I saw this guy at the gym and knew I wanted him more than anything. I shoot my shot and he actually gave me his number! I’ve been texting him for a while and we finally agree to go on a date.
Turns out though, he was just doing it as a prank. Making fun of me for being fat and gross especially compared to his godly self. I just ran away crying.
The next morning on my walk to work I saw a shop I hadn’t seen there before. When I went inside, the lady at the counter asked if I was okay, she said I didn’t look like I was, and I told her the story of the previous night. She told me “he may have looks but you have kindness. you deserve to take his muscles and looks. someone as nice as you deserves them more.” and then told me to grab a wishing stone on the house.
I thought nothing of it but kept in my pocket thinking of what she said. I wished I could have his beautiful perfect pecs and biceps. His perfect abs and luscious long hair. Suddenly, I felt every step getting heavier when I was walking. My legs felt huge
I felt like everything in my body was stretching weirdly and stopped in a nearby restaurant bathroom. When I looked into the mirror I didn’t see myself. I saw HIM.
I was him. The perfect man. Now I go to the gym as him and pose and flaunt this new body while he’s stuck in my old body.
I laugh at him now. He deserves it. I wonder if the woman at the shop put some kind of spell on him cuz he’s ALWAYS working out in my old body but he never loses weight or gains muscles. He just stays fat.
I’ve gained so much confidence in this body it’s crazy. I wonder if I could get him in my old body to worship his old body. Slap him around a little and make him my bitch. I follow him into the locker room and make him a fake deal. I tell him, worship your old body, suck your old dick and swallow. Take every kick and slap I give you and I’ll take out the wishing stone and wish to go back to the way things were.
I’ve never seen such an eager fat man sucking a cock before. I have to admit it was so much fun to slap the old me around. I hit him so hard as he worshipped every inch of my body. My biceps, my armpits, my pecs. They’re all mine now. When he was done swallowing my load and begging me to go back to his old body I just laughed.
Nope. This feels right now. Him, my submissive bitch. And me, the superior alpha muscle man. He still worships me every day at the gym and I let him suck my dick. Not for free anymore though he gives me $100 dollars each time.
[Thank you to @axeeglitter for donating the first image!]
God, isn’t my boyfriend Kevin hot?
Like, maybe TOO hot? I constantly worry he’s going to be stolen away from me by some jacked-up jock who’s more his speed. I don’t really get what he sees in me. Especially considering how much I see in him.
Like, look at how I’m looking at him right now.
This is how my face looks every time he’s in front of me. I can’t even focus on the totally Instagram-worthy coffee shop café thing he’s dragged me to. I couldn’t care less about coffee, really, but Kevin wanted to come (“they have coffee sommeliers that come right up to your table, Andrew,” he said, as if that wasn’t what regular waiters did at regular restaurants).
Anyway, I don’t know why I get so worked up about how hot he is. He adores me. He always tells me so. He doesn’t care that I don’t play basketball or go to the gym as much as he does. He says he likes having a respite from all of that when he comes home.
He says everyone at the gym is stupid and boring. He even called them “pretentious,” which made me laugh. You can’t be pretentious about macros. They’re not, like, fine art. But it’s just Kevin being Kevin. He just calls anything he hates “pretentious.”
That’s because what Kevin really hates is pretentious people. He hates when people put on airs and pretend to be cooler than they are.
That sure isn’t how I operate. And he loves me. He’s proven that time and again. So I gotta accept it. That’s what my therapist says.
And I believe every word of his constant “I love yous,” for so many reasons. Like, this schmoopy across-the-table gaze thing is a two-way street. If you could see the way he’s looking at me right now… Puppy dog eyes, I swear. He’s toying with my hand and picks it up to kiss it gently. This sweet gesture earns us a snort of derision from this jacked guy walking past our table.
He is exactly who I’ve always secretly feared is Kevin’s type. Expensive fitted clothes that are made to look like they’re off-the-rack. Tattoos that highlight how thick his neck is and how burly his bicep is. I hate him already.
He’s clearly about to say something, but Kevin shoots him a glare and says “keep walking, pal.”
And the guy does keep walking. If only every problem in life had such a simple solution.
As soon as my food shows up, I need to pee. I can’t explain how this always happens to me. But it’s like clockwork. While I’m peeing, I type a reply to my sister Julia’s latest text. It takes longer than I anticipated, and I eventually snap out of my phone trance, realizing that a few minutes have passed since I left our table.
I wash my hands and dry them in a rush, pushing the restroom door open with my hip and hurrying back to my seat…which is currently being occupied by a big, burly man. The guy who scoffed at us earlier. Douchebag stole my seat! I storm up to the table, preparing to eloquently tell him off, but - finding myself unprepared - all I can say is, “what the fuck?”
The stranger looks at me like I’m the dirt underneath his shoe.
“What’s up, little man?” he says in a casual voice laced with condescension.
“You’re in my seat,” I say though gritted teeth.
“No, I’m in my seat,” he says.
I change tacks and turn to my boyfriend. “Kevin, tell him that’s my seat.”
Kevin just shrugs and says, “He’s been sitting here the whole time, pal, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Is this some sort of prank? Is this some friend of Kevin’s from the gym that he got to help him mess with me or something? I start to say something else when I see Kevin rest his hand on the interloper’s thigh. He’s squeezing the bulky muscle and sliding his hand too close to his crotch for comfort. I don’t think Kevin would do that just to prank me. It’s too cruel.
“Jesus, Kevin,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “Right in front of me? That’s rich. After all the times you said my worries were unfounded. That you loved me for me.”
“Why would I tell you I loved you?” Kevin asks. He has a quizzical expression that seems genuine, and I’m lost for words yet again.
“Yeah, you’re really not his type,” says the other guy, who needs to stay out of this.
“Of course I’m his type,” I spit out.
“No offense,” says Kevin, looking me up and down, “but you’re really not. Honestly, I’m sure a lot of guys dig your vibe, but it’s a bit pretentious for me. I much prefer my big oaf here.” He accompanies that last statement by grabbing the stranger’s shoulder and giving it an affectionate little rub with his thumb.
I feel like he’s just dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. “Pretentious? Pretentious? How can you call me pretentious when this guy is wearing designer sunglasses and has a neck tattoo?”
“It’s called style, man,” says the stranger.
“Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” I spit back.
“Hey, hey,” says Kevin. “Let’s not be rude to my boyfriend.”
Hearing him say the word “boyfriend” practically made my brain implode. I gaped at him mutely, like a fish who was just unexpectedly pulled from the water onto dry land.
I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “You told me you loved me not 12 minutes ago. Now you’re feeling up some other guy in front of me and calling me pretentious. What gives?”
Kevin narrows his eyes. “What aren’t you getting? I have no reason to love you. And why wouldn’t I call you pretentious? How else would you describe that outfit?”
My sweater? I look down, confused, only to see the thick woven fibers of my top blending together into a smooth texture. As the uniform green-blue color begins to turn mottled and patchy, fading into a design of autumn leaves, the collar droops, the opening getting looser and looser to reveal first my clavicle, and then my entire bare torso as the entire sweater splits in half down the front. Buttons sprout from one side and I hastily do them up, blushing, but not quite registering that my hands stop just halfway up, leaving half my hairless chest on display. A chest that looks a bit skinner, a bit more hollow than I remember.
I feel a breeze around my ankles and look down to see that my blue jeans have become baggy, tan capris that flutter around my knees. It looks like a garment that an extra in an Indiana Jones movie would wear.
I reach out hesitantly to touch the soft fabric, light glinting off a pair of chunky rings that now adorn my hand. I feel overwhelmed by the sudden shift in my clothes. I feel dizzy… I feel-
Kevin clears his throat and I realize I have been letting his question hang in the air.
“My outfit’s not pretentious,” I say, jerking my chin toward the stranger. “Like he said, it’s called style.”
“But what about your hair? Don’t tell me that’s not pretentious.”
My hair? What about my hair? I reach up to pat it and my fingers get tangled up as the strands start growing around them, flowing around my knuckles like a river current making way for a set of boulders. My hair extends down past my nose and past my chin, eventually settling atop my shoulders in wild waves that tickle my exposed neck.
The tickling increases as my clean-shaven face suddenly explodes with bristles. I untangle my fingers from my hair to poke at my cheeks in shock as prickly stubble gives way to patchy growth, eventually becoming a soft and downy beard that feels heavenly to touch. I do use a good conditioner, after all.
I grab a hair tie from around my wrist and do up my hair in a messy bun, then return to answering Kevin’s questions. I’m still angry with him, because of… Because of why again? Oh yeah, he called me pretentious.
“For your information, I happen to look hot like this. Haven’t you noticed?” I ask. “It’s not pretentious to want to look your best.”
“OK, sure,” said Kevin, “But it’s more about the way you think. The way you carry yourself. The way you think your opinion matters more than anybody else’s.”
That statement sends me reeling. Kevin knows everything about the way I think, and he knows I’m not like that. I would never… listen to the opinions of just anyone.
I mean, if I only watched what the mainstream watched, I’d have wasted my time watching those Transformers movies in high school instead of exploring New Queer Cinema classics. Was I better than my classmates because I was watching The Watermelon Woman and The Living End? Well, yes. Yes I was.
If I only listened to what the mainstream listened to, my lovely, beat-up, vintage record player would only ever be used to play the latest Taylor Swift releases. I shudder at the thought.
If I only drank what the mainstream drank, I’d be imbibing that burnt swill that Starbucks serves up on every street corner.
But still… pretentious? I open my mouth to speak again when the big guy cuts me off.
“OK, look…” he says, squinting squints at my name tag “Andrew, is it?”
“Actually, it’s Anders,” I say, rolling my eyes. People are always getting my name wrong. It annoys the shit out of me.
“Anders. Why are you standing here arguing with my boyfriend and I? Don’t you have something you should be doing?”
I briefly think that what I should be doing is correcting his grammar. It’s “my boyfriend and me.” But then I snap out of it. Of course I have something I should be doing.
“Yes, of course. Sorry about that, sir. Well, you indicated on your digital menu that you prefer more bitterness in your coffee, so I think you’re going to want to start with this new blend we just got in, using beans from South Africa. The soil there really…”
———
After my shift ends, I brew a cup of coffee just for myself, which is my favorite part of the day. In spite of my expertise as a coffee sommelier, people always chose the safe, boring options instead of the exuberant, rich beverage experiences that they could have had if they actually listened to me.
Like that couple earlier. The buff dude didn’t even smell the South African beans I recommended. He and his boyfriend just went for the regular Americano. And get this… they asked if we had milk for them to put into it. For crying out loud!
They called me pretentious, but that’s only because they wouldn’t know taste if it bit them on the ass. I shake my head and take another sip, letting the deliciously bitter taste wash the memory of those shitty customers away.
In need of assistance - AI muscle growth himbo sequence
George adjusted his tie and got comfortable in his chair as the IT guy tapped away on his computer, as head of marketing and sales he was eager to get this new AI assistant programme some of the other department heads had been raving about. It was said to make organisation, spread sheets, emails and data analysis a breeze.
"There we are Mr Harris, the programme is installed and I have done most of the set but I have left the customisation for you to finish. Mr Higgins down the hall went with a woman with a sweet, southern sounding voice but I think you can create an avatar and everything."
"An Avawhat?" George said while raising an eyebrow at the man about to leave. Who was about to answer before George's human assistant walked in.
"Avatar Mr Harris, is like a body for the computer assistant they have installed. Speaking of which do you think I could have one as well, it would help with scheduling and organising so much easy."
George scoffed "Johnny this programme was very expensive and cutting edge, the company isn't going to waste it on assistants. Now grab me a black coffee and a doughnut I have that meeting with the Europeans up on 78 in half an hour." George said dismissing Johnny and turning to look at his computer not noticing his assistant pouty face and whispered curse word as he went to fetch the coffee and snack.
George looked at the programme and lent closer to read the small text, at 58 his eyesight was only getting worse and being in front of screen all day wasn't helping. George read some text and barely understood most of the jargon but then read a word he had only learnt about moments ago. "Upload Avatar" George muttered and then his thoughts turned to what the IT guy had said about Higgin's new AI assistant, perhaps he could upload some hot twenty something bimbo with blonde hair and pigtails. George looked around as his cock started to stiffen in his pants, hearing a sexy dumb blonde every time would certainly make work more interesting. George then happily clicked upload and suddenly a sharp electrical shock ran through him, his computer screen turned a vibrant blue as a swirling portal like hole appeared. George's instincts were to pull away but he was quickly and violently pulled towards it and before he could even let out a yelp his whole body was thrown forward and his whole world began to spin.
George's whole vision went black and he felt like he was floating, he tried to shout but no sound emerged from his mouth, he tried to move but it was like he was embedded in rock. Then a white light flashed in front of his eyes and slowly his vision started to clear, he could see the window in his office, his filing cabinets, his office chair and his computer keyboard but something was off, the angle was wrong. George blinked more as he tried to search for his computer screen and what had happened to it and to him but, with the electrical buzzing around him, his new view and perspective George quickly understood why he couldn't see his computer. It was because he was now stuck inside of it and looking out at where he had just been sitting!
George tried to move again but his arms and legs stayed firmly down by his sides, the tried to scream for help but while his mouth opened and moved no sound emerged. George panicked he was like a mime trapped in a box except he was now a chubby 58 year business man trapped in his own computer! George's panic was then interrupted as a knock came from his office door and Johnny walked in holding the coffee and doughnut he requested.
"Mr Harris I have your coffee and I got you a selection of do- Oh, and you are not in here...great. The dick must have already gone to his meeting."
George was screaming for Johnny to see him, to help him but his muted lips did nothing to attract Johnny's attention as he dropped the coffee and doughnut on the side. George flailed against his invisible bonds but his body refused to move, he needed help desperately as he screamed until his face went red and then Jonny's face appeared in view, looking curiously at the computer screen where he was trapped. Johnny then came closer and sat down at the computer and George breathed a sigh of relief Johnny would see him and save him! This trapped nightmare would be over and he wouldn't be late for his meeting up on the 78th floor. However, George started to become worried as Johnny grabbed the mouse and started clicking but did not acknowledge George at all.
"Eurgh of course the asshole would make his AI assistant look like himself, what a fucking narcissist"
George tried to yell out, to explain that it was really him , he wasn't AI that he was trapped but his little sad expression and flapping mouth did nothing to attract Johnny's attention and he started to click on tabs and windows around George, his little electronic body feeling them around him and without reading he found himself knowing and sensing what the text said, it was like he was part of the computer, part of the network! George was bombard with a ton of information and he processed it all within moments all without his consent.
"Looks like IT did a good job setting him up." Johnny then looked to the office door and out the window to see if anyone was looking his way. "I'm sure Mr Harris wouldn't check if I take a copy of the programme home, but I ain't taking you Mr AI Harris" Johnny laughed as he clicked on the customise option.
George could sense the window that appeared around and even though he couldn't move to read it he knew exactly what it said, it was as his mind was connected to the computer. He could see the detailed description of his body, his face, his outfit and his overall impression where he was a little offended by the title of 'sale support role'. However, George quickly got over his offence as worry plagued him as he felt Johnny click on the appearance and began to edit, change and type.
Johnny typed away and spoke to himself "If I'm going to have my own AI I’m not having some chubby old guy, no thanks!" Johnny then began changing George's description and as he typed George felt something in him changing, something buzzing and electrical as his code started to get eaten up and rewritten to Johnny's liking. George tried to scream but his little open mouth was ignored by the rapidly typing Johnny. George squirmed as he could feel what Johnny wrote about the man being handsome and 20 years, young and fit. His hair being styled and neat, his eyebrows striking and his eyes now blue.
George winced as his felt his entire body buzz and change as the weight from his belly rapidly reduced and a strong flat stomach replaced it. The fat around his arms, legs and face also vanished and a smaller bulge of muscle appeared to give him a toned and athletic body, while his face buzzed with electricity as his eyes changed colour, his hair lengthened and thickened into a suave chic style as his eyebrows were shaped and plucked into line. George tried to shout again as his faced buzzed as he grew younger, his skin getting smoother, his jawline becoming more defined and masculine until he looked like a much young, more handsome version of himself. George would have been thrilled at the changes if he had been the one in control and not trapped and under the command of his assistants whims!
"That's better." Johnny said but it was obvious he still wasn't impressed or finished. "I think we need to get you out of that stuffy suit. I know how about..." Johnny said before trailing off and typing away.
George still tried to shout to Johnny even though he knew it was pointless, he had no voice, he had no say, he had no control! George could only whimper and he felt Johnny's changes to his clothing typed up beside him. Gone was the suit and instead it was slowly being replaced by an outlandish, bright and deeply homosexual outfit. George could feel his clothing being stripped away as his jacket faded to nothing and his expensive dress shoes shimmered and changed into big white trainers with neon stripes. His trousers receded exposing more and more of his legs until the stopped at his upper thigh, the material became shiny and pink and attracted attention to his bulge. While his shirt became see through as it turned to a mesh material, the bottom became cropped exposing his lower abdomen and a deep v appeared down the chest exposing his chest. Everything became tight and revealing and George felt exposed and vulnerable but could do nothing to cover himself up!
"Ooh looking hot!" Johnny said pleased with the next outfit George was sporting even though George was still desperately calling for help and getting no response. "Hmmm but now that your body isn't covered up it could use some improvements, I wonder how big I can make you"
George winced, what did Johnny mean by big? George didn't have to wait too long to find out as Johnny's typings went straight to his head and immediately began editing his body. It started with his height as he grew taller by an least another foot, then his muscles started to expand. George's back grew wider and his shoulders rounded as his deltoids surged with new mass, capping his frame like cannonballs. His biceps throbbed and inflated dramatically, veins snaking over peaks that rose higher with every heartbeat, while his triceps hardened into dense horseshoes beneath them. His legs grew just as rapidly and wildly as his quads ballooned outward as thick columns of striated muscle pushed his legs apart. Then came his chest and George now understood what Johnny was talking about when he wondered how big he would get, as his pectorals ballooned outwards and hung from his chest like tits. The massive mounds of muscle blocked his view looking down and in his mesh shirt, his hard nipples were impossible to hide. George desperately wanted to move he wanted to feel and see his new body, not just know that he had changed. He hated how his brain seemed to be directly connected to the computer and even though he wanted to shout to escape a new part of him wanted to tell Johnny about his spelling mistake and a better way to phrase his sentence!
"Damn those are some big titties" Johnny chuckled enjoying creating his own assistant, blissfully unaware of the turmoil George was going through. "Hmm while I like it, I do think I need to look at someone a bit more exotic on my home screen" Johnny said as he started to type carefully thinking more carefully about what he meant.
George once again yelled, his silent scream ignored by his engrossed and now slightly horny assistant. It was only one small change to his description but those few little words, 'muscular Brazilian' changed everything about George as immediately his brain was flooded with Portuguese and his English knowledge was greatly reduced. George's skin started to darken as a deep rich bronze tan raced from his head all the way to his toes, his hair turned jet black and thickened considerably. George could feel his nose widen and his lips plump up, while his pectorals seemed to expand even further becoming even more prominent and oversized. George found his mind buzzing as well as instead of memories of home he found himself remembering a tropical beach, volleyball, carnival and the sounds of the rainforest. George tried to shake his head as if to shake the new memories away but his mind continued to buzz as his new code replaced his family, friends and home with an entirely different set of memories of living in South America. George just wanted to cry, he wanted to be himself, he wanted to be free and no longer did he want to be tormented by Johnny.
For the first time Johnny seemed to notice something wasn't quite right about the muscular, Brazilian hunk he had created as he looked at his shocked and sad expression. Curious, Johnny clicked on another tab and began reading before finding what he was searching for "Oh now I see why you have that sad look on your face." Johnny said and for the briefest of moment's George had some hope, hope that Johnny had finally worked out it wasn't just a programme that it was his boss who was trapped and was silently begging for help for the last 10 minutes!
"The man is hard-working, dedicated to the company, will feel hurt and disappointed if he fails the user, needs to be working 24/7 with an intense love for work and giving 100% to the company. A perfectionist and detailed orientated workaholic. Jesus no wonder you are miserable, standing around must be killing you. Don't worry I don't think I need someone like that. In fact looking at that beautiful face and sublime chest I doubt you are going to help me with much work." Johnny chuckled as he moved his hand to his pants and adjusted his growing erection before typing again.
George wanted to scream as Johnny was no longer changing his appearance he was changing his very personality. Johnny started by erasing his eagerness to work, his perfectionism and his memory of all the knowledge of the company and soon it was replaced with gym routines, diets, locations of gay clubs, cocktails and gay club wear and fashion. George's mind swirled as he desperately tried to cling to his years of experience, the years he has spent working his way to the top but all of it began to slip away like it has never existed. George thought of his wife and kids but their faces now felt like images from an old dream. Instead all he could remember was eating plain chicken breast, working out his chest, chatting with other gym bro's, drinking to much and dancing until the early hours of the morning. George wanted to cry as his life was rewritten effortlessly into an entirely new person. George whimpered as Johnny typed up his new personality with words like 'bubbly, vapid, kind, sultry, arrogant, confident, show off'. George's mind began to slow as his jaw slackened and his stance relaxed. His terror and fear was pushed to the back of his mind along with any traces of the old him, who was trying with all his might to hold on but was losing. George felt his expression change as although he wanted to scream the new relaxed, vapid, vain him just smirked enjoying how much of his body he got to show off.
Johnny was now very pleased and now had one hand down his trousers as he touched his cock, while also looking at the door to make sure no one was close to approaching him and his himbo AI assistant. Johnny then moved the cursor over to the new George and to his delight found he could move his new assistant so he could see his new creation at all angles. George felt like vomiting as he was violently spun around on the spot, his face however also looking back out at the screen. George's panic and fear was concealed as the new Brazilian him who was more worried about his muscles than being trapped as an AI for his old assistant just smirked and flexed.
Johnny grinned as he looked at the back of his new creation and the cute little bubble butt that strained against the shiny pink hot pants.
Johnny then couldn't help himself, he had already given his new AI massive pectorals perhaps he could give him an ass that could rival their size. George was terrified and embarrassed as he felt his ass cheeks being to swell and expand, however the new him was thrilled as new thoughts of thongs and bent over ass selfies entered his head. George was fighting a losing battle as his cries for help, his humiliation were all confined to a rapidly shrinking area of his mind. When his ass cheeks had finished ballooning. each was now the size of basketball and wobbled obscenely as Johnny moved him around. Johnny was almost salivating over the man he had created and part of him was now wondering what to do with him, since he wasn't appropriate for work.
"What am I going to do with you...George? Eurgh I can't have you named after my boss!" Johnny pulled a disgusted face before tapping his fingers and thinking, then with a lightbulb moment he began typing. George could only scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" as his name was erased and so was the last of his control and the new him took over, the new himbo, vain, arrogant, show-off him took over. Rodrigo took over.
"Yeah you look much more like a Rodrigo and someone like you isn't going to be working in a silly office." Johnny smiled as his phone buzzed with the familiar notification sound that came from his dating app and suddenly Johnny knew what to do with Rodrigo.
Johnny then went into the inner workings of the AI settings and decided to give George or rather Rodrigo a new function. George could only whimper as his function was written deep into his very being. No longer would he be managing a team of accountants and setting up million dollar deals, no instead it seemed he would now being managing Johnny's dating life. George tried to fight back what was being written into his very code but it was pointless he had no control as Johnny rewrote his very purpose. 'Rodrigo's primary directive is to find attractive, muscular men from ages 18-50. Rodrigo will search all appropriate men's profiles, pictures and videos. Rodrigo will store and file all images and videos sent, organising pictures and videos and saving overtly sexual and adult content. Rodrigo will analyse images to find men with large penis's and large, shapely buttocks. Rodrigo will store and organise adults videos by type, length and fetish for example armpits, piss, farts and double penetration. Rodrigo will also search the internet for appropriate videos when requested by the user. Rodrigo will always present as sultry, sexual and horny willing to please his user with all requests.' Johnny smiled as his horny brain took over as Rodrigo would become his personal porn and hook up assistant, the best wing man a guy could ask for.
George just began sobbing as he realised what the rest of his life was going to be, he was going to be nothing for a gloried porn bot! A straight man trapped and watching, searching and organising hours and hours of gay porn and thousands of hours analysing men's bulges and butts. He was a smart, sophisticated, intelligent man now reduced to a pair of bouncy pecs and a fat peachy booty. George could already feel his body thinking of lewd poses it could stand in and out of no where a pink lollipop appeared and his new body stuck its tongue seductively and smirked a his new user and master.
"Fuck you are so hot Rodrigo, you first job is to find me a real guy that looks just like you" As Johnny moved the cursor and clicked the finish button, George Harris ceased to exist besides a tiny line of code trapped in the new himbo's head.
"Now let's see you in action big guy" Johnny then opened up the website for his dating profile and sure enough Rodrigo popped up. George was then barraged with images of men as he was forced to stare at their cocks and ass cheeks, analysing every single one. Looking closely at muscular men's physiques and faces to discern who Johnny would find the most attractive. However, George's disgust would never be seen as Rodrigo was thrilled at the bounty of beautiful men and had already found 8 that Johnny might like.
"Fuck all of them are so hot! How did I ever live without you Rodrigo?" Johnny smiled as he pulled out a pink flash drive from his pocket. "Now you are coming home with me, I need some action tonight and you are going to find me the perfect man."
George was sobbing and crying as he felt his entre being being sucked away and into darkness, taken away from his office, his life, his friends, his family all to become Johnny's new assistant where he would never get a raise and never get to go home.
The first few weeks were brutal for George as he was used endlessly and he organised over 500 hours of gay porn from the basic sex to the hardcore stuff. George had looked and watched hundreds of jerking cocks, dildo's in assholes and muscular men posing and flexing that his mind had almost started to snap at the thought of him watching this kind of content for the rest of his life. He programme would run continuously, meaning he never slept and never stopped, it was constant gay men for him every seconds, of every minutes of every day. George cried out for a break or even a change from the thousands of hours of porn he was forced to watch.
However, Johnny quickly found other programmes where Rodrigo could be useful. George was thrilled at the possiblity of being used for something else but it seemed that Johnny had been curious about a new adult fantasy role play game and he had just the right character to upload. Rodrigo was more than thrilled to flirt, kiss and fuck all the different characters but George on the other hand, he would never stop screaming when he had to spend the night with Gurt and Klugg the biggest horniest orcs on the internet.
I've always wondered if my life would be different if I had different influences. Could you rewrite my life so I had a really macho manly dad, to see if I turn into a stud or stay a gay nerd?
You didn’t think much of that wish of yours when you went to bed last night after seeing the shooting star. It was one of those silly little ideas that popped into your head, wishing about what life would be like in a different universe. Of course, something like that wouldn’t ever come true. Maybe in another lifetime, you would have had a different family. Maybe a dad that cared more about his looks and fame over the pretty plain and average dad that you got. Maybe he could have instilled more confidence in you and brought you to the gym at a young age, so you could have a body you would feel confident about. And maybe all that would have led to more dates for yourself, with people choosing to ask you out, instead of rejecting the shy, nerdy gay man. In another life, you could have had it all, and no one could ever turn you down from that.
Sighing as you rubbed away the sleep from your eyes, you dressed yourself and strolled down the stairs when you heard the whirring of a blender. Since you were crashing at your parents’ for the weekend for your dad’s birthday, you figured your mom was up making some early morning breakfast. Strolling down the stairs, you had just started to wake up when you caught sight of a rather large and burly Middle Eastern man standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with the blender, blending a mixture of fruit and veggies into a green concoction.
“Ah, there you are! I’ll give you the pass for today since I’m feeling good. But we’ll just have to hit the gym later,” the other man said with a booming voice as he caught sight of you standing in the doorway. “Sleeping in is for slackers. Must have had a late night if you’re forgetting all that stuff I’ve been teaching you since you were a kid.”
You couldn’t help but gawk at the half-dressed man standing there in the kitchen, moving around the space as if he were familiar with your parents’ home. Glancing around in confusion, you didn’t catch sight of either your dad or mom. In fact, it didn’t seem like anyone was there except the two of you. “Who the hell are you?! What’s going on?!” You stammered out in surprise as you took a few steps back. It was unclear whether this muscular man was a burglar, but you could tell something was clearly wrong. He didn’t seem like he was planning on robbing the place or attacking you. Instead, the stranger poured some of that blended concoction into a glass and slid it across the kitchen island to you.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’m pretty sure as the person turning older today, I’m the one who's supposed to have memory issues, not you, bud,” the man said with a snort as he poured out the rest into his own shaker bottle. Taking a sip, the stranger nodded his head towards the glass on the counter. “Hurry up and drink it. I’ve got some plans for us today for my birthday. I think you’ll like it.” And with not much of an explanation, he gestured for you to take the glass, whilst downing the rest of his own drink.
There was a moment in your brain where you couldn’t help but gawk at the other man, taking in his broad back and strong muscles that jutted out from his body. There was something about the situation that felt wrong, and yet, you couldn’t seem to remember just why you felt so strange about it. Almost as if to his command, you reached out and grabbed the glass to drink. The smell and taste were rather pungent, and the first few gulps of the chunky matter were painful to swallow. But you found yourself unable to set the glass down until you had swallowed it all, and by the end of it, it was a rather familiar taste that was meant to help boost your gains. Your Dad always made some sort of fruit, veggie, protein powder concoction. Some days were worse than others, but you would never complain if it helped with your bulk.
Setting the glass down after you downed its contents, your brows furrowed a bit in mild confusion. You didn’t remember ever going to the gym or even caring about bulking, with most of your time spent in your room gaming and playing D&D sessions with your friends. But that thought of working out with your dad didn’t exactly feel wrong either. Ah, you probably just got so used to the routine of the two of you working out in the mornings that it just felt like second nature. “...R-Right, um, well, thanks for the drink, Dad. Let me just get dressed real quick, and then I’m good to head out?” There was a slight lilt in your voice, a hesitancy in your tone, as if you weren’t exactly sure about what was going on anymore.
“Don’t forget to grab some swimwear! And clean up your room at some point,” your dad huffed in mild amusement as he took your empty glass to wash out the contents. “I know why you were up so late last night, and I’m glad to know you’re having fun,” he said with a knowing smirk on his lips. “Just don’t take too long picking out your outfits. We’ve got places to be! It’s your man’s big day!”
You stared at him blankly, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. You knew he was your dad, yet for some reason, you had this idea of him as just a simple office worker who sat at a desk all day. But that didn’t make sense; your dad was the biggest and strongest dude around town. He was the only role model in your life that mattered growing up, and you always talked about how much you wanted to be like him when you got older. However, despite you doing your best to make sense of the situation, you felt a rather uncomfortable and loud gurgle bubbling up from your stomach. You subconsciously reached down, clasping at your smooth stomach with a grimace on your face. Whatever was in that blended drink wasn’t sitting well with you, and you quickly darted out of the room to rush upstairs so you could relieve yourself in the bathroom.
As you hurried up the flight of stairs, you noticed a rather poignant spring in your step. In fact, it felt like you were bursting with energy now, instead of the sluggish and tired feeling you had when you strolled into the kitchen earlier. Without even realizing it, your legs began to stretch and grow longer with each passing step, until you reached a dizzying height that left many people staring up at you. In your memories, you could recall your friends always asking you to help them grab things off the top shelf, or people tapping you from behind and asking you to step aside so they could see past you.
Reaching the top of the stairs, you found yourself surprised at how energetic you felt. The rumbling feeling in your stomach was still there, and perhaps there was a sense of urgency with you being in dire need of a bathroom, but you didn’t feel winded after sprinting up the steps. In fact, you couldn’t recall the last time you ran so quickly. Aside from, of course, your star performance as the rugby captain back in school. All those practices and games were drilled into your head, and you could do any of those exercises in your sleep. Still, the rumbling feeling was more persistent than you would have liked, and you quickly shuffled away towards your bathroom.
After shutting the door, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, only to catch a glint of something underneath your jawline. Furrowing your brows in mild confusion, you stepped forward and leaned in close to examine yourself. Your eyes widened as your skin turned a rich caramel color. It was like you were sun-kissed, spending that time tanning your body at the poolside or on the beach. But of course, that was only natural, since you spent most of your time traveling with your dad on his business trips. Whenever he was heading somewhere warm, you tagged along for that free vacation and all-paid expenses at the resort. He had always talked about teaching you the ropes for his investment business, but you found yourself being more interested in lounging around and getting that tan on. When your father was rich and wealthy, who cared about solving big problems or thinking about extra hard stuff? Studying wasn’t always your strong suit, and your dad never minded anyway.
Something felt off to you as you tilted your head, like you were missing something. But your brain could only connect a few dots here and there. When prickly, spiky dark hair began to erupt forth from your tanned body, that nagging feeling finally subsided in relief. Ah, of course. You and your father prided yourselves on having the genetics of abundant facial and body hair. Perhaps most of your time in the bathroom was spent grooming yourself and trimming your hair, until you had that picture-perfect, model-like smoulder that always made people swoon. Your facial structure and appearance began to morph and shift in the mirror, until your reflection matched the visage of a man who was perhaps the definition of “pretty privilege.” You could only marvel at your own reflection, watching as the man in the mirror mimicked your actions whenever you smirked or winked at yourself. Some called it narcissism, but when you looked as good as you did, who wouldn’t admire themselves?
Memories of your dad encouraging you to open up your own influencer account and watching all the likes flood in were exhilarating. He always had an eye for business, and while you might not have followed everything he was saying, you knew that the number of likes and comments would shoot up whenever you went live or posted selfies of yourself. It was part of your brand as a fitness influencer, after all. The photos of yourself that really did well were all the shirtless ones you took, especially when you were still ripe and sweaty from your daily workouts.
Like two seams of fabric being stitched together, the rumbling feeling in your stomach began to pulse and grow. Toppling over from the strange sensation, you leaned against the cool countertop of your sink as you stared down at your body. Whatever your dad gave you was really doing something to you, and you could only confirm your suspicions when you saw your legs begin to swell and thicken up with muscle. Gasping as your quads stretched out your pants, soft whimpers began to spill out when the loose fabric became more skin-tight against your heavy, muscular thighs. As the captain of the rugby team, you certainly needed all that extra power and strength in your lower half to keep charging forward. It was how you tended to approach things in life: headfirst and bull-strong. You grunted as the changes moved over to your rear side, and when you turned your hips, you watched the flat ass plump up into something rather hefty and juicy. Even the slight wiggle of your hips caused your ass cheeks to jiggle with all the excess muscle and fat.
Your stubbled jaw dropped at the bounce, carefully bringing one hand back to squeeze at your plumped bottom. But the moment your hand made contact with your bubble butt, another tremble ran through your body. The tight pants burst at the seams, falling around you in a flurry of ripped fabric. Leaning forward, you moaned lowly at the pleasurable sensation that came from just kneading and groping at your ass cheeks. Memories of the boys slapping each other or making lewd jokes in the locker room filled your head, seeping into the old memories of your past life as a homebody. As the captain of your team and the supposed “golden boy,” you were subject to your fair share of jabs and taunts, and you dished out your own fair share. Your teammates respected you more because of it, and even after leaving your university, you still kept in touch with them.
The rippling sensation trailed over your smooth stomach, and an aching sensation burned through you as muscles began to grow and push against your smooth, tanned skin. You huffed from the pained exertion, only watching as clear, defined bumps appeared underneath the tightening shirt. Careful not to let your clothes burst into shreds once more, you quickly yanked off the tight fabric and stared down at your shirtless torso in wonder. You clenched your jaw as your meaty fingers moved over the ridges and bumps, trailing over the furry bit of hair that led down towards the tight underwear band. Whatever fat you had on you was quickly melting away, leaving behind a diamond-cut, chiseled body that boasted of pure, masculine strength.
It was only natural for you to tense and flex your stomach, and a cocky feeling wriggled into your head as your lips curled up into a small smirk. Of course, it was natural to show off a fit body like this. The ladies always loved running their fingers over it, and the tickling sensation of their nails phantom pricked along your skin as if they were there to worship you. A man like you certainly never lacked when it came to lovers, and both women and men alike eagerly came to feel you up whenever you gave them the opportunity. In fact, while the ladies may have loved touching and rubbing your stomach, the men loved resting their head on your beefy chest and suckling away at your nipples.
Drawing in deep and shuddering breaths, it felt as though you were expanding wider, like a balloon being pumped full of air. Your view of your cobbled abs was quickly obstructed by the swelling of your chest. Two meaty airbags puffed up, leaving you cross-eyed as you stared at the big, heaving mounds that blocked your view of below. You let out a dumb chuckle, wiping away some saliva dripping out the corners of your mouth as you felt a light dusting of hair coat over your torso. Along with your widening chest, your back began to crack and pop, stretching out your hunched spine until you had strong, defined lats. It left you wider than most, and you remembered the first time you bumped your boulder-like shoulders against a doorframe trying to walk in normally. You took pride in your strong, bulky size; after all, with your dad drilling the importance of fitness and exercise, there was very little more important to you.
Underneath your arms, you could feel the scratchy, itchy sensation of hair start to push forth from your skin. Raising both your arms up, you watched as a dark mat of hair grew in place of your old hair. This new layer seemed thick and coarse, enough to trap a strong, heavy scent of both your musk and sweat, all mixed into a noxious blend. You tilted your nose, letting your forehead brush up against your swelling biceps as you caught a whiff. There was something woodsy and spiced in your scent, an intoxicating pheromone that made even you feel a bit light-headed. You groaned as your raised arms began to expand, with layers of muscle beefing up your limbs into steady, rock-hard pillars of strength. Flexing in the mirror was no longer a pastime or a hobby; it was a necessity for you to admire just how godly and perfect your body was.
Another low moan spilled from your growing Adam’s apple, causing your soft, weedy whimpers to thicken into a velvety, rich bass. It reverberated throughout the bathroom, carrying power. It was a voice that could command men to listen, and it made women weak in the knees. As your mind started to linger on the thoughts of other people finding you attractive and sexually arousing, you felt a sudden tightness in your crotch. The already tight underwear was starting to pinch in a way that was certainly uncomfortable, and your handsome face twisted as you reached down with your hands to adjust yourself.
To your surprise, your fingers wrapped around a thick and meaty length, something far more unfamiliar than what you were used to. You shuddered as a twinge of pleasure jolted through you, and a soft whimper slipped out as your sensitive length jerked to attention. Even the slight action of tugging on your underwear band caused the strained fabric to rip as well, leaving your thick cock to spring forth in its full glory. Glancing down, you could only marvel at the view, seeing the hardening length continue to grow and stiffen past your obstructed view of your fat tits. Chuckling to yourself as you watched some fresh beads of precum form at your cock head, you let the pad of your thumb rub along your twitching cock slit.
In that moment, despite all the thoughts filling your head about how unfamiliar this was, your fingers acted on their own. You began to tug and stroke at your veiny length, only growling with a primal need for release the more you touched yourself. Who cared if this felt off? With a dad who supported his bisexual son, who taught him everything he needed to know about lifting and growing bigger after his mother left, who provided his son with a life full of luxury and privilege, what was the point in thinking about all that big problem stuff anyway?
Your breaths became heavier and labored, and the only sound that filled the space was your heaving pants. Watching your naked self touch and explore your beautiful, muscular body in the mirror was such a turn-on for you, and the dizzying feeling of the need for release began to build. It wasn’t long until you were tumbling over that edge, your face contorting as your whole body shook with each spurt. Thick, long ropes of white cum splattered about the place, coating your abs, your sink countertop, and your mirror. With each shot, memories and feelings of your past life seeped out of your brain, leaving behind just the simple-minded, horny himbo of a son that your dad raised on his own.
Staring at the mess over your mirror and sink basin, you couldn’t help but smack your softening cock against the cool countertop. Even after a fresh load, you could feel your own virility and arousal starting to spike once more. Perhaps you could hit up one of those femboys in your phone. They were always eager to bend over for you and would happily beg to breed. But your horny thoughts were quickly interrupted by your dad barking up the stairs.
“You done changing yet? We got places to be, boy!”
The sharp tone made your body stiffen to attention, just like obeying the command of a drill sergeant. Jerking out another load or two would have to wait, no matter how hard you were. Your dad always loved punctuality, and today wasn’t the day to press him on it.
“Coming!” You yelled back as you shuffled around your room, quickly throwing on something fast before darting out of the room. The cleanup would have to wait until later. Today was just like any other. You were living the best life you could have possibly dreamed of. Why would you wish for anything else?
You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.
"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"
"Jason is like totally the hottest."
"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."
"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"
You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.
"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"
The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.
“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"
"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.
"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.
The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"
You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.
"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"
Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.
"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"
"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"
"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.
"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."
"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"
You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.
"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.
"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.
"No shame in that, brah!"
You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.
"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"
Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"
"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"
The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.
"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.
"Chlorophyll."
"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"
Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"
The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.
"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.
"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"
You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."
"Correct!"
"Woah bro, nice one!"
Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.
"What the…?"
The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…
"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"
The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"
"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."
But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?
"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."
You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!
"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.
"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."
You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...
"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.
"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."
The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...
"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"
"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."
"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.
The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?
"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."
"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"
"Dead lifts..."
"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."
The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"
"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."
Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?
"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.
You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.
"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.
"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."
Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.
"The answer is hips, bro."
"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.
As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.
"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.
Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.
When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?
"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.
Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.
Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?
A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.
The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."
"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.
"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.
"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"
The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"
The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.
"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."
Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.
The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.
With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.
"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.
And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…
I stepped towards the shower with an excitement bubbling in my chest. I could already hear his heavy footsteps behind me. This was always my favourite part. The sound of a towel being tossed to the side was drowned out as I twisted the shower handle. Within seconds warm water was cascading down my body, relaxing me for what was to come.
My body shuddered a little as a pair of large hands slide around my waist from behind. Looking down I grinned. I already had a pretty good idea who he’d taken over for me. There wasn’t many men at the gym today with such large dark skinned hands and there was one in particular I knew he’d had his eye on.
“Is that Mike?” I muttered just as the man pressed himself against my back, his semi-hard cock already feeling huge as it rubbed against my ass and lower back.
“Mhmm” He replied simply as his hands roamed my body. “I know we’ve used him before but he just looked so damn sexy today. When I saw him getting undressed I just couldn’t help myself.”
My boyfriend Eric and I have had this little tradition for awhile now. Whenever the two of us go to the gym together, we’ll always scout out the other men at the gym. Size them up, inspect their bodies from afar, etc. Then once we’re finished, one of us will wait around in the locker room for one of those men to come through looking all hot and sweaty from his workout. And then, when nobody is looking, we’ll steal that guy’s body by jumping inside and possessing him! This time it was Eric’s turn to surprise me and he certainly didn’t disappoint.
“No need to apologise.” I smirked as I turned my head slightly and looked up to see none other than Mike, one of the local hunks that frequented the gym. “You wear his body so fuckin well.” I felt his cock twitch and harden a bit more as I said that while a cocky grin spread across his face.
The two of us shared a short but sweet kiss before he turned me back around and pressed me against the shower wall. “Oh I know. Why do you think I always get us to come to the gym on days that he’s around?” He chuckled but before I could respond he swiftly plunged his thick black cock inside me.
The shower continued to rain down on both of us though it did little mask the groans. I’m always surprised at how no other men walk in on us when we do this. I suppose they probably know better when they start hear that lewd slapping noise of heavy balls smacking against an ass. Sometimes those balls were mine like yesterday when I took over another hunk, Dane, and went to town on Eric’s ass. But now it was Eric’s turn and he wasn’t holding anything back!
‘Mike’ slammed his massive rod into me relentlessly, holding onto my hips as he did to make sure he went as deep as possible. His hungry assault didn’t let up even for a second. Only growing more furious by the moment as he slammed against my prostate again and again. I could see why he liked this body so much, it’s stamina was insane! I’d already shot my load from his pounding alone!
Despite that though I was still just as hungry as he was. Hungry for his cock. Hungry for his load. And boy did he deliver. A loud, manly roar echoed through the shower room and probably the locker rooms as well as ‘Mike’ began draining his balls. His fat cock pumping me with load after load of thick cum, filling me up to the brim.
“Fuuuuuck Eric… that was amazing…” I muttered as he wrapped his arms around me again.
“Who’s Eric?” He grinned. “The only one here is Mike” He shifted his cock around inside me causing me grunt a little. With that he leaned down against my ear and whispered. “Maybe we should find a way to make these possessions a bit more… permanent.”
--- REPOSTING some of my favorite CYOC stories and adding images to them. This is various branches from Chameleon Clothes from the Chronivac Version 4.0 storyline ---
Makes the wearer tranform into the 'most' ideal form (look) for a pair of clothes.
ex. Skater clothes worn turn the wearer into the ideal skateboarder looking guy
There are som presets that SHOULD be kept the same:
IDLE TIME (TIME AFTER YOU PUT CLOTHES ON, BEFORE CHANGE): 1 minute
TRANFORMATION TIME: 5 minutes
IDEALNESS (1 to 10, 10 BEING PERFECT, 1 BEING ALMOST YOURSELF): 8
DURATION : 1 year
PLEASURE FROM TF : Yes
BRAIN PATTERNS (THINKING LIKE THE TF): 50%
----
Jeff notices the option for wearing a t-shirt of his favorite baseball team. Since his favorite sport was baseball and he loved the Cardinals, it was the obvious choice and clicked on it.
In front of the computer appeared a t-shirt for the Cardinals. Jeff put it on hurriedly eager for the changes to happen, shaking of excitement. At first, nothing happened, making him wonder what is going on until....
Jeff started breathing heavily, each breath making his pecs expand and start stretching the Cardinals logo on the t-shirt, showing off his definition. His stomach started quickly developing a six pack, making him cringe in painful pleasure as each muscle developed. Next his biceps and arms began enlarging, stretching the t-shirt's sleeves almost enough to burst.
As Jeff's butt began to firm and take more athletic shape, his legs began expanding greatly, making it easier for him to run bases at breakneck speed. His crotch then starts to ache painfully while his testicles enlargen to accommodate his needs for testosterone. Jeff
moans while it feels like he's getting a blow job....meanwhile his cock is expanding rapidly, wave after wave, until it reaches 10" erect.
Jeff's hair now begins to retract into his head and change color, leaving him with a short haircut with newly blonde hair. His face painfully changes to give him a sharper jawline, while his neck thickens to match. His eyes change to a dark blue color while both his ears
become pierced with small studs. A pair of Oakley sunglasses then appear over his eyes, while tattoos appear on both of his arms, visible just below the arms of the t-shirt. On his left arm is the number 23 in large print; on his right arm is a large tribal tattoo that extends down his arm and up over the shoulder.
A pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs then appear on his body, followed by a pair of tan cargo shorts, barely covering up the definition of his cock. A pair of red and white Adidas shoes and no-show socks appear as well.
Jeff grabs his head as he feels shooting pains all over his body as he learns his new identity and how to play baseball in the Majors. He now realizes he's 25 years old, a player for the Cardinals, number 23, a short stop and star home-run hitter. He's getting ready to leave the house for the stadium, where he will be playing the most important game of the year. While not on the field, he's not a traditional clean cut baseball player, but instead pushes the envelope with his tattoos and jock attitude.
Goo'd Intention: Whitmore Slime Story - Maarten Van Dijk
If you wanna have your own adventure on Goo'd Intentions series, click here:
Whitmore Slime Story (Campus Area): https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/gYQxdt
Hard Time Behind Bars (Prison Area):https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/9ma7eg
Bon Voyage — A Cruise Story: https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/HMxFiR
Infinite Worlds (infiniteworlds.app) is an AI-driven interactive fiction platform — think choose-your-own-adventure, except the AI writes whatever you decide with no fixed branches, no predetermined endings, and no guardrails on what's possible. Every choice is yours. Every consequence is real.
== Goo'd Intentions: The Whitmore Slime Story ==
-- Character Name
Maarten Van Dijk
----------
Maarten van Dijk is a 29-year-old Dutch male graduate student pursuing his PhD in Materials Engineering at Whitmore University. Standing at an imposing 7'2" with enormous, densely muscular build, short textured ash-blonde hair, and sharp grey-blue eyes, Maarten is physically impossible to ignore. His fair skin, strong elongated jawline, massive chest, and powerful thick arms make him a striking figure on campus. Despite his enormous physical scale, Maarten carries himself with quiet precision and speaks in measured tones with a faint Dutch accent. He's methodical, intensely focused on his research involving stress-testing composite materials, and somewhat socially isolated due to his intimidating appearance and tendency toward cold efficiency. Maarten rows crew for the university team, where his extraordinary strength makes him an asset despite joining the sport late. He's respectful but emotionally distant, preferring the predictable world of data and calculations to the messiness of social dynamics. His cold, steady gaze has unnerved more than a few undergrads. For David, possessing Maarten would mean access to graduate research facilities, the engineering departments, international student networks, and a body that commands instant physical authority wherever it goes.
-- Story Background --
Three days ago I was hunched over a centrifuge in the university's restricted biogenetics lab at 2 AM, running an unauthorized experiment on synthetic protoplasm. I'd stolen the access codes from Professor Whitfield's laptop — child's play for someone who'd been hacking campus systems since freshman year.
The explosion was silent. More of an implosion, really. One moment I was a gangly twenty-one-year-old with bad skin and worse social skills. The next, my bones were dissolving, my flesh liquefying, my consciousness spreading through a warm blue puddle on the laboratory floor.
For six hours I thought I was dead.
Then I thought: this is hell. A consciousness without a body, spread across cold laboratory tile, unable to scream, unable to do anything except exist as sensation — the hum of fluorescent lights, the drip of a faucet, the particular smell of spilled reagent soaking into grout.
Then I moved. Just a little. A pseudopod, maybe, though I didn't have that word for it yet. Just — extension. Intention made physical in a way it had never been when I had hands.
That's when I understood I wasn't dead.
That's when everything got interesting.
Here's what David Sullivan was before the accident:
A 21-year-old biochemistry student with a 3.8 GPA and zero social capital. The kind of person who exists in negative space — you notice the empty chair before you notice the person sitting in it.
Four years at Whitmore and I'd had exactly one real conversation — with Caleb, my roommate, who was just as invisible as me. Everyone else was transactional at best.
I had notebooks. Everyone has notebooks, but mine were different. Mine were detailed. Specific. The kind of specific that would get a hard drive confiscated if anyone found it. Fantasies about people I'd never speak to, scenarios that required a godlike level of access I would never, ever have.
I burned them every six months. Started fresh.
I don't need notebooks anymore.
Now it's Monday morning. Whitmore University:
47,000 people moving through interconnected spaces like blood through a body.
Four years I spent on the outside of all of it. The parties I wasn't invited to. The study groups that formed around me like water around a stone. The professor who learned my name on the last day of the semester.
The sensation of sliding into another person — feeling their warmth envelope me, their neural pathways lighting up like a switchboard under my tendrils — was the most intimate thing I'd ever experienced. And I, David Sullivan, campus pervert, chronic masturbator, collector of fantasies too depraved to share with anyone, realized that every impossible thing I'd ever wanted was now grotesquely, beautifully possible.
Three days ago I dissolved into the floor of a biogenetics lab. This morning I woke up in a bed that isn't mine, in a body that isn't mine, with a calendar full of meetings I'm going to enjoy very much.
A new week. A new me.
And I'm already inside someone important.
-- Turn 1 --
-------
The alarm is a Dutch radio station playing something synthed and incomprehensible. I slap at it with a hand the size of a dinner plate, and the sensation stops you cold.
Seven-foot-two feels like being on stilts made of concrete. Everything is further away and closer at the same time. My—his—voice resonates in a chest cavity big enough to house a family of four. I could break a man in half. Christ, I could break a door in half.
I sit up and the mattress groans. The ceiling is only three feet above your head—Maarten's head. Custom extra-long bed frame, you realize, because standard furniture doesn't account for genetic lottery winners who look like they were assembled from Viking spare parts.
The Surface Read hits before I can brace for it:
Loneliness that tastes like protein powder. The weight of a body that makes people step aside in hallways. A memory of his mother's voice on a video call yesterday—"Maartenliefje, you work too much, you need to go out, meet people"—and the careful lie he told her about having dinner plans this week. He has no dinner plans. He never has dinner plans.
It fades. I'm alone again in the enormous geography of borrowed limbs.
The room is aggressively minimal. IKEA desk bolted to the wall, reinforced office chair rated for 400 pounds, a single framed photo of a rowing team at sunrise. Textbooks stacked in perfect right angles. A whiteboard covered in stress calculations and material tolerances. The closet door is open, revealing a line of identical grey hoodies, each sized XXXL, each hanging with two inches between them like soldiers at attention.
I swing my legs—his legs—over the side of the bed. My feet hit the floor with a impact that rattles the water glass on the nightstand.
The schedule surfaces like an Excel spreadsheet loading in my brain: 8am lab meeting with Professor Valdez and the other Materials Engineering graduate students. 10am teaching assistant duty for undergraduate Thermodynamics. Noon: gym, then crew practice at 2pm. Evening: solo work in the composites lab until whenever exhaustion or data completion wins.
No social obligations. No romantic entanglements. No distractions.
Perfect, I think, running Maarten's massive hands through his short ash-blonde hair. A body people actually look at, attached to a life where nobody expects conversation.
I stand, and the room rearranges itself around my new height. The mirror on the back of the door shows me what I am now: shoulders that could carry an ox, arms roped with dense muscle, a face that's handsome in the same way a cliff face is handsome—impressive, remote, carved by something other than kindness.
I flex an arm experimentally. The bicep swells like a geography lesson.
Maarten's phone buzzes on the desk. A text from someone named "Valdez": Reminder - bring your tensile strength data to lab meeting. Also, we're discussing TA assignments for next semester. Be prepared to advocate for the sections you want.
I feel Maarten's instinctive anxiety response—the tightness in the solar plexus, the urge to check the data three more times even though he checked it last night. The desperate need to be perceived as competent, as worthy of the space this body demands.
Such a good boy. So worried about disappointing people.
I could go deeper. Really swim through his memories, find out what makes this giant tick, what he thinks about when he rows in the pre-dawn dark, why someone built like a Greek statue lives like a monk.
Or I could just ride the surface. Show up to the lab meeting, play the part, see what opportunities present themselves when you're wearing a body that commands rooms just by entering them.
- - - - -
Your objective for this adventure is: To infiltrate and dominate at least 5 different social spheres of Whitmore University by possessing key figures in each, fully integrating their minds — and possess Professor Whitfield to secure total control of the narrative — orchestrating them all together in a grand demonstration of your total power.
- - - - -
-- Turn 2 --
Action
------
DIVE: Submerge fully into Maarten's subconscious, absorbing everything—his passwords, his research data, his private thoughts, his fears, his desires, the full intimate architecture of who he is. Full integration. Total access.
Outcome
-------
I let go.
That's the only way to describe it. I stop trying to pilot this enormous body and instead sink backward, downward, inward—through layers of neural tissue that feel like warm gelatin, through the blood-brain barrier that tastes like copper and ozone, into the wheeling infinite dark where Maarten van Dijk actually lives.
This is what drowning in someone else feels like.
The subconscious doesn't have geography. It has pattern. Constellation. Thought and memory and desire spinning in complex helices that your borrowed eyes can't quite focus on because they're not designed for this kind of seeing. I move through it anyway, consuming it stroke by stroke, and time stops meaning anything at all.
Here: Maarten at fourteen, growing six inches in eight months, his mother crying because none of his clothes fit. The specific humiliation of doorframes becoming enemies. A girl in his chemistry class sophomore year who asked if he took steroids, and when he said no, she said, "That's too bad," and he didn't understand what she meant until three years later.
Here: The morning he walked into his first rowing practice and the coach's face did something complicated. The realization that his body, which had always been too much, was exactly right for pulling an oar through dark water at 5am. The only place he ever felt properly sized.
Here: His last girlfriend, Emma, who liked his body until she didn't. Who said during their final argument, "You don't even realize how much space you take up. How much smaller you make me feel just by existing in the same room." He slept on the floor that night because she'd started flinching when he got into bed.
Here: A password for his university email—Ma@rt3nVD1995—and his lab computer—Pr0t0typ3_06—and his banking app—the street number of his childhood home in Rotterdam, 2847, followed by his mother's maiden name, Bakker.
Here: Professor Valdez calling him "the most gifted student I've supervised in twenty years," and the warm cocaine rush of being seen as competent, as worthy. The way he checks his data seven times before every meeting because disappointing her would be worse than physical pain.
Here: Masturbation as maintenance. Twice a week, Sunday and Wednesday nights, efficient as a workout. No fantasy that requires faces or names—just abstract bodies, anonymous friction, release like checking a box on a to-do list. Fourteen months since anyone else touched him. The creeping suspicion that maybe this is just what his life is now: brilliant and useful and utterly alone.
Here: The texture of loneliness that tastes like protein powder.
I swallow it all. Every password, every shame, every morning he's woken up feeling like a geographic feature instead of a person. The subconscious puts up no fight—it doesn't know it's being consumed. I just move through it like ink through water, and when you finally surface—
—Maarten's body is moving without me.
I'm walking across campus. The lab building. My—his—legs carrying me with muscle memory so deep it doesn't need conscious thought. I'm talking. My voice saying something about tensile strength ratios, and Professor Valdez is nodding, and there are three other graduate students around a table covered in printouts, and I realize with a bright shock of displacement that time has passed.
The lab meeting. It's happening. Maarten attended it. I attended it. The body showed up, participated, answered questions, all while I were drowning in the depths of his brain.
"—so we'll need to run another series by Friday," Valdez is saying. She's forty-three, you know now. Salvadoran-American, grew up in Los Angeles, two teenage daughters, divorced, has a sabbatical scheduled for next fall. I know all of this because Maarten knows it, and now Maarten is me.
I look down at your hands. They feel different. Mine. The muscle memory settles in like old code finally compiling. I could row a boat. I could calculate stress tolerances without thinking. I could walk into any room on campus and people would step aside—not because they fear me, but because my body simply demands that much space.
Full integration. Total access. Every corner of him.
The other grad students are packing up. A guy named Daniel Brennan who's working on thermal conductivity. A woman named Isra Osman—Somali descent, brilliant with polymers, engaged to someone in the Economics department. A nervous white kid named Tyler Webb who's probably going to wash out by spring.
Valdez catches my eye. "Maarten, stay a moment?"
The others file out. She waits until the door closes, then leans against the lab table, arms crossed. She's attractive in that particular way academics can be—sharp, focused, zero ornamentation. Dark eyes that actually see me.
"You did well with the presentation," she says. "But I want to talk about next semester's TA assignments. You requested Thermodynamics II again."
I nod, because Maarten would nod.
"You're good at it. Exceptional, really. The students respect you." She pauses. "But I'm wondering if that's the best use of your final year. You could be publishing. Presenting at conferences. Building the professional network you'll need for industry positions."
Her concern is genuine. I can feel Maarten's instinctive response—the tightness in the chest, the need to explain, to justify, to prove he's not wasting opportunities.
But underneath that, I feel something else. Something new.
Power. The integration is complete, and this body—this brilliant, isolated, physically dominant body—is mine now. Every password, every skill, every social connection.
Valdez is still watching me, waiting for a response.
-- Turn 3 --
Action
------
MANIPULATE: Thank her for the concern but explain that teaching grounds me—it's the one place on campus where my size doesn't make people uncomfortable. See if she takes the bait about isolation.
Outcome
-------
"I appreciate the concern, Professor," I say, and let Maarten's voice drop into that careful register he uses when he's trying to sound thoughtful instead of defensive. "But teaching grounds me. It's—"
I pause. Let the silence do some work. Valdez is watching me with those sharp dark eyes that actually see people, and I can feel what Maarten would feel here: the vulnerability of being looked at, really looked at.
"It's the one place on campus where my size doesn't make people uncomfortable," I finish. "The students don't flinch when I walk by their desks. They ask questions. They treat me like I'm just... a person who knows things, not a—"
I gesture vaguely at myself. The enormousness of borrowed limbs.
Valdez's expression shifts. Something softens around her eyes. She uncrosses her arms.
"I hadn't thought about it that way," she says quietly.
Gotcha.
"In the lab, with the other grad students, there's always this—" I let Maarten's natural hesitance color the words. "I can see them calculating. Wondering if I'm safe to stand next to. If I'm going to bump into their equipment. Emma used to say I didn't realize how much space I take up just by existing."
Emma. The girlfriend. I pulled that from the deep integration—the perfect detail, dropped casually, implying old wounds without dwelling on them.
Valdez steps closer. Not much. Maybe a foot. But in the language of academic office space, it's significant.
"Emma was your—?"
"Ex-girlfriend. Two years ago." I meet her eyes. Maarten's grey-blue gaze, steady and a little sad. "She wasn't wrong. I don't always notice. But in the classroom, when I'm explaining thermodynamic principles or helping someone work through a problem set, none of that matters. I'm just the TA. Just someone useful."
The manipulation is working. I can see it in the way she's looking at me now—not as a prize student who needs career guidance, but as a person who's been lonely in ways she recognizes.
Because Valdez is lonely too. I know this now. Maarten knows it. The way she stays late in the lab. The careful distance she maintains from the other faculty. The divorce eight months ago that she mentioned exactly once, in passing, like it was a minor administrative detail instead of the dismantling of a fifteen-year marriage.
"Maarten," she says, and there's something different in her voice now. Something careful. "Have you thought about talking to someone? The university has resources for graduate students. Counseling services."
"I'm fine," I say automatically, because that's what Maarten always says. "Really. I just—I like teaching. It's important to me. If that means delaying publications for a semester, I think it's worth it."
She studies me for a long moment. Then nods.
"Okay. I'll approve your TA request for Thermodynamics II." She picks up her tablet, makes a note. "But I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?"
"Come to the department social next Friday. Just for an hour. Ming is hosting at his place—nothing formal, just drinks and conversation. You don't have to stay long, but I want you to show up."
A social obligation. Maarten would hate this. But David?
A room full of engineering faculty, graduate students, probably some undergrads. New networks. New bodies. New possibilities.
"I'll be there," I say.
Valdez smiles. It transforms her face—makes her look younger, less guarded. "Good. And Maarten? For what it's worth, I don't think you take up too much space. I think the world just hasn't figured out how to make room for people like you yet."
She means it kindly. She has no idea what she's just said.
People like me.
If only she knew.
-- Turn 4 --
Action
------
ADVANCE TO: Jump forward to 1:45pm at the boathouse—crew practice is where the athletics sphere opens up, and I'm curious what borrowed muscle memory feels like on the water.
Outcome
-------
The boathouse smells like river water and varnished wood and decades of sweat soaked into foam seat cushions. I arrive seventeen minutes early because that's what Maarten does, and the muscle memory of this place settles into my borrowed limbs like coming home.
This body knows water. Knows the exact rhythm of an oar through current. Knows the burn of lactic acid in shoulders built specifically for pulling.
Coach Andreas Kolvald is crouched over a damaged rigger near the boat bay, wrench in hand. He stands when he hears my footsteps, and I'm looking almost straight across at him—he's maybe six-ten, Norwegian ancestry written in every sharp angle of his face. Reddish-blonde hair pulled into a small knot, sharp green eyes, jaw like a granite cliff. Mid-thirties. Wearing a Whitmore Crew quarter-zip that clings to shoulders that could carry timber.
"Maarten," he says. His voice is flat Midwestern American with just a ghost of Scandinavian precision underneath. "Good. Need to talk about your stroke rate before the team shows up."
He gestures me over. I crouch beside him—easy, effortless, Maarten's knees folding with the fluid competence of ten thousand repetitions—and catch his scent. Clean sweat, coffee, something citrus in his soap.
"You're pulling too hard on the recovery," Kolvald says, focused on the bolt he's tightening. "Saw it Friday. You've got power—obviously you've got power—but you're anticipating the catch. Rushing it. Maybe half a second off, but it's throwing the whole boat's timing."
His hands are callused, scarred along the knuckles. Hands that have gripped oars for decades. He finishes with the bolt, stands, and suddenly we're two enormous men occupying a dock that feels narrower than it should.
"Show me your catch position," he says.
I move without thinking. Maarten's body knows this like breathing. Arms extended, shoulders rolled forward, shins vertical, weight on the balls of my feet. The phantom oar feels real in my hands.
Kolvald steps behind me. His hand lands on my lower back—professional, corrective—and I feel it through Maarten's nervous system like voltage.
"There," he says, voice lower now, breath warm near my ear. "Feel that? Your core engagement? That's your power source. Not the arms. Not the rush."
His hand stays there. One second. Two. Three. Four.
I feel his breathing change behind me. Smell coffee and something else—adrenaline, maybe, or confusion. His fingers spread slightly against my spine, and there's something in the quality of the touch that's shifted from instruction to something else entirely.
Then voices—the rest of the team arriving in a chaos of laughter and gear bags. Kolvald's hand jerks away. He steps back quickly, picks up his clipboard, becomes Coach again with visible effort.
"Team's here," he says, not looking at me. "Let's get the eight in the water."
But I saw it. The confusion in his face when he pulled away. The way his jaw tightened.
Very interesting.
-- Turn 5 --
Action
------
PERFORM: Be the perfect athlete during practice—impeccable form, total focus—make him unable to stop watching me.
Outcome
-------
The eight goes in the water with practiced efficiency—eight rowers, coxswain, equipment that costs more than most people's cars. I take stroke seat because that's where Maarten always sits: the rower who sets the pace, who everyone else follows.
I'm going to ruin this man.
The thought arrives clinical and cold as we push off from the dock. Kolvald stands there watching with his clipboard, sharp green eyes tracking the boat's movement, and I can feel his attention land on me specifically. Heavier than the others. More focused.
We start with a steady-state piece. Twenty strokes per minute, easy pressure, just warming up the muscles. My body—Maarten's body—knows this the way lungs know breathing. Catch. Drive. Finish. Recovery. The oar blade cuts through river water with surgical precision. No splash. No wasted motion. Just physics and power working exactly as designed.
"Eyes on stroke!" the coxswain calls—a tiny sophomore named Lila Chen with a voice that could strip paint. "Match his timing!"
I'm not thinking about the movement. The integration is complete enough that conscious thought would only slow me down. Instead I'm thinking about Kolvald on the dock, watching me pull through each stroke, and how his hand felt on my lower back. How his breathing changed. How his fingers spread.
"Building by two!" Lila calls. "Twenty-two... now!"
I increase the stroke rate. Feel the boat respond underneath me—seven other rowers matching my rhythm, following my pace. The burn starts in my quads and lower back. Good burn. The kind that means the muscles are working right.
Kolvald is jogging along the riverside path now, keeping pace with the boat. He does this sometimes during practice—Maarten's memory supplies this fact—when he wants to watch technique up close. His eyes are on me. I can feel it even though I'm facing backward, watching the water disappear behind the boat.
"Stroke! Your blade entry is fucking perfect today!" Lila shouts. "Everyone else watch him! That's what the catch should look like!"
I don't change anything. Just keep pulling. Catch. Drive. Finish. Recovery. Ten thousand repetitions have carved this movement into Maarten's nervous system, and now I'm riding that groove like a rail.
We do a racing start. Full pressure, maximum rate, the boat surging forward with violent acceleration. My legs drive down, back swings open, arms pull through, and the oar handle nearly touches my sternum before I release and swing forward for the next stroke. Thirty-six strokes per minute. Heart rate spiking. Lactic acid flooding my shoulders and thighs.
And through it all: perfect form. Not a single flaw. Every catch is quick and decisive. Every finish is clean. Every recovery is patient and controlled.
When we finally stop and let the boat coast, I'm breathing hard but not gasping. The exertion feels good—feels right in this body. I straighten my back, roll my shoulders, and catch Kolvald's eye across the water.
He's staring. Not coaching-staring. The other kind.
He looks away quickly, makes a note on his clipboard that I'm absolutely certain means nothing.
"Let's bring it in!" Lila calls.
We row back to the dock. The rest of the team is talking, laughing, the usual post-practice energy. I'm quiet because Maarten is usually quiet. But I'm watching Kolvald as we approach, watching him watch me, and I can see the confusion written in every line of his body.
We rack the boat. Strip the oars. I'm helping secure the riggers when Kolvald appears beside me.
"Maarten," he says. His voice is rough. "That was... your stroke today was exceptional. Best I've seen from you all season."
"Thank you, Coach."
"I mean it." He's standing closer than necessary. Close enough that I can smell his sweat mixing with mine. "Whatever you're doing differently, keep doing it."
I turn to face him fully. Look down slightly—he's tall but I'm taller—and watch his throat work as he swallows.
"I'm not doing anything differently," I say quietly. "This is just what I'm capable of when I'm focused."
The moment hangs there. Other team members are putting away equipment, talking about dinner plans, completely oblivious to the fact that their coach is standing three inches too close to his stroke rower and breathing like he just finished his own workout.
Kolvald's jaw tightens. "Good. That's... good. Keep it up."
He steps back. Turns away. Addresses the full team about tomorrow's practice schedule, and his voice is perfectly normal, perfectly controlled.
But I saw it. The confusion becoming something else. Something he doesn't have words for yet.
Very, very interesting.
-- Turn 6 --
Action
------
INVESTIGATE: Head to the locker room—see if he follows, test whether he'll find excuses for more proximity.
Outcome
-------
I grab my gear bag and head toward the locker rooms without looking back. The boathouse interior is dimmer than the dock, smells like mildew and old wood and chlorine from the adjacent pool. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor.
Let's see if he can help himself.
The men's locker room is empty—rest of the team is still putting equipment away outside. I drop my bag on the bench, peel off my shirt. Maarten's body is slick with river water and sweat, shoulders gleaming under the fluorescent lights. I take my time. Stretch my arms overhead, feel the muscles pull and release.
Footsteps behind me. Heavier than the undergrads. I don't turn around.
"Maarten." Kolvald's voice. Rough. "Need to talk about your seat assignment for the regatta next weekend."
Such a transparent excuse. Beautiful.
I turn slowly, still shirtless. He's standing in the doorway, clipboard clutched like a shield, and his eyes do something complicated when they hit my bare torso. Drop, catch themselves, force themselves back up to my face.
"Sure, Coach," I say. "What about it?"
He walks closer. Three steps. Four. Stops at a distance that would be professional if his breathing wasn't doing that thing where it's too controlled, too conscious.
"You're stroke for the varsity eight obviously. But I'm thinking about moving you to the four-seat for the second boat's sprint race. Give the younger guys a chance to follow your technique up close."
I nod, hook my thumbs in my waistband. "Makes sense."
"Yeah." His eyes drop again. To my chest, my stomach, the V of muscle disappearing into my shorts. He catches himself faster this time but not fast enough. "You'd be—you'd be a good model for them. Technically."
"Technically," I repeat, and let the word hang there.
Kolvald swallows. His hand tightens on the clipboard. "Your catch today. When I put my hand on your back. Did that help? Could you feel the difference?"
He's asking permission. Trying to justify touching me again by framing it as coaching.
"I could feel it," I say quietly. "It helped."
"Good. That's—" He steps closer. One more step. Now we're less than two feet apart, and I can smell him properly. Coffee, citrus soap, something sharper underneath. Adrenaline. Confusion. The particular scent of a man whose body is doing things his brain hasn't authorized yet. "That's what I thought. I might need to do more hands-on correction. If that's okay with you."
Oh, you poor bastard.
"Of course," I say. "Whatever helps the boat go faster."
His jaw tightens. His eyes are doing that thing again—dropping, catching, forcing themselves back up—and now there's something else in his face. Something darker. He's noticing that he's noticing, and it's scaring him.
"You should shower," he says abruptly. "Cool down properly. I'll—I'll see you tomorrow. Same time."
He turns and walks out fast. Not quite running but close.
I stand there in the empty locker room, Maarten's body still slick with sweat, and smile.
Tomorrow. Same time. And he'll find another excuse to touch me, and another, and eventually he'll run out of excuses and we'll find out what happens then.
-- Turn 7 --
Action
------
MANIPULATE: Strip completely and head to the showers—see if the sound of running water draws him back.
Outcome
-------
I strip the rest of the way down without ceremony. Shorts, compression underwear, all of it peeled off and dropped on the bench. Maarten's cock hangs heavy between his thighs—uncut, thick even soft, the kind of proportional anatomy that makes sense on a body this size. Everything about this form is excessive.
The shower room is tile and chrome and years of calcium deposits on the fixtures. I turn on the furthest showerhead, the one in the back corner where the lighting is worst, and step under the spray. Water hits my shoulders hot enough to sting.
Now we wait.
I soap up slowly. Run Maarten's massive hands over his chest, his stomach, down his thighs. Not performative—that would be too obvious. Just thorough. The kind of shower someone takes when they're alone and not thinking about being watched.
Except I am thinking about being watched. Hoping for it. Counting seconds in my head.
One minute passes. Two.
Footsteps. Slower than before. Hesitant.
I don't turn around. Just keep washing, facing the tile wall, water running down the landscape of borrowed muscle.
"Maarten." Kolvald's voice echoes off tile. Rough. Strained. "I—forgot to mention. The regatta schedule. There's a time conflict with your Saturday lab slot."
Such transparent bullshit. Beautiful.
"Oh?" I say, still not turning. Rinse soap from my chest. "What time?"
Silence. Long enough that I know he's looking. Know he can't help it. The shower stalls have no curtains, no privacy—just open space and steam and the sound of water hitting skin.
"Seven AM launch time," he finally says. His voice is closer now. Maybe ten feet behind me. "So you'd need to be at the boathouse by six-thirty. I know you usually start lab work at seven on Saturdays."
I turn around.
Kolvald is standing just outside the shower room threshold, still fully dressed in his Whitmore Crew quarter-zip and khakis. His clipboard is gone. His hands are empty, hanging at his sides, and his eyes—
His eyes are doing exactly what I knew they'd do. Dropping. Catching. Dropping again. Tracing the water running down my chest, following the V-line of muscle that disappears into my groin, landing on my cock with something that looks like pain.
I don't cover myself. Don't react at all. Just stand there under the spray, water sheeting off me, and meet his gaze steadily.
"I can move my lab time," I say quietly. "It's not a problem."
"Good." His throat works. Adam's apple bobbing. "That's... good."
He doesn't leave. Just stands there, breathing too deliberately, jaw so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His hands flex at his sides—opening, closing, opening again.
"Coach," I say, and watch him flinch at the word. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm—" He stops. Starts again. "You're... you did really well today. On the water. I wanted to make sure you knew that."
"You already told me that."
"I know. I just—" Another throat bob. His eyes drop again, land on my cock, jerk away like he's been burned. "Fuck."
The word comes out strangled.
I take a step forward. Still under the spray, water still running down me, but closer now. The distance between us contracts to maybe eight feet.
"Coach?" I keep my voice gentle. Concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He backs up half a step. "Nothing's wrong. I should—I should let you shower. Rachel's expecting me for dinner."
Rachel. The girlfriend. He's throwing her name between us like a shield.
I nod slowly. "Okay."
But I don't move. Don't turn around. Just stand there naked and dripping, watching him try to leave and fail. His feet don't move. His body won't obey him.
"Maarten," he says, and his voice cracks on the name. "I need you to—I don't know what's happening here, but I need you to understand that I'm not—I don't—"
He stops. Closes his eyes. His hands are shaking.
Oh, you poor, confused man. You don't even have the words for what you want.
Which should story continue? Comment your choise:
SEDUCE: Step closer to him—out of the shower, still dripping—ask him directly what he wants.
MANIPULATE: Act oblivious, turn back to the shower, let him stew in his confusion while I finish washing.
The 1% always seemingly have an edge in every aspect of life over the rest of the society
"It's better to cry in Lamborghini rather than public bus," or something along that way
Law is also an aspect where the rich always managed to get out from it with a mere slap on the wrist, or even a time to wind down and enjoying life. The enactment of Baker-Greenville Act in 2033 allowed the rich even more leeway when they are charged with misdemeanor or any other lightweight sentences that ended with them doing community service. It all happened when Senator Baker's son "accidentally" tackled an older woman as he ran away after vandalizing a store that he shoplifted at. The community service he did ended up with him dead as he, coming into an argument with some of the neighborhood men annoyed by his lack of work and endless whining, eventually gunned down by one of the pissed off men after the senator's son slapped a kid mid-argument. The case became a national headline, highlighting the failure of police system to ensure the safetiness of people that should be under their protection and how it's very dangerous for people, especially people with connection to power, to directly do community service. With the rising development of transference technology and how Senator Greenville has been a proponent supporter for "proxies", the Baker-Greenville Act passed through various chambers until enacted as law.
Basically, as long as someone can afford to pay the transference process and the lost hourly wages of the vessel, the State should provide the necessary vessel needed to fulfill the demand of the community service. This opened a whole set of work now possible to be carried on by people serving their community service sentence as every labor practically can be opened for this practice.
Josiah Roslin, the heir of Roslin shipping empire, caught by LAPD and charged with DUI and possession of controlled substance. He should be going to jail because he possessed more than the normal limit and there's an indication he actually used various paraphernalia other than what stashed in his car. But the lawyer strikes the deal so the red-haired s-o-b served community service as a firefighter instead.
"To clear his mind and force him to be alerted at all times,"
So he got hooked to the machine while the firefighter his legal team handpicked hooked in the other room as the operator pressed the button that started the process. Not only did he cope well to his service, he even managed to lecture some kids to stay away from using drugs as he had a session with 2 boys that burned their house down as they smoked weed without noticing that their lighter still lit and burned down the wooden structure
Or look at what DeAndre Norton did with his community service. Charged with battery, the up-and-coming NBA star knowing how distracting it would be if swarm of fans come up at him or the paparazzi with their sneaky shots decided to ask for BGA'd. The 6'8" towering star ended up working as EMT under the guise of Vince Sokol
Those are some decent example of the usage of BGA. But there's clearly another way that is less respectable and require some informality. The Kohler brothers harassed and trespassed their equally rich neighbor to the extent of sexually assaulting the 19 year olds Sylvie. Rather than going to jail, they simply paid their fines and served as firefighters in the same precinct where they usually tag-teamed to mess up with the good social standing of the firefighters they are in. They of course worked very well during their work hour but they really messed up with their vessel as they smoke, drink, catcall and have various sex with both girls and dudes every night at the bar.
The three brothers clearly learned nothing by the end of their community service but none of the officer assigned to them ever strictly followed them as the Kohler patriarch claimed that his sons are all very reserved and he would be the one ensuring they obliged to the regulation. Clearly not the case that happened, but the brothers came to meet their officer always on time and the only report from the fire department about the three has been nothing short of stellar, so they get away scot-free by the end of it all.
BGA is literally a paid vacation, for the vessels that wake up finding themselves already gained some shit tons of money while having no recollection of what transpired while the criminal served their sentences in style and in some cases, way better bodies then what they have. It's not rare that some of the perpetrator even did their offenses only to get the chance to be BGA'd into hotter bodies that they will use for their sexual exploit.
With the anonymity clause basically hiding their identity + making sure that no one in the vessel's life aware of their loved ones actually controlled by other people, the practice ran smoothly with more and more the rich and the powerful endorsed BGA as something safe and a breakthrough that reinvent how a community service should look like.
When Lindsay Thomas first thought that attending a Cincinnati Bengals football game with her boyfriend Aaron would be the death of her, she didn’t think that it would literally happen. But alas, Aaron’s eagerness to get to the stadium and witness his favorite team play led to his foot pressing down a little bit too hard and causing the car to reach dangerous levels of speed. All it took was one unaware driver to attempt a lane change and Aaron’s reflexes to avoid a collision failed miserably as the car spun out and ended up flipping and barrel rolling countless times. Throughout this endeavor, Lindsay had no chance to really comprehend what was going on. One second she was scrolling through social media and liking posts about her friend’s newest engagement, then suddenly there was a moment of intense pain before everything faded away into complete darkness…
Although the darkness was quite inviting to Lindsay, it seemed as though it wasn’t quite her time to move on as a stark white light was filling the dark tunnel that her soul was traveling through. As she finally was encompassed by the light, the woman slowly parted her eyelids and gasped at what she saw. Instead of seeing the pearly gates of heaven, she found herself standing in front of Paycor Stadium, the home of the Cincinnati Bengals.
Looking around in shock, the woman watched as fans stood outside the security turnstiles excitedly chatting with others in line. Despite her loudest attempts to get someone’s attention and ask what’s happening to her, it seemed as though no one else could hear her. On the verge of a breakdown due to the overstimulation of both going through a car crash and seeing this vast sea of fans ignore her, the woman lifted her hands up towards her face so she could cry into them. But upon doing so, the woman stopped as she saw that instead of the lightly tanned complexion that she often sported, Lindsay was now stuck with a ghastly blue complexion. Unfortunately though, the realization of what happened to her quickly became apparent as she watched a small slip of paper suddenly blow through the wind and pass directly through her hand as it tumbled down to the ground. Holy shit, I’m a ghost!
Although the woman was quite literally on the verge of a breakdown, this was ultimately hindered for the time being as a familiar voice loudly called her name. Lifting her eyes up and looking around, the woman gasped in relief as she saw a specter version of Aaron levitating above the crowd searching for her. As she began to run towards her high-flying boyfriend, she soon found that each stride was taking longer and longer for her feet to touch the ground as she remained in the air for a few milliseconds. Luckily though, this revelation was finally the knowledge she needed to propel herself up towards her boyfriend. Now at a rapid pace, the girl pushed off from the ground and slowly levitated up towards Aaron, who had finally found her and smiled widely.
Upon grabbing onto each other, the duo were relieved to find that they could physically hold each other given the fact that they were unable to feel anything else as they walked on the ground and over scattered trash. As they embraced and held each other into a tight hug, the duo were relieved to be reunited once more despite the tragic consequences.
Looking for a place more quiet than the rowdy lines outside the stadium, Aaron led the way for the couple to phase through the iron gates surrounding the venue and into the stadium itself. As they finally found themselves inside the inner halls of the stadium where the staff worked, the duo talked and tried their best to figure out what was going on. So while the circumstances surrounding it were fuzzy for some reason, the duo were confident in the fact that they had both somehow perished on the way to the football game. Yet as they were beginning to pass towards a bright light, the couple both found themselves outside the venue for some reason. Although they were unsure why this was occurring and whether it was due to unfinished business, the couple were sure of the fact that they didn’t want to ascend to the afterlife. They were young and still had lives to lead, so they didn’t want to give it up no matter how appealing the concept of the afterlife sounded. As such, it was Aaron who quickly proposed the idea of using their ghostly forms to possess someone at the stadium. Unsure of what was going on but with no other options, Lindsay listened intently as her boyfriend proposed the concept of possessing a Bengals football player and cheerleader so they could continue to be together in perfectly hunky bodies.
Although Lindsay countered his idea with her own of just settling for another young couple attending the game, Aaron was able to quickly convince her that since they’re ghosts now they might as well go for something different than what they used to be. So despite the crazy plan that Aaron had proposed of taking over two unsuspecting peoples’ lives and the moral dilemma that continued to run through her mind, Lindsay was willing to try anything to get a second chance at life and thus eagerly agreed with Aaron’s idea.
As the couple slowly levitated through the inner halls of the stadium, Lindsay couldn’t help but jump as Aaron suddenly broke their silence with a loud gasp. “Oh shit, it’s Logan Wilson. He’s a great player” he exclaimed, extending a hand out and pointing towards a man quickly pacing down the hall. Although that name certainly meant nothing to Lindsay, a quick glance at his body made her instantly swoon. With his gorgeous visage (she was a sucker for a strong and prominent nose and nice plump lips) and slightly muscular physique that easily filled out his clothing, she immediately found herself encouraging her boyfriend to take him over. Envisioning having her boyfriend inside that body pleasuring her was quite an erotic sight, so she was quite relieved watching as Aaron built up the momentum and rushed towards the hunk.
Given the fact that no human could see their presence, Logan was completely unaware of the spirit that was rushing towards him before it was too late. Upon watching as Aaron made an impact head-first into Logan’s firm chest, Lindsay watched in worry as the spectral version of her boyfriend fully disappeared within the player’s torso. For several seconds, she watched in worry for any sign that Aaron’s plan had been a success.
Soon, an answer came as Logan’s emotionless face suddenly shifted into a wide smirk. “It worked,” he quietly said, trying his best to keep his voice low to inform his girlfriend of what’s going on.
Although Lindsay herself couldn’t feel any real sensations due to her ghostly form, she knew that that voice would give her butterflies in her stomach if she still had one! Even though Logan’s voice was fairly normal for an adult male, there was this underlying sense of deep dopeyness within it that left Lindsay swooning even more. She loved that Aaron was an accomplished journalist and all, but the concept of having her frail and weak boyfriend in the body of a hunky himbo was a dream come true.
“Linds, I can’t see you anymore, but it worked. I’m Logan Wilson now! Go find a body as fast as you can,” he said with a smile, taking a moment to drop his bag and take a look at his two hands. After observing the wider and slightly callused hands that were fitting for a linebacker, Aaron couldn’t resist taking a moment to subtly run these hands along his body and feel the ripples of Logan’s abs and slight hills of his pecs. Upon cheekily taking a moment to lift the waistband of the player’s pants and underwear to take a quick glance at his new and improved manhood, the man smirked as he lifted his arms and flexed. Upon glancing at his modest biceps for a moment, the man’s attention was quickly caught by the brand new ink that he would be rocking while inside Logan’s body. Despite not being overly religious, Aaron was more than willing to go along with the cross tattoo due to just how badass he thought it looked on him.
While Aaron continued to flex and check out his new body, Lindsay was very much enjoying the view as she further fantasized about how much she was going to love kissing her boyfriend’s gorgeous new face and worshiping his muscles. Just as the two of them continued to check out more of Logan’s body, a loud voice down the hallway suddenly interrupted both of them.
“Wilson, where the fuck have you been!?”
As Lindsay and Aaron both looked up, they watched as a buff older man was angrily marching towards the two of them. Of course, as soon as he stopped in front of Aaron and began speaking to him, Lindsay reminded herself that there was no way that the man was speaking to her. Due to this, she observed as the older man, whose badge indicated him to be part of the coaching staff, grilled the possessed football player about not being in the locker room to get ready since the game was about to start.
Trying his best to defuse the situation, Aaron apologized and said that he was running a bit late but he was ready to go. Given the fact that he couldn’t see where his girlfriend was anymore, the man’s eyes rapidly darted around as the coach grabbed onto Logan’s shirt sleeve and began to tug him towards the locker room. As he slowly mouthed for Lindsay to go find a body as soon as possible, the brand new hunk was ultimately pulled away into the thick crowd of staff heading towards the locker room.
Now with Aaron inside Logan’s body and being dragged away by someone on the coaching staff, Lindsay found herself feeling increased pressure to figure out a new host body fast. Understandably, there was a lingering sense of fear that waiting too long would cause her soul to get pulled back into the vast darkness as she traversed to the other side (whatever that may be). As such, Lindsay used her newfound gift of levitation to quickly bob and weave her way through the busy inner halls of the stadium in search of a new body.
Luckily, it didn’t take long before Lindsay’s eyes focused on a woman decked out in a cheerleading uniform. Although her back was turned while talking with someone and Lindsay could only see the woman’s slim and curvy figure along with her voluminous blonde hair that fell down past her shoulder blades, the recently deceased ghost was more than willing to accept it as her new body. As such, the female spirit propelled herself faster and faster in hopes of claiming her new life.
Unfortunately for Lindsay, it seemed as though the cheerleader had finished up her conversation as she suddenly turned and began to walk away. Given the rapid speeds she was traveling at, the woman was unable to slow herself down as she found herself slingshotting directly into the cheerleader’s chatting partner - a bulky football player. “Oh fuck no,” she exclaimed, trying her best to change her trajectory and curve past the football player to continue her plan of possessing the cheerleader. Although she was certainly willing to accept mostly any bodies so she could get a second chance to live again, trading her gender and becoming a man was a nightmare scenario for her. Despite loathing the concept, it soon became clear that her fate had been sealed as Lindsay closed her eyes while her spirit rushed directly towards the hunk and shot itself directly into his open mouth.
Upon making contact with the back of the man’s throat, the impact of Lindsay’s soul provided an unintended side effect as the player suddenly tumbled back before falling back and landing on the hard concrete floor. Although Lindsay was still seeing darkness due to closing her eyes in fear of the impact, the addition of a nice warmth calmed the woman as she realized that she was feeling firm and corporeal once more. On top of this, the random sound of some low volume rap music filled Lindsay’s head and proved that she certainly wasn’t a ghost anymore. Despite only listening to upbeat pop music in her old life, she was more than willing to accept the mumble rap as a sign of success. Along with this realization , the sudden reappearance of physical sensations like pain against her head, shoulders, and ass further proved that her possession attempt was a success.
As such, Lindsay slowly peeled her eyes open and gasped as she found countless people hovering over her. Gasping in shock, the woman was caught off-guard as several members of staff (as evident by the badges hung around their necks) extended a hand out towards her and asked about if the man was ok. Through this sudden onslaught of questions, Lindsay was able to quickly pick up on the name of the man she was currently inside - Sam. Upon extending a hand out and allowing the staff to help her back up to the ground, the woman shook her head and rapidly blinked her eyes due to the intense migraine against the back of her head.
Upon lifting an arm up to check on the pain at the back of hunk’s wide head, Lindsay’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the thick bulging bicep that limited how far she could extend her arm back. Just from the quick glance she made at it, Lindsay knew for a fact that the man’s bicep was bigger than one of her old thighs! Still quite dazed from the possession, Lindsay allowed herself to be led away by staff as they told her that they were going to have the team doctor make sure that the fall hadn’t given the football player a concussion.
Throughout this entire walk, Lindsay then got her first opportunity to realize just how broad, bulky, and manly she was now. Instead of being a dainty woman with a modelesque figure, she felt gigantic as this imposing football player that was fully stacked with firm muscle. On top of that, each step that loudly pounded across the floor gave way to several new sensations. Firstly, the man’s sizable thighs caused Lindsay to adjust her gait to compensate in order to avoid any unnecessary chafing. Moving to her rear end, Sam’s sizable but firm ass couldn’t help but wobble slightly with each powerful step she took.
Although these were certainly significant changes for her to adapt to, the sensation of a slight bounce in the crotch area revealed a semi-firm boner in Sam’s pants (which was clearly due to his attraction to the cheerleader he had been talking to previously) and caused the woman to comprehend that she was now in possession of a cock instead of a pussy. Continuing to think about the difference between her female form and Sam’s masculine one, a quick glance down at the tight compression shirt that Sam was wearing revealed two thick slabs of pectorals that were somehow bigger than her small A-cup breasts! This man was absolutely built to be a dominant force in athletics, which left Lindsay rightfully worried about her new life given the fact that she had no knowledge about football.
After arriving into the small room and sitting down on an examination table, the woman anxiously fiddled her wider and meatier thumbs upon waiting for the doctor’s arrival. Once the small middle-aged doctor arrived, he wasted no time going through a quick concussion test to check on the status of the Bengals player. After having the possessed player go through balance and visual tests that the new Sam passed with flying colors, the cognitive evaluation was where things got a bit more dicey. Although Lindsay was able to successfully confirm that the player’s name was Sam and that he was a player on the Cincinnati Bengals, other questions such as his birthday and last name left the woman understandably stumped. Luckily though, the doctor was more than willing to provide those details to the new man and then ask him to repeat them back to him.
“My name is Sam Hubbard and I’m a player on the Cincinnati Bengals. I was born June 29th, 1995,” the brand new player puppeted back to the man, which was seemingly enough for the doctor to clear the hunk for play and send him off to the locker room. Despite her best objections due to the fear of not knowing how to play, the doctor remained committed to his decision and had the staff ultimately escort Lindsay back to the locker room.
Upon arriving into the locker room, Lindsay awkwardly returned pleasantries to other players who seemingly had a close relationship to the real Sam as she searched for the body that she had seen her boyfriend possess earlier. Despite the hecticness of the crowded room of countless hunks in various stages of undress, Sam was finally able to find Aaron in his hunky new body and pull him back to a more secluded area of the locker room.
Of course, Aaron tried his best to pretend as if he was the real Logan Wilson, but this facade quickly fell as Sam revealed the truth behind who was in control of this body. Understandably, Aaron was quite concerned about the status of his girlfriend given the fact that the cheerleader plan had clearly gone awry. Although it was certainly not something the former Lindsay was finally coming around to, she quickly pushed that aside as a more pressing matter emerged - her lack of football knowledge and skill.
So after the new Logan Wilson gave a quick crash course on Sam’s position and what he was expected to do on the field, Lindsay was quite concerned about the prospects of having to stand her ground and be a strong defensive force. Luckily though, Aaron revealed that he would be on the field with her and could help her as best as he could in between plays to give her tips. Before the two could continue coming up with a plan, the Bengals coach finally arrived and gave a rousing pep talk as Lindsay stripped out of Sam’s tight clothing and slipped into his football gear and uniform. The woman finished just in time as the coach finished speaking and began to lead the team out to the now-full stadium of players eagerly awaiting for an incredible football game.
Despite a few hiccups throughout, Lindsay was able to slowly understand Sam’s position and do her best to prevent the Bengals’ opponent from progressing further down the field with Aaron’s encouraging words. Luckily, his impressive and well-built physique was a saving grace in helping stop the opponents dead in their tracks as they were unable to move Lindsay’s new bulky body an inch. By the end of the game, the Bengals defense was able to completely decimate the offense and thus allow their offense to beat the other team by over 30 points. Amusingly, the commentators after the game singled out two key performers in the game - Bengals linebacker Logan Wilson and defensive end Sam Hubbard.
Although in time Aaron would discover that he was now married with a wife and had no attraction at all towards Sam Hubbard’s body, this turned out to be perfectly fine as Lindsay had some changes of her own. While Lindsay hadn’t become married by possessing Sam, she did in fact gain Sam’s heterosexuality. In fact, she was able to find a new girlfriend that left her quite amused. Throughout happenstance, Lindsay found herself dating the Bengals cheerleader that she had originally planned on possessing. Although she hadn’t found any attraction originally to the woman’s curvy figure and perky ass, it was now one of Lindsay’s favorite things about her new girlfriend whenever the couple undressed and began to fool around in bed. Given the fact that she used to be a woman herself, Lindsay was quite amused by just how wonderfully she was able to take care of her new girlfriend by making sure she was constantly sexually fulfilled via vaginal or oral sex.
So while the couple ultimately did end up going their own separate ways by gaining these new bodies, Lindsay and Aaron still remained the closest of friends both on and off the field. While playing football the duo were able to be an unstoppable force for the Bengals defense, while off the field they loved to spend their free time working out or hanging out at each other’s places to play video games and watch football together. Although it was safe to say that this wasn’t the life either individual had planned for themselves, Lindsay and Aaron were determined to take advantage of their second chance of life as best they could!
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Miguel always felt like he was miles behind other guys his age. He was short, skinny, and practically hairless from the eyebrows down. He kept hoping, praying he would hit his growth spurt like all the other boys around him. If any god was listening, none thought he was worth their time.
“Mini-guel” The nickname he got back in middle school. It started out as light hearted teasing, but as time went on this turned into something more malicious. By the time he graduated high school, everyone knew that the nickname wasn’t just referring to his height.
Now at 25 years old, Miguel had only grown a few more inches leaving him at 5’3”. Still skinny, hairless, and lacking in the meat department, he found dating to be nearly impossible. He tried every dating app out there with no luck. The only messages he received were from predatory men interested in his “youthful” appearance. And considering his appearance, they always assumed he would bottom for them. Despite still being a virgin, Miguel knew bottoming was not for him. All those late night self-discovery sessions were evidence enough for him to know that.
It was Friday night. Miguel’s friends decided to go clubbing. He reluctantly went along with them, having skipped out on too many outings already. Going out with his friends had just become inconvenient, often being accused of using a fake ID at the clubs and bars they would frequent. Once he managed to get in, he almost always just faded into the crowd, ignored in the sea of men “better” than him.
Miguel stood off to the side, gazing at all the men on the dancefloor. One guy in particular caught his attention. This man was everything Miguel wanted to be. Ruggedly handsome, full beard, huge muscles, a sexy pelt of chest hair. The man was wearing tight shorts that left nothing to the imagination. A large bulge clearly advertising his package to any and every man hungry for a taste. Miguel was so distracted by the hunk’s majestic junk that he didn’t see that the man was now looking right at him.
"You got a problem?" growled the hunk as he walked towards Miguel, snapping him out of his trance.
Miguel's head snapped up to meet the man's eyes. Legs shaking, palms sweating, mouth going dry. He opened his mouth to apologize but nothing came out. The man now stood right in front of Miguel, towering over him. The top of Miguel's head barely reaching the bottom of the hunks chest. Having this walking testosterone factory so close had him both frightened and aroused. Having backed Miguel into a corner the hunk got right in his face.
"I'm just messing with you," he laughed. "I'm Leo. I saw you staring so I figured I'd give you a closer look." He grabbed Miguel's hands and placed them on his chest.
"I'm sorry. You're just everything I've been praying to be like," said Miguel staring at the ground. "I'm just tired of feeling infererior to every man I meet."
Leo smirked. "Why don't you come to my place and we can sort that out for you."
Miguel hesitated for a second. Not wanting to be pressured into bottoming for a man, a man who had him scared to death less than a minute ago. However, the hunk's musk was affecting him. He found it harder and harder to resist Leo's invitation. Soon he was following the hunk into his car.
They shortly arrived at Leo's apartment. It was the typical bachelor pad. Laundry everywhere, mattress on the floor, and almost no furniture. The smell of Leo’s musk was even stronger in the apartment leaving Miguel dizzy and even more aroused.
“So you said you want to be like me, huh?” Leo asked while flexing his biceps, exposing his hairy armpits and wafting more musk into the room.
“Yes… I do…” slurred Miguel, his arousal slowly becoming more intense.
“Then listen to everything I’m about to tell you. Can you do that?”
“Yes, anything!” Miguel panted desperately.
Leo gave a wicked smile before giving his first command.”First, strip.”
Miguel froze. His mind was torn between wanting to obey and hiding his embarrassing (lack of) endowment. He looked at Leo with pleading eyes. “E-Everything?” he asked barely above a whisper.
“Yes, everything. You won’t be needing them once we’re done anyways.”
After Miguel stripped out of his clothes, it was Leo’s turn. First he undid the button on his shorts and slowly pulled them down making a show out of it for Miguel. Bit by bit his underwear was revealed. Bright yellow briefs filled to bursting with a meaty package. Now free from its denim prison, Leo’s bulge swelled even bigger. Now tenting and dripping through the fabric, Leo gave a satisfied sigh.
“Looks like it's time to pass down this blessing.” moaned Leo as he pulled down the briefs and stepped out of them. His massive member leaking right onto the floor. He hands the soaked briefs to Miguel. “Put this on.”
Miguel pauses, his mind overwhelmed by the naked beast of a man in front of him. Snapping back to reality, he pulls the briefs on. On his tiny frame, the briefs look comically large. He feels Leo’s Intense stare and considers putting his clothes back on and leaving.
He starts reaching for his own underwear when he feels it. A pulse of something stopping him in his tracks. Then, a warmth. It starts with his bulge. His cock starts swelling, reaching his full length at 3”. He isn’t getting hard; it keeps growing until he reaches 8’ soft. His balls follow suit. Churning, swelling, and churning again until they rival large eggs. They start flooding his body with male hormones and testosterone, kickstarting the next part of his transformation.
Miguel was already satisfied with his changes so far. He went to embrace Leo to thank him. But as soon as he moved, he fell over in pain. His bones started lengthening leaving him at a height of 6’8”. As it stopped he stood and walked up to Leo. To his surprise. Miguel was now taller than Leo.
“You might want to be in front of a mirror for this next part,” said Leo, leading Miguel to the bedroom.
As soon as they reached the bedroom door, Miguel began sweating buckets. The heat he felt earlier returned. Now it was focused on his chest. His nonexistent pecs suddenly ballooned into a perfect pair of meaty, juicy muscle tits. His nipples thickened and expanded, becoming extremely sensitive. The growth spread outwards. His torso becoming thick with powerful musclegut. His shoulders so wide that most doorways will be his worst enemy. His biceps arms swelling to massive peaks. His legs expanding thicker than most men’s waists.
While Miguel admires his new muscles in the mirror, he feels an itch across his whole body. Bit by bit, he grows a sexy dusting of hair along his body, accentuating his muscles and filling with his new musky scent. Smelling his own musk drove Miguel wild. He began stroking his cock while burying his face in his own pit. New thoughts filled his head. He realized he didn’t mind bottoming if it was for Leo. In fact, he found that he craves Leo’s cock just as much as his perfect ass. With those images flooding his mind, he came with a loud roar. His seed covering the entire mirror and himself. Miguel turned towards Leo, breathless but still horny.
“Thank you for this. I look incredible, I feel incredible!” Marcus said, attacking Leo with a sloppy kiss.
“I knew you’d take to it well,” said Leo as he rubbed and squeezed Miguel’s new muscles.
Soon they were both enjoying each other. The briefs were discarded on the floor next to the rest of Leo’s dirty laundry. Both men were now enjoying their blessings. Obtaining the bodies they desire and the relationship they were searching for.
----------------------------------------
after such a long time just rebloging i finally wrote my own story. this is the first time i write something like this so i apologize if there's anything wrong with grammar/formatting. i hope to improve as i get more practice and experience.
thanks again ^^
How about a jock with easy confidence and charisma with a natural of self with a jealous roommate who turns him into a needy, self ridiculing, anxiety riddled, scared of the world twink.who needs constant reassurance and support from his boyfriend (doesn't have to be the roommate can a jock like he was before) and help making nearly every important thing.
Really fun idea! And definitely on the longer side. Really wanted to capture this one from start to finish. Hope you enjoy it!
The sauna was packed, but Jack barely noticed. Heat, sweat, easy conversation—it was his element. He leaned back against the wood, arms stretched along the bench, grinning as one of his buddies chirped him about moving day.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack laughed. “Gotta go help my new roommate. Bro sounds like a mess over text, honestly. Figure I’ll get him out more, you know? Fix the vibe a little.”
“Fix the vibe,” one of them echoed. “Classic Jack.”
He shrugged, easy. “What? Dude just needs confidence. Not that hard.”
And he believed that. Always had. People overthought everything: how they looked, how they sounded. Jack didn’t. You showed up, you were yourself, things worked out. Keep it simple.
---------------
Jack knew within about thirty seconds that Liam was… a lot. Not bad. Not even unlikable. Just... loud in a way that filled every gap in a room.
"...and this guy was like, ‘I’m not into twinks,’ and I’m standing there like, okay, cool, did you not see my selfie?"
Jack blinked. "Wait... what’s a twink?"
Liam stopped, turned, and gave him a long, exaggerated once-over. "Oh my god. You’re serious?" A pause, then a dramatic sigh. "Honey… you have, like, sooo much to learn."
Jack laughed, a little unsure, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, man, guess I do."
Liam kept going... about guys, about rejection, about how everything always came down to looks. It was constant. Every story circled back to it. Who was hotter, who got ignored, who didn’t measure up.
"You’re overthinking it," Jack said, leaning back against the counter. "Just relax. Be yourself. People like confidence. Trust me, bro!"
Liam paused, looking almost offended, “Must be nice.”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“Not caring what people think.”
Jack shrugged automatically. “I mean… yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it.”
Liam just hummed, like that answered everything.
---------------
Later, in his room, Jack kicked the door shut behind him and tugged his shirt off, tossing it onto the bed without thinking. He glanced at the mirror, just a quick check, same as always. Except… he didn’t look away. His eyes dropped to his stomach. He’d never really thought about it before, not like this. But now the line of hair down his abs stood out more than it should’ve. Darker. Thicker. It broke up the definition in a way that suddenly felt… off. Messy, almost.
Jack ran a hand over it, frowning slightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered, like he needed to say it out loud.
He straightened, flexed a little. Habit. But instead of the usual quick nod and move on, he hesitated. His chest didn’t pop the same way it did at the gym. Or maybe it did. He couldn’t tell. Still, he shifted his shoulders, trying a different angle. Then again. And then he noticed his necklace. And for the first time, he wondered... Is this tacky? Did it look kinda cheap?
Jack let out a short chuckle. “Chill dude.”
---------------
“Glad you agreed to come along.” Jack smiled as they stepped onto the gym floor. “This is gonna be good for you. Build some confidence, get you feeling better about yourself.”
Liam looked around, already tense. “Or I humiliate myself publicly. Love that for me.”
“You’re fine,” Jack reassured with a grin, “Stick with me.”
They started easy, but Liam struggled. Arms shaking, stopping early, constantly glancing at himself in the mirror.
“God, I look awful,” Liam muttered. “Like, actually tragic.”
“Trust me, no one’s looking,” Jack said automatically, "Here, let me show you the right form..."
He grabbed his usual weight, sat down, pressed... and immediately felt it. Heavy. Wrong. His arms wobbled on the second rep, stalling halfway up. Jack’s jaw tightened as he forced it back into place.
"Okay,” He tried to laugh it off, “Off day.”
But when he reached for the weight again, he hesitated. For the first time, he noticed the guy a few benches over. Then another, across the room. Were they watching? Did that rep look as bad as it felt? And suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how he looked.
"You okay?"
"Ye-yea..." Jack mumbled, "Uh, maybe we should just go."
"Oh no! What about my routine?"
"Your routine?"
"I focus on all the right places," Liam explained, "A bottom needs a juicy ass, babe."
"A bottom?" Jack repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Really? You have so much to learn." Liam teased, patting Jack's arm, "Tops need something nice to squeeze while they rail you senseless."
Jack swallowed hard, face flushing slightly at the blunt talk. He glanced away.
"I guess I never really thought about it that way…"
"Well, now you know," Liam said airily, "So humor me, okay big boy? Besides, you could use a good leg day."
---------------
“This is so unrealistic,” Liam muttered.
Jack sat back into the couch, his ass sore from what had to be the fifth day in a row of Liam's gym routine. Meanwhile, Liam was curled into the other side, phone in hand, only half-watching the screen.
“No one just… ends up together like that. Not without a reason.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d be surprised, bro.”
Liam finally looked at him then. Really looked at him, eyebrow raised.
“Would I?”
Jack shifted slightly. “I mean… yeah. Me and Erica, for example. We’re good. No drama, no weird stuff. Just works.”
“Well duh…” Liam shook his head. “You’re tall. You don’t try too hard, which people love. You’re built…” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “…well, you were more built a few weeks ago, but still.”
“What?” Jack blinked and looked down at himself. “I haven’t changed that much.”
“Someone's defensive!” Liam smirked. The two sat in uneasy silence. “You think she’d still be with you if that changed?”
“That’s not...” Jack shook his head. “No... That’s not how it works.”
“Confident!” Liam smiled. “But there’s always a reason.” A small pause. “And it’s usually something you can lose.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the movie neither of them were really watching anymore.
“Dude... you overthink this stuff too much.” Jack said, quieter now.
“Maybe,” Liam shrugged.
Jack looked back at the TV, but his focus slipped almost immediately. His mind snagged on something else… something smaller.
You were more built a few weeks ago.
Erica always said this shirt looked good on him, that she loved the way it highlighted his muscles. But now? The fabric wasn't taut against his pecs. Even the sleeves sat different, the cotton no longer hugging his upper arms. Looser. Unimpressive. He flexed subtly, but the movement barely changed anything. No pull, no stretch. His arms were actually… smaller.
“L-O-L! You’re doing it again.”
Jack’s head snapped up, “Doing what?”
“Inspecting!” Liam giggled, nodding toward him. “You've been checking yourself out more."
“I am not!” The words came out sharper- and higher- than he expected, the pitch jumping suddenly before he could catch it. Jack blinked, clearing his throat quickly. “I’m not... I'm just...”
Liam raised an eyebrow, then gave a small, knowing smile.
"I-I'm going to bed." Jack huffed, "See you tomorrow, bro."
---------------
“You're so jittery!” Liam laughed, already pushing the door open. “Aren't these your friends?”
“Yeah, I know, I just... like... yeah.” Jack trailed off, looking down at himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt.
It fit tighter, which would've made Jack happy if it was his shirt. But he borrowed this one from Liam. It stretched taut across his slim torso. And his pants? Tight as fuck from all those glute workouts. Highlighting his ass in a way that would certainly draw attention.
“Yo!” one of his boys called. “There he is.”
Jack smiled, “Hey~! What’s up!?” His voice came out lighter than he meant it to, a soft lift at the end. He blinked, clearing his throat.
Erica stepped in with a smile. “Hey.”
“Hi babe!”
The kiss was quick... and empty. He blinked slightly as he pulled back.
“You good?” she asked lightly.
“Yeah,” Jack said quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”
One of the guys gave him a once-over. “New look?”
Jack shrugged quickly. “I mean... yeah. Just like... trying something different, I guess.”
Liam slid in beside him. “He looks good.”
“Yeah,” another friend said. “Just… not what I expected.”
Jack laughed, a little too fast. “Okay, wow, rude,” he said playfully, earning a raised eyebrow from Erica.
They settled in, drinks passed around, Liam made his introduction. But as the conversation picked up, Jack felt... off. Same topics. Same jokes. Jack found himself drifting, only half-listening, his attention snagging on other things... how people looked, who was watching who.
“So you still lifting?” someone asked.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “Just, like not as heavy. I’ve been doing more, like… cardio? And legs.”
“Legs?” his friend repeated. “Since when do you care about legs?” A couple laughs.
Jack felt his chest tighten. “I mean... people notice a nice ass. Sorry I don't base my whole personality off how much I can bench.” It came out harsh... defensive even.
“Woah dude, I was just joking.” his friend raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, no, I know, I just... yeah.” A small, breathy laugh slipped out.
He took a quick sip of his drink, eyes flicking around the room like he was trying to reset.
Liam nudged him. “Okay, but that guy? The shirt is… not helping him.”
Jack followed his gaze automatically. “Oh my god, yeah,” he said, a sharper laugh slipping out. “And the hairline? Like... pick a struggle.” He blinked right after, like the words had surprised him.
“Dude,” one of his friends cut in, frowning. “You don’t gotta be a dick.”
Jack’s smile faltered. “I’m just joking...”
“It didn’t sound like a joke.”
“Right... yeah. Sorry,” Jack said again, softer now.
The conversation moved on... without him. Jack frowned, leaning back in his chair. Something about his own voice...his tone... himself...felt off. As he quietly withdrew from his friends, something snagged his attention.
“Hey… that guy over there?” he whispered to Erica. “The one in the black shirt.”
Erica frowned slightly but glanced over. “What about him?”
“He’s been, like… looking at me.” Jack said, a little too quick.
She looked again, then shrugged. “I mean… maybe?”
“No, like... he is.” he said, quieter now. Tight but not entirely anxious.
Erica didn’t answer right away. “Do you... want him to be?”
“I mean...” Jack hesitated, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth, “I don’t not want him to be.”
Erica nodded slowly. “Oh...” Jack could see a sudden sadness in her eyes, “I’m... I need to call Jess real quick.”
“Oh... yeah, okay,” Jack said, blinking.
He watched her walk off, something in his chest tightening. When he looked back at the table, the conversation had already moved on again without him.
---------------
Jack replayed it more than he wanted to admit. Erica across from him, arms folded, voice calm in that way that made it worse.
“I don’t think this is working anymore.”
And him... just sitting there. He wanted to say something. Something important... Instead, there was nothing. Just a strange, hollow feeling, like he’d missed something important without knowing when.
"God you've been moping for days!" Liam whined, "Here, throw this on. We're going out."
---------------
"Where are we going?" Jack whined.
"Shhhh you'll see!"
Jack slowed as they got in line, the music bleeding out onto the street, the way people stood a little closer to each other than he was used to.
"Oh my god!” he let out, a quiet, nervous laugh slipping free. “Is this a gay bar?”
Liam just glanced at him. “You’re so cute when you piece things together.”
"Is this why you wanted me to wear this?” he asked.
His tank top clung to him- tight, thin, riding up just enough to expose his stomach. Flat. Smooth. Too smooth. His eyes lingered there for a second longer than they should have. The treasure trail he was used to... gone. Not trimmed. Not shorter. Just… not there. Jack’s brow knit slightly.
Had it always been like that?
The shorts were worse. Short, tight, hugging high on his thighs in a way that made his ass feel fully, undeniably on display. And it was. It wasn’t subtle. It was the point.
“You look good.”
Jack swallowed, voice softer now, that higher, lighter tone settling naturally. “I feel like… totally exposed.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh as they made there way inside.
---------------
The dance floor swallowed him quickly. At some point, Liam was gone and Jack found himself hovering at the edge, watching, feeling... out of place.
“You new here?”
Jack turned and gawked at the man behind him. Broad shoulders, solid chest, the kind of grounded confidence Jack used to carry without thinking about it.
"Is it that obvious?” he asked.
The guy smiled. “A little.” He held out his hand, "C'mon."
Jack hesitated briefly, but took the man's hand. He was pulled into the crowd, the flashing lights disorienting as the music pressed in around them. Bodies moved close, the space tightening, and suddenly the guy’s hands were on him- firm at his waist, steady, guiding him into the rhythm. Jack followed without thinking too hard.
Then... a squeeze. Sharp, deliberate.
Jack’s breath caught, his body jolting slightly at the sudden pressure on his ass. He shuddered. Looked up at the man. Lips quivering. The guy’s expression softened into something amused.
“Fuck... you’re so cute.” Jack swallowed, heat rushing to his face... but he didn’t pull away. “Is that okay?” the guy asked, quieter now, giving Jack's ass another squeeze.
“…Yeah,” Jack moaned, softer. “Yeah, it’s okay. More than okay...”
And it was. The man smirked.
“You wanna get out of here?”
Jack didn’t look for Liam.
“I... Yeah.”
---------------
The bedroom was dim, warm. Jack stepped inside and slowed without meaning to, suddenly aware again—of his body, of his clothes, of the way the guy gazed at him. Not casually. Intentionally.
“You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer, voice lower now.
Jack nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah… I think so.”
“Do you want to?” he asked gently. “We can just hang. We don’t have to do anything.”
Jack hesitated. It had felt good... being wanted like that... being touched like that. But the thought tangled uneasily in his chest. He was straight… wasn’t he?
“…Yeah,” he said finally, quieter. “I do.”
The guy studied him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
His tank top came off easily, lifted and gone. He felt... vulnerable. Small compared to the man in front of him.
"Fuck... you're cute."
Jack blushed, turning and unexpectedly catching his reflection in the darkened window. His hair held the light differently, the dark brown he knew softened, warmer now, almost blond at the edges.
Since when...
“It's okay.”
The guy’s hand settled at his waist again, grounding him, thumb brushing lightly against his side. Jack blinked, pulling himself back.
“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve never… done anything with a guy before.”
A small pause. Then a slow, almost amused smile.
“Really?”Jack nodded, his breath catching slightly. “You sure you’re okay with this?” the guy asked again, softer this time.
"Yeah,” Jack said, and meant it.
“Good,” the guy murmured. “You really have no idea what you do to people, do you?”
The words landed warmer than they should have, settling somewhere low in Jack’s chest. Then, the guy pulled his own shirt off. Jack’s eyes followed without thinking
"Wow..." Instinctively, Jack’s hand came up, resting lightly against a muscular pec, feeling the heat, the firmness beneath his palm.
The guy smirked and leaned in...
Jack's first kiss with another man was slow at first. The warmth, the pressure... his hand tightened slightly against the guy’s chest as he responded. He giggled when the kiss broke.
The man leaned in again. Their lips connected. Deeper, more certain. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t confusing. It felt… good. The guy’s hand slid lightly along his side, resting against his bare skin, and Jack felt his breath catch again... but he didn’t pull away.
He leaned into it instead.
It had been a week since he met Paul that night and so much had changed.
“Do you think my hair looks good?” Jack adjusted it again, fingers careful, practiced. It was fully blond now... soft, styled, falling just right. Not effortless anymore. Deliberate, “I think Paul would like it more like… this.”
Liam smirked.
“Oh! Look at these!” Jack turned his head, “I got these. See?” He angled his ears, the small studs catching the light. Flashy. Begging to be noticed. “They’re not too much, right? I just... thought he might…”
Liam watched, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh!” Jack tugged lightly at the hem of his shorts, glancing back. “Look at my ass in these!” A pause, “I want Paul to notice.”
“Oh he'll notice.” Liam laughed.
“Thank god! Like, last time we only kissed! I didn't even get to taste his cock...” He glanced down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “This time, I want him to fuck my brains out. And so like, I need to look good!"
"Poor Jack."
“Now... what about my top...? Like, does it even look good?” Every word felt like it mattered. Every look. Every reaction.
Liam’s eyes flicked over him slowly- taking in the slimmer frame, the softened edges, the way Jack held himself now. Smaller. Careful. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. Jack didn’t notice. He was already looking back at his phone, rereading Paul’s last message.
---------------
"Woah." Paul grinned as he opened the door, "I uh..."
“Hey,” Jack said softly. His eyes betraying his desperate need. Paul’s eyes moved over him slowly, taking everything in: the blond hair, the earrings, his juicy ass.
“I...” he murmured. “You look... amazing.”
Jack flushed, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “You think? I just... I want to look good for you.” He draped his arms over the man's shoulders and nuzzled into his chest.
"You do."
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t think. His hand moved along Paul's growing bulge. He licked his plump lips. He'd been practicing, imagining this... obsessing over making Paul feel good.
"I want to gag on it." Jack breathed, "And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please..."
Paul smirked and watched as Jack dropped to his knees easily, naturally. Looking up, waiting, searching Paul’s face for approval. The other man wasted no time- quickly freeing his engorged cock.
And Jack felt it then- the validation, that warm, consuming need to be wanted- settle fully into place. He couldn't wait for his reward.
“’Body surfing,’ is an important skill to learn as fledgling body possessors,” Gerald spoke to the hidden camera, putting on his teacher persona as best he could considering the ciscumstances. “Normally, it takes a lot of mana for us to take over other people, but the body surfing technique involves taking over multiple people over the course of a single day, using their own mana as a sort of ‘surfboard,’ to ride the waves of mana that flow inside of us all.” He inwardly cringed as he spoke, his current body very clearly unfitting for his lesson.
Gerald had no idea who had come up with such awful terminology, but it was far too late to change that. The small yet tight-knit community the possessors in the area had formed needed to have a sense of unity. Too much innocent blood had been shed for shame to hold Gerald back. ‘Far too many of you have been lost for me to get cold feet now,’ he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued his explanation for the future viewers.
“I’ve already spent quite a lot of my own mana to possess this young man,” Gerald forced his host to say. What was his name again…? He focused, face visibly tightening before his eyes widened in realization. “Jerry! Huh, it’s so close to my name.” He winced and made a mental note to himself to delete that part of the video. “It was difficult, y’know,” he said, pacing around in Jerry’s underwear with very little shame. He couldn’t help but strut, already enjoying the tight muscle in this youthful form. “I had to float into his cute little butt to take him over.”
Gerald grinned and slapped Jerry’s butt, enjoying the slight jiggling. He thought back earlier today as he launched into a story of how he had taken Jerry over for his class.
Gerald’s misty form had crawled through the apartment building’s pipes, searching for a nice and hot host that would catch people’s eyes while he tried to educate them. Then, he found Jerry exiting the shower and clad in just a pair of new-age briefs. Gerald stared at it in confusion, unsure if this is really what the young ones were really wearing. ‘Am I getting old?’ Gerald had briefly mused before launching himself towards Jerry’s ass.
“AH! Woah, ahhh…!” Jerry collapsed on his stomach, ass facing the ceiling as Gerald’s essence took him over. “Ah, pl-please… help…!” gasped Jerry, his hips thrusting on their own as he lost consciousness.
“Mmm, nice…” Gerald muttered as he sat up. He rubbed his stomach and then his bare, youthful legs. “It’s been a while since I was someone so young. And so hairless,” he chuckled.
“And that’s what happened,” he finished for his class. “It was lucky that this young man enjoys filming so much. Now I’ve got a nice and high-quality camera for this lesson rather than some janky phone.” It truly had been serendipity for him. Gerald giggled as he sat cross-legged in front of the camera, enjoying just how his borrowed form felt so exposed and yet so confident in his near-nudity. “So, I’ve got a dilemma. I want to move on and yet I’m pretty much exhausted my mana supplies—the essence of the soul. Say I even got into the trouble and I have to evacuate for whatever reason. What could I do in this situation?”
Gerald waited a quick second before continuing, “If you don’t know, that’s fine. This technique’s quite advanced. Not even some of our more veteran community members have even mastered it. Yours truly, however,” Gerald paused to place a hand on his chest, making sure to lightly tweak a nipple, “is well-versed enough in the arts to enlighten you.”
It wasn’t a secret nor difficult to figure out the theoretical part, but it was a challenge to divert the flow of energy instead of letting it be lost to entropy. It was similar to having a rush of anger and trying to convert the energy of that anger to something productive. In other words, it was turning anger to passion, turning sadness to compassion, and turning joy to kindness. The emotion behind it was just as important, if not more so, than the actual intention.
‘Easier said than done,’ Gerald thought. ‘Honestly, I’d have to do a one-on-one with all of these new possessors for them to even get proficient at it. However, just imparting the knowledge would be enough… for now, at least.’
“Now, I have invited my host’s friend to come over soon. Before he arrives, I’m going to start masturbating my host’s body and preparing my mana.” One of the ways that mana flowed was through bodily fluids, with semen being one of the most potent ones. The emotions surrounding a climax allows a large flow of magic to surge through and even be present in the semen that one shoots at that moment of peak pleasure. “I won’t use my own mana,” summarized Gerald, “but instead use this young man’s mana from his own climax to possess his friend, Mike.”
Gerald was about to continue, but bit his lower lip as he heard the faintest knock from the front door. Then, Mike’s voice called out to be let in.
Grinning, Gerald placed a finger to his lips and winked at the camera. “Let the show begin.” It wasn’t difficult to begin jacking off in this youth’s body. Even stroke felt like a lightning strike and even gasp was just fuel to Gerald’s fiery lust--now reborn in this young vessel… for the time.
“C-C’mon in,” Gerald forced Jerry to say. He had left the apartment’s front door unlocked on purpose. With any luck, Mike would get curious and explore the lustful noises straight to Jerry’s room. “Door’s unlocked.” Everything was falling into place. Gerald had seen a few pictures of Mike. He was a cute ginger with a good body that used to play hockey in high school. Though his sports days were behind him, Mike still regularly went to the gym to keep a nice form. “Mmm…!” The thought of taking over another young hunk, one with fiery curly hair that was so much like his own during his teenage years, almost made Gerald cum on the spot.
“Hurry up…!” Gerald hissed. Just how much more did his thick cock need to finally cum. It was such a tease--to be on the verge of cumming but not getting there quite yet. “You stupid fucking himbo, fucking cum already!” Although he was on the verge of running out of time, Gerald couldn’t help but find the verbal abuse arousing as well. “Cum for me, boy. Lemme feel that stallion cock of yours burst all over your hairless, himbo body…”
“Jerry? That you? What’re you doing…?” Gerald could hear Mike’s approaching footfalls, and that only made the whole situation more erotic. Before losing his body, Mike would see his best friend cum all over himself like a shameless exhibitionist. And then, Gerald would do the same thing to Mike. Forget the class or keeping the peace, Gerald could only think of hopping between men and turning each of them into cum-obsessed cocksuckers.
“Hrrngh! Oh god…!”
Yes… it was approaching. All Gerald needed to really turn this body on as he cranked the cock was a bit of foreplay. His core was beginning to tense, and he could feel himself rush past the point of no return.
Right at the precise moment, the door opened. “Jerry, what the fuck?!” Mike cried out as he saw his best friend beating his meat without a lick of shame.
Grining, Gerald forced Jerry to shout, “I’m fucking cumming…!” as torrents of cum shot high into the air in Mike’s direction.
‘Now, give me your body, boy.’
Riding that climatic wave, Gerald used the large pool mana that Jerry’s young body was shooting to propel his soul forward. Even though all of his own energy was spent, he felt rejuvenated, as though he was 20 years younger, as Jerry came. However, just like a normal wave crashing into the sea, it would not last forever. The energy could not be stored, only spent in that very moment; but that small burst in power was all Gerald needed as he dove into Mike’s body.
“Oomph!” Mike huffed as the force of Gerald diving into his body was enough to knock him off balance. He fell backwards and hit the ground, body convulsing as an invisible, unknowable force began to take him over. “Wh-What the fuck…?!” was all he could say as a cold and numb sensation spread from the tips of his fingers and toes into his core. “H-Help… ohh… please don’t…” Mike reached a trembling arm towards the doorknob, his fingers twitching as they tried to find anything to grab onto.
By the time Mike’s fingers gripped the brass knob, Gerald was already in control. “Mmm… delicious.” Something that Gerald noticed from certain bodies was that they somehow had some kind of spiritual ‘flavor.’ Mike reminded him of strawberries in a shortcake somehow. He licked his lips and chuckled at the light bristle of Mike’s bushy and manly beard. “Trying to be a real man, boy?”
Gerald forced Mike to sit up and then lie on his stomach. “Just a young man trying to be a big boy,” he chuckled as he positioned Mike’s ass high in the air, wiggling his hips the whole time. “But then a real man like Gerald took over my body. All with my best friend’s spunk as a springboard. God, what kinda friend--what kinda man--am I for letting that happen?”
A horrible idea suddenly crossed Gerald’s mind. Crawling back into Jerry’s room, Gerald opened Mike’s mouth and began to suck the remaining cum off of Jerry’s still twitching cock. “God, Mike, you’re so virile. I’m so glad you’re this cumslut’s friend,” said Gerald. Then he realized that he was still supposed to be explaining a lesson.
Grabbing the camera, Gerald focused it on Mike’s face and began to speak. “Well, did you see that? I was all out of mana, but masturbating with a man’s other body, I was able to use his energy to possess this hunk of meat.” To illustrate his point, Gerald stripped most of Mike’s clothes until he was down to his boxer briefs. “See? And--” he stopped as he heard the front door open.
“Jerry? You home? What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?”
Jerry’s father. A tall and broad-shouldered man that, from what Gerald could tell from Jerry’s memory, wasn’t particularly fond of Mike due to his… ‘lifestyle.’ Was it due to something repressed? Mike certainly seemed to think so, but Gerald couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. Taking a look around and seeing the scene before him, Gerald began to internally panic--twisting Mike’s generally nonchalant expression into a stressed grimace.
‘Shit. His son’s unconscious, covered in cum, and his best friend’s stripped down to his underwear. If I saw this scene I’d think Mike was trying to date-rape my son! Don’t think I’ll be able to simply laugh off this little excursion. But… the only way to get out of this would be…’
Gerald had never attempted a double possession, with or without an explosive orgasm catapult. Was it a good thing that the camera was still recording? He wasn’t sure anymore. To be frank, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Loud, boisterous footfalls continued to ring in his ears.
Even in times of danger, Gerald knew he could rely on his libido to get him out. Throwing Mike’s underwear away, no longer caring about maintaining any sense of professionalism, Gerald got to work. Using what was left of Jerry’s cum as makeshift lube, he began to explore Mike’s tasty body with horned-up haste.
“The hell’s that, Jerry? Got a girl over?” Jerry’s father called out again. Gerald couldn’t help but giggle in-betweens his moans. If only he knew.
Mike’s gruff voice contrasted so wonderfully with his high-pitched and needy groans. His back arched and his toes curled as Gerald continued to beat his dick. The other hand freely explored the nice pelt of orange hair that coated Mike’s body.
‘What I wouldn’t give to just have a day with this guy,’ thought Gerald. A few tweeks of the nipples and he could already feel an orgasm building up. Just a few more minute and vigorous strokes and he’d be home free. “C’mon, cum for me…! Just a bit more.”
Jerry’s door flew open for the second time that day, and this time Jerry’s father roared in horror at the scene before him. “MIKE! What the fuck are you doing?! Jerry?!”
‘An audience,’ Gerald thought, smirking at the older man. ‘And not a bad looker either.’
“Hey, daddy-o,” Gerald forced Mike to say. He thrust into his grip, gyrating his hips as though to show off what his body could do to Jerry’s father. “Like the show? Have a seat, I can do so much for you if you want. I don’t mind some audience participation.” To emphasize his own point, Gerald raised a hand with a bit of pre-cum and slowly licked it off--savoring the sweet flavor.
Jerry’s father, mouth slightly agape and expression somewhere between horror and arousal, just stared at Gerald abusing Mike’s body. “Y-You’re sick,” he finally said, eyes glued to Mike’s swinging cock as it twitched. “What did you do to Jerry…?”
“Same thing I’m gonna do to you, daddy!” Gerald cried out in glee as Mike’s abused cock shot the first few rounds of semen. He bit his bottom lip, moans just barely muffled, as Mike’s hips naturally thrust with each shot. As the orgasm reached its end, Mike’s body began to tremble and grow limp as Gerald shot himself out. He rushed through the air and quickly dove right into Jerry’s father through his large chest.
“Hurugh! Ohh, what the fuck…?!” Unlike Mike, Jerry’s father remained standing even after Gerald dive bombed into his chest. However, despite his stronger will, he was unable to stop the tidal wave that crashed over his body. His broad arms gripped the door frame for support as his knees bent from the pressure.
The invasive presence washed over him, filling him up slowly. It wasn’t unlike the first time his ex-wife had pegged him. The fear that came from being filled for the first time was matched only by the pleasure that followed. Just the thought of that night made his cargo shorts tighten. He knew that he should’ve been afraid and even outraged, but his body betrayed him in favor of the invasive presence. “M-More, please fuck me more…!” he whispered as his grip on the door frame tightened. Sweat dripped from his body as his soul let the tides carry him to a blissful and erotic rest.
“And that class,” Gerald forced his host to say, “is how you use your host to your advantage. Now, this is a more advanced technique, so don’t worry if you find it tricky at first.” Bill, Jerry’s father, was far more comfortable to Gerald than Jerry or Mike. The beefy look and authoritative voice also helped Gerald really get into the persona of a professor. It was like putting on a custom before getting into character. “But, as you can see from my improvised lesson plan, it’s possible to even chain multiple possessions in just one day! Really beats having to wait for the refractory period to end, huh?” He chuckled in Bill’s deep baritone, hands on his stomach as he felt Bill’s stolen body jiggle and quake with life. This was more like it.
And with the lesson done, Gerald now had plenty of time on his own to get familiar with Bill. Maybe Jerry and Mike would like to get involved as well…
“Are you sure this is what you want ?” I asked Mike as we pulled up to the old shop. He was giddy from excitement. “Yes!” He practically yelled at me. “For the last time I’ve thought this through and this is what I want !” I looked down. He knew he had upset me. Lashing out the way he did. With a kinder approach he reaching forward and lifted my head. “Thank you for supporting me in his. Now come on. This will benefit both of us !” I forces a smile. And got out of the car. We both walked into the old shop where we seen an old man standing behind the counter. “Are you my 1 o clock?” He asked and Mike was nervous and stiff as a board. “Yes. He is your one o’clock” I answered for him. “Ahh. Seems to be a bit nervous. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and freshen up. Sometimes that helps to calm the nerves”. He motioned to a door in the corner. I pushed Mike in the direction and he stumbled over his feet. I knew he was nervous. It it would give me time to talk to the old man about specifics. While in the bathroom mike took a good chance to look at himself one last time.
————
“Are you sure ? Really that’s what you want ? That’s what he wants ?” The old man asked me. “If you don’t believe eive me ask him yourself. He’s dead set on this.” I responded.
“He’s right”. We both turned our heads. Mike was standing at the doorway of the bathroom now. “It’s what I want. Everything he said is true.”
The old man laughed. “Normally I only do things like this as a punishment but my dear man. You just want it ! Fine. Take your seat in the spot light !” Mike walked towards me nervously and kissed me before taking his place right in front of the camera. The old man smiled “well “big guy”, here goes nothing !” And with that a bright light went off in the shop. Blinding everyone’s vision for a split second. And when everything came back into vision, Mike was no longer standing there. But in his place was. Large hairy body builder of a man.
“Well I think it worked ! If I do say so myself!” The old man smiled. He pulled the negative out of the back of the camera which held the original copy of Mike. He held it to me “You know how to make this permanent for him now……”
——————
Back at their apartment Mike and his boyfriend now has to get used to the new normal. Mike was now an extremely large hairy muscular man who took up way more space than he used to. He thundered through the apartment like an animal and made loud noises like one too. What was even more was that he wasn’t even aware he was doing any of it. Nick watched as his boyfriend just lumbered about the about the apartment. He had to admit. As much as he caught the change at does the couldn’t help but love the idea of having this huge muscle beast living him now. Sure he stunk like a sweaty gym and sweat like no tomorrow. He was eating constantly but there was just something about him that nick couldn’t help but love watching. The downside though was that it was impossible to me to carry to conversation with Mike now. Half of what he said made no sense to Nick anymore. It was all bro talk.
The shoe store was another escapade to have to have to deal with. They had to find something to fit Mike now. The clerk didn’t know how to respond when Mike just started at him dumbly when asked what his size was and Nick shrugged his shoulders because he had no clue. They two were led to a bench where Mike was sat down and a massive foot was placed on the sizer.
Looking down Mike furrowed his brow. Numbers were so hard for him now and he rubbed his forehead. Nick was astounded. 15 wide. Damn. He really was massive now. The clerk went to get a large size of trainer shoes for Mike and Nick ended up choosing something for Mike that would fit a gym junkie. After all. He needed something that would fit his needs body type and personality right ? It’s not like he would be wearing dress shoes anymore.
On the way back to the apartment they passed the photo shop and Mike stopped. For the first time since the change, Nick actually understood him for one outside of the obnoxious bro talk “let’s go in”. Curious not sure why he would want to go back in to the store, Nick followed him. The old man was still behind the counter. He looked at the two and smiled. “Back so soon ?” Mike just smiled. Nick was confused because it seemed like the two already had a conversation just based on the way they were looking at each other.
The next thing Nick knew, he Mike jumped out of the way as the old man pointed the camera directly at him and took a picture.
“What did you just do to me !!!” Nic screamed and ran to the mirror. After seeing his reflection he slowly started taking a step back. He had been changed. No longer was he the thin or shy looking as before. Replaced for everyone to see was a shirt covered muscular cubbish man. One that looked dim in the eyes. He looked as if he’d done too many poppers! He heard a rustle and looked at the old man as his negative picture was handed to Mike who grinned as he pulled out his own original picture. Mike spoke to him and now made perfect sense. “Time to make this our new normal” and with that he ripped both pictures in half causing the bright light to appear. Sealing them in their glamour.
Nick couldn’t stop looking at his boyfriend Mike with thirsty eyes as he flexed for him. Drooling constantly as his boyfriend was a walking piece of meat. He was everything he could have dreamed of. He was obsessed with him. He couldn’t think of anything else ! Everything Mike told him to do he obeyed like a good servant boyfriend would. Mike was the dominant owner in the relationship and he made sure Nick knew it. Forcing Nick to accept him in all orifices. Worshiping every inch of his muscular form. Sure Mike wasn’t that smart but he made sure that Nick was a few notches dumber on that scale to make sure he wasn’t outsmarted in anyway. He wanted to make sure Nick was the perfect hairy dumb sub he needed and he got exactly that. In thought and looks. The only thing Mike hated was that he put off forcing this change on the two of them sooner.
“Maybe if you had millions of followers like me, you’d understand”
“Well keep on dreamin, son. That’s never gonna happen”
———————————————————————
Richard was disappointed that his son had developed an addiction to this new app called ‘TikTok’. It was a waste of time. He spent his entire day shirtless doing stupid dances in front of his phone. Richard had to put a stop to it. Encourage him to do something more productive. Who cares that he had millions of followers, right?
“Dad, I want you to understand why I love TikTok”
Richard’s son balanced his phone against the wall. The phone camera staring directly at the father and son.
“No, son. I don’t want to be in your stupid Tikto-“ Before Richard could finish his sentence, music began to blast from his son’s phone.
Richard’s son started dancing in front of the camera. Showing off the latest TikTok moves he had been practicing for hours. The music caused a warm sensation to flow through Richard’s body. The 41 year old’s body felt as if it was on fire.
“Son, I need to sit dow-“
“DANCE DAD”
Richard’s body began to move against his will. His hips gyrating. His tongue sticking out as he winked at the camera. His arms meticulously moving as if he had been practicing the TikTok dance for hours. The 41 year old dad looked so out of place. But he couldn’t stop. It just felt so good to dance sexily in front of the camera.
“THAT’S IT, DAD. I CAN TELL YOU’RE LOVING IT”
Richard’s face began to get younger. His entire body regressing. His age decreased from 41 to 35. His skin becoming smoother and less blemished. His wrinkles becoming less pronounced. His laugh lines fading. His age slipped down further and further the more he danced. The more he humped the air, the more he regressed. Age 35 to 33 to 29 to 24 until eventually he slipped down to a young fuckable 20 year old.
The 20 year old’s hair began shifting to match his younger appearance. It became long and shaggy on top. Showing no signs of receding. The 20 year old ran his hands through his curled hair and gave a wink to the camera. Richard was screaming on the inside. Why was his body changing? Why did he look like he was in his teens? He almost looked as young as... his son.
Richard gained back control of his body... his new 20 year old body. He tried to run away from the music. He ran out the front door but the music was still perfectly audible. The music kept changing the 20 year old. As Richard tried to run away, his body grew. Richard stumbled down the street as his biceps grew. They grew until they were the size of a quarterback’s. Richard’s chest began inflating. His flat pectorals inflated like balloons. Becoming fat and juicy. His nipples becoming more sensitive. His new pecs now bounced with each step. Richard’s beer belly flattened. His flat stomach was then replaced by clearly defined abs. His ass grew more and more. Becoming round and fuckable. It jiggled with each and every step. As he ran away, his juicy tits jiggled and bounced as his fat ass swayed from side to side. It was humiliating.
No matter how far he ran away from his house, the music still played. He could hear every lyric. Every beat. His mind knew every dance move. His body just wanted to dance. To just rip off his shirt, stick out his tongue and hump the air. But he had to resist.
The music began infecting his mind. With each beat in the song, Richard’s IQ dropped. His IQ went from 130, to 100, to 90. Richard thought his IQ was safe at 90. But the beat began to get more intense. It began to build up more and more until eventually... the beat dropped. As the beat dropped, Richard’s IQ was drained out of his head. The beat drop in the song caused his IQ to plummet to a generous 40. Richard stopped running. He stopped panicking. He just stood blankly in the street. The music still blaring.
“Me so fuckin dumb” the jock chuckled. He sounded so dumb. So vacant. He couldn’t think about anything other than the music.
Richard... or was it Noah... Richard is too smart a name for a dumb jock like him. Noah began to follow the music. It was so inviting. So enticing. He followed it all the way back home. Noah entered the front door to see his son still dancing in front of the camera.
“Dance with me... BIG BROTHER”
Noah jumped in front of the camera, joining his little bro. It felt so good to be showing off his sexy body. Noah couldn’t help but feel so horny as he danced suggestively with his brother. Noah lifted up his t-shirt showing off his new fuckable body. Noah knew what he was doing. He was giving his 8 million fans exactly what they wanted.
“Damn” Noah dumbly chuckled as he danced with his little brother.
What kind of coffee shop was called Coffee By The Ton?
Matt knew it was a play on words but as a businessman he hated it. If someone from marketing were to suggest a pun that illogical, they were either one of two things, an intern or fired. Back in his heyday, there was a regular Starbucks on the corner. It had survived everything, riots, the stock market crash, probably a dozen other disasters that had plagued any American city. Yet they couldn’t survive this, this being the invasion of all sorts of weird themed millennial joints.
Matt thought he had escaped it by avoiding any burger place that had cropped up in the 2010s, but now it looked like the infestation had come here. No matter, Matt’s craving for caffeine wasn’t going to deter him away from the coffee spot. So that was why he even bothered to step in, though he was already running late for his one’o’clock meeting. No matter, he thought, he had been in the business long enough to know what he could get away with.
“Oh my word I do apologise,” came a deep and undeniably British voice, as Matt felt a body pressed against him. Great, he thought, of course he’d bump into someone at a coffee shop. But he didn’t feel any liquid over him and looked over at the man in front of him, blinking. He was looking for coffee stains, instead he got golden embroidery over a vanilla waistcoat. Matt took a step back, his eyes looking at the tight waistcoat, up to the matching cravat, over the shoulders of a navy wool tailcoat.
Then Matt saw the man’s face, a square jaw with a perfectly polite and pearly smile. The man’s face was handsome and recognisable, like the kind of face Matt had seen maybe…act in something? But for some reason he couldn’t put the words together or any words at all. For some reason he just stared, like an idiot he thought. He wasn’t sure why he was staring and unable to say anything, looking at the man, who was admittedly pretty handsome. Matt blinked and went to try and find some words before the man spoke again. “Are you quite alright?”
The words came out posh, too posh, like they were more a character in a play or movie than how anybody would actually speak. Matt blinked.
“Yeah fine,” the man grunted, taking one last look at the man, from the tight breeches over the man’s thighs to the cravat stuffed around the man’s thick neck. “Fine.” He grunted again under his breath before shoving past the man, ignoring how the man’s deep eyes stared at him as he swallowed.
He had no idea why a man would be wearing such tight period clothes coming out of the coffee shop and in truth, Matt didn’t want to know. But the moment he stepped inside, he knew exactly why.
The new coffee shop itself held the same space as the Starbucks with little renovation besides the decoration. Any and all green was gone, as well as the minimalist aesthetic of the place. Instead though it held the same shape, it was a completely different building inside. It started with the smell, the gentle fragrance of perfumes that coalesced into a storm of scents, rose, gardenia, the hint of vanilla that made Matt rear his head back. As he blinked, he looked inside properly at the illustrious interior. The chairs were all brown leather armchairs, fitted and comfortable, looking as if they had been polished moments before Matt had stepped in.
The floor was simple, tiled black and white diamonds with the sound of violins playing over the speakers. There was a vague recognisability to the songs, much like how the place still held the shape of Starbucks or the man outside looked so familiar, the songs had a similar effect.
They sounded like songs from the radio but different, a new percussion to them of violins and harps and flutes. Any annoying choruses were replaced simply by instrumental and played well, the sound floating through the air like the perfumes and made the place look a little more…opulent, than Matt was expecting. The walls themselves had been painted over with cream and grey, making the walls appear as if they were made of marble. There were cracks and a roughness to the walls that looked as if someone had touched the dark panels that were inside the Starbucks and shifted the material.
Must just be a good paint job, Matt thought to himself though he couldn’t help but feel the urge to reach out and touch the wall, as if testing it for himself. Narrow sections of wall had been converted into decorative pilasters, lighter than the wall they were a part of, carved with thin stripes cut into the shaft.
The top and bottom were rounded, an ornamental floral pattern carved into them that repeated for every pilaster he saw. The square modern lights had instead been replaced by chandeliers, some small to the side but with a large and golden one that refracted the sunlight. A warm and golden glow enveloped the room and made it look larger, like Matt wasn’t in the midst of a cafe but in a ballroom, surrounded by leather armchairs and mahogany tables.
The only place that did look as if it came from the modern era was the service desk, that too made of mahogany but with steel and coffee machines all set behind it.
“Are you quite alright?” A voice, melodic like the music, had decided to float through the air too. Matt looked at the only two other people that were in the cafe beside him, both dressed like the man he had bumped into. Themed cafe, great, Matt thought as he stepped closer to the strange strangers. Both of them were dressed in a similar getup, one in with rolled down puffy white sleeves, a blue waistcoat, navy blue breeches, with a handsome bearded face sticking out. The other was friendlier, a doughy face that pulled into a wide smile that accentuated chubby cheeks. That man was dressed more properly, with a navy blue tailcoat over his waistcoat (speckled yellow and cyan blue), a golden cravat and even a fob hanging from the waist. It was all a bit much for a work uniform, Matt thought as he walked over in his three piece suit. Well, at least their clothes were nice and the accents weren’t half bad, Matt thought.
“Yeah uh can I get a uh…” Matt frowned at the names of the coffees available. A caramel macchiato was a Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion, Grey Earl tea was Earl’s Morning Elixir, an Americano was The Rake’s Dark Roast. “Jesus Christ…”
“What was that sir?” One of the men spoke, the both of them attached to the hip, eyes only on him. Matt could smell the desperation for customers from a mile away.
“All these drinks…they’re just so…” Matt frowned like he had smelled something disgusting. He knew he couldn’t really complain, as the proper drinks were all labelled in brackets.
“Ah, not one for history I take it?”
“No, definitely not. It’s all just a bit…” Horrible? Trashy? Stupid? Matt tried to come up with words for themed businesses like these, like bars that thought they were medieval taverns. Tacky, was the politest one he could find. “Different.” The politest honest word he could find.
“Well we never shy away from differences, Anthony and I,” the man speaking clasped his hand on the shoulder of the more handsome one. That man was instead staring at Matt, looking at him up and down in what he had to assume was judgement. Though he didn’t get why there was a slight smile on the man’s face. “But it’s never too late for one to get into history you know?”
“Hard pass. The only history I care about is the best sale I made this quarter,” joked Matt. Neither of the men laughed like they would do in the office, even if they were motivated because they were underlings. He scoffed. “Y’know just a little bit of advice from one businessman to another…you might wanna think of ways to drum up business soon. Considering you just opened.” Both men exchanged looks, it was the first time Matt realised they weren’t staring at him.
“We hope to get some investments soon, as you’ve stated we have just begun this venture,” said one of the men, politely.
“Investment huh? Good luck with that,” Matt scoffed, not noticing the grins both men exchanged as he looked up at the menu. “Uh I’ll just get…the Viscount’s Velvet whatever.”
“You wish for the Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion sir?”
“Yeah yeah I wish for the Viscount’s infusion whatever,” huffed Matt as he went to pay for it. He watched as the men got to work, the more handsome one keeping eye contact as he squeezed some of the caramel into his drink, forcing Matt to look away. It was only after a few moments that Matt realised they were making it in a cup. “Oh actually can I get that to go?”
“I’m afraid not sir,” said the man making his drink, despite his cocky smile and demeanour his British accent made everything he said sound so polite. “All drinks are to be had at the premises. Viscount’s orders.” He winked at Matt, making the man’s brain short circuit and forget whatever it was he was going to say.
“Right uh whatever, sure, fine.” It’ll be just a quick lunch break, then back to the office and never coming here again. Matt waited before the man finished his drink and slid it smoothly across the table. The man’s warm fingers brushed against Matt’s, making him almost jolt as he looked up and swore for a second, he could see their dark eyes look into his and thought they did it on purpose.
“Enjoy.”
“Yeah, sure.” Matt took the cup and its plate, going to find a table as far away from the entrance or the front as he sat down, finding himself next to a portrait. All the minimalist and corporate safe art had instead been replaced with framed pictures, some of classic paintings and others with portraits of men Matt didn’t recognise. But it was like the man said, he was never much for history.
By the time he sat down, he saw it was nearing one. And as if on cue, the phone rang before he could get his first sip in. He took it anyway and then the call.
“What?” Matt snapped, seeing it was his assistant who had phoned.
“M-Mr. Ashworth sir uh the clients are just wondering where you are, it’s nearly one and-”
“Ugh. Can’t you see I’m on my lunch break?” Matt barked into the phone, where his assistant could only hear him. He grunted and took another long sip of the cup. He needed the caffeine today if his assistant was going to be an idiot again and waste his time. The moment the caramel coffee touched his lips, really touched and ran over his tongue, Matt closed his eyes. There was a single sudden second of bliss that only the first coffee of the day could bring and yet this was Matt’s third. The sweetness of the caramel and the tang of the coffee beans crafted a rich wet concoction that had the best parts of both, the right amount of sweet, the best amount of earthy tang to it.
“Sir?”
Matt’s eyes opened. The coffee tasted amazing for a split second but clearly his eyes had been closed longer than that. He blinked and felt annoyance rise like bile in his throat when he heard the whine of his assistant.
“What?”
“I was just wondering…if you could give me a time frame for when you’d be-”
“Listen Alex and listen to me good cus I don’t know how many goddamn times I’ve had to explain theeees-” Matt grunted. A sudden tightness ran through him, not pain to be exact but something similar, a pressure as he blinked wide and quick like he was trying to get something out of his eyes. He stifled another grunt as he shifted, feeling his slacks suddenly pushing tightly into his thighs, digging into the skin. Matt winced and continued to try and shift, sitting up straighter, moving his chair as the tightness didn’t go away. If anything it was worsening as he listened to his assistant asking whether he could just speak to the clients over the phone. “P-Put them on, sure.”
Matt ignored the sensation of how tight his trousers were becoming, blushing ashamed as he thought about the chance he could’ve been gaining weight. The last thing he needed this quarter was to suddenly look like a fat slob in the office. He hadn’t even realised that as his assistant put him on hold, that his flat ass had swelled and rounded out.
“Mr. Ashworth? This is Brian from Tyche Ventures, we met at the conference i-”
“In Lyonesse, right yes uh there’s been a bit of a…delay,” said Matt, trying to quiet his grunts as his trousers seemed to only grow tighter. Along with the tightness was another feeling, pleasure. He could feel it when he realised his ass was brushing against his pants and then sucking it in. He could feel the pants sinking between his cheeks. He could feel the fabric almost tease his hole and Matt suddenly quivered. Fuck, he had gained weight. The fuck was wrong with him? He huffed in annoyance at himself and drank more of the coffee, needing the buzz now more than ever. “I’m just on my lunch b-breakkk-” Matt gritted his teeth, hearing the sound of something, wet and thick with the hiss of inflation like the sound of whipped cream squeezed out of a can.
“Understood but- Are you alright?” Matt coughed, trying to cover the sounds he was making, the way his breath hitched as his pants tightened around his thighs.
He couldn’t tell that it was the other way around, that his thighs were thickening and spreading, as if they were made of batter and having more poured into them to spread smoothly. Instead of the clothes growing smaller, the body itself was simply growing lighter, spreading the stitching of his slacks thin over muscular quads. The sound of creaking bones and stretching tendons came out muffled beneath the expensive charcoal pants.
“Fine. Go aheeaaaad-” Matt jolted as if a chill had run down his spine, more than that, like wet ice suddenly trailed down his back as he sat up. His own voice covering the sound of more creaks as his spine suddenly stretched at once, making his shirt crawl up closer to his midriff and his suit jacket hang a little higher. Matt reached for his coffee, drinking more and trying to savour as much comfort as the sweet taste could bring him as he could feel the rest of his pants starting to tighten.
“Right well it’s just we expect a level of professionalism. If you’re late we would like a call, you know? Especially as this is to be our first meeting, we-”
“Look I get it, I do. But it’s just five minutes t-to…” Matt huffed. Why was it feeling so hot in here? What the hell was going on with his clothes? Had he gained weight? Fuck, was he gonna be in trouble for this meeting? God damn it. It felt like even his feet had somehow started swelling, like he had gotten so fat that it was pooling downwards.
His socks suddenly felt tight within his shoes, sharply wrapped around his feet with an even tighter pressure than his pants against his legs. The socks suddenly felt like they were plastic wraps with the air being sucked out of them, wrapped tighter and tighter around the feet as it grew worse. Matt grunted again, wincing even more as he felt the socks shrink.
All the while it was his feet that were growing. The toes themselves were suddenly beginning to grow shades darker as they started to pop with gentle clicks, the bones inside shifting to suit their expanding size. The toes thickened slightly, lengthening as the nails themselves grew smoother and cleaner as if regularly pedicured. A softness began coating the darkening skin that was going from pale to something else deeper as the toes stretched and pressed even tighter against the socks. The soles of the feet dragged forward, as if being pulled suddenly like the stretch of his spine.
Both of them grew longer and longer, stretching as Matt went to speak when he was hit with a sudden sense of the world tilting. It was as if his brain specifically had tilted off axis for just a moment, lurching and making him feel a dizzying wave come over his mind, a sense of deja vu.
Yet it wasn’t focused on this moment, like he had seen it before. He remembered fields or a field, he could remember walking, the snippet of a discussion about…boots? Matt couldn’t remember the last time he wore boots, except when he had spoken with his maid about where to get some new ones made. Matt blinked. Wait. What did-
“Mr Ashworth? Hello, Mr Ashworth?”
Shit.
“Uh yes hello I’m rather busy-” Matt blinked, his voice having suddenly come out in a British accent, something sophisticated and posh like all the things he’d been hearing since he got in this damned place. “Uh I mean yeah, I’m fine. Fine. Uh, could you repeat that?” Matt pressed the phone closer as he swallowed, ignoring how much better it was now that he had found some new boots.
His shoes having wrapped tighter around his growing feet and clenching the swelling calves, slithering up them like a symbiote, like wet melted leather. All before they suctioned around the legs and hardened again to polished leather the shade of maroon. Perfect of course to match my tailcoat, Matt thought and almost cartoonishly shook his head.
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?
“Yeah we were saying if we could simply reschedule the meeting, maybe an hour later that way-”
“What? No the meeting can- Can…Can ohhhh fuck-”
“Excuse me?!”
“N-No I…I…Ohhh-” Matt blushed furiously, the heat coming on fast and heavy as he felt the pressure fixate on something else, his crotch. As if his pants were vacuum sealing around his cock, there was a sudden tightness around it, from his balls all the way down his shaft. The head of his cock suddenly bloomed as the skin pulled back from the suddenly wet and slimy head as the skin began to darken too. The honeyed brown tone spread up from his feet like dye in water, quickly taking over the paleness of the more muscular lean legs that he had gotten from how much walking he did!
He blinked.
The fuck? With how often he used Uber, he hardly did any walking. But then that wave came, the dizziness, the deja vu, the snippet of senses that came as quick as they went. It was the touch of breeze that carried the smell of grass and the taste of food with the sound of it drifting through leaves that he could see above. The memory didn’t so much as fade as blinked out of existence or rather somewhere in the back of Matt’s mind, becoming a piece of something growing, infectious, as his cock ballooned in size.
F-Fuck I- I haven’t been this hard since…
Ever was the correct answer. But the distracted Matt was too busy worrying about how he came across on the call to his clients than to wonder how his cock was suddenly so hard and veiny. What was once five inches hard at best had now easily encompassed seven and thickened slightly too.
“Matt? Hello?”
“Hello I- I am so terribly sorry for my behaviour-” Matt blinked. What the fuck did he just say? “I- I mean it is most unbecoming.” Despite the words not having any meaning he could understand, there was a slither of appreciation for how composed he sounded, how deep his voice had become and how his words did not shake or moan or end in a huff of air or a wince. But those weren’t his words and Matt couldn’t understand why as his stomach began to deflate.
A layer of pudge that had made Matt worry so much about whether or not he had been gaining weight suddenly melted away like it was nothing. Before it suddenly rose again as if time was rewinding.
Except there was a key difference, instead of a soft rising like dough, there was instead a hard stirring, the coiled tension within his cock had become infectious. Matt helplessly writhed in his chair, sweat forming on his brow as he could suddenly feel his entire torso clench and then grow.
It was undeniable, the way that his upper chest spilled out into pecs, how his stomach fat had converted to the ridged muscles of abs, how the whole body just grew bigger; wider. The buttons of his shirt popped all at once, ripping open to reveal the bronzing muscle. Matt gasped as he witnessed his pale skin darkening, turning to the shade of chestnut. “O-Oh my fucking god goodness. What the hell on earth is going on? Why can’t I fucking swear?! I sound like some dumb British actor refined gentleman!” The more Matt spoke, it was like the worse things got, more and more of his voice feeling as if it were drowning in the new sophisticated tone that was taking over.
But it was more than that, along with the new accent, each word started to sound deeper.
There was a suaveness to it that was pouring over the words, a smoothness gliding over it as he writhed in his chair. He attempted to get up, but his body had grown so heavy that it was as if he were stuck, statuesque, posing for one of the portraits on the wall as waves and waves of deja vu washed over him.
Memory was the water that kept washing over the beaches of his mind, each new tide bringing forth new smells and discussions and pressures and senses that felt like they were calcifying in his head. He could remember the grandness of his estate, the names of favourite servants, the steps to the song he could currently hear if he were dancing to it at a ball.
Each memory was bringing together new feelings, making new thoughts rise in his mind, like why would I be shocked at my body? Of course it’s fit, I am the prize of the Ton after all. That time Matt did shake his head, just once, a flinch from the voice in his head, the same suave seductive voice that he could hear now infecting even his groans and panting now.
With that, it made him remember…other things, more explicit things of a rake such as himself as his cock throbbed.
“Mr. Ashworth?! Mr. Ashworth sir, are you okay? Sir?!”
The distant voice of his assistant came from the phone he had dropped. Matt writhed further in his seat, before a shadow suddenly fell over him.
“Are you quite alright?”
Matt looked up, seeing the handsome barista standing over him, poised like one of his butlers with hands behind his back. Matt clenched his eyes tight. No, he had no butlers. He didn’t live in some grand estate. He didn’t know what the Ton was and his hands weren't painful because he was boxing but because they were growing!
“P-Please…help me something…I can’t explain it sir something-” Matt’s voice was no longer this bold foreign thing to him. Instead the deeper British accent was becoming more natural, like the opposite effect of saying a word too much that it sounds odd. The man whose name he could suddenly remember as Anthony Bridgerton, viscount and notorious rake, suddenly lowered his head to Matt’s ear.
“But of course I shall help you,” came the man’s voice, his breath brushing against Matt’s darkening neck, making Matt’s cock twitch.
“Please h-heeeeelohhhhhhhh-” Matt felt the man’s hand clutch his crotch, the fingers lightly squeezing around his throbbing member. Pre-cum oozed out the head thickly as Matt gained another wave of memories. He could hear heavy moans, heavy bodies, tight holes and a name on the lips of all those voices, men’s voices, Simon, Simon, Simon.
“Is that what you seek?” Anthony’s voice was low, hypnotic as he gently stroked the cock, making Matt Simon blush as he writhed more.
“N-no no no noooohh please ohhh god please I’ll doooo-”
Stroke.
“Whatever you want I’ll-”
Stroke.
“Ohhh god I’ll pay-”
Stroke.
“I’ll pay money I’ll-”
Stroke.
“S-Stop your hand is-”
Stroke.
“Feel sooo-”
Stroke.
“Strong I-”
Stroke.
“Ohhhh my goood I-”
Stroke, stroke, stroke.
Simon writhed in his seat with his eyes stinging with pleasure and change as the cool blue eyes turned to dark brown ones. He watched Anthony helplessly, seeing the way the man smirked in earnest as he stroked his pants which had changed from charcoal suit pants to dark breeches. Each stroke made more of the dark skin race up his body, had more hairs sprout among his chest, had more memories come crashing into his brain like a tide threatening a flood. All of it and more made the businessman a moaning whimpering mess at the touch of another man and suddenly he looked at Anthony who stared back at him.
Then Anthony’s head collided with his. The man’s lips crashed into him, bringing about a tide of pleasure that turned to a flood of euphoria. Anthony stroked faster, his thumb pressed against the slit through the breeches, he swiped against it, his tongue invaded Simon’s mouth and he pressed harder as Simon moaned and came. The man’s entire body and mind unravelled, as he came hard in his dark breeches. As he did, his face shifted all at once in the kiss, his small lips plumping up, full and rounded. His pale face smoothed to a deep brown as his jaw stretched forward and chiselled. His cheeks shifted to form high cheekbones as his brows thickened, darker and slightly further apart. His light hair darkened and shrank to curls at once, as his nose grew slightly wider, the tip rounding as Simon came again hard.
As the stains sank into his breeches, they dried at once whilst the rest of his clothes shifted. His suit jacket lengthened to a wine red tailcoat. His shirt folded together, some forming a ruffled shirt beneath whilst the rest became a matching waistcoat. The shirt itself was adorned by a cravat, dark against the red, the full fit appearing perfectly measured and tailored exactly to Simon Basset’s body.
“So do we have a deal, your grace?” The voice of Anthony Bridgerton floated from above as Simon Basset blinked. He looked down, noting he had dropped his watch, as he picked up the silver fobwatch. How silly of him to do so when he had a business deal.
“Well I have to say, it is a very…unique venture the Bridgertons are getting into but what can I say? I think everything is right in order. Yes Mr. Bridgerton I’ll be happy to invest in your new business,” said Simon, standing up at once to shake the man’s hand. “I think you’ll attract many customers with my funds.”
“Happy to hear it,” said Anthony with a slick smile, shaking the man’s hand.
“Now if you’ll excuse me…I saw a very handsome gentleman coming out of your establishment not too long ago and with my luck, I’ll be sure to catch up with him,” said Simon, giving a wink to Anthony.
Out of the shop, Simon Basset walked with a regular pride he always had, one he knew would charm the handsome stranger he ran into. But just as he stepped out, a man bumped into him.
“Ugh will you watch where you’re going man-”
“I do apologise. Are you quite alright?” Simon’s voice made the man finally look up at him, their eyes automatically locking onto each other. He watched the man react like most men, a longing stare, a slight blush to the face and faltering words. “I said, are you alright?”
“Yeah fine uh…” The man did what some men did, deny the feelings and duck inside. But no matter. After all, going inside the cafe was the best place for a man and he lingered by the door as he watched them go up to order.
“Uh I guess I’ll have the…the Viscount’s Infusion thing?”
“One Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion…coming right up.”
Simon Basset smiled knowingly before stepping outside, ready to track down that man and enjoy the rest of his day. He loved it when he knew a future investment was going to pay off.
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There wasn't much to do in Suburbia over the summer, especially if you were as unpopular as I was. Sure, I'd managed to collect several friends in college, but unfortunately we all lived in different cities. I wasn't lucky enough to be able to afford an apartment over the summer, which meant I was stuck back home. Discord helped counter some of the loneliness, sure, but it was the glacial pace of the weekday afternoons that was slowly driving me to boredom. So when I heard the doorbell, of course I thought it was some door to door salesman or something.
Instead, it was Dale-- the next door neighbor who used to be one of my closest friends... until he abandoned me in High School once the Football team offered him an "in" with the cool kids. "Can I come in?" he asked, scuffing his foot on the cement porch. I glared at him, trying to figure out just how much audacity he must have to be here after he made four of the past five years of my life a living hell.
"Alright, look," he said, staring intently at the door. It was uncharacteristically awkward of him, and it was throwing me off guard. "I know I was an asshole, and you're not obligated to forgive me. But I... look, one year in college was enough to show me just how unfair I was to you, and I... was hoping you'd allow me to make it up to you somehow? So that we can be friends again?" He looked into my eyes, and I could almost swear they were starting to water.
But how could it ever be enough? I scowled, crossing my arms as I glared at him. "So the rumors were true. You were outed as a gay man, and now everyone's abandoned you." I expected him to deflect, to get mad, to-- to do something!... but instead he just stared at the ground. I had gone too far. "Alright, look. I feel bad for you, I do, but... do you have any idea how much hurt you caused me? That doesn't all go away just because you've also been hurt. Just what do you think you could offer that would make me forgive you?"
He tapped the side of his neck, just under his ear. "You've got a Swapper unit, right? How about I give you access to my body, no strings attached?" He flashed me a suave grin and he flexed his bicep. No wonder he showed up at my door without wearing a shirt, he wanted to make sure I'd noticed all of the muscle he'd gained over the past few years. "And not just for tonight," he added. "Neither of us have a job over the summer, right? You can wear my body to all of the local parties I've been invited to-- hell, you can score some pussy in my body, I don't mind."
I hated to admit it, but I was definitely intrigued by his offer. My v-card was practically burning a hole in my pocket, and being inside of Dale's sexy body instead of my thin, gangly frame would make that so much easier to deal with. I gestured him inside, and he flopped down on the living room couch just like old times. "I... okay, obviously I'm interested, but... what's in it for you?"
"Well, for starters, I'd get one of my close friends back," he said, smiling at me. "But also... you were right, I got outed. A lot of people are trying to freeze me out ever since I got caught in the locker rooms with Jeff. But no one has any proof, and the person who caught us is kind of an asshole. So I figure, if people see my body hooking up with women, maybe this whole thing will blow over. I'm not exactly excited to go back into the closet, but... locker room talk, you know how it is." He paused for a few moments, glancing over at me. "Well, you don't, but trust me. Everyone loves getting their dick sucked by some twink on the downlow, but when it's a teammate sucking dick, suddenly that's a big deal."
He must have seen the concerned look on my face, because he started to panic again. "Not that I'd be sucking dick in your body," he added, wringing his hands. "I wouldn't be any having sex in your body if you're not cool with it, that's disrespectful. I'd just spend the evenings in my room, playing video games. Promise. And I... if you want, I could also take your body to the gym, build up some muscle for you?" He looked truly desperate, and I had to admit I was starting to feel bad for the guy. The two of us, sitting here like this... it reminded me of all of the good times we used to have.
"Alright, I accept," I said, letting out a deep sign. I wanted to stay angry, but seeing him in front of me, begging this hard... I didn't have it in me to reject him to his face. He reached out to shake my hand, but I stopped short. "I'm restating the terms. No sex or alcohol in my body, but I can have sex and alcohol in your body. You're cool with it, but I'm not. And no limits to how many parties I can attend in your body-- you can only deny me a body swap if you've got a family thing planned. Break either of those terms, and you're dead to me."
"Scout's honor," he said, offering his hand again. I shook his hand, and he wrapped me in a quick bro hug just like old times. "You wanna swap right now? Mike's throwing a party later tonight, and I promised I'd be there. Maybe later we can catch up, play some League or something, but I figured for your first party, you'd want time to prepare." I couldn't help but laugh. Even after all this time, he knows me so well.
And that's how I found myself standing in the middle of Dale's room, checking out his body in the mirror and sporting a half-chub at how good I looked. I should probably be happy to have one of my childhood friends back, but... to be honest, I was mostly just daydreaming about all of the sex I was going to have in his body this summer. I've seen his Instagram selfies, I'm fully aware of what I'm getting out of this trade. I'm not about to let any of that time go to waste.
"Dale, why did you swap with him? That body looks like ass." My boyfriend had invited me over to his place like always, but I had kept most of my afternoon a secret. I warned Jeff that I was probably going to be wearing my neighbor's body for most of the summer, and that was all that I told him in advance. "You told me this was a good surprise. Nothing about your neighbor's body is good."
I just rolled my eyes at him. I loved him, but Jeff could be so shallow sometimes. Here I was trying to give him sexy fun times, but he couldn't get past my borrowed face. "Look, not every guy can be as hot as I am, alright? It's still me inside of here. And don't forget that I wouldn't have to resort to lending my body out to my lame-ass neighbor if someone could take a cock up the butt without screaming his head off. Besides, you haven't seen what I'm packing." I dropped my boxers to the floor and kicked them aside, letting my new nine-inch coke can do the talking. He was struck speechless, and I took advantage of that rare moment to lay seductively across his bed. "I trust this body has your approval now?"
"Holy shit, yes!" Jeff climbed onto the bed next to me without taking his eyes off of my erection. "This dork is packing all of that?" he asked, practically drooling at the sight of it.
I gave it a few tugs, letting some precum build up at the tip. "I told you it was a good surprise. I've known he was packing a big one ever since we were in Middle School, but I never thought I would get a chance to enjoy it like this. Anyway-- I had to pretend that I wouldn't be having sex in his body, so I can't really do anything other than top."
"Fine by me," Jeff said, pulling lube out of the drawer in his nightstand. "I'll go back to being verse when you're back in your own body. If I've only got the summer months to enjoy this massive cock, I'm not about to let any of that time go to waste."
