He stood there, wearing only his underwear, that weren’t standard issue, mind you, flexing his muscles. As soon as they saw his pretty face they knew what his job would be. It was to serve the men, while they served the country. It really wasn’t a bad gig.
He spend his time grooming himself and working out, trying to look gorgeous. Eventually, his talents were recognized and he rose through the ranks. He was now being presented to some high officers who needed a pretty face, and body too. One of them, hopefully of the highest rank, would pick him
Younger guys typically weren’t your thing. They never knew what they were doing, and older guys were just hotter. However, some college guy moved in next door, and to say he was flirting would be an understatement.
How he talked you in to this, you couldn’t even remember, but he certainly didn’t live up to the stereotype. He was sexy and knew how to give a damn good blowjob
These roommates hardly ever invited everyone over, and they all shared a room. It didn’t start that way, but living together only brought out their true feelings for eachother. Now they’re fucking constantly and life was great. The only problem, they weren’t getting enough sleep
I pushed open the front door, exhausted from a long shift, and immediately smiled when I saw Jake in his usual spot, the big armchair in the living room.
He was slouched back lazily, legs spread wide apart, those thick, hairy thighs on full display in his grey shorts. His black t-shirt was riding up just enough to show a strip of his beefy stomach, and the silver chain around his neck caught the light. He looked so good… but something felt off. His posture was too cocky, too relaxed in a way that didn’t quite feel like my sweet, slightly shy boyfriend.
“Babe?” I called out, kicking off my shoes. “You okay? You look like you’re in your own world over there.”
Jake slowly turned his head toward me. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, not the soft, warm smile I was used to, but something sharper. Meaner. His eyes dragged over me slowly, like he was sizing me up for the first time. He let out a low, deep chuckle that sent a chill down my spine.
“Damn… you really don’t have a clue, do you?” he said, voice sounding exactly like Jake’s, but the tone was all wrong. Arrogant. Cruel.
I froze halfway across the room. “What are you talking about?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he spread his legs even wider, slouching deeper into the chair, and casually dragged one hand up his thick thigh, fingers digging into the dense hair there. His other hand rested on his crotch, gently palming the heavy bulge through the shorts like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’ve been sitting here for hours,” he continued, still Jake’s voice but with a mocking edge, “just… enjoying myself. Feeling how heavy this cock is. Smelling that strong, musky scent every time I shift. Fuck, your boyfriend’s body is way better than I ever imagined.”
My stomach twisted. “Jake… you’re scaring me. Stop messing around.”
He laughed again, louder this time, and sat up a little, resting his elbows on his knees. The t-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest.
“C’mon, don’t you recognize me yet?” He tilted his head, Jake’s handsome face twisting into that same smug grin my bully used to wear back in high school. “It’s me, Derek.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Derek?? The man who made my college experience a living hell? The man who locked me out of our dorm room whilst he fucked girls in my bed but would hurl insults my way if I ever asked to have a man over??
“Died 2 years ago bro, trapped as a wondering soul. Then I saw you and your boyfriend out and about and knew I’d found my next lease on life. Slipped right into your precious boyfriend’s body and pushed him out. Been wearing him like a warm, hairy skinsuit ever since.”
Derek ran both of Jake’s hands slowly down his torso, squeezing the solid pecs through the shirt, then sliding lower to rub over his stomach.
“Hmm… I don’t think I’m gonna leave this body,” he said casually, like he was talking about keeping a new pair of shoes. “It’s too fucking perfect. So thick. So hairy. The way it smells after a day of sweating… goddamn, it’s intoxicating.”
He lifted one arm, buried his face in Jake’s pit, and took a long, shameless sniff, moaning loudly.
“See? Even his pits are perfect. Strong, manly, musky. I’ve been rock hard for hours just from being in him.”
Derek looked straight at me, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction, and gave the bulge in Jake’s shorts another slow, possessive squeeze.
“So yeah… Jake’s gone. Locked away somewhere deep inside while I get to enjoy every inch of this hot fucking body. The muscle, the thighs, this thick cock, it’s all mine now.”
He stirred, “Was planning on using this bod to go get some pussy now that I’m alive again but it seems your precious boyfriends sexuality takes the win… but I can make that work”
He leaned back again, spreading his legs wide and smiling like he’d just won the lottery.
“You can cry, beg, or try to fight me if you want… but I’m staying. This body feels way too good to give up. I think I’m gonna keep it forever.”
Two months since I swapped my own middle aged body with this hunky Swedish tourist’s, I remember him saying how much he wants to experience America. Since then, I’ve turned him into a real red neck American, got some cowboy boots and some jeans for this new body of mine. Showing off my new sexy Scandinavian muscles for all the guys in my small Kansas town, a few of them have also had the honor of tasting my new Scandinavian meat and being bred by my big sticky loads. The cap is the only thing from the original owner of my body, I love wearing it to remember who I stole this body from. I bet he’s still crying in his overweight middle aged body.
Harper leans on his locker as he catches his breath. His whole body is screaming from pain and exhaustion after working out for 4 hours straight. He doesn't know what to do anymore. It all started when he put on these damn earbuds.
"Please, make this stop. I can't go on another workout anymore. I feel like my body is slowly breaking down." Harper huffs as he tries to beg to which the voice responds with laughter in his earbuds.
Harper feels like the voice is familiar, like someone he knows but couldn't put a pin on the name or a face. The voice sounds like a teenage boy, probably in his puberty since his voice keeps cracking. Harper's whole body is shaking from the most extreme workout he ever had. His vision is getting blurry and he feels like he's about to puke. That's when the voice stops laughing and clears his throat.
"Relax, you are fine. You feel amazing, it was the greatest workout you ever had. You feel so energized and strong as if you can fuck all night and lift weights thrice your size. You are calm and you will stand properly. You want to walk over to that wall mirror and look at yourself. You're such a handsome hunk, Harper." The voice says in a velvety adolescent tone.
As if with magic, Harper suddenly felt like his body is lighter than air. All the fatigue he felt suddenly dissappears as his eyes were directed to the wall mirror in the locker. Harper found himself slowly walking to the mirror and stop in front of it. Looking at his reflection, Harper sees his face flash his signature flirty smirk. He knows he doesn't want to smirk like that but somehow he's doing it. He wants to go home and sleep, but he just continue looking at his reflection at he flirts with himself.
"Such a handsome hunk you are, Harper. Magnificent body, handsome face, and massive cock. You have it all. Everyone is so lucky to know you. Your presence lights up any place. You're such a good lay." The voice continues as Harper feels like he wants to vomit upon hearing those cheesy compliments.
But contrary to what he feels, he sees himself flexing in the mirror. His body is moving on its own at it flaunts and flexes his impressive physique while shooting seductive looks at himself. He suddenly feels a little lightheaded as he then realize that what the voice said is true. He is a hunk. He looks so good right now, looking all studly and sweaty. He can feel his cock slowly growing in his underwear as he continues to seduce himself in the mirror.
"That's it, Harper. You're a force or nature, fucking every ass that's big enough for your fat, long cock. You're a fucking top! You must own it. Go ahead and find a submissive bottom for you to dominate. Maybe that new guy you always bully in your office. Russel will definitely submit to you if you ask him." The voice whispers into Harper's mind as he suddenly stops flexing.
Harper thinks that he's not gay. He hates faggots. Why would he let any faggot touch a god like him. He's too good for a submissive bottom. His body is for the ladies only. He will fuck any pussy he wants, when he wants, where he wants. No women alive will say no to him. He's just that good.
"Women cheat, Harper. They will play innocent and then leave you for another man. Submissive bottoms won't. They will serve you whenever, wherever you want. Offer their tight asses for you to fuck as you please. All you need to do is to claim them and love them with all your heart, and they'll be yours forever." The voice offers to Harper as his grin gets bigger at the thought of having a willing ass to fuck forever.
The voice is right. Harper doesn't wants a cheap slut that will leave him for another hunk. He wants someone who will offer themselves to him because he deserves it. Harper remembers who his co-worker, Russel, always appears nervous and intimidated by him every time they pass by each other. He could be a good submissive bottom. He could train Russel to take his cock properly. He would have Russel exclusively for himself. Just him and Russel, fucking all the time. But Harper's not gay, he's not a faggot, and only a faggot fucks a faggot.
"It doesn't matter what it's called, Harper. Imagine, an ass that's totally dedicated to you alone. No more fear that it will go away someday for another. No more fear of having your trust broken by a horny slut. Just take care of Russel, and he will love you with all his being. Yes, Russel is a faggot, but he is your faggot, and you're his top." The voice explains to Harper as he finally understands.
He is Russel's top. He must go to Russel and claim him. He loves Russel. Russel won't chest on him. Russel's ass is all for him. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes. He fucking loves fucking Russel's holes.
With a satisfied smile, Russel zips down his pants and pulls out his cock. He starts jerking off as he reads the looping message on his laptop screen. This is it. He finally got what he wish for. All he needs to do is wait for Harper to claim him. If Russel would want to change some behavior or some part of Harper that he won't like in the future, he can just use his app and mold his crush into his desired stud.
Trevor was back home from basketball practice and was in his room shirtless as he texted his girlfriend.
"How was practice babe?" His girlfriend asked.
"It was chill, tournament comin up soon we finna SMASH these fools. Only thing was that weird ass creep lol"
"The weird nerd from class who keeps stalking on you?"
"Yes, my friends told me he was asking them for my phone number, can you believe this shit? I hate faggots. I wish I could beat his ass but I don't want to be kicked out of the team."
Suddenly a notification popped up on the screen. It was a one-hour video from an unknown number. Curious, Trevor clicked on the video and then... the video had ended and he couldn't remember what he just watched. He checked the time on his phone and was confused to see that one hour had passed.
Did he fall asleep? He asked himself. But now he had a headache and his eyes were arching like he hadn't blinked for minutes, and for some weird reason he knew he had to type something back, he didn't know what, but he started typing and hit send anyway.
"I'm yours. Command me, Master."
Trevor was confused as to why he would send something like this.
"Oh my god, did it really work?" The unknown number replied. "Send a photo of you with something shoved inside your mouth."
Trevor casually grabbed a banana from the nightstand and stopped in front of a mirror, where he shoved the banana deep into his mouth and took a photo. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He didn't think, not even for a second, that it was weird to send a photo like this to an unknown number.
"Holly shit! It really worked you're mine now Trevor!"
Trevor knew it was true. He now belonged to... to whoever it was behind that number.
"What were you doing before I sent you the video?"
"I was texting my girlfriend. We were talking about the next basketball game and about the weird nerd who is obsessed with me."
"Tell me more about that weird nerd, and what do you think of him."
"He's the weirdest nerd in the class, fuck, he's the weirdest nerd in the entire school! He's completely obsessed with me and watches me at practice every time like a fucking creep, I caught him taking photos of me more than once. It's the price I pay for being the hottest and most popular guy in the school."
This time, the message didn't come fast, it took a minute for the response.
"Break up with your dumb girlfriend, tell her something that you know it will hurt her and also tell her you're a dumb bitch who loves to suck on big bananas."
Trevor loved his girlfriend, he knew that, but he also knew that what was in the text was true, and he should never question the truth of the texts.
Trevor obeyed and broke up with his girlfriend via text. He was sad he had to break up with her, but that was the right thing to do. He finished with "I'm also a dumb bitch who loves to suck on big bananas."
"Done." He sent to his unknown Master.
"Good boy. Now I want you to send me a video of you jerking off. While you jerk off you will declare your love and devotion to me, tell me how much I make you horny and how I'm the hottest man you know."
The hottest man? I'm texting with a faggot this entire time? Trevor was furious, he immediately started typing "Fuck you, I will obey no faggot!" But he couldn't bring himself to hit send, his thumb hovered over the icon like an invisible force was stopping him from touching the screen. Trevor sighed, defeated, and erased the text.
Trevor was still sad about his breakup, but he still went to the mirror and started filming. He pulled down his shorts, showing his big dick. He took it in his hand and started stroking. He was surprised when he started feeling aroused and his shaft hardened.
“Master, mmmmfffhhh...” he moaned, “This body… fuck… It’s all yours," His thumb smeared the bead of precum over the fat head. “This big thick cock belongs to you!" His fist picked up speed, slick sounds filling the room. The phone wobbled as he jerked off. “Let me serve you. Let me prove I’m your dumb sexy jock. Please, Master, I love you,” he blurted, his face contorting in pure bliss. “Love you more than wins, more than pussy, more than—fuck—more than air. I don't know who you are, but I want to spend every second of my life under your control."
Trevor spent the rest of the day sending videos and photos of himself doing degrading things.
"Lie on your bed with your legs in the air, and shove the banana up your ass, until only half of it is sticking out, then send me photos of different angles, and make sure to do funny faces too."
"Grab a marker and write "I'm your jock slut" on your chest."
"Support your phone on something and tie your balls with the laces of both of your sneakers, then film yourself doing 50 jumping jacks while hard."
"Lie down on the floor with your ass up and piss all over your face, try to aim for your mouth."
Trevor was dripping with piss, panting hard, sore balls, and he had writings all over his body, when he received an address.
"This was fun, but now it's time for you to meet your Master in person. Take a shower and then come to this address. When you arrive, you will get on your knees with your hands behind your back and wait for me to open the door. When I open the door you will offer yourself to be my sex slave. I will be naked and jerking off when I open the door, and after you finish your passionate speech, you will worship my dick as a way to thank me for enslaving you. Oh, and make sure to wear the jersey you were wearing today at practice."
Trevor didn't think twice, he took a quick shower, put on his basketball jersey and shorts as well as his black socks and red sneakers, and ran to the address his Master had sent him. He had a dumb smile on his face, he couldn't wait to meet his Master in person and thank him for enslaving him.
Trevor paused in front of a simple house and knocked on the door, he then got on his knees with his hands behind his back. His heart was pounding as he waited.
When the door finally opened, his eyes widened in utter shock and his smile faded.
The stripper Robbie never imagined that one day he could become a spectator inside his own body, but it happened. Robbie was sleeping in the afternoon for his night job. During his sleep, an alien creature with a slug-like shape that had arrived on planet Earth at that very hour entered his room.
The alien crawled to his bed and circled his body, approaching Robbie’s ear and launching itself into his body like a harpoon. Robbie woke up startled, feeling pain, without knowing what was happening. Little by little, he began to lose control of parts of his body, starting with his toes, then his legs, waist, arms, torso, and finally his head. His body writhed throughout the entire process.
When his body finally grew still, Robbie was no longer it's owner. Robbie watched in shock as his body stood up without his command, his arms caressing every part of his body as if it were something new, his cock getting hard during the process. The alien, with full control and access to his memories, decided to simulate Robbie’s routine to better understand humans. It put on the jockstrap that Robbie wears at work and looked out the window at life outside, ready to explore.
This reboot of "Protein Drink" by Erick Stratton was originally posted to the male transformation blog here : https://maletransformation.blogspot.com/2010/02/protein-drink.html it is one of my all time favorites.
CAPTURE
Bricen racked the weights with a satisfied grunt, feeling that familiar burn in his shoulders and chest. Good session. Damn good session. The gym was nearly empty at this hour—just how he liked it. No waiting for equipment, no bros asking to work in, just him and the iron.
He grabbed his towel and water bottle, heading toward the locker room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that sterile glow that made the empty gym feel like a stage after everyone had gone home.
That's when he noticed the guy.
Scrawny dude, maybe five-foot-seven, hovering near the cardio equipment but not actually doing anything. Just... watching. Bricen had seen him around before—worked the front desk sometimes, maybe? One of those guys who looked like they'd never touched a weight in their life. Pale, thin, wearing a staff shirt that hung loose on his narrow frame.
Their eyes met for a second. The guy looked away quickly, pretending to check his phone.
Weird, Bricen thought, but shrugged it off. Dudes checked each other out at the gym all the time. Jealousy, admiration, whatever. He'd worked hard for his body—tribal tattoos across his chest and shoulder, the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dedication. If people wanted to stare, let them.
The locker room was empty. Bricen could hear his footsteps echo on the tile as he made his way to his locker. He peeled off his tank top, feeling the cool air on his sweat-slicked skin. Felt good. He was riding that post-workout high, endorphins pumping, feeling like a goddamn superhero.
He stripped down completely, tossing his clothes into his gym bag, and grabbed his towel. The showers were in the back, a row of six stalls separated by half-walls. He picked the one in the corner—old habit—and turned the water on hot.
Steam began to fill the space almost immediately. Bricen stepped under the spray with a groan of satisfaction, letting the heat work into his sore muscles. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, water sluicing down his face and chest.
That's when he felt it.
That prickling awareness. The animal instinct that told him he wasn't alone.
Bricen opened his eyes, blinking through the water and steam. Nothing. Just the sound of the shower, the hiss of water on tile. But the feeling didn't go away. If anything, it got stronger.
He turned slightly, peering through the steam toward the entrance.
Movement. A shadow.
"Hello?" Bricen called out, keeping his voice casual even as his heart rate picked up. "Gym's about to close, bro."
No answer.
The steam swirled, parting for just a second, and Bricen saw him—the scrawny guy from before, standing just outside the shower area, staring.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Bricen said, annoyance replacing unease. "You need something?"
The guy didn't say anything. Just stood there, holding something in his hand. A cloth? No, wait—
The smell hit him first. Sweet, chemical, wrong.
Bricen's instincts kicked in a split second too late. He turned to face the threat, but the guy was already moving—faster than someone that small should be able to move—and suddenly there was a hand clamped over Bricen's mouth and nose, that cloth pressed tight against his face.
He tried to fight. God, he tried. His hands came up, grabbing at the arm, the wrist, trying to pull it away, but his movements felt sluggish, uncoordinated. The chemical smell filled his nose, his lungs, and the world started to tilt sideways.
No no no no—
His knees buckled. The tile rushed up to meet him, but he didn't feel the impact. Everything was going dark, like someone was slowly turning off the lights in his head.
The last thing he heard was a voice—thin, desperate, gasping:
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you. I need—"
Darkness.
Consciousness returned in fragments.
First: pressure. Something tight around his wrists. His ankles.
Second: cold. Hard surface beneath him. Not tile. Fabric? A bed?
Third: touch. Hands on his thighs. Moving. Wrong wrong wrong.
Bricen's eyes flew open.
He was on a bed—his bed, he realized with dawning horror—on his back, completely naked. His wrists were bound to the headboard with what looked like zip ties, cutting into his skin. His ankles were tied too, spread apart, secured to the legs of the bed frame.
And between his legs, kneeling on the mattress, was the scrawny guy from the gym.
"What—what the fuck—" Bricen's voice came out slurred, thick. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He tried to pull against the restraints, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. Whatever drug that guy had used was still in his system.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," the guy said, and his voice was shaking. Not threatening. Almost... apologetic? "I know this is—I know you're scared. I'm sorry. I really am. But I don't have a choice."
"Let me go," Bricen managed, trying to sound commanding but hearing the fear in his own voice. "Let me the fuck go right now and I won't—"
"You don't understand," the guy interrupted, and his hands were moving again, one palm pressing flat against Bricen's abs, the other trailing lower. "I need you. I need what you have."
Bricen's stomach dropped. "If you fucking touch me, I swear to God—"
"I have to." The guy's voice cracked. "I have to, or I'll go back. I can't go back. I can't be—" He looked down at his own body with something like revulsion. "I can't be this anymore."
His hand wrapped around Bricen's cock.
"NO!" Bricen bucked his hips, trying to throw the guy off, but the restraints held firm and his body was still weak from the drug. "Get your fucking hands off me!"
"I'm sorry," the guy whispered, and started stroking.
The violation was immediate and complete. Bricen thrashed as much as he could, curses spilling from his mouth, but the guy just held on, working him with a practiced motion that made Bricen's skin crawl. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. Couldn't be.
"Stop—stop—you sick fuck—"
But his body, traitorous and indifferent to his horror, was responding. Blood flowing where he didn't want it. Nerves firing. The guy's hand was relentless, grip firm, rhythm steady, and God help him, Bricen felt himself hardening.
"No," he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, no, no—"
"It's okay," the guy murmured, almost soothing, like he was calming a frightened animal. "It's just biology. Your body's doing what it's supposed to do. You don't have to feel bad about it."
"Fuck you!" Bricen snarled, but the words came out breathless. The sensation was building despite every ounce of his resistance. His abs clenched. His thighs trembled.
"That's it," the guy breathed, and Bricen could hear the desperate hunger in his voice. "Come on. Give it to me. I need it. I need—"
The orgasm hit like a betrayal. Bricen's back arched involuntarily, a strangled sound tearing from his throat as his body spasmed and released. He felt the hot pulse of his own cum, felt it coating the guy's hand, and wanted to die.
"Yes," the guy gasped, catching every drop in his palm, eyes wide and fevered. "Yes, thank you, thank you—"
Bricen turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. Shame crashed over him in waves. His body still twitching with aftershocks, sweat and tears mixing on his face.
He heard movement. The guy climbing off the bed. The sound of liquid being poured. Mixed with something. Then—
Drinking.
Bricen forced himself to look.
The guy was standing beside the bed, holding a glass, chugging down the contents. Bricen's cum mixed with... milk? Some kind of white liquid. And as he drank—
Oh God.
The guy's body was changing.
It started subtle—skin tone shifting, shoulders broadening—but quickly accelerated. Muscles swelled beneath his shirt. His jaw squared. His hair darkened. Height increasing, frame expanding, features rearranging like clay being molded by invisible hands.
In less than thirty seconds, the scrawny gym employee was gone.
Standing in his place was Bricen.
Same height. Same build. Same tattoos spiraling across the chest and shoulder. Same face, same hair, same everything.
The impostor looked down at himself—at Bricen's body—and smiled.
"Perfect," he breathed, running his hands over his new muscles, his new skin. "God, you're perfect. Do you know how good this feels? How good it feels to be strong? To be—" He looked at the real Bricen on the bed. "To be you?"
Bricen stared at his own face looking back at him, and the full weight of his situation crashed down.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"Does it matter?" the impostor replied, still admiring his stolen body in the mirror on the wall. "All that matters is that I can keep this going. As long as you keep producing—" he gestured vaguely at Bricen's groin, "—I can stay like this. And believe me, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure I never have to go back."
"You're insane," Bricen said. "People will figure it out. My friends, my—Cole will know—"
"Cole won't know shit," the impostor said flatly. "I've been watching you for weeks. I know how you talk, how you move, what you order at the protein shop. I know you call your mom every Sunday and you hate cardio and you're trying to get up to a 315 bench press." He smiled. "I know everything about you. And now I am you."
He walked to the closet and pulled out some clothes—Bricen's clothes—and started getting dressed.
"Here's how this is going to work," the impostor said conversationally as he pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants. "Every few days, I'm going to need you to produce more for me. It's not so bad, right? You've probably jerked off way more than that when you weren't tied up." He paused. "Well, I say 'you,' but I guess I mean 'me' now."
"Fuck you," Bricen spat.
"Save your energy," the impostor said, pulling a tank top over his head—over Bricen's chest. "You're going to need it. The more stressed you get, the less you produce, and trust me, you don't want to find out what happens when I run out."
He walked back over to the bed and looked down at Bricen with his own face.
"Try to get some rest," he said. "I'll bring you food and water. I'm not a monster—I'll take care of you. But if you scream, if you try anything when I open that closet door, I'll gag you. And I'll leave you like that for days. Understand?"
Bricen didn't answer. Just glared.
The impostor sighed, then grabbed Bricen under the arms and started dragging him off the bed. Bricen tried to resist, but his limbs were still heavy and uncoordinated. He felt himself being pulled across the bedroom floor, saw the closet door opening, and then he was being shoved inside among his shoes and hanging clothes.
"Sweet dreams," the impostor said, and shut the door.
Darkness. Complete darkness. The smell of fabric and leather and his own sweat and fear.
Bricen lay on the closet floor, still bound, heart hammering, mind racing.
From outside the door, he heard movement. Footsteps. Then—
His own voice. Practicing.
"Hey, Cole, what's up, man?"
"Yeah, bro, totally down for chest day tomorrow."
"Nah, just been hitting the protein shakes hard, you know how it is."
His own laugh. His own cadence. His own everything.
And Bricen realized with absolute, crushing certainty:
No one was coming to save him.
No one would even know he needed saving.
He was going to die in this closet while someone else lived his life.
Or worse—he wasn't going to die. He was going to stay alive, imprisoned in his own apartment, milked like cattle, while his doppelganger walked around wearing his face and living his life and fooling everyone who'd ever cared about him.
A sob built in Bricen's chest, but he swallowed it down.
Not yet, he told himself. Don't break yet.
But in the darkness, bound and aching and utterly alone, he could feel the cracks already starting to form.
WITNESS
The impostor had gotten bolder.
At first, he'd kept the closet door shut—locked even, during those early days when Bricen still had enough fight in him to kick at it, to try rattling it loose from its hinges. But by day five, maybe six (time had started to blur), the impostor had started leaving it cracked open. Just a sliver at first. Then wider.
Now it stood fully open.
"I want you to see," the impostor had explained during the last milking, still wearing Bricen's face as he worked Bricen's spent cock with clinical efficiency. "I want you to see what your life looks like from the outside. Maybe it'll help you appreciate what you're contributing to."
Bricen hadn't responded. Couldn't. The gag was back in—he'd made the mistake of screaming two days ago when he heard Cole's voice in the apartment, and the impostor had made good on his threat. Now the gag only came out for water and the protein bars the impostor shoved in his mouth twice a day.
So Bricen lay in the closet—wrists zip-tied behind his back now, ankles bound together—and watched through the open door as someone else lived his life.
He watched the impostor practice his expressions in the mirror.
Watched him take selfies with Bricen's phone, post them to Bricen's Instagram.
Watched him text Cole, making plans, keeping up appearances.
The impostor was good. Too good. He'd nailed every mannerism, every speech pattern, every subtle gesture that made Bricen himself. It was like watching a recording of his own life, except he was somehow outside of it, erased, a ghost haunting his own bedroom.
Today was worse.
Today, the impostor had been preening in front of the mirror for almost an hour, trying on different tank tops, flexing, taking photos. Bricen could hear him muttering to himself.
"Looking good. Fuck, looking really good."
Then his phone—Bricen's phone—buzzed.
The impostor's face lit up as he read the message. That predatory smile that looked so wrong on Bricen's features.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," he said, glancing toward the closet. Toward Bricen. "Remember Marcus from the gym? Big guy, does powerlifting? He's been trying to get in your pants for months." The impostor laughed. "Well, guess what? Today's his lucky day."
Bricen's stomach dropped. He tried to speak around the gag, but it came out as muffled noise.
"Don't worry," the impostor said, typing out a response. "I'll make sure he has a great time. Gotta keep up your reputation, right?"
Marcus arrived forty minutes later.
Bricen heard the knock, heard the impostor answer the door, heard the deep rumble of Marcus's voice—"Hey, man, thanks for finally saying yes"—and felt his heart hammering against his ribs.
They came into the bedroom almost immediately. Marcus was exactly as Bricen remembered: six-foot-three, built like a tank, dirty blond hair, square jaw, the kind of guy who looked like he could bench press a car. Bricen had noticed him at the gym, sure. Had noticed Marcus noticing him back. But he'd never...
"Nice place," Marcus was saying, looking around, and his eyes scanned right past the open closet. Right past Bricen lying bound in the shadows among the shoes and hanging clothes.
"Thanks, bro," the impostor said in Bricen's voice, and it was perfect. Exactly how Bricen would have said it. "Want a drink or...?"
"Nah, man," Marcus said, and his voice had dropped lower, hungry. "I've been waiting too long for this already."
He pulled the impostor in by the waist—pulled Bricen's body against his—and kissed him.
Bricen squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear it. The wet sound of their mouths, Marcus's groan of satisfaction, the impostor's responding moan that was sickeningly accurate to how Bricen himself would sound.
"Fuck, you're so hot," Marcus breathed.
"So are you, man," the impostor replied, and Bricen could hear the grin in his voice. "Get on the bed."
Bricen opened his eyes. He couldn't help it. Some horrible compulsion forced him to watch.
Marcus was already stripping off his shirt, revealing a torso that was pure muscle, thick pecs and boulder shoulders. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his jeans, and climbed onto the bed in just his boxer briefs, the outline of his cock already visible through the fabric.
The impostor—wearing Bricen's face, Bricen's body, Bricen's tattoos—pulled off his own tank top and joined him.
They kissed again, hands roaming, Marcus's huge hands palming the impostor's ass, pulling him close. The impostor ground against him, and Marcus groaned.
"Been wanting this for so long," Marcus panted between kisses. "You have no idea."
"Show me," the impostor said.
And Marcus did.
Bricen watched, helpless, as Marcus worshipped the body that wasn't his. Watched those huge hands trace the lines of his stolen abs, his stolen chest. Watched Marcus's mouth on the impostor's neck, his collarbone, moving lower. Watched the impostor arch his back—Bricen's back—and gasp in pleasure as Marcus pulled down his sweatpants and took his cock into his mouth.
"Oh fuck, Marcus—" the impostor moaned, threading his fingers through Marcus's hair, and it sounded exactly like Bricen, exactly like he would sound, and Bricen wanted to scream.
The gag turned it into nothing but a muffled whimper.
Neither of them heard.
Marcus worked the impostor's cock with enthusiasm, his head bobbing, one hand stroking what wouldn't fit in his mouth, the other gripping the impostor's hip. The impostor's breath came in gasps and moans, his stolen body responding exactly as the real Bricen's would.
"Your turn," the impostor finally said, pulling Marcus up by the shoulders and flipping their positions.
He peeled off Marcus's boxer briefs, and Marcus's cock sprang free—thick, hard, flushed. The impostor wrapped his hand around it, stroking, and Marcus's head fell back with a groan.
"You want me to fuck you?" Marcus asked, voice rough with need.
"Yeah," the impostor breathed. "Yeah, want you inside me."
They were going to... on Bricen's bed... using Bricen's body...
Bricen thrashed against his bonds, the zip ties cutting into his wrists, but the impostor had learned how to secure him well. There was no give. No escape. Just the burning pain in his shoulders and wrists and the worse pain of watching this happen.
The impostor reached into the nightstand—Bricen's nightstand—and pulled out lube and a condom. Marcus suited up quickly, slicked himself, and the impostor positioned himself on hands and knees, presenting himself.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Marcus said, running his hands over the impostor's ass—over Bricen's ass.
He pushed in slow, and the impostor's moan was long and loud and absolutely authentic.
They fucked on Bricen's bed while Bricen watched from the closet.
Marcus was gentle at first, almost reverent, but the impostor urged him harder, faster, and Marcus obliged. The bed creaked with the rhythm of it. Marcus's grunts mixed with the impostor's cries, and the impostor played the part perfectly—matching Marcus's energy, meeting his thrusts, making all the right sounds.
Marcus never looked toward the closet.
He was too focused on finally getting what he'd wanted. Too caught up in the fantasy of Bricen—the hot, tattooed gym bro he'd been crushing on—finally giving him the time of day. His eyes were closed half the time, lost in pleasure, and when they were open they were fixed on the body beneath him.
The real Bricen was invisible.
Erased.
"Gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—" Marcus gasped, and his thrusts became erratic.
"Come for me," the impostor panted, and Marcus did with a roar, slamming in deep and holding there, body shaking.
They collapsed together on the bed, sweaty and breathing hard. Marcus pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, and immediately pulled the impostor close, kissing his shoulder, his neck.
"That was amazing," Marcus murmured. "You're amazing."
"You too, bro," the impostor said, and he sounded genuinely satisfied.
They lay there in the afterglow, Marcus's arm draped over the impostor's waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on his stolen abs.
And Bricen lay in the closet, watching them cuddle in his bed, in his life, and felt something inside him finally break.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, terrible snap. Like the last thread holding him together had finally frayed through.
Marcus stayed for another hour. They talked, laughed, made plans to meet up again. The impostor walked him to the door, and Bricen heard them kiss goodbye.
Then the apartment was quiet.
The impostor came back into the bedroom, still naked, still flushed from sex. He stood in front of the closet and looked down at Bricen with those stolen eyes.
"See?" he said softly. "Your life is in good hands. Marcus had a great time. I had a great time. Everyone's happy."
He crouched down, reaching in to check Bricen's bonds.
"Well," he added, "almost everyone."
He pulled Bricen out of the closet, dragged him to the bed—the bed that still smelled like sex and Marcus's cologne—and began the familiar routine.
"Time to refuel," the impostor said, reaching for Bricen's cock.
And Bricen, broken and hollow, didn't even fight this time.
He just closed his eyes and let it happen.
BARGAINING
Two weeks in, and the impostor had settled into Bricen's life like he'd always lived it.
Cole came over three times a week now—chest day, leg day, arm day—and they'd work out together at the apartment's gym downstairs before coming back up to hang out. The impostor had the routine down perfectly: the handshake, the bro-hug, the easy banter about sets and reps and protein macros.
Today was no different.
"Geez, Bricen," Cole said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching the impostor chug directly from a gallon jug. "You've been drinking a hell of a lot of milk lately. Uh—that is milk, isn't it?"
The impostor lowered the jug, wiping the white liquid from around his lips with the back of his hand. "Uh, yeah..." he said, exactly matching Bricen's casual tone. "Well, I mean, it's like... uh... It's like this new protein drink. You know, just trying to add a little bulk?"
"You're crazy, dude!" Cole laughed, shaking his head. "I mean you look awesome as it is, I can't believe you wanna get bigger! Anyways, dude, good workin' out with ya today—we'll do it again tomorrow!"
"You bet, bro," the impostor smiled, and it was perfect. Bricen's smile, Bricen's warmth.
Cole headed out, never once glancing toward the bedroom, toward the closet where his best friend lay bound and gagged, having heard every word.
As the front door closed, the impostor locked it and drew all the curtains. He finished the jug in long gulps, then carried it back toward the bedroom.
"Did you hear that?" the impostor said conversationally as he entered. "Cole thinks I look awesome. That's all you, buddy. Well—all me now, but you get the idea."
He crouched in front of the closet where Bricen lay curled on his side, wrists and ankles still bound. The impostor reached in and removed the gag.
"Please," Bricen rasped immediately, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Please, I can't—I can't keep doing this—"
"You can and you will," the impostor said, but not unkindly. He actually sounded almost sympathetic. "You've been doing great. Production's stabilizing. We've got a good routine going."
"I'll die," Bricen whispered. "You're going to kill me."
"I'm not going to kill you. I need you." The impostor tilted his head. "Besides, I feed you, give you water, let you use the bathroom. You're fine."
"I'm not fine!" The words came out as a sob. "You're—you're destroying me. You're taking everything. My body, my life, my—Marcus—"
"Marcus had a great time," the impostor interrupted. "He texted today asking when we can do it again. I'm thinking this weekend."
Something in Bricen's expression must have shown how close he was to complete collapse, because the impostor's face softened slightly.
"Look," he said, "I know this isn't ideal for you. But we're past the point of negotiation. So let's just—"
"Cole," Bricen blurted out.
The impostor paused. "What about Cole?"
"Take Cole instead." The words tumbled out desperately, and Bricen hated himself even as he said them, but survival instinct had overridden everything else. "He's—he's better than me. So much better. He won a bodybuilding competition last year. Junior nationals. His body is perfect. And his family—his family has money. Real money. His dad owns, like, three car dealerships. You could—you could have all of that instead of this."
The impostor stared at him, expression unreadable.
"You want me to replace you with your best friend," he said slowly.
"Yes." Bricen's voice cracked. "Yes. Please. He's S-tier, I'm just—I'm just me. You'd have a better life. A richer life. A better body. Everything you want, he has more of it."
For a long moment, the impostor said nothing. Then he pulled out his phone—Bricen's phone—and opened Instagram.
"What's his handle?" he asked.
"Cole underscore Martinez," Bricen said immediately, and hated himself more.
The impostor typed it in. Started scrolling. His eyebrows rose.
Cole's Instagram was indeed impressive. Competition photos showing him on stage, muscles oiled and perfectly defined, holding a trophy. Vacation photos from what looked like a yacht. Pictures with his family in front of a massive house. Gym photos that showed a physique even more impressive than Bricen's—bigger, more symmetrical, the product of not just hard work but probably expensive trainers and supplements and perfect nutrition.
"Holy shit," the impostor murmured, still scrolling. "He really did place at nationals. This is..." He looked up at Bricen. "You're not lying. He's actually incredible."
"Yes," Bricen said, a tiny flame of hope igniting in his chest. "Yes. So you could—you could let me go and take him instead. He's right there. He comes over all the time. You already know his routine. And he—" Bricen swallowed. "He trusts you. Trusts me. You could do to him what you did to me and he'd never see it coming."
The impostor kept staring at the phone, at Cole's photos. At the competition shots, the wealth, the genetic perfection.
"His loads would probably be even more potent," Bricen pressed, desperation making him cruel. "Better genetics, better nutrition, better everything. You could go weeks between milkings probably. Maybe longer. And you'd have his money, his connections, his—"
"Stop." The impostor held up a hand.
He was quiet for a long moment, still looking at Cole's profile. Then he closed the phone and looked at Bricen with an expression that was almost impressed.
"You'd really throw your best friend under the bus to save yourself," he said.
Bricen couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes."
"That's actually kind of badass. I didn't think you had it in you." The impostor stood up. "Let me think about it."
"Wait—" Bricen started.
"I said let me think about it," the impostor repeated firmly. "This isn't a small decision. If I go after Cole, I'm starting over. New body, new life, new everything. I need to make sure it's worth the risk." He gestured at Bricen. "You're a sure thing. Cole might not be as easy to take down. He's bigger, stronger. And if something goes wrong..."
"It won't," Bricen said quickly. "He trusts you completely. You could—you could invite him over tomorrow after the workout. Drug his water bottle. Same thing you did to me."
The impostor smiled slowly. "You've really thought this through."
"Please," Bricen whispered.
"Like I said. Let me think about it." The impostor replaced the gag over Bricen's mouth. "In the meantime, I still need my refuel today. Can't let the tank run empty while I'm making decisions."
He dragged Bricen out of the closet toward the bed, and Bricen didn't fight. Just let himself be positioned, let the familiar violation happen, because maybe—maybe—this was the last time.
Maybe he'd found his way out.
Even if it meant damning Cole to the same hell he'd been living.
As the impostor worked him mechanically, Bricen stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about what kind of person he'd become.
Tried not to think about Cole's friendly smile, his loyalty, his trust.
Tried to tell himself that survival justified anything.
That anyone would do the same.
But in the hollow space where his soul used to be, Bricen knew the truth: the impostor hadn't just stolen his body and his life.
He'd stolen who Bricen was inside too.
AFTERMATH
Three months after his release, Bricen still couldn't look at himself in the mirror for too long.
He'd gotten his life back. His apartment, his body, his freedom. The impostor had kept his word—one morning the closet door opened, "Cole" standing in front of him, smirking, untied Bricen, and told he was free.
"You did good," the impostor had said, wearing Cole's face now, Cole's incredible physique, Cole's warm brown eyes. "You held up your end of the bargain. We're square."
Bricen had left without a word. Picked up his wallet and carkeys (still warm from the shapeshifter's bodyheat). Went to a hotel. Slept for sixteen hours straight.
When he finally returned to his apartment two days later, it had been cleaned. Completely. No evidence of what had happened there. The closet smelled like fresh linen instead of sweat and fear and despair. Even fresh groceries and milk as if he'd run errands himself.
He'd thought about going to the police. Thought about it every single day for a week.
But what would he say? That his friend had been replaced by a shapeshifter who needed cum to maintain human form? They'd put him in a psych ward. And besides, the impostor knew where he lived. Knew everything about him.
So Bricen said nothing. Did nothing.
And when Cole—the new Cole—texted him not a week later later asking if he wanted to hit the gym, Bricen had stared at his phone for twenty minutes before typing back: Yeah, sounds good bro.
Now they worked out together four times a week, just like before.
Except everything was different.
"Nice set, man," Cole said, spotting Bricen on the bench press. His voice was perfect. Exactly how the real Cole had sounded. "You're breaking your PRs again. I was worried about you for a while there. Seemed like you lost your motivation for a minute."
"Yeah," Bricen said, racking the weight. "Just had some stuff going on."
"Well, you're looking good now." Cole's hand lingered on Bricen's pecs a moment too long. "Really good."
It happened like that. Little touches. Lingering glances. The impostor wearing Cole's face and body but looking at Bricen with an intensity the real Cole never had.
After their workout, they went back to Bricen's apartment. The new Cole always wanted to come back to Bricen's place, never his own. Bricen suspected why but never asked.
Didn't want to know what was happening in a closet across town.
"You want a protein shake?" Bricen asked, heading to the kitchen.
"Nah," Cole said, following him. "I want something else."
His hands slid around Bricen's waist from behind, pulling him back against that massive chest. Bricen tensed but didn't pull away.
"Come on," Cole murmured against his ear. "You know you want to."
And the terrible thing—the thing that kept Bricen up at night—was that he wasn't sure that was wrong.
They had sex on Bricen's couch. Really, any surface would do. The new Cole was insatiable, always wanting him, and Bricen never said no. Couldn't say no. Some twisted part of him felt like he owed this, like he'd bought his freedom with Cole's captivity and now the debt had to be paid in a different way.
Or maybe he was just broken. Maybe those weeks in the closet had rewired something fundamental in him, made him unable to refuse, unable to resist.
Cole was good in bed. The impostor had learned the body well, knew how to use it. Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweaty and breathing hard, and Cole would trace patterns on Bricen's chest with his fingers.
"This is nice," Cole said softly. "Us together like this. It's what I always wanted."
Bricen stared at the ceiling. "You always wanted? Or Cole always wanted?"
There was a pause. Then: "Does it matter?"
And Bricen realized it didn't.
That lien of thought led somewhere dark. He'd have to acknowledge what he sacrificed to save himself.
So he didn't ask.
* * * * * * *
When the new Cole said "I love you" one night after particularly intense sex, Bricen pretended to be asleep.
And when he caught himself almost saying it back a day later, Bricen realized with cold certainty that he was just as trapped as he'd ever been.
Just a different kind of closet now.
One built from guilt and complicity and the terrible knowledge that he'd chosen his own freedom over his best friend's.
Cole stayed over most nights now. Would wake up wrapped around Bricen, kiss his shoulder, whisper sweet things that the real Cole never would have said.
And Bricen let him.
Let this creature wear his friend's face and fuck him and hold him and pretend they were something they weren't.
Because the alternative—facing what he'd done, acknowledging the truth—was unbearable.
So Bricen lived in his new cage. Free to move, free to leave, free to do whatever he wanted.
Free to do everything except ask the question that haunted him every time he looked into those warm brown eyes and saw something ancient and hungry looking back:
What have I become?
But he never asked that either.
Just kissed Cole back and pretended everything was fine.
Pretended he couldn't hear, in the quiet moments before sleep, the echo of his own voice from months ago:
"Take Cole instead."
Some prisons, Bricen learned, you build yourself.
A young man had recently moved into the apartment next to mine, I must say he was very charming, muscular but extremely noisy.
Every evening he had to party with friends until late and then early in the morning he listened to music loudly. Nobody could stand him anymore, but he didn't seem to want to leave. I was studying psychology and I was learning the technique of hypnosis, so I thought I could just make him more...calm and respectful of others. So I went to knock and found him standing in front of me, bare chested. "What do you want?" he said arrogantly "I would just like you to look at this" and I showed him my watch "Hear the ticking" he was immediately captured by that sound, as soon as I saw him relaxed I said to him "now look me in the eyes, nothing else just them, are you sleeping?" "Yes..." he replied with a blank look "Good, now listen to me carefully..."
The next day when I woke up there was no music, everything was quiet. The hypnosis had worked and now we could all return to our peace of mind. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen, there I found my kind neighbor who was making me coffee. did you really think that I would just tell him to be good? Once under hypnosis I took advantage of this to get myself a personal butler, handsome and charming, obviously while he works he must only be in his underwear. So as I sat watching television happily "Good morning sir, your breakfast will be ready soon" said my faithful butler as he held me in his arms and gave me a kiss as a good morning. It's really nice to have a neighbor like him.
Other colleagues of Paolo had joined the new police force that was growing under the command of their master.
Now that there were enough of them, their captain had decided to create groups so that they would work normally but when they saw an important and attractive policeman they would grab him and bring him to their captain.
At a checkpoint, two policemen saw a handsome and important collague. They immediately fell into a trance, they knew they had to follow their master's orders.
They stopped their colleague and told him "You'll come with us, master wants you to join him"
The policeman didn't have time to realize what was happening before he was grabbed and put in the car to be taken to their owner.
in fact, the man who controlled the policemen had decided to slow down the recruitment and take care of the transformation of the new policemen, just to have fun with the new arrivals before sending them to their usual jobs and taking care of recruiting more of their colleagues.
now, with all those cops under his control, the only question was who would be next?
The two cops had pulled over the wrong guy yesterday. The strange man had a magical way with words and the officers now followed every command he gave them. For the last three days after every shift they each spent an hour worshipping each others feet. Kissing, licking, and sucking each others soles after a long day trapped in sweaty boots. His partners feet were all they can think about when they got home too. They had to exchange socks before they left so they could sleep with one sock taped over their nose and the other stuck in their mouth. For another little bit of punishment they were also now insanely attracted to everyone in their station. The way Sergeant Higgins pants hugged his tight ass, or the way the captain spoke about their latest batch of criminals drove both of them wild. Their daily morning staff meeting was pure torture both of them stifling groans and having to run to the bathroom to clean up the mess they had made in the front of their pants. Friday night they would suddenly remember their last command from the stranger and drive to his house for the entire weekend.
Miguel was put on trial for his drunk driving that had ended two people lives and, as punishment, under a new program his body was given to a terminally ill patient. Miguel was still alive in his mind: hearing, tasting, seeing, and smelling everything, but unable to do anything as Duncan was given a new lease on life. Instead of partying all night and sleeping all day it was now standard to find Miguel in the garden of Duncan’s house watering the flowers or trimming the hedges. Although now the women of the neighborhood didn’t walk a little quicker past the old Victorian home they lingered hoping to get a look at the college stud who now gardened shirtless. Duncan even continued to take Miguel’s college courses now getting much better grades. He even continued to be friends with some of Miguel’s buddies including Jace his best friend.
It was only weeks after the Duncan had been placed in Miguel’s body when Jace and Duncan found each other finally alone that Jace grabbed his best friend and kissed him. Jace had seen the way Duncan would steal glances at the other jocks in the campus gym as their shirts lifted or how he stared a little to long at Jace when he was changing out of his swim trunks last weekend. Jace had always had a crush on Miguel but knew the homophobic party boy would never love him back. Now as he sniffed the nape of Duncan’s neck still wearing Miguel’s favorite cologne he knew he could finally have what he wanted. Duncan embraced Jace back and lifted him in his strong arms carrying him upstairs to the bedroom. Miguel trapped in his own mind could only yell out cursing Duncan as he experienced everything. Duncan laughed quietly to himself hearing Miguel’s protests in his head and telling the distant voice in his head to get used to it.
“Oh god,” James thought, stretching his arms. He was, perhaps, a bit sore. Letting his eyes flutter open, he didn’t know where he was. Sitting up, he noticed a guy, college-age, sleeping on the floor. “Oh no,” he thought. He was an electrician, and he had come to a frat house to fix some issues. That must be where he was.
The boi on the floor woke up and smiled at him. “Good morning Sir. Was my bed comfortable? Thank you for sleeping in here. It’s an honor.” Suddenly, the night was flooding back to him. The house was filled with different frat bros of different shapes and sizes. They invited him to dinner to thank him for his work.
As the night pieced together, two more came in with his breakfast. “We heard voices, and we prepared breakfast for you Sir.” One said. The other smiled and nodded.
James took the breakfast, remembering back to last night more. He drank at the dinner, and suddenly the bois were prodding him about his sex life. The more he drank, the looser he felt. Sexually, he was extremely dominant.
He ate his breakfast, remembering everything, the boi on the floor massages his feet as he ate. The other two got down on their knees and knelt beside him silently.
A third came in, “Sir, I will draw you a morning bath for when your finished.” He scurried out.
Remembering last night again, he remembered being told that this frat had a tradition of having a house Master. This tradition is over one hundred years old. The Master was like the Frat’s king, their god. They explained their last one had to leave, but didn’t get in to details. They thought he’d made a great next one.
They explained their Master lives rent free with a large stipend and essentially, can’t be told no. The only thing he did in return is satisfy the brothers sexually and govern the house. In his drunkenness he had agreed and resigned his job.
He spent the rest of the night having the wildest sexy with almost twenty bois, all who swore to remain sexually active with just him. “Damn,” he thought, “I really am a king.”
Holy shit, I couldn’t believe it. I ran in to my best friend’s dad at the bar. Nothing crazy, honestly wasn’t the first time. However, tonight he was a bit more forward. I flirted back, I always did. His son was my college roommate and in the summers I’d stay at their place sometimes. So we knew eachother fairly well.
But tonight he accepted my flirtations in a way he never head. One thing led to another and he invited me to his place. This familiar home felt completely anew given this context. He led me to his bedroom, which was unfamiliar to me, and he took my cock deep down his throat
Being a master hypnotist and mind controller was great until you stayed in one place too long and the authorities began to investigate a little too much and start to hunt you down. I’d become a little too old to be moving every three months so I came up with a plan to begin a new life laying low in a small town. I had discovered this tiny town of Springdale in a news article online. A large, manly, recently widowed police chief John McCormick had just been elected Mayor and his son twenty two year old Bradley was going to follow in his father’s footsteps and graduate from the police academy next month. They caught my eye immediately and it was too easy to knock on their door and use my hypnotizing words and subliminal speakers on their easily molded minds. Having control of the Mayor and an eye and ear embedded on the police force would allow me to stay here for years or maybe for life. I tried not to make too many changes to the household early on, but they were both so boring and predictable. Bradley always looking for his fathers approval and John always the boss and loudest guy in the room. No, things had to change if I was going to stay. Now John was quiet and submissive when he was home following his son's every word becoming more obsessed with him everyday. Bradley now commanded his father around and used him for his sexual needs whenever he wanted. Both were of course subservient to me and obeyed my every word when they were at home.
Returning from my trip to town for breakfast and a walk around the park I found them lounging by the pool. “How’s it going chief you and your boy have a nice relaxing day” I laughed addressing the Mayor who I knew would only speak if Bradley allowed it. “Higher you idiot I told you to focus on my shoulders, don’t think I didn’t feel your little cock run against my leg or your nose buried in my butt cheeks earlier” said Bradley critiquing his dads full body massage he was giving him poolside. “Just for that you can spend all day tomorrow between your stupid meetings with my sweaty jockstrap trapped over your face. You better hope everyone knocks before they come into your office. I’ll stop by after I finish up my first shift on the police force and give you what you’ll be dreaming about all day.” I heard a whimper escaping John’s lips as he adjusted his own jockstrap as a large wet spot began to form in front. “Master, our new pet is settling in nicely. I found an old can of food in the cabinet. I'll have Mayor Mcdumbass pick up some more on his way home from city hall tomorrow” Bradley said, smiling up at me and looking at me with a lustful fire in his eye. I smiled at my two conquests and headed inside to check on our new dog Ahmed.
Bradley’s best friend Ahmed had been visiting his parents across the street and when he left to drive back home he had seen Bradley’s car in the driveway of his dads house. Ahmed had thought Bradley wouldn’t be back from his police academy training for another month so he had let himself in, after all the McCormick house was like his second home. He was shocked and disgusted to find me laying naked on the couch as Bradley pounded into his handcuffed and hogtied father in the middle of the living room all while John was crying out his son’s name in ecstasy. He really should have knocked,now Ahmed was just my horny, loving pet dog. There he was in the kitchen face digging into the bowl on the floor hungrily. I had a great view of his firm ass and tight hole shaking as he licked the bowl clean. A little lower I could see his large balls dragging on the floor while a large puddle was forming under his long hard dick. Maybe my always hard and horny subliminal soundtrack had worked a little too well. There were puddles of cum and streaks all across the floor and stains all over the couch as well. I would have to have Bradley and John take care of that, I think their tongues would work better than a mop. “Hey boy why don’t we take care of that” I said as he started jumping up at me trying to lick my face and his dick rubbed against my leg. He ran to the master bedroom where I found him in position gazing up at me, a vacant look in his eyes and his large tongue hanging out of his mouth. Yeah I could make a nice home here I thought as I approached Ahmed from behind.
CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.
Proof Command
Type of Love: Control | Rivalry
Andy and I had been dating for about a year and a half. He was everything I'd ever wanted in someone: attentive, kind, funny. He was truly a 10 in a sea of 5s and 1s. He was also quite attractive, with a cute face and a decent, though somewhat slight, set of muscles. Honestly, I didn't quite understand why he'd chosen me. I have a very different build than him – thinner, a bit more of a nerd, and I even think I'm not very attractive – but even so, we'd been together, side by side. We were supposed to meet for lunch today at a coffee shop near campus that we both liked, but he hadn't arrived yet. I wanted to avoid worrying too much, but a feeling that something wasn't quite right was creeping down my spine like a worm.
My phone rang with an unknown number trying to make a video call. Naturally, I would have rejected it immediately, but a strange impulse made me slide the green button to answer.
— Hello? Who's calling? – My breath caught in my throat as the initially black screen transformed into the figure of someone below, sitting in a car, legs spread wide, revealing the outline of his erection, his well-defined pecs, and nothing more. But the most unsettling thing was recognizing those clothes: those olive green pants and the black compression shirt. They were Andy's – H-honey?
— Hey! Honey's busy, you know, Trevor? – A familiar yet unfamiliar voice came from the driver's seat. Andy didn't seem to be moving, and his face was completely hidden; he was just there, thighs spread – Or why don't you show him how busy you are, big guy? – In the blink of an eye, my boyfriend grabbed his pecs and started squeezing and stroking himself hard, panting for more. My fingers trembled at the images I couldn't fully comprehend, yet couldn't stop watching.
— Who is it?! What kind of joke is this?! What's wrong with you, Andy?!
— Nah, stop yelling, don't be such a crybaby – That damn voice again. I could see the car still moving; the scenery seemed familiar out of the corner of my eye, but because of the phone's angle, I couldn't see anything beyond my boyfriend's pecs bouncing and the outline of his tool slowly rising as he panted like an idiot.
Finally, the car stopped and parked. Andy was still lost in his own sensations, as if in a trance. He just smiled, his eyes still covered by the camera's blind spot, but he even stuck out his tongue, licking his lips and trying to feel more.
— Go to hell! What have you done to my boyfriend?!
— Believe me, you're about to find out, just wait a little while, loser! – The cruel laughter echoed briefly; Andy himself even started laughing. I just felt my stomach sink with fear and helplessness – Anyway, we have to hang up. We're out shopping and we're kind of... busy.
— Wait!
The video call ended abruptly. I didn't know what to do or where to go. "Out shopping" was such an enigmatic phrase; it could be anywhere. A vibration on my phone alerted me again – a photo from Andy's chat and something written.
📲. How do you think this looks on me? Do my legs look good? I want them to look so fat for my new master.
Again, I felt like my stomach was dropping from a seventh-story window. Andy would never write or behave like that. He was my Andy. He would never do something like that, not even cheat on me. He was acting like someone else, like someone else, even... There was a strange glint in his eyes.
I didn't have time to do or process anything again when a call came in from one of my friends.
— Hello?
— Trev, look. I don't want to be a killjoy or anything, and it pains me to tell you this, but… I think Andy is cheating on you.
— What?
— Yeah, I just saw him with another guy at the mall near campus, and they seemed pretty… close. He literally couldn't keep his hands off him, and maybe you should check out his stories. I think… Well, better see for yourself.
As soon as I turned my phone back on, pictures of him eating ice cream popped up, and they weren't exactly… innocent. His shirt was open, showing his chest, his tongue sticking out as he licked the ice cream in a perverted way. It was like he had no shame or self-control whatsoever, with a relaxed smile always on his lips. There was a caption on the bottom of the photo: "Enjoying life without any killjoy bitches".
My blood boiled, but as annoyed as I was, something still didn't quite add up or convince me. There was something strange about his behavior, something alien, and I needed to stop it as soon as possible.
I only took a few things to follow the trail the stories and images left behind, each one further away than the last; it was like chasing a rabbit. I'd already made a few other stops, like at the gym where another friend had called me just to tell me that Andy was rubbing himself against the machines like crazy, leaving them soaked in sweat before kneeling in front of one of the bodybuilders and begging him, tongue lolling out, to let him lick him from head to toe. No matter how much I wanted to think or stop him, it was always as if he moved faster, accompanied by his secret puppeteer.
Always sending photos and clues with less and less clothing and shame, I truly didn't know what else to do. The day wasn't even over yet, and I felt like my reputation, Andy's, and ours as a couple were six feet under. Everyone's eyes were fixed on me, as if I had to hang my head because of the crazy boyfriend I had, now addicted to public display, wearing the tightest, most revealing clothes he could find.
It seemed like he'd completely changed his wardrobe, wearing leather suits, high combat boots, and tight pants that swung with every step. That wasn't my Andy. It made absolutely no sense for him to be acting like this, not after all this time. I knew him. And that wasn't my boyfriend.
I finally made it to campus and parked behind it, near the football field, only to find Andy wearing a tight black compression shirt, sweatpants, and, most conspicuous of all: a jockstrap peeking out from his waistband. He was flirting with the athletes, his hands flailing everywhere as they tried to back away. He was just showing off, flexing his muscles, posing, and saying nonsensical things, trying to get someone else's attention. They all ended up practically running away while he continued to make suggestive remarks, his tongue sticking out like a dog in heat.
— Andy?! What the hell is wrong with you?! – I yelled at him, a mixture of anger and concern in my voice. Again, I noticed his eyes, glazed, soulless, as if he were just acting on autopilot.
— It was about time you showed up, Trevy – someone mocked behind me with a cruel laugh. His voice was somewhat high-pitched, perhaps higher than mine, but still had a calculating tone. When I turned around, I saw Michael's face.
Michael was my rival in absolutely everything. Science competitions, grades, projects; always obsessed with beating me at anything. He just looked at me with that superior and self-satisfied expression before approaching Andy, running his hand across his chest. My boyfriend stood frozen like a robot, still and with a lost look in his eyes. His expression said nothing but emptiness.
— Do you like my new project? – He squeezed his chest, causing him to gasp, but nothing else happened. His hands moved again across his chest, digging his greedy fingers deep inside.
— What did you do, Michael?
— Nothing, I just showed him what I could do and why I'm better than you. It didn't take him long to notice, just look at him, eating out of the palm of my hand like a good guy.
His cruel laugh, the same laugh from the car, how had I not noticed?
— Cut the act, idiot. I'll ask you again, what did you do?
— Meh, you're right, why hide it? I just hypnotized him.
— Are you hallucinating? That's something you see in movies.
— Well, it seems not. I think I've beaten you at two things: inventing something new, and stealing your boyfriend – The nerd flashed a cruel smile, squeezing his pecs again.
— That's enough. What do you want him for? You don't feel anything for him, you don't care.
— But you do, dear Trevy – He said that nickname again, the one I hated with all my soul – And that's why I want him as a prize, as a fucking trophy. You have your Himbo boyfriend all to yourself, well now he'll be mine.
— B-but you don't love him!
— And I don't have to love him to do this – He snapped his fingers. Andy's gaze narrowed a little more before he threw himself to the ground, getting on all fours and starting to wiggle his buttocks as if he were dancing or wagging his tail with his tongue out. The athletes, previously dismayed, were now just laughing in the distance, their cruel gaze fixed on me.
Michael snapped his fingers again, but this time it was different. Andy's gaze began to clear, as if a fog were lifting from him. His frightened eyes fixed on me, crawling to find me.
— D-Darling, help me, I don't know what's happening, d-don't let him do that again.
I approached him quickly, taking him in my arms to try to comfort him; the anguish was evident in his iris.
He tried to adjust his clothes, to cover himself, or at least move closer to try and find my lips, but Michael snapped his fingers again, causing his eyes to wander once more. His lips relaxed, and a thin trail of saliva trickled down his chin. His hand moved to his own thighs, beginning to fondle them, panting and biting his lower lip.
— Stop! What do you want?!
— To win you over, of course. For everyone to know that your boyfriend is a cheating idiot who can't keep his hands to himself, or his mouth to himself, or anything. And this will only get worse, I'm warning you.
I could already picture "Andy" cruelly escalating, exposing himself in class, sticking his tongue out, others using him as a mere dumping ground, being seen as nothing more than a slut eager for others to use him. He'd end up getting expelled, and I couldn't let that happen.
— Leave him out of it. He has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me, so tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. But leave him out of this.
Our challenging glances met, and Michael raised an eyebrow, letting out a chuckle.
— Wow, you surprise me, Trevy – he said with a cruel smile, then kicked Andy to the ground, forcing him to his feet. My boyfriend just got up, going back to him and rubbing himself against him as if he were the only thing he adored in the world – Maybe I'll listen to you, but first, I think I want to show you something – He gestured to Andy, who practically ran behind the courts.
— What did you do?
— You'll see soon enough – he winked maliciously. In a matter of minutes, Andy returned wearing a tight, shiny leather outfit, his chest and armpits exposed, leaving them on full display. I barely noticed the foul odor emanating from him.
— Ugh, shit, didn't you put deodorant on him?
— What for? The stinkier, the better. Right, bitch?
— Mffh, yeah! – Andy replied eagerly, starting to sniff and lick his armpits needily, rubbing his nose against the hairless but damp surface, his biceps expanding slightly as he rubbed and tried to absorb some of that stinky stench with his tongue and nose.
— I told you that's enough, Michael.
— And I will, but I just want to show you this. Doesn't your idiot boyfriend look fucking great like this? With his brain fried, wearing clothes like this. Ha, and to think I was so jealous of you for being with him, when I could have done this from the start! – He seemed to give him another command with just his mind. Andy stuck out his tongue and made the dumbest expression imaginable. His hands moved to his areolas, caressing them and moving his fingers up and down as he writhed on the floor. He was a hot mess, saliva dripping, his gaze filled with lustful desperation – What are you willing to do to get it back?
— Anything, just give it back.
— Anything?
—Yeah, fuck!
Michael pulled something from his pocket.
—Shit, I think I beat you at three things then.
—What the fuck are you t-?
Before I could answer, I felt him plunge something into my skin, and at the same time, he did the same to Andy. Suddenly, an electric sensation coursed through me from head to toe. The pain was unbearable. I felt everything go numb and everything around me turn dark.
When I opened my eyes again, I was met with a different perspective. Grass surrounded me, I was somewhat dazed, and… why did it make a rubbery sound when I moved? I looked down to find, to my horror, the same outfit Andy had been wearing on me. I tried to look around to find Michael with that arrogant smile, and worse still, my own reflection, standing there, nervously examining itself.
— Turns out I was also able to design a body-switching system, you idiot! – He let out another cruel laugh, shaking his head – Honestly, at first I thought about stealing your boyfriend's body, or even yours, but I have to admit this was so fucking fun, making him do whatever he wanted, whatever people were saying, shit! His reputation is literally ruined, everyone thinks he's a fucking exhibitionist! – Michael continued laughing at my astonished gaze and that of who seemed to be Andy, still adjusting to my nerdy body.
— Love? Are you… are you in there? – He cautiously approached me, and I could only manage a small nod.
— I-I think so – I stammered, my eyes nervously scanning my new, larger, thicker palms. In that revealing, shiny outfit, it felt… good, I had to admit, but that didn't change the fact that we were basically Michael's fucking puppets.
— Shit, thank you – he said, pulling me into a tight hug, his eyes watering. He wrapped his arms around me, sobbing, and gave me a passionate kiss – I thought I wasn't coming back, but, thank y-
His gaze froze again, his eyes turning white, and then he relaxed, spitting a little saliva with a stupid look on his face.
— What the hell did you do, Michael?! This wasn't part of the act, you fucking idiot, I'm going to-
It was like a switch flipped in my mind. I suddenly felt so… lost. And why had I been so angry just seconds before? This felt so good, having this big, smelly body was so delicious… The feeling of the leather against my skin, make me feel so easy.
— You probably won't understand a damn thing I'm about to say, but I'll be clear. From now on, you'll be Andy, with your brain fried so I can do whatever I want with you, and I'll make sure your little boyfriend in your body can't think much either. You'll literally be a stupid nerd, haha! No more losing competitions to you, no more bragging about having a good boyfriend, I'll be the one who wins here.
His gaze was still fixed on me, but damn, I wanted so badly to touch my new pecs, it's like I can't think of anything else. They looked so delicious in this tight fabric, I wanted to squeeze them. Could I suck on them myself?
— Look at you, such an idiot. Ha! – He turned to Andy in my body, placed his hand on him – I think I don't need you anymore, you're “free” – My old gaze just drifted off into space, I nodded, and then I headed towards my car to start it a few moments later.
— Meh, believe me, you won't miss him, or at least your brain cells won't be messed up enough to even think about him, hahaha!
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Hey everyone!
I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it. Just a reminder that this February, all my stories (including those on my Patreon) will be themed around love and friendship for Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoy everything I have planned for you!
And speaking of surprises, here's the first one of the year! I've created a server on Discord specifically dedicated to following my work and where you can interact with me or other fans of the topics I write about. You can also leave me ideas for stories there: images, themes, loose ideas, characters, or anything else you'd like. I'm really excited about this and hope many of you will join! Thank you so much for your attention. This is all really great, and I hope many of you will get involved; everyone is welcome.
Echa un vistazo a la comunidad Possessed Desires Stories en Discord. Pasa el rato con 35 miembros y disfruta de chat de voz y texto gratis.
I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?
