By the time the fourth phone's Scruff profile was activated, none of the four friends sitting at the dining room table were laughing quite as naturally as before.
(Pictured Left to Right: Phil, Don, Ralph & Tom)
Tomâs house had always been their safest gathering place. It sat at the quiet end of a suburban street, comfortably furnished but still half-decorated, as though Tom had moved in months ago and had never committed to where everything belonged. The dining room opened directly into the living room, where a warm floor lamp cast amber light across the couch, the darkened windows, and the crowded wooden table.
There were cards, poker chips, bowls of pretzels and tortilla chips, four beers, and four phones displaying newly created Scruff profiles.
They all knew the rules. One current photograph. No filters. No false ages. No changing the location radius. Each player would transform into the first man that messaged them. Not just his face. Everything.
Age, height, weight, dick, voice, posture, health, mannerisms. Even personality would begin to bleed across, along with fragments of memory from the strangerâs life. The playerâs own mind would remain underneath it all, but the longer the night went on, the harder it might become to tell where one man ended and the other began.
They were not allowed to answer the messages. The strangers would never know what had happened.
Phil had been the one to discover the game, or at least the instructions for it, buried in an old online TUMBLR called Hairy-Bothered, which was devoted to transformation stories that everyone insisted were fictional. He had brought it up as a joke months ago. Don had dared him to prove it was real. Ralph had spent two weeks researching every version of the ritual he could find, then concluded that it was probably fake. Tom had volunteered his house.
Now, with the profiles active, âfakeâ no longer felt like the right word.
âLast chance,â Don said.
At thirty, he was the oldest of the group and behaved as if that made him responsible for the others, despite the fact that he was usually the one pushing them toward bad decisions. His thick brown hair was styled into a deliberate wave, and his heavy mustache gave him an old-fashioned athletic confidence he clearly enjoyed. Even seated, he held himself like a man posing for a locker-room photographâshoulders back, arms apart, gray T-shirt stretched neatly across his chest.
Phil glanced at him. âYou were the one who said backing out would be pathetic.â
âI said backing out after uploading the picture would be pathetic.â
âThat is where we are now, dummy!â Ralph reminded him.
Ralph, twenty-six, sat across from Don in a black short-sleeved shirt with NAUGHTY printed in large red letters across the chest. His dark hair was carefully styled and his mustache looked almost too precise, as though he had trimmed it immediately before coming over. He was normally the most cautious of them, the one who checked rideshare license plates and made sure everyone had charged phones.
Tom sat at the right end of the table, younger than all of them at twenty-five, wearing a red Lacoste polo and khakis. He was smiling at his phone in a way that made Don narrow his eyes.
âYouâre hoping for somebody old,â Ralph said.
Tom shrugged. âNot old. Mature.â
âYou have been saying that since you were twenty-one.â
âWhat can I say? I know what I likeâ Tom smirked.
Phil shifted in his chair. His blue henley made his fair skin and short blond hair look even lighter beneath the warm lamp. At twenty-seven, he was quiet, agreeable, and so conflict-averse that he sometimes apologized when someone else bumped into him - like any good Canadian immigrant to a sleepy American suburb.
Phil picked up his beer but did not drink. âWhat if the personality part doesnât go away in the morning?â he asked.
Ralph looked toward him. âThe instructions say everything reverses at sunrise.â
âThe instructions were written by someone called Hairy-Bothered. Do we feel like he's a reliable source of information?â
âThey were very specific.â
âBut that doesnât make them reliable.â
Don leaned over and tapped the table near Philâs phone. âYou wanted to know whether it was real.â
Phil opened his mouth to answer. His phone buzzed and all four men froze. The sound had been ordinary, almost disappointingly so. A short vibration against the wood. Phil looked at the screen.
A new message sat beneath the profile photograph of a heavyset man in his mid-thirties. He wore a dark cap and a bulky jacket. A massive brown beard covered most of his lower face.
The message contained three words.
How you doing?
Don whistled. âWell, Phil.â
Phil stared at the picture. âHeâs large.â
âHeâs a hot daddy redneck,â Tom said.
âHe looks like he owns several guns...â Ralph added.
âI donât think I wantââ
Phil stopped. His breath caught sharply, and one hand flew to his stomach. The first sensation was pain. It began beneath his ribs and rolled outward, flooding his chest, shoulders, and abdomen. His blue shirt tightened gradually across his torso. The fabric did not change, but the body beneath it did, swelling into unfamiliar proportions.
âIs it happening?â Tom asked.
Phil blushed and nodded quickly. His stomach pushed forward, rounding heavily over the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders broadened, not with the balanced definition of a gym-trained body but with the solid weight of someone naturally large. His arms thickened against the sleeves. Blonde hair darkened at the roots and seemed to retreat beneath the shape of a cap that had not been there before.
Then his face began changing. Phil pressed both palms against his cheeks as his jaw widened beneath them. Light stubble darkened into coarse brown hair. His beard grew quickly, spreading over his chin, down his throat, and outward until his fingers vanished into it.
âOh my God,â Don said, half laughing and half appalled.
Philâs eyes widened. âMy voiceââ
The words came out deeper than before, dragged through a thick Southern accent. He went silent.
Something else had entered him alongside the voice. For one disorienting moment, the dining room disappeared. Phil smelled hot pavement, gasoline, tobacco and stale coffee. He remembered sitting behind the wheel of a truck he had never owned, watching miles of highway disappear beneath him. He remembered arguments conducted loudly and without apology. He remembered a father who believed silence was weakness and a string of roadside bars where no one had ever asked him to lower his voice.
The memories were incomplete, but the emotions attached to them were powerful. Confidence settled over Phil like another layer of muscle and fat. His usual urge was to make himself smaller when people stared. Now he found their attention satisfying.
He leaned back, spreading his legs comfortably beneath the table. His new stomach strained the blue henley. One hand moved through his enormous beard with instinctive familiarity.
âWell,â he said slowly, the Southern drawl now effortless. âAinât that something?â
Don stared at him. âPhil?â
Phil looked directly at him. The old Phil would have smiled nervously. This one lifted one eyebrow. âWho's Phil? He your faggy friend?â
Don blinked and Philâs expression shifted into a broad grin. Then he laughed, a deep, booming sound none of them had ever heard from him before.
âIâm kidding,â he said. âIt's me, Phil - mostly...â
Tom handed him a small tabletop mirror. Phil examined himself, turning his head from side to side. The more he looked, the more pleased he became.
âI look strong. Real strong-like.â
âYou look like you could throw me through a window,â Ralph said.
Philâs grin widened. âMaybe donât test me on that, son.â
The change had taken less than two minutes. When it was over, there was nothing visibly left of the blonde, soft-spoken Canadian except the blue shirt and a faint uncertainty behind the strangerâs eyes.
Phil reached into a pocket and fished out a cigar that had appeared along with his cap. He picked it up naturally.
âI know how to smoke this,â he murmured.
âThatâs the memory bleed,â Ralph said.
Phil rolled the cigar between his thick fingers, lit it carefully, and took a deep drag. âFeels more like remembering something I forgot.â
While the men were still dazed by what had just happened to Phil, all of a sudden Donâs phone buzzed. His confident smirk vanished.
The message came from a twenty-two-year-old with dark curly hair, a narrow face, a slim body and almost no visible facial hair.
Don shook his head immediately. âNo. Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not going to be some Twink. I don't want to play any more!â
Tom leaned over. âYou canât refuse after the message arrives.â
âIâm not refusing. Iâm stating a fact. Iâm out.â
But immediately after the last word slipped out of his mouth he felt his gray shirt begin to loosen across his chest. Don looked down.
The muscles he had spent years building began to soften and recede beneath the fabric. His broad shoulders narrowed. His arms slimmed against the sleeves, veins and body hair fading as his skin became smooth. He gripped both sides of the chair.
âSon of a bitchâŠâ
His mustache thinned with every word until only a faint shadow remained. The strong lines of his face softened. His jaw narrowed, his nose changed shape, and his heavy brown hair curled forward in loose dark waves. Even his posture collapsed inward - more diminutive. More submissive.
Don had always sat as though he owned whatever room he entered. Now his knees drew together beneath the table. His hands looked too large for a moment, then became slim and youthful.
He glanced at Phil and immediately looked away, intimidated by the bear of a man Phil had become.
A rush of foreign memories hit him. A cramped first apartment with mismatched furniture. A phone held beneath restaurant tables while he waited for a daddy to answer. A nervous laugh used to smooth over awkward silences. Nights spent trying on three different shirts because he was afraid the first two made him look too big or too masculine.
The new personality did not erase Donâs confidence all at once. It undermined it from beneath. His anger remained, but the instinct to express it weakened. âI hate this,â he said. His voice was younger, lighter and less commanding.
Phil rested one enormous arm across the back of Donâs chair. âAww, hey there buddy, you look cute.â
Don recoiled, his face flushing. âDonât call me cute!â The words lacked their former force.
Phil laughed.
Don crossed his thin arms over his chest, but the gesture only emphasized how small he had become beside Phil.
âIâm twenty-two,â he muttered. âIâm younger than when I graduated.â
Tom smiled. âSome people would consider that lucky.â
âI donât.â
Don caught his reflection in the black screen of his phone. For several seconds, he looked genuinely wounded. His mustache had always been part of the identity he projectedâolder, tougher, more established than he felt. Without it, and without the body that supported the image, he seemed exposed.
âI look like some dumb Twink bottom that I would take home and fuck, this is humiliating...â he said quietly.
Philâs expression softened. âYouâre still Don inside there, bud.â
Don looked at him.
Phil paused, as though searching through two personalities for the right thing to say. âAt least underneath those cute baby cheeks and scrawny chicken arms.â
But before Don could respond with the appropriate level of vitriol, Ralphâs phone vibrated. Ralph looked down at his phone, blinked once then closed his eyes. âOf course...itâs always older men messaging me on three apps!â
The profile showed a man around 65 with a huge white beard, a bald crown, and a broad, heavy frame. Ralphâs face drained of color. âCome on, man, he's older than my grandfather!â
âRules,â Don said, sounding almost pleased that someone elseâs result was worse.
Ralph pushed himself to his feet. He paused as his balance shifted. His center of gravity settled lower, his stance naturally widening as his body grew broader.
The external changes began in his hands. His skin thickened, veins becoming more prominent beneath weathered flesh. Coarse gray hair spread across his forearms beneath the sleeves of the black NAUGHTY shirt.
His shoulders widened. His chest and stomach filled out into the solid build of a man who had spent decades carrying himself with quiet confidence. The chair groaned when he sat back down, now supporting considerably more weight.
His dark hair retreated rapidly from his forehead and crown. Gray swept through what remained before fading completely to white.
His neatly trimmed mustache blossomed into an enormous beard. It poured down his cheeks and over his chest until it formed a thick, brilliantly white curtain. Ralph instinctively combed it with his fingers, surprised by how soft it felt.
Deep lines settled around his eyesânot harsh ones, but the kind earned through decades of laughing - but at this moment his face rested in a grimace.
He blinked. A flood of memories slipped effortlessly into place. He knew exactly how to trim a beard this size without making a mess. He knew which reading glasses lived in the kitchen and which pair stayed in the car. He remembered the passwords to three different dating apps, which profile pictures got the most attention from younger men, and which local coffee shop was best for a first rendezvous.
His phone suddenly felt different in his handânot unfamiliar, just... organized. He frowned. "Why do I have notifications turned on for everything?"
His thumb moved across the screen before he consciously decided to. Three settings changed. "That's better."
Tom laughed. "You just hacked your own phone."
"I didn't hack anything." Ralph kept scrolling. "This app keeps suggesting men forty miles away." He wrinkled his nose. "Absolutely not."
Phil leaned over. "What are you looking at?"
Ralph angled the phone away on instinct. "My business."
Phil grinned. "You weren't this private five minutes ago."
"In my 65 years I've learned that people online will absolutely waste your time." The words came out so naturally that Ralph stopped talking. "...Did I just say that?"
Don folded his arms. "You sound experienced."
"I am experienced. Well...he is?" The answer escaped before Ralph could think. He froze - lost between his former and current mind. Then, after another moment, he shrugged. "I suppose I am."
His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Gone was the restless energy of a twenty-six-year-old. He settled comfortably into the chair, crossing one thick leg over the other with practiced ease.
His gaze drifted around the room, assessing everyone. Tom -still unchanged - looked exhausted. Phil desperately needed a haircut and a beard trim. Don's shirt fit poorly across the shoulders. Ralph noticed all of it in an instant.
"What?" Tom asked.
Ralph smiled. "Nothing. You boys just have no idea how you're presenting yourselves. People used to put more effort into such things.â
Phil burst out laughing. "There he is."
"There who is?"
"The old guy."
Ralph reached up, absentmindedly stroking his beard. "It is an exceptional beard."
"It is," Tom admitted.
Ralph caught his reflection in the darkened window. A large man stared backâsixty-five, bald on top, framed by a magnificent white beard. He expected horror. Instead... "Huh." He tilted his head. "I actually pull this off."
Phil stared. "Seriously?"
"What? I'm not saying I'd have picked sixty-five..." He turned his face from side to side. "...but I'm handsome...I mean he's handsome." Ralph rested one hand in his beard, surprisingly at ease. "I still know I'm Ralph," he said quietly. "But I also know who this man is."
Tom looked up. "What's he like?"
Ralph smiledânot sadly, but with unmistakable fondness. "Confident." He glanced at his reflection again." Comfortable in his own skin." A beat passed. "And apparently very picky."
Phil snorted. "That sounds about right."
Ralph laughed. "It really does."
For several minutes, they sat quietly. Then Tomâs phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen.
The man who had messaged him appeared to be in his mid-forties. Dark hair showed gray at the sides beneath a baseball cap. Salt-and-pepper scruff framed a tired but attractive face. His profile offered little information, but the photograph had been taken in a kitchen. A family calendar hung behind him, partially visible on the wall.
Tom smiled.
Don noticed. âYou are far too happy.â
âI told you, this could be fun! I got a hot daddy!"
Tomâs red polo tightened first across his shoulders, then relaxed as his body settled into a broader, slightly softer maturity. Fine lines appeared around his eyes. His face lengthened, his jaw grew heavier, and dark stubble spread across his cheeks before turning gray in patches.
His hair darkened from sandy brown, then silver appeared at the temples. Tom held his phone in front of him throughout the change, studying every new line with fascination.
His hands aged around the device. The skin grew rougher, the knuckles more pronounced. Hair thickened along his forearms and beneath the open collar of the red polo.
He inhaled sharply when the memories arrived. A wife asleep upstairs while he stared at his phone in the kitchen, looking at pictures of men. A wedding ring slipped into a drawer before taking photographs. Children calling from another room. Years spent building a life that looked perfect from the outside and felt increasingly divided from within.
Tomâs smile faded as the strangerâs guilt settled into him alongside his attraction. He felt the practiced caution of a man who deleted conversations, cleared notifications, and always listened for footsteps. For the first time, the transformation frightened him.
âTom?â Don asked.
Tom looked up. His face now belonged entirely to the middle-aged stranger. âHe has a family,â Tom said.
Ralph frowned. âYou knew that from the picture?â
âI remember them.â He closed his eyes. âA wife. Two kids. He tells himself this app doesnât count if he never meets anyone in person. He just shares pictures and sexts men while jerking off.â
Don looked uncomfortable. âThatâs dark.â
Tom rubbed his salt-and-pepper jaw. The texture fascinated him despite the sadness in his expression.
âHeâs lonely,â Tom said. âAnd terrified. And heâs been both for so long that they feel like the same thing. Heâs not sure how much longer he can keep up the façade before it comes crashing down.â
The older personality moved through him more subtly than the others. His posture became relaxed but watchful. His speech slowed. He checked the position of his phone before setting it face down.
Yet when he looked at his reflection in the window, pleasure returned. Tom touched the gray at his temples and smiled. âI still like this face and bodyâŠâ
Don groaned. âOf course you do, and if I'm being honest from my new body yours is looking pretty good to me as well...but I'll never admit that again so soak it up.â
Tom laughed, now in the warm, slightly rough voice of a suburban father. âSorry.â
âYou donât sound sorry...â
With all four transformations complete, the four friends - now unrecognizable - sat around the same table like strangers wearing evidence of a friendship no one else could see.
Phil lounged in his blue henley, cigar smoke curling from one hand, his large body relaxed with newfound authority. Don sat beside him in his loose gray shirt, slim and young, visibly annoyed whenever Philâs arm drifted too close. Ralph occupied the center like an aging patriarch who had been dragged reluctantly from bed after 10pm white beard resting against the red NAUGHTY lettering across his chest. Tom on the right in his red polo, smiling at a touch of his salt and pepper beard or a glimpse of his older hands whenever he thought no one was watching.
They returned to the card game. It was not the same. Phil became competitive and loud. He slapped winning hands onto the table and accused Don of bluffing in a Southern drawl that grew thicker as the night continued and he had more to drink.
Don insisted he was not bluffing, then folded whenever Phil stared at him too long out of sheer intimidation.
Ralph complained about the quality of the beer, the temperature, and the way young gay men today canât tell Tina Turner from Janet Jackson.
Tom quietly won three rounds in a row - reluctant to draw attention to himself or to the conversation he began with a now younger man on his phone on GRINDR.
By midnight, the new personalities settled more deeply, and fragments of the other lives slipped into their conversation.
Phil described rebuilding an engine, then stopped when he realized he had never done it.
Don mentioned a roommate named Evan and could not remember whether Evan was real or imagined.
Ralph began telling a story about a great nieceâs birthday before his voice broke.
Tom reached automatically for a wedding ring that was not on his finger.
At around one in the morning, the game ended without anyone declaring a winner. They remained around the table, surrounded by empty bottles, cards and phones.
As they prepared to depart for their own homes, to give themselves a few hours to "explore" their new situations, Don asked "What happens when we wake up?â
âWe go back...in theory.â Ralph said.
âThatâs not what I meant.â
No one answered immediately. Phil looked down at his huge hands.
âI think Iâm gonna miss this, y'all.â
Don curled his cute twenty-two-year-old nose and gave Phil a tired smile, âI wonât.â
âMaybe we keep some of it," Tom said.
âThe memories?â Ralph asked.
âThe perspective.â
The next morning Tom woke with his cheek pressed against his pillow - and an unfamiliar young man in the bed next to him. Someone who messaged him thirstily on GRINDR before his friends headed home for the evening.
For several seconds, he did not move. Then he lifted his head and saw his own young hands. His red polo laid on the floor next to the bed. The gray had vanished from his hair. His face felt smooth. "Ugh, this is going to be fun to explain to him."
In the back of his mind Tom also felt a sense of satisfaction. He was able to follow through on an action his middle-aged married counterpart was always too afraid to carry out.
After a couple minutes reflecting on his predicament, Tom reached for his phone and saw a chain of messages from his friends on the experience from last night culminating in a message from Phil:
So ... Same time next month?
Next to the message were 2 thumbs up. Tom smirked and typed:
-calm down boy I got A+ on your exam it was a piece of cake for me, you're going to play American football again this season-
I flexed my huge arms to show my intellect and genetic superiority while the obese middle-aged man just looked at me sadly and jealously, he had been in Johnson's body for 2 days and had already stuffed the ass of the captain of the men's swim team and the basketball one, but the pathetic look behind those square glasses was the best reward.
I never tire of showing off those huge arms and those abs that the fags at school fall in love with, now I understand why all those athletes spend all day in the gym instead of in the library.
As an algebra teacher, every year I have a group of young idiots who beg me on their knees in front of my office to help them pass their exams. Qualifying so they could play the field, but he didn't need any of that crap, all he wanted was their lives.
Of course, the kids don't want a tutor or some kind of extra essay, they just want to bribe me with their parents' money to put a D+ on their exams, luckily I've found a way to take advantage of my situation.
I was never very popular when I was young, but now I get to live 1 week a month in the carefree life of an airhead jock while he lives my shitty life as an underpaid high school teacher with a small penis who still lives with mom, I used to believe that football was stupid, It feels fucking great to be the center of attention on the field Johnson hasn't even played a game since he entered high school all he does is train his body so that I get all the glory after winning the game.
From the moment I saw him enter my class I knew I would put my hands on that rather muscular and fucking handsome body, Johnson was always an idiot, most of the time he was talking to his friends in the back of the room or sleeping in my class.
Stealing the portable body swapping machine from the science fair 7 years ago was the best idea I've ever had, ever since then I've been secretly "helping" my students, Even the Principal has complimented me on my good work with the students .
Although being young and having all my hair is great, the part I enjoy the most is watching my students suffer in my body, after we return to our original bodies they become valedictorian, so they don't have to spend another week in my shoes But there are always Jocks or thugs lining up outside my classroom door for me to receive their bodies.
The rumors that the quarterback was found walking into a hotel while holding hands with an obese 60 year old man is just a small price for an A+, like I said my salary is a pittance so I don't see any of it. Bad at taking a little more of My new youth and charging a bunch of old Homos For worshiping my muscular arms, kissing my perfect abs And kissing my huge stinky feet.
Maybe in a couple of years when I retire I'll steal the body of the new master of chemistry, I wouldn't mind "teaching" again for a couple more years as long as I have this machine.
Hello, if you like bodyswap stories take a look at my patreon, I have a lot of more stories, and you can help me keep creating more stories!
Jesse is busy playing games, but as an unsupervised and bratty 16 years old, he still needs his daily nutrients to be fulfilled and that's part of Lea's job as the stunted teenager "babysitter"
Jesse hated Lea. For him, she's nothing but a manipulative college-aged chick enjoying his home while his parents are away and then enforcing these strict annoying rules for him to follow. Eating time? Curfew? You name it, she probably made that into this set of rules he needed to follow to the tee. But that's not the worst part from her. The real deal that annoyed him the most is her habit to brought some friends along while babysitting him. And not just casual friends, these are the most obnoxious, sex-crazed bunch Jesse ever encountered. These people never left his home without having sex at least for an hour, be it in the living room sofa, the in-house cinema, by the pool, on top of the kitchen island and even in the master's bedroom. That's sickening and that usually drove Jesse to his edge which led to him screaming in anger (despite it coming out like a laughable high-pitched tantrum) for Lea and her friends to be quiet. The anger comes from the mixture of the disturbance from the noise Lea's friends made plus the annoyance from Jesse who remain a virgin up until his sophomore year in high school (and likely to remain that way for some times) while everyone around him seemed to have sex. Not like he could blame anyone for it, he's hella awkward in real life like a true keyboard warrior, have some twisted views about women and to make the odds stacked even more against him, he's not physically appealing. His lanky body, the unsavory pastiness of his skin tone, the way his face covered by pimples and freckles and that weird looking moustache and facial hair that grew sparsely, not even his family's wealth or his cool clothing can compensate all his flaws. Lea and her friends, despite clearly several level below his family in terms of wealth, are bunch of fit college-aged babes and bros. They seemed to have the best fun time skinny dipping in Jesse's family pool, blasting music and eating all the foods in the fridge as if it belongs to them
But no one expected that at one particular day, it's not just that Jesse's scream turned into these thunderous voice that shook the entire house structure, it's the depth of his voice that sounded more fitting to belong to a mid-20 years old guy rather than a teenager in the middle of his puberty.
One of his gamer friend just smirked upon hearing Jesse's audibly loud scream. Jesse forgot to turn off both his mic and his camera, so the gamer friend enjoyed watching his little handiwork come to fruition. With his reliable AI prompt by his side, there's nothing he couldn't twist and turn for his liking. He can also hear the hysterical screaming from Lea and her friends as the frat dudes turned into the biggest bunch of nerds possible that disgusted the girls. Ah, too bad he haven't hacked Jesse's house CCTV, that would be a great watch seeing those fit tanned bodies go away in a blink of an eye and replaced with bunch of nerds coming in all sizes.
I walked over and slowly rubbed the giants heavy built chest, he barely flinched.
On tiptoes I whispered, âLove you Colt,â in his ear.
Cautiously, I glanced around. The coast was clear, and I yanked down his jeans.
âThis is going so be so much fun,â I murmured to myself as I walked around him.
His back was just as huge, his flannel shirt barely hid his impressive frame.
Lifting the back of his shirt, I ducked under. I immediately was but in the face with his musky odour and muscular back.
In the darkness, I felt my way around his expensive physique, enjoying our closeness. I was confident that I was in no danger, he was just an empty husk of a man he used to be.
I couldnât wait anymore, and began to push into his body. Pulling him him on like a mindless glove puppet. My shape writhed below his clothing, slowly diminishing the further I pushed into Colt.
Taking his arms, one by one I stole his strength. Into his back, under his shoulders. I felt myself standing tall, tiptoes again as I was drawn into his head. His catalog of memories opened up and I felt them become mine.
A low grumble left my lips as I took more control. Stepping forward I slipped easily into his lower torso and legs - disappearing completely into the monster.
âFuck yeah,â I groaned as I yanked on my stolen dick only to trap it back in my jeans. âSave it for latter.â
I was already comfortable, and felt so natural to be this big. Flexing, I felt the tightness of the shirt knowing that I could spilt it easily⊠I didnât, it was one of my favourites.
From around the corner I could hear something, grunting and a struggling. I walked along the side of the house and into the rear garden.
It was my son, Brody.
He was writhing, and struggling to catch his breath. My boyfriend, Sam had him pinned to the ground and was forcing his way into his body.
His legs, ass and waist were already inside. I could see Brody was weakening.
My son looked up at me, with a confused, pleading expression.
âI never had this much trouble taking him,â I said.
It was true, Iâd been living inside Brody for the few months and only pulled out minutes ago. Even so, it had been enough time for him to recover, although in a weakened state.
Colt, had been our plaything for much longer - months, and had since become an empty void when left without anyone in control - just how Brody would eventually become â a sock puppet.
With one last push, Sam was in and forcefully took control of the jock. I knew Brody intimately of course, but to Sam he was all new even though he had fully access to his memories.
He got to his feet, and looked at me. A smirk appeared on his face as he pulled on his T-shirt.
âFeeling ok son?â I asked.
âPerfect,â he replied.
I stretched again. âGlad I divorced your mother,â I said, âmakes this all so much easier.â
It was a shame, they had loved each other, but having her around just didnât fit in with our plans. I stuck it out for six months posing as Colt. Being the best husband, and father I could in the circumstances - no one noticed after I took Codyâs life.
When I told Brody, he wasnât happy. Wanted to leave, and stay with his mother. I had no option, but to bring our plan forward.
One evening when it was just the two of us, I confronted him and pleaded with him to stay with me after the divorce. He threw back in my face that he knew Iâd been seeing another guy, called Sam? It was true, while Iâd been running Coltâs life, Iâd still been meeting up with my boyfriend. I had been careless at some point and heâd seen us. That of course, left me no option.
It took little effort with Coltâs body to subdue Brody leaving him unconscious. With a bit of effort, I puled myself free of Coltâs body. The giant remained motionless, empty. An affect of long term possession, simply an empty host.
It took me a good couple of minutes to take Brody. He was younger, and smaller than me, even so the kid had a good body. It was a squeeze, but after a few moments any evidence of my aggressive possession had subsided and with that his mind opened up to its new owner.
I got to my feet, and redressed in Brodyâs clothes. Typical high school teenager, as I flipped through his thoughts and memories I realised how busy his social schedule was - âthis is going to be fun,â I smirked.
Taking Coltâs mobile, I sent a message to Sam saying things had changed and to meet me at the house.
He was surprised when Brody answered the door and invited him in, until I showed him the stoic Colt. Needless to say, I needed Sam to take the reigns of the giant for a month until the divorce went through.
Colt was empty, pliable and his no Will of his own, whereas Brody was still fresh and I had to stay inside him and wear him down and make him weak. I had to be the kid, run his life, love his mom and for now his girlfriend. Although things were going to change, slowly at first. He would eventually choose to stay with his father after the divorce, and then all the pieces will fall into place.
Sam helped me strip Colt, and with a little trouble, I shoved my boyfriend into the giant. He groaned, and struggle initially with the rush of power and memories. Within an hour, his own mom wouldnât even know someone else was in the driving seat.
In public, we both played our parts. I went to school, hung out with Brodyâs friends and regularly satisfied his girlfriend. Sam performed perfectly as Colt; gym, friends and work. Coltâs wife lived in the house, in the guest suite. Everyone played nice, and at times it was awkward, but we managed it.
During the nights when she wasnât at home, letâs just say we had some intimate father/son time. We took turns, and it was amazing. Sometimes Sam would pull out leaving Colt dormant, initially it felt like I was cheating on Sam using Brody, but he convinced me otherwise. I couldnât leave Brody yet, he wasnât ready so I pushed into Colt using his sonâs body. It was an amazing feeling controlling the giant this way.
It took weeks to complete, Colt handled all the lawyers, and the divorce. Mom was a little upset when I eventually told her I wanted to live with my father, but I promised I would visit regularly.
With life settling down, and into a routine. I sensed Brody was nearly ready, his soul felt dull and pliable. Sam had picked up my tricks and could pull in/out of Colt with ease.
One day, while I was doing chores in the garden, I was surprised to see Sam come around the corner.
âI want this so much, being Colt has been awesome, but itâs not where I want to be,âhe told me looking me up and down. âI need to be the son is this relationship, like our original plan!â
I smiled, with a little relief. While I enjoyed living Brodyâs life, my heart yearned to be an adult, the big muscular giant of a man that Colt had always been.
âI can say heâs about ready, he might put up a struggle, but heâs not as strong as he once was..â I told Sam.
âI can do it, â he pleaded.
Stripping, I knelt, and pulled myself free of the teenager leaving him to collapse on the grass.
I said nothing to Sam as I walked around the corner, and cam face to face with Colt.
Warner was traveling in train, all he had was a black suitcase where he kept a âgunâ between a few of clothing and personal stuff. It was pointless to go to the village in train because there isnât a train station on there. Also, the underground facilities had an exit near there that was more than convenient. So why travel by train? Because he was Warner and he has a target. He wouldnât travel with Zachâs unconscious body. He wasnât really interested in him. He send the guy through the facilityâs tunnel. Escorted by so many guards that it looked like an army funeral. They should have arrived at this moment. He looked again at his target. He was sitting a few places ahead near a window, playing with an old video game and drinking some water occasionally. Why that boy? Because he was the only child from his pompous former boss. A man who he ended up hating after three years of abuse. He always left him all the responsibilities because he argued he has a demanding family. If his family was so demanding why did he send his only child to a boarding school so far from his home? As Warner can see he didnât care for raising his son, so he planned to make him a favor. Maybe the guy could take his place at that pathetic company.
You should not have fucked with the weird kid in school. This kid, letâs call him Tom. Tom was one of those spiritual kids who still had not hit puberty at 15. You were older. You werenât even in highschool anymore. But for some reason, you thought it was a good idea to call him out. Call him out on his lack of body hair, his lack of muscle. His lack of, well, anything manly.
Little did you know that the universe was watching over you and your behavior. Nobody should be bullying anyone, and certainly not about something as puberty. So the universe decided over yours and Toms faith. It began at midnight.
Tom was sleeping deeply, dreaming. He didnât notice, but one thick hair penetrated outwarts from his chest. And another one! And another one! Shortly after it began on his face. In less then an hour, Tom had changed into a hairy man. However, he was still skinny. The following hour, Tom gained 20 kgs of muscles and fat, becoming bigger and thicker then he ever had ever dreamed!
The next morning, Tom woke up as the manliest guy in town. He aged 4 years, being an adult but with the mindset of a boy. Letâs see what the universe has for you...
I'm gonna kill this kid. I spent an arm and a leg getting this hard to find soap. I did months of research on this early stage body soap that can help with growth and I took the chance on this deep web seller. I had to get errands done while my runt of a little brother was forced to mow the grass. Soon as I got home I see the box the soap came in was empty and I could hear the shower running.
I rush to the bathroom and slam on the door telling my brother to not use my soap. I hear the water shut off and the door unlock. I open the door and couldn't see anything with all the steam in the room. But the one thing I could see was a large shadow standing in the bathtub. I immediately get enraged and scream at my brother why did he use my soap?! A deep baritone voice responded that there wasn't any in the bathroom, and that I had a bar in the box so he used it.
The steam began to fall down and I could really see what my brother had become. The once scrawny kid now was eye level with the high shower head and was just as wide as the wall it was on. He now had added on like 150lbs of muscle. He groaned about me being such a stick up his ass and was looking down at his now massive body. He now dawned a thick blonde beard where one couldn't have grown before and a nice dusting of hair covered his pillow like pecs.
He still had his towel covering his crotch so I couldn't tell but my brother started to say I needed to get out immediately cause he had a surge of sexual energy to release. I throw my hands up in frustration and slam the door. I could hear the deep groans from the bathroom. He was screaming out that his dick had become massive. That should've been me jacking off my big dick. My brother entered my room with the towel wrapped around his waist. He said he needed some clothes. The ones he had were not able to even cover half of his big torso. I frustratingly grab my keys and tell him I'll get him some XL shirts. He flexed his biceps and said to maybe get XXL shirts for these guns. My brother used to be a little runt, now he's a giant ass.
Hey I'm back! My tumblr got deleted some weeks. I made a new one and will try to post again. I'm also planning to make a blog so I can save all my stories and post new ones without having to worry about tumblr deleting them. I'm going to post in my second account so if anything happens I can easily make a new one. It's @ac350-2. I already posted some histories there. Hope you enjoy them!
I finally made a blog to post all my old stories and the new ones just in case my tumblr gets deleted again. I'm going to start posting the link to my old stories here.
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
kianamaiart
gracieabrams
