowly, a warm, glowing puff that washed over the ribbon.
The silk melted and sank into Ethan’s flesh.
It disappeared completely, merging seamlessly with his skin until there was no trace of it left. But the effect was immediate and devastating. Ethan’s erection collapsed in a single, humiliating instant, his cock softening, shrinking, becoming completely limp and useless in the open air. No matter how hard his mind screamed for it to rise, how much he felt the need to get hard, nothing happened. It just hung there, soft and defeated, the blood draining away as if the ribbon had stolen every drop of arousal from his body forever.
Ethan’s breath hitched into a broken sob. “OMG! No… no, please, not like this… What have you done?!… what did you do to me? Stop this wicked game, please, turn us back, I’m begging you, turn us back to how we were! I don’t even know this dude!!”
Cupid only smiled wider.
But before he continued, he flicked his wrist and pulled a second gift from the folds of his toga, a thick, gleaming golden cord, warm and heavy, pulsing with the same inner light as the ribbon. He floated behind Alex, reached down, and wrapped the cord snugly around the base of the new jock’s massive cock and heavy balls, tying it in a firm, intricate knot. Then he exhaled the same glowing breath.
The cord melted and merged into Alex’s skin, vanishing completely. Alex’s balls swelled even larger, skin stretching tight as they filled with impossible volume. His cock throbbed harder inside Ethan, the knot pulsing with new power and need to breed. Stamina flooded the jock’s body, endless, relentless.
“There we go, like that, nobody is jealous.” Cupid said as he watched Ethan’s limp cock jumping between his legs while he floated back above them both.
“Here’s the deal, princess,” Cupid said, voice silky and cruel. “I’m not a monster. As I said, I’m a giver of love. You want to turn back? You can! As long as you don’t cum before the sun touches your skin, everything reverts. You go back to being boring old straight Ethan. Back to Sarah. Back to your sad little life. But if you cum before that light kisses you… this is forever. New body. New life. Deal? Great!”
As he spoke, Alex’s thrusts grew frantic thanks to Cupid’s secondary gift. The enhanced jock body was moving on pure instinct now, deeper, harder, the knot slamming against Ethan’s rim with wet, obscene slaps. Ethan could feel Alex’s newly supercharged balls drawing up tight, the head flaring, the knot locking tighter, the bigger man’s stamina making every stroke feel like it could go on forever.
“You mean we can turn back? OMG, we have to. I can’t stay like that! Fuck why does he thrust harder!! OMG WHY DOES HE THRUST HARDER?!” Ethan screamed realized what was about to happen “No, no, Alex, don’t, please, I’m begging you…”
Alex’s glassy eyes rolled back. His massive chest heaved. He let out a deep, guttural moan that shook the walls. The truth is, Alex had no one he could hold on to to escape Cupid’s daze of lust and love, and Cupid’s knew that. With one final thrust, Alex moaned louder then before and with that Ethan screamed knowing what was now inevitable.
Alex came, just before the first golden fingers of sunlight brushed the very tips of his toes.
Thick, endless ropes of hot jock cum flooded Ethan’s guts, pulse after pulse, so much it immediately squirted out around the knot in creamy white bursts, running down Ethan’s smooth thighs in rivers. The enhanced loads were heavier, thicker, flooding him so completely he could feel his belly swell slightly.
At the exact same moment, Alex’s voice cracked into a raw, worshipful moan.
“FUCK YEA! YOU LIKE THAT DON’T YOU?! THAT’S MY GOOD BOY!!”
The words hit Ethan like lightning and without him being able to control himself, his limp cock started to spasm.
Clear spurts forced themselves out in helpless, humiliating arcs, painting the carpet while his trapped, soft dick twitched uselessly, creaming against his will as his ass clenched again and again around Alex’s still hard and buried cock.
Pleasure ripped through him so violently his vision whited out. He moaned, loud, slutty, broken, while terror clawed at his throat.
Ethan’s vision blurred as he could see Sarah’s face replaced by Alex’s new one. Her laugh now replaced by his moans. His muscled arms around her shoulder replaced by Alex’s biceps hugging him. The ring he bought completely erased from his memory while the box still remained discarded on the floor in the middle of Ethan’s old clothes.
The last of the old Ethan vanished in a single, blinding flash as all he could now remember was the feeling of belonging to his jock of a boyfriend.
Ethan blinked, dazed, still impaled on Alex’s knot.
He smiled up at Alex, heart full of nothing but pure, aching devotion.
The apartment changed with the first sun rays.
Walls brightened to warm cream. The sad couch became deep, buttery leather. A weight bench appeared in the corner; dumbbells neatly racked. Framed photos materialized on every surface, Ethan and Alex laughing at the beach, spotting each other at the gym, kissing at their engagement party. The lonely bachelor pad became the perfect love nest for two happy jocks.
Alex pulled out slowly, the knot popping free with a wet, obscene sound. Cum gushed from Ethan’s wrecked, fluttering hole in thick white rivers, splattering the new carpet and running down his smooth thighs.
Alex turned, eyes soft and adoring, already madly, stupidly in love with his well-bred boyfriend. He turned around as they both laid on the carpeted floor and picked something up from their discarded clothes.
A small velvet box.
He opened it as he smiled between two exhausted inhales of musky air.
Inside was the exact ring Ethan had chosen for Sarah, white gold, simple, perfect.
Alex looked into Ethan’s eyes; voice thick with emotion.
“Will you marry me?”
Ethan’s new heart soared, without hesitation, he opened his eyes as he smiled, still trying to get his breath back after the love they just shared.
“Yes,” he whispered, voice soft and adoring. “Of course, I will, baby. I love you.”
Cupid’s face, still faintly visible in the sunrise, curled into one final, satisfied smirk, as it disappeared into the sun rays for a year to come until February 14 of next year.
Another perfect Valentine’s couple created.
The sparkles that he disappeared into faded completely like dust in the warm first rays of the morning sun.
And Ethan smiled up at his fiancé, heart full of nothing but love for the men that he will share his life with.
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Hey everybody!
Long time no see ^^
I just wanted to share with you a themed story for this very special day of lovers.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope that even if you're alone, this story will bring you some joy and self-love :p
See you soon, and take care of yourselves. As always, my inbox and DMs are open if you have ideas or just want to chat.
Here is the second story in this series. First story can be found here: Acts of Service
"Words of affirmation, makes sense."
"What was that, babe?"
Luke tossed his phone aside, "Took one of those online quizzes." He smiled as Ryan crawled into bed, "Told me what my love language is."
"Words of affirmation, huh?" He pulled Luke in for a kiss.
Luke returned it, gripping his hardening cock through his grey shorts, "Looks like someone's horny." He teased.
He smiled as he threw Ryan down onto the bed, lying on top of him and kissing him passionately. The two continued to make out, exploring each others' bodies. Ryan moaned as Luke removed his boxers and licked along his hardening shaft.
"You're so fucking sexy." Ryan moaned, "I fuckin' love the way you look at me. With those slutty blue bottom eyes."
Luke blinked a few times and stopped what he was doing, "Blue bottom eyes?" He'd usually top. And he definitely didn't have blue eyes, "What're you...?"
"Fuck, why'd you stop? You're always so desperate for my cock."
Luke shuddered as he took in the sight of his boyfriend's dick. There was something different about it. Something beyond anything he had ever felt. He needed that dick. In his mouth. Up his ass. Just...
"Oh fuck..." Luke practically swallowed it whole, the very feeling of it entering his mouth sending shockwaves of unfamiliar pleasure throughout his body. Yeah, he enjoyed pleasuring his boyfriend, but this? It was beyond anything he ever experienced.
"Yeah... there we go..." Ryan moaned, "Fuck, you're so fuckin' cute with that slutty little haircut." He said, grabbing a fistful of Luke's hair.
Luke was too busy deep throating to realize that his hair started to restyle itself. The sides faded, while the top grew and became tousled, wavy, and thick.
"I always liked 'em blond too."
Luke broke away now. What was Ryan talking about? He wasn't blond. Ryan never said he liked blond guys before. What the fuck was his boyfriend talking about?
"Babe, what're... you... I'm not... fuck..." Luke tried to focus, but he kept staring at his boyfriend's thick cock, fighting the urge to swallow it whole, "We... we need to... stop..."
"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, brushing a hand along Luke's cheek, "God so perfect... always so smooth and clean-shaven."
"Babe, I'm hairier than you!" But when he reached a hand to his face, he was met with soft, smooth skin, "Wh-what?" He yelped when he looked down and found that even his body hair had seemingly vanished, leaving him smooth, "Oh fuck, Ryan! Something's..."
"God I fucking love your slutty little lisp." He kissed Luke passionately, before breaking away, "You always sound so fuckin' desperate."
"Babe... Ryan, like what're you talking about?" Luke's hand covered his mouth, his blue eyes widening, "Oh em gee! What like the actual fuck?" The high pitched, lisp-twinged voice was not his own. It never had been, "Why am I like talking like this?!"
"Fuck, why're you freaking out?" Ryan chuckled, "Here, we can take a break. Come here," He laid down, "I know how much you love being the little spoon."
And suddenly, Luke felt compelled to just crawl up against Ryan. He felt Ryan's firm, hairy chest against his back. The man's cock nestled up against his ass. And Luke sighed. He felt so relaxed, although part of him was confused. He was usually the big spoon. He usually held Ryan like this. This felt...
"I love how small you are. How easily you fit against me."
"But we're like, umm the same size?" He hated how high and whiny he sounded now, "Babe... please..."
He let out a pained whimper as his body shifted and changed. His body contorting, shifting. Legs and torso shortening. Broad shoulders and back caving in. His musculature? Shrinking- no longer built for strength. Becoming increasingly more toned- more for showing off than anything practical. Ryan's now meaty hand firmly grasped Luke's smaller pec, pinching a hardening nipple.
"I love how loud you get in bed."
"Ryan! You need to... Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
Luke was unable to stop the desperate, slutty moan that escaped his lips from just the slightest stimulation of his nipple. He blushed and pushed Ryan away. His neighbors had to have heard that, fuck anyone walking in the hall could've heard that. He'd moan, but not this loud. Not this fucking slutty.
"Like babe! This is sooooo messed up!" Luke whined desperately, "Like, please stop!" He looked down at himself and felt tears stinging at his eyes.
His skin was cute and unblemished, clean shaven and bare. His pecs were small, toned, and graced by two pert, pink nips begging to be squeezed. His firm abdominal musculature was now diminished and smooth. Both arms dainty, hands and nails well manicured. He looked over at the mirror on the dresser and gasped- blond hair, blue eyes, and pouty lips. He looked like a slut. He sounded like a slut.
"Oh my gawd!" He cried out in his high-pitched, lisp-stricken voice.
"Come on and get back in bed." Ryan coerced, "I just know you want this cock up that fat ass."
Luke barely had time to brace for the next change. In an instant, his ass swelled and swelled. Packing on muscle and squeezable, jiggly fat. And with each pulse of growth, Luke let out loud, desperate moans that echoed beyond the room itself. He nearly collapsed from the pleasure as he firmly grasped his two engorged ass cheeks, feeling his hole pulsing with a desperate need to be filled.
"Come here."
And Luke did. Because he needed it. Because Ryan had been right- he wanted that cock up his fat ass. He bounced on it, crying out Ryan's name, screaming in pleasure for all to hear. Tears threatening to fall from his blue eyes, blushing from the sheer embarrassment of what he was doing and how much he was absolutely loving it.
"God damn, you're my favorite fuck buddy." Ryan moaned with another thrust, "Best fucking bottom in this damn city." He thrust again, "Such a fucking slutty fuck toy."
Luke felt a momentary, unmeasurable sense of loss as his relationship dissolved into nothing more than a series of quick, no-strings attached, hook-ups. He felt an even greater sense of loss as his IQ plummeted rapidly. His mind slowed and filled with cotton candy. His eyes dimming to reflect just how little was going on behind them. All to make room for his slutty new existence. Thoughts focused on getting fucked, sucking dick, and whoring himself out. He loved being a little slut. Just a fuck toy. A loud, slutty, thick assed bottom.
Both of them came with Ryan's final thrust. Luke lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, moaning like the desperate slut he now was.
"Fuck..." Ryan moaned, "You're such a good fuck." He affirmed.
Luke giggled. He certainly knew what he was, he really didn't need to be told. He was the best fucking bottom in the city. Always needy, never satisfied. But he certainly appreciated Ryan's affirmations.
“This isn’t happening.” Jake’s pecs shoot forwards with jiggling suckable meat. “Please stop! I don’t want to be a dumb piece of fuckmeat!”
In his local club, Jake drunkenly pulled a girl towards him, grinding up on her from behind. Her face broke into disgust as she freed herself from his grasp. “What’s your problem, bitch?” he yelled over the music. “You’re fucking mid anyway! Just a dumb bitch with big tits.”
And so, the girl cursed him to become what he wanted so bad.
“Please! It’s controlling my dick sucking lips! I don’t want to say these things! I want to suck cock. I’m a hole, I’m don’t want to be straight! That’s all I’m good for now… sucking cock and letting big men suck on my juicy tits!”
There he goes. Lost to his new instincts. A straight man trapped inside a gay boy body. At least he got wanted he wanted, a dumb bitch with big tits.
Exactly one hour after the witch left the apartment he unfroze and the numbness stopped. It had felt much longer to him, not being able to move, just left to his thoughts and the mirror on the wall in front of him. His greatest immediate worry had been to be stuck like that forever, but his runner up was to just fall over once the spell broke, legs asleep from standing still for so long, and crash into the floor. That didn’t happen. He felt fully in control as soon as the spell broke, but he was unprepared for the assault of sensory impulses from his body and was unable to suppress the mix of moan and shout he made. He should have been prepared, because he was there the whole time, knowing everything she did.
It surprised him how angry she became when she came back out from the bathroom and he told her good night and a safe walk home. She told him, swaying and slurring, that he “should shut up and fucking pay attention”. That’s when he couldn’t move anymore. He wasn’t frozen like a statue, just unable to tell his body what to do. “You really are as stupid as you look, fucking loser. I walked all this way just to be thrown out!” He wanted to say she too lived nearby, that’s what she had told him, and he happily let her use his toilet, but that’s all she asked for.
“What the fuck did you think I wanted?! You’re like the first boy to think too little about sex.” She took a step back to look him over better, but the wall was a few inches too close that she back into it with a soft thud. She didn’t appear to notice and stared at him with a weird look of superiority. Suddenly his clothes fell to the floor, as if he no longer was there, and landed around him and under his feet. “Let’s fix this first,” she said and grabbed his cock and balls. He couldn’t see what was happening, frozen as he was, nor could he feel anything as the whole body had gone numb. Only when she stepped back again, with another thud against the wall, could he see himself in the hall mirror. His penis look about the same as before, perhaps a little bit longer, but the balls were noticeably larger.
“I bet now you won’t turn down a girl again,” she said and grabbed the bathroom door handle to steady herself. “What else do girls like?” she wondered out loud and started to walk around him. She stopped to the side, slightly behind him. He could still follow her by looking in the mirror. “Taller for sure,” and he could see himself gaining height, “and more muscles. They say they don’t like it, but as soon they get within sight of a wide chest and arms they won’t look any other direction.”
Even before his new height had fully settled he could see his arms and chest starting to slowly inflate, followed by his legs. He wasn’t just inflated like a balloon, but clearly things were happening beneath the skin and muscles too because occasionally there would be sudden snaps like something shifted, perhaps the position of bones or exactly where a muscle was attached. She was in control, as much as could be where she was drunkenly swaying next to him, but changes tended to happen where she looked at him.
“Your face is cute. Makes you look dumb, confused, and kind.” She stepped closer. “Perhaps something to make you look like you’ve moved out from your mum.” She pinched his earlobes and instantly metal plugs appeared in punched out holes in his ears. “And some hair,” she said as she turned and walked back to lean against the wall. A light coating of hair sprouted on his previously smooth chest.
“There, that’s better isn’t it? Now you’ll…” She stopped and her eyes widened. “You’re a fucking rapist aren’t you?! Luring women into your home and then…” She wobbled again, and stopped talking as her thoughts collided with her previous thoughts. “Let’s put in some emergency brakes,” she said and pinched both his nipples. Instantly two shiny nipple piercings dangled from his now substantial chest. “And,” she grabbed his dick again, “don’t get an erection unless someone gives you permission.”
She turned around and started to leave, but halfway out the door she took a step back in. “Take an hour to think about how to treat a woman properly,” and she left, closing the door very, very gently.
Now that he was free he was filled with a rush of sensations. He had never felt so horny ever before in his life. He was amazed his dick didn’t physically vibrate, but it felt like it almost did. His balls felt tender and almost aching, and his nipples were definitely aching. He took a step away from where he had been looking at himself for the past hour. His body felt alien to him. His first thought was sluggish, but that wasn’t really correct. He actually felt fast and stronger than ever before, but he had to move differently as muscles collided with muscles when he moved.
He touched his limp dick and got an almost overpowering response of sensations. “Unless someone gives you permission” echoed in his mind. Fuck, he thought. He would have to wake up his boyfriend and explain a lot.
This lady gave me a hat, she said that all I had to do was where it for 24; then give it someone else. She said I would switch bodies with them, I was all about it. I lusted hard after my classmate in my writing 101 class, so I did what she said.
After I asked him if he wanted it, because it wasn’t my style he took it without hesitation. He thanked me and asked me my name, told him he could call me Rick. “Cool, I’m Scott, if you wanna hang out sometime, lemme know, bro.” Suddenly I felt bad, but he had just put it on his head; nothing happened.
I woke up the next day, confused and I had a headache. I stumbled to the bathroom for some aspirin, but my reflection scared the shit out of me. I was Scott, just like she promised.
I was so excited, but then I realized I was Bi, cuz I was thinking about guys and girls. Woah, this was confusing, shit. Uh okay, this can’t be right, I gotta get to class.
I got to class and sat through the lecture, but it was so hard to concentrate and I just didn’t like having to listen. “This is all wrong, I am a 4.0 student, but this shit is so boring, I could be out playing sports or some shit like that,” I thought. Ugh, my thoughts are so confused. “Damn, this class is taking forever,” was all I could think.
The class let out finally, that cute guy Rick just asked me back to his place. “Shit, uhh…yeah bro,” I stuttered We got back to his place and couldn’t contain it anymore, we began to make out. Next thing I know, I am fucking him and my headache is going away. I blew my load in him, and everything seemed clear again. Fuck this was great, Scotty Baylor, scoring with the cute boy from class, I was such a fucking stud.
John worked hard to maintain his jock status in his 30s… that was until he took a look in the Twunkification mirror. Now Johnny would forever be just another aged twink bottom with a dorky mustache and a tiny pecker in his little pink briefs.
