Mark was such a stud. Everything about him, from his big hairy pecs, down to his treetrunk legs. His bulging biceps, his musky scent. Everything about him was enticing and perfect. I was obsessed with him. The first time I saw him was in the gym. Immediately I was captivated by him. He was so manly, so big. I wanted to see more of him, so I started to schedule my gym sessions around his, working my way through the machines in such a way that I could always spy on him during my workouts. I loved watching him.
One day he decided to hit the showers in the gym. Usually he just showers at home, or maybe he just left his musk on. That’d be hot. Of course I followed him in, I wanted to see him in all his glory. There were no stalls in our gym, just one big open area with showerheads hanging from the walls. Mark went to one in the back, and I settled for one in the middle. I tried to sneak a peak as sneakily as I could.
Wow! His cock was so big! It must be 10 inches at least. I got hard instantly, and I couldn’t help but touch myself a little… A little too obviously..
“Hey! What are you doing?!” Mark yelled furiously. “Uhh… me? N-n-n-nothing..” I said in my least convincing tone ever. “Are you some kind of fag?? You getting turned on watching my dick swing??” “N-no, of course not.. t-t-that would be rude..” I was really scared he was gonna hit me. “If you’re such a fag, then do your duty bitch!” Wait… what? He almost seems.. into it? Mark walked over. “Get on your knees and suck it bitch!” Without a second thought he shoved his cock right up my throat. It was really long and thick, and the scent of his crotch was intoxicating. “Yeahhh.. that’s right bitch, suck it for daddy.” Wow, I had had fantasies about this, but I never thought I would ever actually suck Mark’s dick! He went harder and faster, and it got a bit difficult to manage his ginormous member. I started choking a bit, but he didn’t care. He was such an alpha, and it was turning me on so badly. “Shit man, you keep this up and I’m gonna cum soon..” I could taste his pre. It was nice and sweet, probably from his bodybuilding diet. “Fffuuuck man, I’m gonna..- GGGRRHH.” With a last thrust he stuck his member all the way down my throat. A thick load of sweet cum went straight into my mouth. It was like a fountain, it felt like gallons of the stuff was going down my throat, filling up my stomache.
“Jeez man, you’re a pretty good cock sucker.” Mark said, still coming down from the orgasm’s high. He rested his hands on my shoulders, and gave me a tender kiss. “I don’t understand, I thought you were straight?” I asked. “Ha, you kidding? I’m bi! Most muscle guys are bi. None can resist a good fuck after a workout, doesn’t matter if it’s a little gay or not. And you were just asking for it.” I can’t argue with him on that.. We showered off, he was grinding me still, jerking me off and eventually making me cum. God he was a good man handler. As we dried off he guided me to his locker. ”Now that I’ve had my fun, I can’t just have you walk around here anymore.” Wait, what? “W-w-what do you mean??” I asked. “Well, you were just so good, I can’t have you be ruined by anyone else. But hey, have you seen my watch?”
His watch? What’s up with his watch? As I looked over, I saw it glow slightly. It looked old and mechanical. Its mechanisms started to buzz loudly, and I felt myself becoming entranced by it. There was no use covering my ears, it was too late. “That’s a good boy, you’ll fit nice and snuggly.” What? Fit nice? What is he talking about? At that moment I started to notice my skin turning more red. I was shrinking and hollowing out. It was terrifying but it felt kinda.. good. Like being touched all over, sucked all over by a hundred invisible mouthes and hands. I knew it wasn’t smart, but I gave in to the pleasure. There just wasn’t anything else I could do. Nothing else I wanted to do. Just give in and feel good.
When the high finally faded I noticed I couldn’t move. I was lying flat on the ground, no feeling, no smell, nothing. Then, Mark loomed over me. “Wow, you turned out great! If you can do the same as in the shower, you might just be my new favourite!” Turned out into what? As I tried to get any sense of reference, Mark picked me up and held me in front of a mirror. “Here, have a look, aren’t you the hottest pair of compression shorts you’ve ever seen?” Compression shorts?! No no no, this can’t be real..
Mark picked up his bad and stuffed me into it with his musky gym clothes. I couldn’t smell anymore, but I could feel the musk and sweat absorbing into me. It was kind of like tasting him, and god did it feel good. I couldn’t believe I was a pair of underwear now, but if it was gonna feel this good, I wouldn’t mind that much. It felt like I was only in his bag for a few minutes, but I could spend an eternity in there.
When he pulled me out, we were in a living room. His living room probably. “Alright champ, enjoyed it in there?” I couldn’t speak, but I definitely wanted to say yes. “OK, let’s see what you can do.” Mark put me down as he started to undress. God, I had just seen him in the shower, and I’ve spied on him around the gym so much, but seeing him undress right in front of me just made me feel horny all over again. He slowly removed his tight sport shirt and gym shorts, followed by a jockstrap. Once he was finally undressed, his monster cock flopping around, he picked me up and put me on. His big, hairy balls filling me up. His musky sweat pouring into me. It felt amazing, and it turned me on way too much.
“Alright bud, go to town, make daddy feel good.” I didn’t really understand what he meant, but all I could do was focus on his cock. It was so perfect, so musky, so delicious. I needed to taste it again. I needed his cum in me. As I focused all my will into pleasuring his cock, I started feeling a bit more human again. It felt like I had a mouth to wrap around his dick. I sucked on it, taking him all the way down my throat. I was never able to do that normally! “Oh fuck dude, that’s it!” Mark moaned. So this was actually pleasuring him? Let’s see how far I can take it then.
As I focused more I created a second mouth and multiple hands. I started making out with him while sucking his cock, twisting his nipples and rubbing between his legs and along his sides. “Oh GOD dude, ngghhh, that’s.. huff.. that’s good… hah.. real good..” Mark moaned out in pleasure. It was good, for me too. It felt like I was actually making out with him, actually touching him. Another step further.
Next I created a cock. Not just my cock, but a big, slick cock. I created more hands, playing with his asshole. I created a mouth to eat his ass. “Oh shit man.. oohhhh.. what are you.. NNGH.. doing??” I could tell he was enjoying this very much, and so was I. I loved tasting his sweaty hole. I positioned my dick right on his asshole. With one thrust I pushed in. “FUCK!!” Mark cried out in pleasure. “Oooaaauuhh.. god damn it dude, you’re.. uuuughh.. so good!” Mark loved this. I loved this. Mark was writhing on his couch like a little bitch. And oh man, it felt so good, fucking his tight ass, sucking his dick, everything.
As I kept fucking and sucking every inch of his body, Mark was coming closer to cumming. “Aaahh, ooh fuck dude, ok that’s enough..” Yeah right, I want to taste him, have his cum stick in my fabric. I went harder. “FfffffuCK.. c-c-come on dude.. s-stop. I don’t wanna… AAHH.. d-d-dirty you up.” God this feels so good. It’s like I’m gonna cum too! Thrusting deeper, harder, taking him down my throat as deep as I can. “nnNNNoOOOO w-w-wait! FFFFFFFUUUUUUUCK uughhh… GGGRRRAAAAH!!!” Streams of cum came launching out of him, like a volcano erupting all over me! The taste, the smell, it was overwhelming! And I was cumming right in his ass, his deep tight ass, god DAMN it felt so good! I was losing my vision, but I didn’t care, it was too good. I blacked out for a second, and then got my sight back again.
As I came down from the high, I noticed something. I felt like a human again. The sensation of touch, the cool air moving over my skin. Tight fabric around my crotch and hips.. Big pecs.. wait, pecs? I never had those. I’m scrawny! As I opened my eyes I saw two mountainous, hairy pecs! Treetrunk legs! Massive arms and hands! Wait… it can’t be?
I rushed to find a mirror, my new big heavy body being hard to control after such an amazing orgasm. With every step I felt heavy and powerful, like the guys I’d always dreamed of being. Finally, I found a mirror in the hallway. My thought was correct. I’m Mark now. As I stared into my reflection, new memories popped into my head. Mark had found this watch from an old witch. It promised endless pleasure, but that pleasure came with a risk. If the spirit trapped in the fabric were to make the wearer cum at the same time the spirit did, there would be a mental battle. If the spirit wanted the body more than the wearer, they’d swap places…
So that means that Mark is now trapped inside the underwear. And I get to be him for as long as I want? Wow.. “I’m MARK! HOT DADDY HUNK MARK! HAHAA” I yelled out. I took off the red underwear that was helplessly trying to suck my dick. “Sorry Mark, you’re not getting this body back. But tell you what, you’ll get to suck me off plenty of times. And if you do good, who knows, maybe I’ll offer you to some other hotty at the gym and you can try to take over his body instead.”
Let’s just say I have a lot of hot plans for this body.. Thanks Mark!
I stood in the NYC hotel room in my suit, phone in one hand, the other sliding a pod into the coffee maker. The rich smell hit the air right away as the machine gurgled. I scrolled through Instagram while it brewed.
Jose’s story popped up first. There he was in a sharp navy suit that hugged his frame, hair neatly styled, flashing that easy grin straight into the camera. “Suited up and headed to court. Ready to fight for my right to live freely as I am today. Azure Sands doesn't have the right to steal my autonomy. Lets do this."
He looked sharp. Confident. The suit stretched across his chest just right, the jacket open enough to show the crisp white shirt underneath.
I was nervous to see him at the courthouse later today.
I took a slow sip of the coffee, feeling the fabric of my tight dress shirt stretch across my large chest and shoulders. It still didn't feel normal. This body just wasn't built for dress clothes.
I set the mug down and adjusted my tie in the reflection of the mirror hanging from the door. Not bad. Just not mine.
--
A little over two years ago I went to Azure Sands for a getaway.
I was 32, burnt out from nonstop work, and freshly single after my girlfriend and I called it quits. The idea of a body-swap experience sounded like the perfect way to get out of my head. I’d read the stories online—people talking about how freeing it felt, how intense the sex hit when you were wearing someone else’s skin. All anyone at the resort wanted to do was fuck as each other. I figured it’d be fun to try fucking as a completely different guy, different race, different build. Some people even ended up loving their new bodies so much they made the swap permanent. I wasn’t into that part, but it was still a glowing recommendation.
The resort was beautiful when I arrived. Turquoise water, white sand, palm trees everywhere. Everything smelled like sunscreen and salt air.
All was going according to plan at first. They had everyone check into the hotel and invited us to the Sapphire Lounge where we mingled as we waited for the pairings.
I was standing near the bar with a cold beer when this guy came up and introduced himself. Jackson. White guy from Memphis, maybe a few years older than me. He had a cool southern accent that rolled out slow and easy. Bald on top but really muscular, arms and chest filling out his tank top, cool tattoos down his arms.
We started chatting. He asked what brought me down here, and I told him the truth—needed to reset after a shit breakup and even shittier year at work.
“Same,” he said, clinking his glass against mine. “Figured swapping into something new would shake things up. You look like you take care of yourself. Bet you’d wear my body well.”
I laughed.
They made the announcement of the different pairs a little while later. When they called my name and Jackson’s, I felt a quick jolt of surprise. He turned to me with this satisfied look.
“What are the odds? Guess we’re doing this,” I said.
Jackson leaned in closer, voice low. “Actually, I paid for the higher tier package. Got to pick my swap partner before I even got here. They sent pictures and bios of everyone coming for the two weeks. I picked you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “For real?”
He nodded, that southern drawl thick. “For real.” His eyes flicked down my body again. “Flattered?” He said in a vaguely flirty tone.
I'd never been interested in guys, but for a split second I saw the appeal of corn-fed guy with a southern drawl.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the heat in my face. “I am.”
---
The swap happened overnight. I went to bed in my own skin and woke up the next morning as Jackson—bigger, heavier, tattoos covering parts of my new arms and chest.
We ran into each other at breakfast. The whole dining area was full of people moving differently, testing out new heights and weights and voices. Jackson—in my old body—spotted me and waved me over.
“Morning,” he said, grinning with my old face. “Holy shit, this feels weird, right?”
I sat down across from him, rolling my new shoulders. “Feels like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes that are way too tight in the right places. These arms… I keep bumping into shit.”
He laughed and flexed one of my old biceps. “Tell me about it. Your body’s got speed though. I ran on the beach earlier and felt like I could keep going forever.”
We spent that first day bro-ing out about it. Hit the resort gym together, spotting each other on the weights.
After that day we kind of went our separate ways.
Everyone was too busy focused on the main reason they’d come here: to fuck. The resort had us all do STI tests on arrival and put every single person—men and women—on medical birth control. They knew exactly what this place was and weren’t trusting anyone with condoms.
The next two weeks were heaven. Hot women kept throwing themselves at me in Jackson’s strong, tattooed body. I could cum deep in whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, with zero repercussions. And they were just as into it, chasing the same rush.
One night I ended up with this Brazilian girl who was wearing the body of some bitchy French woman from Paris. She had me literally weak in the knees. The way she rode me, grinding down hard while her tits bounced, had me gripping the sheets. I loved how Jackson’s thick beard felt dragging across their pussies when I ate them out—rough and warm, the scratch making them shake and moan louder every time. She came so hard on my face I could barely breathe, then begged me to flip her over and fill her up. I did, thrusting deep until I unloaded inside her, both of us sweating and cursing in the humid night air.
The only kind of weird thing during the stay happened a few nights in. I was walking back from the beach bar when I spotted Jackson across the resort. He was flirting hard with this tall, built guy. The guy had his hands all over him—grabbing Jackson’s ass through my old shorts, squeezing his arms. Jackson looked up at him with these eager, submissive eyes, like he was already gone for it.
I hadn’t realized he was actually gay. His whole dude-bro vibe had thrown me off.
Later I saw them heading toward a villa. Out of pure morbid curiosity I followed and peered through a side window. The curtains were open just enough. Inside, the big guy had Jackson bent over the bed. He ate my old ass like he was starving for it, tongue working deep while Jackson moaned and pushed back. Then the guy stood up, slicked his cock, and slid in.
I watched the whole thing. Jackson took every inch, gasping and gripping the sheets. The guy railed him steady and deep, hitting the right spot over and over. I didn’t expect what happened next. Jackson’s cock—my cock—started shooting without anyone touching it, just from his prostate getting pounded. Thick ropes hit the bed while he shook and cried out.
Damn, I thought, staring. My asshole is gonna hurt when I get back in there.
It didn’t bother me too much. I was more surprised than anything. We were all here for the same thing. If he was getting off and it felt that good, who was I to judge?
But I was thrown when Jackson brought it up on the last day. We were sitting by the pool, drinks in hand, when he leaned in.
“Look,” he said, voice low, “I’ve been thinking. I’m loving this body. A lot. What if we just… stayed like this forever? You can fuck me, or I fuck you?"
You see, the resort’s only real rule was that swapped pairs can’t fuck one another, otherwise the swap is permanent. That said, it was an open secret of the resort that they don’t care if guests do it on purpose.
I stared at him.
He kept going, eyes serious but still carrying that flirt. “You’d have a great life in my skin. Bigger dick than what you’re used to. Women come up to me all the time back in Nashville wanting to get fucked. It’s kind of wasted on me since I’m gay. You’d kill it.”
I shook my head. “I appreciate it, man. But I’m good. I want my body back.”
He relented, but not before flashing me a half-smile and letting his hand brush my thigh. “Your loss. That cock could stand to keep fucking pussy and you look damn good in that big muscular frame.”
I laughed it off.
Then something completely unexpected happened.
---
On the very last day, right before checkout, the resort staff called everyone into the Sapphire Lounge. The coordinator looked nervous as she delivered the news.
“There’s been a malfunction with the body swap technology,” she said, voice tight. “Due to a programming error, all of you actually underwent a permanent swap on the first day.”
The room went dead quiet, then erupted.
Jackson turned to me, face pale. “Fuck… I’m so sorry, man. I had no idea.” His words sounded genuine. But when I glanced down, his cock—my old cock—was rock hard and straining against his shorts. He shifted, trying to hide it, but I saw.
We didn’t have much choice. After the paperwork and the lawyers the resort threw at us, we went back to one another’s homes. He flew to my place in San Diego. I flew to his in Nashville.
We stayed in touch at first. Texts checking in, a couple awkward video calls where we tried to laugh about it. But we lived so far apart, and real life started pulling us in different directions. New jobs, new routines, new bodies to get used to. The contact faded after a few months.
I could see from social media how well Jackson was doing in my old body. He posted a picture a few months after the swap—him and this really hot boyfriend he’d met at the airport on the way back to San Diego of all places. Tall, sharp jawline, the kind of guy who looked like he worked out just to show off. They looked happy. Really happy.
My own life in Nashville was a string of one-night stands. I’d go out to bars, and women would come up to me, hands sliding over Jackson’s thick arms and chest, tracing the tattoos that still didn’t feel like mine. They loved the muscles, the beard, the way I filled out a shirt. I’d take them home, fuck them deep and hard, watching their eyes roll back while I gripped their hips with these bigger hands. The sex was good—great, even. But it left me depressed afterward. They weren’t into me. They were into Jackson’s body, his look, his vibe. Not the guy actually inside it.
Some of the guys around town were even more confused. A few times at bars, very good-looking dudes would slide up next to me, grinning like we had history. One leaned in close one night, hand brushing my thigh. “Been a while, Jackson. My place is close. You still into what we did last time?”
I had to let them down easy. “Sorry, man. Things are different now.” They’d look surprised, almost hurt, before backing off.
---
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, two years later Azure Sands reached out to everyone. They said they’d found a way to reverse it.
Some participants swapped back immediately. Others had settled into their new lives so well they refused. That left a small group where one person wanted to switch back and the other didn’t.
Tough luck for me—Jose was one of them.
The morning I found out, I called him right away, heart pounding.
“Dude, they can fix this,” I said, voice rushing. “We can swap back. I’ll book the flight today—”
“No,” he cut me off. His voice—my old voice—was calm and flat. “I’m not doing it.”
I stopped pacing the living room. “What the fuck do you mean you’re not doing it?”
“I mean I’m happy here,” he said. “I’ve got a boyfriend who actually gets me. I make more money in your old job than I ever did in mine. I like this body. I’m keeping it.”
We started yelling. I told him he had no right to steal my life. He shot back that I was the one who’d been living his—fucking half of Nashville—and that I should just admit I’d moved on too. The call ended with both of us pissed off and him hanging up first.
Jose ended up as the lead plaintiff in the lawsuit against Azure Sands for everyone who didn’t want to swap back. It blew up into a national media case. He went on national morning talk shows, sitting there with my old smile, looking sharp in suits that fit him perfectly. People ate it up. He talked about how much he loved his new life, his boyfriend, the dog they’d adopted, how the swap had finally let him become who he was meant to be. He made it sound unconscionable that anyone would try to force him to change now.
---
I stared at his latest Instagram story one more time—the one of him suited up, headed to court.
Time to go fight for my body back.
The court case had dragged on for a few months by now, and today was the big day of testimony. The courtroom felt stuffy under the fluorescent lights as they called up swappees from both sides—people desperate to get their old bodies back, people fighting to keep what they had, and couples who had mutually agreed to stay or switch. Lawyers grilled them on every detail: happiness levels, relationships, careers, mental health.
Finally, they called Jackson to the stand.
He walked up to the stand in my old body like he owned the room. The navy suit hugged his frame perfectly. His hair was styled neat, that easy grin flashing as he swore in. The Tennessee accent was completely gone, replaced by a smooth, light Chicano San Diego cadence.
The lawyer started easy. “Mr. Rivera can you tell the court why you wish to remain in your current body?”
Jackson leaned forward slightly, sincere. “I truly believe I was always meant to be Latino. Before the swap I already spoke Spanish fluently—Mexican Spanish, actually—along with English. The real Jose didn’t. When I woke up in this body, it felt like coming home. I love connecting with my culture now. The food, the music, the community. I go to family gatherings where I actually belong. Forcing me back would rip that away from me.”
He turned and looked directly at two older Hispanic women on the jury. “Y sé que ustedes entienden lo que significa sentirte parte de algo más grande,” he said in perfect, warm Mexican Spanish. “Esta es mi vida ahora. No quiero perderla.”
The two women smiled softly, nodding like he was the nicest grandson they never had.
He continued, voice steady. “I know I would suffer permanent psychological damage if I had to wake up to a different face in the mirror every day after getting so used to this one. I’m finally in a fulfilling relationship. My boyfriend—God, I love him so much—just proposed to me two weeks ago.” He held up his hand, showing the ring. A few people in the gallery sighed. “It would be unfair to drag him through this. He fell in love with me, this me.”
Jackson glanced over at the defense table where I sat, then back to the jury. “When I look at my former body now, I don’t feel anything for it. Those old tattoos? I hate them. They don’t represent who I am anymore. Forcing a swap back would be like making me become a stranger in my own skin. I’ve built a better life here—more meaningful work, deeper connections, real happiness. I volunteer at the local Latinx community center. I’m mentoring young guys who look like me now. This body lets me be the man I was always supposed to be.”
He was flirting with the jury the whole time, too—subtle smiles, eye contact that lingered just a beat too long. The older gay man on the jury kept nodding, completely hooked. The college-age hunk who looked probably closeted shifted in his seat, cheeks a little flushed every time Jackson’s gaze passed over him.
The lawyer wrapped up. “No further questions.”
As I sat there listening to him, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every word out of his mouth made me angrier. I was always meant to be Latino. Bullshit. He talked about belonging like he'd earned it, like two years somehow outweighed thirty-two.
Jackson stepped down, shooting one last polite, charming smile toward the jury box before walking past my table. As he did, he leaned in just enough for me to hear.
“Sorry, man,” he whispered, that light accent curling around the words.
My attorney put a hand on my arm.
"You're up."
I stood and buttoned my jacket. Walking to the witness stand, I could already feel eyes on me. Jackson had practically floated up there. He smiled at people without even trying. He had that face that made strangers trust him before he said a word.
The clerk swore me in, and I sat down, the tight fabric of my dress shirt digging into my shoulders. My attorney started with the easy questions.
"Can you tell the jury why you're asking the court to order the reversal?"
"Because it's my body." I looked at every juror as I said it, trying to bridge the gap between Jackson’s gruff voice and my own soul. "I know you've heard a lot about identity over the last few weeks. You've heard about careers and relationships and happiness. I understand all of that." I nodded toward Jackson, sitting there in my old skin. "I'm glad he built a life. I really am. But he built it with something that wasn't his."
I held up my tattooed forearm. "I wake up every morning looking at somebody else's arms." I rubbed my thumb across the ink. "I still don't know what half of these mean." A few jurors smiled politely. "I shave somebody else's beard. I hear somebody else's voice. I catch myself in mirrors and for a split second I still expect to see..." I stopped, realizing there wasn't much point in romanticizing it. "My own face. I don't want his life. I never wanted his life. I just want mine back."
My attorney let that hang for a moment before sitting down. Then the defense attorney stood, wearing the same practiced smile he’d had all week.
"Mr. Carter, let's look at how you wound up in this situation to begin with," the defense attorney began, pacing slowly toward the witness stand. "You weren't forced to go to Azure Sands, correct?"
"No. I went on vacation."
"A very specific kind of vacation. You went there for the explicit purpose of swapping bodies with another human being."
"For two weeks," I clarified, my jaw tightening. "It was supposed to be a temporary experience."
"But you went willingly. In fact, according to the resort's logs and the discovery files we reviewed, you didn't just participate—you thoroughly enjoyed yourself. The records show you gave the experience a glowing review on your exit survey before the malfunction was announced." The attorney smiled, looking over at the jury. "You spent those two weeks engaging in numerous intimate encounters, taking full advantage of Mr. Rivera's physical build. By your own admission to the resort staff, you loved how it felt to wear his skin. You thought it was 'heaven.' Isn't that right?"
I felt the heat rise into my face, Jackson's thick neck growing warm beneath my collar. "We were all there for the same thing. It was a fantasy resort. That doesn't mean I wanted to give up my actual life forever."
"Of course," the attorney said smoothly, pivoting back toward me. "But the point remains: you willingly walked into an experimental procedure to abandon your biological identity for pleasure. And you've continued to live in it. You've now lived in your current body for over two years."
"Yes."
"You've maintained steady employment, continued your hobbies, made friends. You've dated."
I hesitated, thinking of the string of empty one-night stands in Nashville. "...Yes."
"So despite the circumstances, you've adapted."
"I didn't have a choice. I had no alternative."
The lawyer nodded slowly, walking a little closer. "You testified you've had numerous intimate relationships over the last two years. So women are attracted to your current appearance."
"They're attracted to his appearance."
"But no one forced you to date."
"What else am I supposed to do? I still have needs."
"So despite everything... you've managed."
Something about that word irritated me. "Managed? Yeah. Like a guy who loses a leg manages. You don't congratulate him for walking with a prosthetic."
The analogy landed poorly; a couple of jurors frowned. I pushed through the frustration anyway. "You all keep looking at me like this body is some prize. I'm a six-foot-three bald guy covered in tattoos. I look like I belong outside a biker bar. I walk into a grocery store and little kids stare. I don't exactly have grandmas pinching my cheeks and calling me handsome anymore."
Too late, I noticed the older Hispanic woman on the jury—the one Jackson had been charming in Spanish just minutes ago—fold her arms tightly across her chest.
"I didn't mean—" I cut myself off. The damage was done. I forced myself to finish. "This isn't who I am. I used to smile at people and they'd smile back. Now they move out of my way. I'm intimidating. I'm not approachable. I'm not... built to be this guy."
The defense attorney tilted his head, smelling blood. "Yet, you testified that people respect you. You said they don't mess with you."
"I meant... when you look like this, people tend to take you seriously."
"So this body commands respect. You enjoy that? It's useful."
"Look, anybody would enjoy not having people push them around."
"So you've benefited."
I didn't answer. He looked back at the jury with a satisfied nod. "No further questions."
The jury was dismissed to deliberate, and then all we could do was wait.
Nobody talked much. My lawyer tried making small talk for the first hour before giving up. Across the room, Jackson sat with his fiancé, their fingers intertwined. Every now and then I'd catch him looking at me with my old eyes. I couldn't tell whether he felt guilty or relieved.
Late the following afternoon, the bailiff opened the door. "The jury has reached a verdict."
My stomach dropped. We filed back in. The foreperson handed the paper to the judge, who unfolded it slowly.
"On the question before the court... the jury finds in favor of the defendant."
For a second, the words didn't process. Then it hit me. My lawyer lowered his head. Across the aisle, Jackson closed his eyes and let out a long breath, his fiancé gripping his hand.
The courtroom erupted the moment the judge adjourned. Reporters rushed toward Jackson before he even stepped into the aisle, calling him by my name as camera flashes filled the room. I stood there for another few seconds before quietly picking up my briefcase. Nobody stopped me. Nobody had any questions for the big guy in the corner.
By the time I reached the courthouse doors, I caught my reflection in the glass. Same shaved head. Same heavy build. Same tattoos. The same face I'd been trying to get rid of for more than two years.
This time, though, there wasn't another hearing to look forward to. The jury had decided that the man wearing my old face got to keep it, and I was left carrying the weight of a stranger.
“Alright for 2k views I said I was going to wear this singlet to the gym and record a workout” My voice boomed and I flexed a big meaty bicep at my phone as it recorded me, or my friend Mitchell to be correct. I took over my friends body and now I like to make thirst traps and post them to TikTok, twitter, and an onlyfans, I make good money with Mitchell’s body, I continued to flex and gave my pits a nice whiff before I ended the video and got ready to post it
Christian knew it would be painful. The other nerds had warned him that forcing a person’s soul from their own body would hurt. But Christian wasn’t prepared for the sheer torture that he would feel as he literally tore someone’s essense away from every fibre of their being. It was painful for the other nerds, but Christian had gone for an even bigger target. He was taking the body of Luke, a fellow senior who seemed to spend every waking hour in the gym. The soul sundering process took significantly longer for the over-muscled brute, and Christian was consumed in agony.
After what seemed like an eternity, the last of Luke’s spirit began to fade away along with the searing pain. And in its place, a sense of euphoria. The feeling of release after such an agonising experience, combined with the barrage of new sensations was overwhelming. The soft athletic fabric stretched tight over his new pecs and shoulders. The feeling of innate strength swelling deep within his swollen muscle. The potent cocktail of hormones coursing through his veins. It was all too much. Christian threw his head back and released a rumbling moan as he rode his first orgasim in his new body. His huge arms tensed as they gripped the side of the gym bench, its cool metal warping slightly against his herculean strength. His thick quads flexed and contracted in time with the bucking of his hips as he released volley after volley of Luke’s potent jock seed into his gym shorts.
As he came down from his post orgasmic high, Christian became aware of the silence that had descended over the gym. He hauled himself to his feet and surveyed his kingdom. He stood head and shoulders above the other former nerds that had gathered to watch. The old Christian would have been embarrassed by the attention. But the new Christian relished it. He craved it. With on smooth motion, Christian tore his workout shirt off his body, exposing a physique developed well beyond its years. The other former nerds were in awe. Sensing his newfound dominance, Christian took his rightful place as the top of the food chain as undisputed alpha.
If you like my stories and want to support my writing, please consider shouting me a coffee over on ko-fi.
"Stop fighting, man, can't you see it's useless? I've already swallowed you whole, and unfortunately for you, there's no escape. You're doomed to stay inside me until my body assimilates you and you become nutrients.
I look a little chubbier with you inside me, but I'm not going to lie, maybe it'll take a while for me to assimilate you. I love how I look with my fat belly"
Jack was an 18 year old jock. He was 6’1 and had a decent amount of muscle, and was a serious womanizer. He slept with basically all the girls in his school, even bagged a couple of the teacher, but he was never serious. His latest conquest was a Latina chick whose name he didn’t even bother to learn. When he got home he saw a muscular Latino bald man with a tattooed chest.
“Hola chico.” The man said. “I’m Mateo, Sofia’s brother.”
“Who?” Jack said. “And what the fuck are you doing here?
Mateo smiled. “That girl you screwed two nights ago. See, I warned her you would ghost her, but she didn’t listen. But she’s still my little sister, and I need a new boyfriend.”
Before Jack could react Mateo forced him against a wall and removed both of their pants and shoved his cock into Jack’s ass hole.
Mateo smiled as he heard Jack yelling as he continued to grind his ass. “Oh yeah muchacho, we’re gonna have to make some changes!”
Jack continued to yell as his ass was getting torn. But as it was his thoughts were changing, thoughts of boobs turned to ones of abs and muscles. Vaginas became dicks and asses were still asses, only they were for the opposite sex. All thoughts of attraction to women turned to men, Latino men to be exact. Jack let out a moan of pleasure.
“Oh good. Now that we’ve taken care of the inside, let’s change that pasty white complexion.” Mateo said as he sped up his thrusts.
Jack screamed louder as his white skin was turning a light caramel color, definitely darker than before. He looked at his arm and it gained a lot of ink, even on his knuckles.
“Gorgeous!” Mateo said as Jack gained more muscle and aged a bit. “Now to just get rid of those pesky memories and give you better ones!” He turned Jack around and thrusted into him from the front and stroked Jack’s growing cock.
Jack groaned as all his thoughts and memories were being transferred to his balls, ready to be expelled from his body forever.
Mateo smiled as his balls were getting ready to put new memories into his soon to be boyfriend. They both yelled as they cummed simultaneously, with Jack losing his old life and Mateo shot new memories into his body.
Julio fell on the floor with a headache, then his memories returned to him. He was mid 20’s, a professional trainer by day, cock sucker by night. He didn’t hide his homosexuality, in fact more than once he would force himself onto white straight bitches, turning many of them into fuck holes and dick suckers too. He looked up and smiled at his boyfriend, now fiancé, Mateo.
You love sniffing that dirty jock strap you found. You love the odor filling your nose. It causes you to not have a since thought, as the odor is so strong. Your small erection throbbing as you imagine who could have wore such a nice pair of a dirty jock. You have so many possibles. A big bear. A hot fuck boy. A foot ball jock. Your thoughts are endless as you can’t stop sniffing. You just want to sniff all day. Than a short breeze makes your spine shiver. Your face feeling hot as you don’t even notice since your nose is up inside the stinky cup. Your arms twitching with every inhale you take in. You feel so relaxed. Your cock sprouting up a little bit as you let out a slight moan. You have never thought you could be this relaxed, but this jockstrap breaks realities. You continue sniffing as your spine extends; making your body shoot up in length. Another soft moan escapes your little lips, but a little louder than before. Your legs slowing expanding in mass as they fill in your jeans. Your arms twitching a little more as they extend outward. You must be so into that stench that the growth doesn’t even bother you. Any worries gone from your head… heck any thoughts are gone except the thoughts of the jockstrap. You continue sniffing as your moans start to get louder. Your legs getting fuzzier from the hairs forming by the second as the threads in your jeans slowly tear. Your bulge starts to twitch as it slides down your leg. Your body twitch as your pecs expand. God you must love this smell, since I think anyone would notice this transformation happening to them. Your face feeling smooth, it would be impossible to even find a trace of those acne scars you had before. You feel your lips fill up as drool slowly drips down. You laugh dumbly as your adam apple expands. Your moans deepening as your adam apple stick becomes more noticeable , but that isn’t the only thing expanding. Your tight jeans barley holding, until the expansion of your cock comes in pushing the last pieces of threads. You moan as your transformation is just beginning. Your closed eyes being better in eye sight so those glasses you were suppose to get, well you don’t need them anymore. Your hand start to grow as the jockstrap is barley visible in your large hands. Your jawline becoming more visible as your lips become more kissable. More drool just keeps coming and there seems to be no stop. You have no thoughts now. The only thought you have now are just sniff. You love the smell and don’t want to stop. The thing you do want to stop is being in public as your hot growing body smelling a dirty jockstrap isn’t a good look, but that doesn’t matter as your feet start to tear. Your toes pushing forward as the wiggle their way through the material leaving no trace of a shoe ever being there. Your cock growing even large as the tip becomes uncut. Your balls expanding as a large smacking noise is heard from your balls hitting your massive legs. Your hairy becoming fluffy and curly as you let out another dumb laugh. Your pecs pushing out of your shirt as your moans fill the room. All you can do is laugh as your underwear hold on for just another sec as it is no use, since your balls expand just once more breaking them off. Your body turning a nice tan as your thoughts change. You can feel your sweat roll down your body as you finally remove that smelly jockstrap from your face. You lol at the mirror as you flex dumbly with a big grin. You lift one arm up and take a big sniff of your hairy arm pit knowing that you now produce the smell of a true man. You slip on the jock strap laughing dumbly as you know life couldn’t be better than this.
I yelled and shook the kid off me, red on my arm from where he bit me. Luckily for me his big brother had seen the whole thing, thanking me for keeping him from falling after he had tripped. My injury looked like little more than a surface scratch, despite a lot of blood, but the surfer dude insisted on getting alcohol and bandages.
They turned out to be unnecessary as it seemed the blood must have come from the boy's mouth. My arm didn't have a mark on it. You'd think that would have been the end of it, but the older boy, who introduced himself as bodhi, wanted my name and address, and kept asking me to see some special doctor he knew. I just drove away, not wanting any hippie herbal treatments, and I figured that was the last I would see of them.
I had forgotten all about the encounter, but a month later, a sudden knock startled me. Answering, I found bodhi waiting on my front porch. My sudden scowl made him step back and raise his hands. "Sorry to bother you. I tracked you down through your license plate." Considering the trouble he must have gone through to find me, I sighed and waited. When I did not invite her in, she said "My... um, lil bro. He like, startled when he started to fall and fear made him react bad to your grab."
I nodded, hoping to speed him on his merry way. The young man flushed, then said "I know it seemed like nothing, but he really did bite you. And that was your blood." At my dubious look, he continued. "You just healed super fast. It's like the infection doesn't want to be known about" He sighed. "Like a Werewolf curse." OK, he was a nutcase, probably high on weed right now too.
“Um, right. Well, I haven't tried to chase cars, but I'll keep that in mind, OK?" I started to shut the door, only to have him persist.
"Teddy isn't really my brother. He's my Gramps." That comment made me make a renewed effort to get him to leave.
"Sir, I need you to leave. Please." I could see he wanted to argue, but then shook his head.
"I'II go." I watched him return to his scrappy truck and drive away, resolving not to answer
the door to strangers for a while. At least until it started to turn dark, Trick or Treating started at 6 PM. I stepped out to check my porch light and noticed that we had a full moon. then suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous.
I grabbed the side of the house and then staggered into the yard, expecting to throw up. As I did, my jeans cut off at my knees, the excess Dinum dropping to my ankles, making me nearly fall over. The sick feeling passed, leaving me bewildered by the sudden cool breeze on my chest, which was somehow now bare?
I stared as I lifted each leg, easily pulling free of the pooled up fabric of my pants. Muscular, hairless legs and smooth bronze skin. They looked like they had spent countless hours in full sun. My (also tan) hands jerked up to feel a hairless chiseled face, long blonde hair hanging in my eyes, just like… "Dude." I recoiled from the deep slow voice, which I remembered from earlier that day. Turning, I saw Bodhi looking at me with a sad smile.
"There was always a chance that you would be immune, or there wouldn't be enough change for you to notice much." He remained where he was, hands by his sides. "But it looks like you got hit full force. As far as I can tell, you are just like anyone else hit with the surf wave" I looked at my arms, biceps bigger than my head used to be and then up at the night sky.
"Am I going to turn into a monster?" I asked, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty.
He shook his head beneath his green hoodie. "You aren't a werewolf. And you won't change again." That last was said with such finality that I looked back at him, puzzled.
The surfer sighed. "Lil dude is only contagious during the full moon. He was hit with a weird variant of the wave, cursed to always be a little surfer boy instead of a young adult. None of us can figure it out. I knew I should have kept him home, but even though he misbehaves a lot, he's never bitten anyone in all the months since he changed. Until you."
I stared, comprehension dawning. "But that means..." He
nodded. "Grandpas was like 80 years old, and now he’s 12 years old. His mind is that of the child too, now memories of his past life. And, I'm afraid, you will be joining him in that
too." I wanted to deny this, but even as he spoke I realized I couldn't remember half of my life.
He held out a hand. "I'm sorry, we don’t normally transform those who don’t truly need to be something else. But at least you won't be alone, there’s a lot of us now. You, me, and the lil guy are related too it seems. And with me and him as brothers, that will at least be easier than being alone."
I stare at his outstretched hand and then back at a house I can't even remember living in anymore. Then I slap his palm in a dab up and let him lead me toward towards the truck he shares with me. I am confused, the past fading and new stuff filling in the gaps, but not sad. Actually, I am getting excited to meet new friends I have never met before, and a lil bro. Even if he was the one who turned me into a were-surfer.
(The first of summerween, the others are written and ready to go, a first for me, and will be dropped in the following weeks. Enjoy this sunny spooky story that kickstarted this whole series!)
Tumblr yoinked the first post of this, but holy fuck I loved writing this story so much that I refuse to let it die. Here’s one with more toned down pics lol
—
Coach Martin was scouring the university gym’s locker room for any kind of fresh talent. He had been coach of the university wrestling team for a while, but after several mediocre seasons, declining viewership, and general loss of interest, the school was thinking about cutting the budget for his team for the next fiscal year. He’d gotten used to this sort of thing happening to the liberal arts departments, but at his large, notoriously ‘party school’ university, athletics were always the highest financial priority! Coach Martin knew he couldn’t let that happen. No, not after all of the years he spent building up the team.
He knew there were plenty of talented bodies in the gym, but rarely anyone with the willingness to sign up for the team. ‘I don’t have the time,’ ‘My schedule is too tight,’ ‘Sorry, my studies come first;’ these were all the common lines Coach Martin heard from those he asked. Never mind that he knew for a fact that these boys were out every night drinking and partying every weekend, getting their dick wet at every opportunity. He couldn’t really blame them, after all it is a college. But sure, ‘scheduling conflicts,’ let’s go with that excuse. Anyways, it didn’t matter anymore. Coach Martin had his own ways of dealing with his predicament, and they began with finding a worthy candidate’s clothing.
He searched through lockers, flipping open wallets and checking IDs, hoping to find any kind of viable candidate for his plight. Older faculty members, soft/grungy liberal arts majors, exchange students, lab assistants… He searched and searched but was disappointed by the IDs he found. He passed by one of the rows of lockers and was nearly stopped in his tracks by the tangy bouquet emanating from one of the metal boxes. He took a few steps backwards and could immediately tell which locker the odor belonged to. Even before he opened it, he could smell the intoxicating stench wafting out.
He opened it quickly and his sense of smell was blitzed. A heavy, mixed stench of body odor, cologne, and sex poured out of the locker, a hefty gym bag being the only occupant. He didn’t want to get too confident, but Coach Martin was pretty sure he’d found his candidate.
He opened the bag, huffing out laughter as he was further assaulted by the rank smell that puffed out, and fished around for any kind of ID. He found a thin, dark leather wallet and flipped it open, producing the university’s familiar student ID card: Jabari Jefferson was the name printed underneath with a smiling picture of a thick-necked student over it, emblazoned by a holographic stamp of the university’s crest. Not only did he look like a natural athlete with enough confidence to actually smile in his picture—so many of these jocks thought a smile was a sign of weakness—but he had a certain.. something about him.
You ever see those kinds of people who look like they would be the natural life of the party? People who, just from first impression, looked like everyone would either want to be with them or want to be them? How about people who—for whatever reason you call it—look like they’re the type of person who could fuck your right? Just really use any tools at their disposal—mouth, lips, chest, cock, ass, thighs, feet, take your pick—to make sure you walk away feeling like their trophy spouse? That, Coach Martin thought, was the exact vibe he got from Mr. Jabari Jefferson. He checked all of Coach Martin’s boxes and more.
He opened his phone and went into the school staff’s student directory to look him up. After flipping through the expansive list of students by the last name ‘Jefferson,’ until he landed on his guy. Jabari’s smiling picture looked back up at him, and Coach Martin’s knees went weak simply imagining Jabari giving him a slight wink. He was from way out of state, practically across the country, he was freshly 21, he was a social work major… So he didn’t have any immediate family around, he was young and exceptionally fit, and he had a compassionate and empathetic demeanor… Check, check, check. He was, in every way, a perfect fit! ‘Bingo,’ Coach Martin thought, a chill of excitement spreading through his body from his chest.
Coach Martin prayed to anyone that was listening that he could find something to take with him, anything. He knew by the smell that there had to be something in there that fit the job, he just needed to find it. He fished around in the bag some more for anything he could take with him, anything that wouldn’t be immediately noticeable as missing. His eyes landed on it—well, actually his hand landed on it first—and his nose identified it as one of the sources, if not the source, of the smell. Coach Martin grinned and lifted a dirty jock strap out of the bag.
He passed it between his hands a few times, its fabric feeling a tad moist from the last time it was used, and reeking of sweat. He looked into the pouch where its user’s dick would go—where Jabari’s dick would go, noting that it was a sizable pouch indeed—and saw that there was something wet still there. He looked closer and saw that it was limpid and thick, so he reached inside to feel it, half expecting it to be what he thought it was. As soon as his finger touched it and felt the webby, sticky, tacky substance between his fingers, his suspicions were confirmed—it was pre.
Coach Martin couldn’t help himself, he knew he needed a taste, just a tiny taste. He knew he’d have innumerable chances to taste it later, but he was caught up in the moment. He brought it to his face, inhaled deeply, and quickly stuck his tongue out to sample his finding.
His shorts, which were already massively tented, now had a dark spot blooming near the tip of his cock, and he knew that he should just leave before blowing his load in the locker room. No, there would be plenty of load-blowing later. He stuffed the jock strap in his pocket, rushed to his office to gather his hat and keys, and hurried out to his car, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder in such a way that it obscured the front of his torso, hiding the bouncing stiffy in his gym shorts.
There was a two particular people in the military named Piel and Bones. Bones started off as a E3 who graduated College with his associate degree and intended to get his Bachelor.
Piel intended to get his degree after serving time in the military. Both would end up in different areas in there basic training. Piel went to 11A and trained for close combat while Bones went to 11C which trained not only to become melee soldiers who specialize in melee combat but were the brain of 11A as far as strategy and weapon distribution was concerned.
Now Bones and Piel go way back, they went to the same school for most of their childhood but didn’t come in contact until High School. They were what you would call rival, Bones was intelligent and had a degree of athleticism, but he was usually the planner on sports team due to his basic understanding of the sport, where as Piel was not all to intelligent to had natural talent, he was highly athletic and possessed natural leadership and charisma. He knew just how to rile the team up and get everyone to lock in to win.
Both were as far as people were concerned were an unstoppable duo when they worked together.
Once Basic training was completed they came together in their infantry position under there team commander who separated them in groups. For a time, it was like the good old days in school, but a rumor went out that came to be true about someone retiring and one of the teammates would be elected as infantry.
“So you heard about that rumor about our group leader dropping off, rite, said Bones.
Yea, I wonder who will take his place, said Piel.
Well one of the sergeant spoke to one of us and they already have there candidates, but they much choose only one of them. said another soldier.
Really, how will they elect them, said Bones.
Well, all ten are really good, but strangely enough, it might be down to a vote, said another soldier.
Wow, I wonder who those ten are, there’s like a 100 of us at least in a infantry group, says Bones.
Well it’s also good to note that they also look at candidates that are graduating from there 20 weeks in basically training. said another soldier.
Oh yea, don’t they also have a assistant also, so it’s two people then, says Bones.
A months past since then and they finally decided who those two candidates are and it’s a surprise for everyone.
All right soldier, round up, said one of the soldiers.
Come on, hurry up, hur-ry up, said the Sergant sounding like an old western country man.
“”All right, so I’m aware that you received a rumor that you will receive two new leaders because one of our great leaders are moving forward to better things, but as any theater, the show must go on.”
“So, who will be those selected few that will continue to lead this great team to victory and continue the fight for our great nation” said Sergant.
“The two candidates of the infantry group are Piel and Bones”, said Sergant.
And so was the new leaders, but behind the scenes of this there were an unhappy few who were envious of this.
See Piel and Bones were not the only two who joined military from there school and made it in the group after basic training, but there were other two who despite working as a team with them, never really liked them.
The names were Vestis and Tyre, they always hated these two because they were always the favorite on there team, due to this, they were overlooked as leader.
Moreover, just the mere presence of them always took the spotlight whether it was because of there skill and looks, which they believed made there lives easy, whereas no matter how hard they kept working and even when sick didn’t miss a day, no praise.
But that is all gonna change for Vestis and Tyre, they had a special talent in the sacred arts which allowed them to do extraordinary things, like turn anyone into a meatsuit that allowed them to not only wear there victims and but become them entirely.
All they needed was to get them alone and they could have them as flesh suits, but they had a plan.
One day, Vestis who is the mastermind, called Piel and Bones to the weapon room claiming that he needed a second count on the weapons cause he thinks there missing some.
So the three went into the room, which was separated from the group who were out training.
As soon as they turned there backs, Vestis used a syringe to Bones neck before he could react, while Piel was distracted by the attack on Bones, within a split second, Tyre grabbed Piel in a chokehold and did like manner to him.
When Piel and Bones awoke, they were unable to move due to the muscle relaxer injection that made them unable to move there limbs.
Hello, it’s about time you woke up, said Vestis.
What’s the meaning of this, why have you done to us?, said Bones.
“Yea, about that, I think it’s time for you to retire,”
“And by retire, I mean from life, your days of shining are about to come to an end, but lucky for you, your identity will live on” said Tyre followed by Vestis.
“So if your not gonna kill us, then what, your gonna betray us to the other team or just leave us here until someone comes to check this room and have you kicked out for kidnapping us, said Bones.
No, I have a better idea, said Vestis as he dug into his pocket to pull a knife.
Are you gonna torture us with that, said Piel.
Your suppose to be the smart one, Piel, said Tyre.
“It’s not about hurting you, it about becoming you, so we can take what we worked hard.” says Vestis.
You won’t get away with this, said Bones.
“You always had to be the center of attention, I’m not gonna miss that, said Vestis as he use the magic knife to slash Bones back after turning him over on the floor.
There was no blood, but a dark void emanating from the slash akin to a rift. A void literally waiting to be filled and so it was.
Vestis took off his clothes as he entered that void emanating from Bones. Bones was alert in this process and he was screaming, not because of the pain, he felt nothing, but from the intrusion of Vestis and the inability to move due to the muscle relaxer.
Vestis, once he was into Bones body of skin, he began situating himself by inserting himself into the former limbs of Bones. One could see Bones’s body spasming from Vestis fitting process.
Once the limbs were in Bones skin, Vestis tried inserting his cock into Bones cock which was a pretty erotic and funny process like a tiny cock fitting an XL condom, it took a Boner from Vestis to fit Bones cock which wasn’t at full growth.
Lastly was the head which went through bones head, he felt the head go through his neck as he was now unified with the body of Bones.
Ahhhh, this feel great, I feel like I never change, “I am Bones” said Vestis.
Alright bro, your turn, said Vestis to Tyre.
The same process was like manner with Tyre after he jumped Piel. They all went about there new military position as Bones and Piel.
(Months later)
When not at work, they were enjoying the status at bars even gay bars, apparently a new identity gave them more incentive to explore sexuality.
As for Piel and Bones, they along with Vestis and Tyre still could witness and feel everything they experience but are nothing more than the very skins of there old selves, just the image and not the body.
“This book is so boring. Why the fuck did I pick English as a major?” my roommate Aaron groaned for the third time that evening.
He was sprawled on the couch in his usual baggy hoodie and shorts, skinny legs dangling off the edge, looking every bit the pale, nerdy English student he was. I sighed and tried to ignore him, flipping through my own textbook.
“Why couldn’t I have picked something easy like Sports Science or whatever?” he whined again.
I couldn’t help but smirk. Aaron was as skinny as they came, he had no muscle, no coordination, zero interest in anything athletic. Still, if it would shut him up…
I had discovered long ago that I could change one thing about a person’s life. Just one. Permanent. Reality would rewrite itself around whatever it was I changed and make it so the rest of their life and the world would fit.
So I focused on him and made the change.
Aaron’s major is now Sports Science.
The world rippled.
I felt the shift wash over the room like a wave. When I looked back at the couch, my jaw dropped.
Aaron was gone.
In his place lounged a total jock god.
He was massive. Thick, powerful legs covered in dark, intricate tattoos stretched across the couch, his quads and calves bulging even while relaxed. He now had rock-l hard abs and a broad, sculpted chest. His arms were covered in full sleeves of ink, one draped lazily behind his head while the other held a book he was clearly no longer interested in. A red cap sat backwards on his head, and his jaw had sharpened into a strong, masculine line with a perfectly trimmed beard.
“Bro… why the fuck am I reading a book?” His voice was deep and lazy now, full of that effortless jock confidence.
He tossed the book aside and stretched, the movement making his entire muscular body flex and shift. The tank top pulled tight across his wide chest as he scratched at his abs absentmindedly. His thick legs shifted, the heavy bulge in his tight white Calvin Klein briefs impossible to ignore.
Aaron looked over at me with a cocky grin.
“Yo, dude. My brain feels fucking fried from all these plays and training drills. When’s practice again?” He flexed one massive arm casually, admiring the way his bicep peaked. “Shit, I’ve gotten huge this semester.”
I just stared, heart racing. The change had rewritten everything. His clothes, his major, his body, even his personality. The skinny English nerd was completely gone. In his place was this tattooed, muscular Sports Science jock who looked like he lived in the gym and partied every weekend.
He swung his powerful legs off the couch and stood up, towering over me. The way his quads and glutes flexed as he moved was hypnotic.
“Wanna hit the gym with me, bro? I need to get a good pump in before the game this weekend.”
He grinned, completely oblivious to the fact that just thirty seconds ago he had been complaining about Shakespeare.
I swallowed hard, trying not to stare at his incredible new body. I wondered if he would let me suck his cock. It’s not everyday you turn your nerdy roommate into an absolute beast
By the time the fourth phone's Scruff profile was activated, none of the four friends sitting at the dining room table were laughing quite as naturally as before.
(Pictured Left to Right: Phil, Don, Ralph & Tom)
Tom’s house had always been their safest gathering place. It sat at the quiet end of a suburban street, comfortably furnished but still half-decorated, as though Tom had moved in months ago and had never committed to where everything belonged. The dining room opened directly into the living room, where a warm floor lamp cast amber light across the couch, the darkened windows, and the crowded wooden table.
There were cards, poker chips, bowls of pretzels and tortilla chips, four beers, and four phones displaying newly created Scruff profiles.
They all knew the rules. One current photograph. No filters. No false ages. No changing the location radius. Each player would transform into the first man that messaged them. Not just his face. Everything.
Age, height, weight, dick, voice, posture, health, mannerisms. Even personality would begin to bleed across, along with fragments of memory from the stranger’s life. The player’s own mind would remain underneath it all, but the longer the night went on, the harder it might become to tell where one man ended and the other began.
They were not allowed to answer the messages. The strangers would never know what had happened.
Phil had been the one to discover the game, or at least the instructions for it, buried in an old online TUMBLR called Hairy-Bothered, which was devoted to transformation stories that everyone insisted were fictional. He had brought it up as a joke months ago. Don had dared him to prove it was real. Ralph had spent two weeks researching every version of the ritual he could find, then concluded that it was probably fake. Tom had volunteered his house.
Now, with the profiles active, “fake” no longer felt like the right word.
“Last chance,” Don said.
At thirty, he was the oldest of the group and behaved as if that made him responsible for the others, despite the fact that he was usually the one pushing them toward bad decisions. His thick brown hair was styled into a deliberate wave, and his heavy mustache gave him an old-fashioned athletic confidence he clearly enjoyed. Even seated, he held himself like a man posing for a locker-room photograph—shoulders back, arms apart, gray T-shirt stretched neatly across his chest.
Phil glanced at him. “You were the one who said backing out would be pathetic.”
“I said backing out after uploading the picture would be pathetic.”
“That is where we are now, dummy!” Ralph reminded him.
Ralph, twenty-six, sat across from Don in a black short-sleeved shirt with NAUGHTY printed in large red letters across the chest. His dark hair was carefully styled and his mustache looked almost too precise, as though he had trimmed it immediately before coming over. He was normally the most cautious of them, the one who checked rideshare license plates and made sure everyone had charged phones.
Tom sat at the right end of the table, younger than all of them at twenty-five, wearing a red Lacoste polo and khakis. He was smiling at his phone in a way that made Don narrow his eyes.
“You’re hoping for somebody old,” Ralph said.
Tom shrugged. “Not old. Mature.”
“You have been saying that since you were twenty-one.”
“What can I say? I know what I like” Tom smirked.
Phil shifted in his chair. His blue henley made his fair skin and short blond hair look even lighter beneath the warm lamp. At twenty-seven, he was quiet, agreeable, and so conflict-averse that he sometimes apologized when someone else bumped into him - like any good Canadian immigrant to a sleepy American suburb.
Phil picked up his beer but did not drink. “What if the personality part doesn’t go away in the morning?” he asked.
Ralph looked toward him. “The instructions say everything reverses at sunrise.”
“The instructions were written by someone called Hairy-Bothered. Do we feel like he's a reliable source of information?”
“They were very specific.”
“But that doesn’t make them reliable.”
Don leaned over and tapped the table near Phil’s phone. “You wanted to know whether it was real.”
Phil opened his mouth to answer. His phone buzzed and all four men froze. The sound had been ordinary, almost disappointingly so. A short vibration against the wood. Phil looked at the screen.
A new message sat beneath the profile photograph of a heavyset man in his mid-thirties. He wore a dark cap and a bulky jacket. A massive brown beard covered most of his lower face.
The message contained three words.
How you doing?
Don whistled. “Well, Phil.”
Phil stared at the picture. “He’s large.”
“He’s a hot daddy redneck,” Tom said.
“He looks like he owns several guns...” Ralph added.
“I don’t think I want—”
Phil stopped. His breath caught sharply, and one hand flew to his stomach. The first sensation was pain. It began beneath his ribs and rolled outward, flooding his chest, shoulders, and abdomen. His blue shirt tightened gradually across his torso. The fabric did not change, but the body beneath it did, swelling into unfamiliar proportions.
“Is it happening?” Tom asked.
Phil blushed and nodded quickly. His stomach pushed forward, rounding heavily over the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders broadened, not with the balanced definition of a gym-trained body but with the solid weight of someone naturally large. His arms thickened against the sleeves. Blonde hair darkened at the roots and seemed to retreat beneath the shape of a cap that had not been there before.
Then his face began changing. Phil pressed both palms against his cheeks as his jaw widened beneath them. Light stubble darkened into coarse brown hair. His beard grew quickly, spreading over his chin, down his throat, and outward until his fingers vanished into it.
“Oh my God,” Don said, half laughing and half appalled.
Phil’s eyes widened. “My voice—”
The words came out deeper than before, dragged through a thick Southern accent. He went silent.
Something else had entered him alongside the voice. For one disorienting moment, the dining room disappeared. Phil smelled hot pavement, gasoline, tobacco and stale coffee. He remembered sitting behind the wheel of a truck he had never owned, watching miles of highway disappear beneath him. He remembered arguments conducted loudly and without apology. He remembered a father who believed silence was weakness and a string of roadside bars where no one had ever asked him to lower his voice.
The memories were incomplete, but the emotions attached to them were powerful. Confidence settled over Phil like another layer of muscle and fat. His usual urge was to make himself smaller when people stared. Now he found their attention satisfying.
He leaned back, spreading his legs comfortably beneath the table. His new stomach strained the blue henley. One hand moved through his enormous beard with instinctive familiarity.
“Well,” he said slowly, the Southern drawl now effortless. “Ain’t that something?”
Don stared at him. “Phil?”
Phil looked directly at him. The old Phil would have smiled nervously. This one lifted one eyebrow. “Who's Phil? He your faggy friend?”
Don blinked and Phil’s expression shifted into a broad grin. Then he laughed, a deep, booming sound none of them had ever heard from him before.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “It's me, Phil - mostly...”
Tom handed him a small tabletop mirror. Phil examined himself, turning his head from side to side. The more he looked, the more pleased he became.
“I look strong. Real strong-like.”
“You look like you could throw me through a window,” Ralph said.
Phil’s grin widened. “Maybe don’t test me on that, son.”
The change had taken less than two minutes. When it was over, there was nothing visibly left of the blonde, soft-spoken Canadian except the blue shirt and a faint uncertainty behind the stranger’s eyes.
Phil reached into a pocket and fished out a cigar that had appeared along with his cap. He picked it up naturally.
“I know how to smoke this,” he murmured.
“That’s the memory bleed,” Ralph said.
Phil rolled the cigar between his thick fingers, lit it carefully, and took a deep drag. “Feels more like remembering something I forgot.”
While the men were still dazed by what had just happened to Phil, all of a sudden Don’s phone buzzed. His confident smirk vanished.
The message came from a twenty-two-year-old with dark curly hair, a narrow face, a slim body and almost no visible facial hair.
Don shook his head immediately. “No. Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not going to be some Twink. I don't want to play any more!”
Tom leaned over. “You can’t refuse after the message arrives.”
“I’m not refusing. I’m stating a fact. I’m out.”
But immediately after the last word slipped out of his mouth he felt his gray shirt begin to loosen across his chest. Don looked down.
The muscles he had spent years building began to soften and recede beneath the fabric. His broad shoulders narrowed. His arms slimmed against the sleeves, veins and body hair fading as his skin became smooth. He gripped both sides of the chair.
“Son of a bitch…”
His mustache thinned with every word until only a faint shadow remained. The strong lines of his face softened. His jaw narrowed, his nose changed shape, and his heavy brown hair curled forward in loose dark waves. Even his posture collapsed inward - more diminutive. More submissive.
Don had always sat as though he owned whatever room he entered. Now his knees drew together beneath the table. His hands looked too large for a moment, then became slim and youthful.
He glanced at Phil and immediately looked away, intimidated by the bear of a man Phil had become.
A rush of foreign memories hit him. A cramped first apartment with mismatched furniture. A phone held beneath restaurant tables while he waited for a daddy to answer. A nervous laugh used to smooth over awkward silences. Nights spent trying on three different shirts because he was afraid the first two made him look too big or too masculine.
The new personality did not erase Don’s confidence all at once. It undermined it from beneath. His anger remained, but the instinct to express it weakened. “I hate this,” he said. His voice was younger, lighter and less commanding.
Phil rested one enormous arm across the back of Don’s chair. “Aww, hey there buddy, you look cute.”
Don recoiled, his face flushing. “Don’t call me cute!” The words lacked their former force.
Phil laughed.
Don crossed his thin arms over his chest, but the gesture only emphasized how small he had become beside Phil.
“I’m twenty-two,” he muttered. “I’m younger than when I graduated.”
Tom smiled. “Some people would consider that lucky.”
“I don’t.”
Don caught his reflection in the black screen of his phone. For several seconds, he looked genuinely wounded. His mustache had always been part of the identity he projected—older, tougher, more established than he felt. Without it, and without the body that supported the image, he seemed exposed.
“I look like some dumb Twink bottom that I would take home and fuck, this is humiliating...” he said quietly.
Phil’s expression softened. “You’re still Don inside there, bud.”
Don looked at him.
Phil paused, as though searching through two personalities for the right thing to say. “At least underneath those cute baby cheeks and scrawny chicken arms.”
But before Don could respond with the appropriate level of vitriol, Ralph’s phone vibrated. Ralph looked down at his phone, blinked once then closed his eyes. “Of course...it’s always older men messaging me on three apps!”
The profile showed a man around 65 with a huge white beard, a bald crown, and a broad, heavy frame. Ralph’s face drained of color. “Come on, man, he's older than my grandfather!”
“Rules,” Don said, sounding almost pleased that someone else’s result was worse.
Ralph pushed himself to his feet. He paused as his balance shifted. His center of gravity settled lower, his stance naturally widening as his body grew broader.
The external changes began in his hands. His skin thickened, veins becoming more prominent beneath weathered flesh. Coarse gray hair spread across his forearms beneath the sleeves of the black NAUGHTY shirt.
His shoulders widened. His chest and stomach filled out into the solid build of a man who had spent decades carrying himself with quiet confidence. The chair groaned when he sat back down, now supporting considerably more weight.
His dark hair retreated rapidly from his forehead and crown. Gray swept through what remained before fading completely to white.
His neatly trimmed mustache blossomed into an enormous beard. It poured down his cheeks and over his chest until it formed a thick, brilliantly white curtain. Ralph instinctively combed it with his fingers, surprised by how soft it felt.
Deep lines settled around his eyes—not harsh ones, but the kind earned through decades of laughing - but at this moment his face rested in a grimace.
He blinked. A flood of memories slipped effortlessly into place. He knew exactly how to trim a beard this size without making a mess. He knew which reading glasses lived in the kitchen and which pair stayed in the car. He remembered the passwords to three different dating apps, which profile pictures got the most attention from younger men, and which local coffee shop was best for a first rendezvous.
His phone suddenly felt different in his hand—not unfamiliar, just... organized. He frowned. "Why do I have notifications turned on for everything?"
His thumb moved across the screen before he consciously decided to. Three settings changed. "That's better."
Tom laughed. "You just hacked your own phone."
"I didn't hack anything." Ralph kept scrolling. "This app keeps suggesting men forty miles away." He wrinkled his nose. "Absolutely not."
Phil leaned over. "What are you looking at?"
Ralph angled the phone away on instinct. "My business."
Phil grinned. "You weren't this private five minutes ago."
"In my 65 years I've learned that people online will absolutely waste your time." The words came out so naturally that Ralph stopped talking. "...Did I just say that?"
Don folded his arms. "You sound experienced."
"I am experienced. Well...he is?" The answer escaped before Ralph could think. He froze - lost between his former and current mind. Then, after another moment, he shrugged. "I suppose I am."
His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Gone was the restless energy of a twenty-six-year-old. He settled comfortably into the chair, crossing one thick leg over the other with practiced ease.
His gaze drifted around the room, assessing everyone. Tom -still unchanged - looked exhausted. Phil desperately needed a haircut and a beard trim. Don's shirt fit poorly across the shoulders. Ralph noticed all of it in an instant.
"What?" Tom asked.
Ralph smiled. "Nothing. You boys just have no idea how you're presenting yourselves. People used to put more effort into such things.”
Phil burst out laughing. "There he is."
"There who is?"
"The old guy."
Ralph reached up, absentmindedly stroking his beard. "It is an exceptional beard."
"It is," Tom admitted.
Ralph caught his reflection in the darkened window. A large man stared back—sixty-five, bald on top, framed by a magnificent white beard. He expected horror. Instead... "Huh." He tilted his head. "I actually pull this off."
Phil stared. "Seriously?"
"What? I'm not saying I'd have picked sixty-five..." He turned his face from side to side. "...but I'm handsome...I mean he's handsome." Ralph rested one hand in his beard, surprisingly at ease. "I still know I'm Ralph," he said quietly. "But I also know who this man is."
Tom looked up. "What's he like?"
Ralph smiled—not sadly, but with unmistakable fondness. "Confident." He glanced at his reflection again." Comfortable in his own skin." A beat passed. "And apparently very picky."
Phil snorted. "That sounds about right."
Ralph laughed. "It really does."
For several minutes, they sat quietly. Then Tom’s phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen.
The man who had messaged him appeared to be in his mid-forties. Dark hair showed gray at the sides beneath a baseball cap. Salt-and-pepper scruff framed a tired but attractive face. His profile offered little information, but the photograph had been taken in a kitchen. A family calendar hung behind him, partially visible on the wall.
Tom smiled.
Don noticed. “You are far too happy.”
“I told you, this could be fun! I got a hot daddy!"
Tom’s red polo tightened first across his shoulders, then relaxed as his body settled into a broader, slightly softer maturity. Fine lines appeared around his eyes. His face lengthened, his jaw grew heavier, and dark stubble spread across his cheeks before turning gray in patches.
His hair darkened from sandy brown, then silver appeared at the temples. Tom held his phone in front of him throughout the change, studying every new line with fascination.
His hands aged around the device. The skin grew rougher, the knuckles more pronounced. Hair thickened along his forearms and beneath the open collar of the red polo.
He inhaled sharply when the memories arrived. A wife asleep upstairs while he stared at his phone in the kitchen, looking at pictures of men. A wedding ring slipped into a drawer before taking photographs. Children calling from another room. Years spent building a life that looked perfect from the outside and felt increasingly divided from within.
Tom’s smile faded as the stranger’s guilt settled into him alongside his attraction. He felt the practiced caution of a man who deleted conversations, cleared notifications, and always listened for footsteps. For the first time, the transformation frightened him.
“Tom?” Don asked.
Tom looked up. His face now belonged entirely to the middle-aged stranger. “He has a family,” Tom said.
Ralph frowned. “You knew that from the picture?”
“I remember them.” He closed his eyes. “A wife. Two kids. He tells himself this app doesn’t count if he never meets anyone in person. He just shares pictures and sexts men while jerking off.”
Don looked uncomfortable. “That’s dark.”
Tom rubbed his salt-and-pepper jaw. The texture fascinated him despite the sadness in his expression.
“He’s lonely,” Tom said. “And terrified. And he’s been both for so long that they feel like the same thing. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the façade before it comes crashing down.”
The older personality moved through him more subtly than the others. His posture became relaxed but watchful. His speech slowed. He checked the position of his phone before setting it face down.
Yet when he looked at his reflection in the window, pleasure returned. Tom touched the gray at his temples and smiled. “I still like this face and body…”
Don groaned. “Of course you do, and if I'm being honest from my new body yours is looking pretty good to me as well...but I'll never admit that again so soak it up.”
Tom laughed, now in the warm, slightly rough voice of a suburban father. “Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry...”
With all four transformations complete, the four friends - now unrecognizable - sat around the same table like strangers wearing evidence of a friendship no one else could see.
Phil lounged in his blue henley, cigar smoke curling from one hand, his large body relaxed with newfound authority. Don sat beside him in his loose gray shirt, slim and young, visibly annoyed whenever Phil’s arm drifted too close. Ralph occupied the center like an aging patriarch who had been dragged reluctantly from bed after 10pm white beard resting against the red NAUGHTY lettering across his chest. Tom on the right in his red polo, smiling at a touch of his salt and pepper beard or a glimpse of his older hands whenever he thought no one was watching.
They returned to the card game. It was not the same. Phil became competitive and loud. He slapped winning hands onto the table and accused Don of bluffing in a Southern drawl that grew thicker as the night continued and he had more to drink.
Don insisted he was not bluffing, then folded whenever Phil stared at him too long out of sheer intimidation.
Ralph complained about the quality of the beer, the temperature, and the way young gay men today can’t tell Tina Turner from Janet Jackson.
Tom quietly won three rounds in a row - reluctant to draw attention to himself or to the conversation he began with a now younger man on his phone on GRINDR.
By midnight, the new personalities settled more deeply, and fragments of the other lives slipped into their conversation.
Phil described rebuilding an engine, then stopped when he realized he had never done it.
Don mentioned a roommate named Evan and could not remember whether Evan was real or imagined.
Ralph began telling a story about a great niece’s birthday before his voice broke.
Tom reached automatically for a wedding ring that was not on his finger.
At around one in the morning, the game ended without anyone declaring a winner. They remained around the table, surrounded by empty bottles, cards and phones.
As they prepared to depart for their own homes, to give themselves a few hours to "explore" their new situations, Don asked "What happens when we wake up?”
“We go back...in theory.” Ralph said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
No one answered immediately. Phil looked down at his huge hands.
“I think I’m gonna miss this, y'all.”
Don curled his cute twenty-two-year-old nose and gave Phil a tired smile, “I won’t.”
“Maybe we keep some of it," Tom said.
“The memories?” Ralph asked.
“The perspective.”
The next morning Tom woke with his cheek pressed against his pillow - and an unfamiliar young man in the bed next to him. Someone who messaged him thirstily on GRINDR before his friends headed home for the evening.
For several seconds, he did not move. Then he lifted his head and saw his own young hands. His red polo laid on the floor next to the bed. The gray had vanished from his hair. His face felt smooth. "Ugh, this is going to be fun to explain to him."
In the back of his mind Tom also felt a sense of satisfaction. He was able to follow through on an action his middle-aged married counterpart was always too afraid to carry out.
After a couple minutes reflecting on his predicament, Tom reached for his phone and saw a chain of messages from his friends on the experience from last night culminating in a message from Phil:
So ... Same time next month?
Next to the message were 2 thumbs up. Tom smirked and typed:
Officer Jake Thompson strode through the dimly lit corridors of the county jail, his muscular frame straining against the tight fabric of his uniform. At six-foot-two and 220 pounds of pure, chiseled American beef featuring broad shoulders, ripped abs, and a jawline that could cut glass, he embodied everything he believed in: power, dominance, and unyielding patriotism.
Jake was the kind of cop who bent the rules for a quick buck, shaking down immigrants and lowlifes for protection money. He despised "those people" crossing the border, stealing jobs and spreading what he called "filth." And gays? They were the worst. Nothing but weak, perverted scum that made his stomach turn.
Tonight, he was overseeing the intake of Carlos Ramirez, a notorious Mexican drug lord caught smuggling fentanyl across the border. Carlos was the opposite of Jake in every way: five-foot-eight but pushing 300 pounds, with a round belly that jiggled under his sweat-soaked shirt, dark skin glistening under the fluorescent lights, and a flamboyant swagger that screamed everything Jake hated.
"Filthy wetback," Jake muttered under his breath as he shoved Carlos into the interrogation room.
The drug lord smirked, his thick lips curling as he eyed Jake up and down like a piece of meat. "Ay, papi, you got some fire in you. Bet you'd look good on your knees."
Jake's face twisted in disgust. "Shut your fag mouth, Ramirez. You're going down for life, and I'll make sure every spic in here knows you're my bitch." He busied himself with making sure Carlos’ cuffs were as tight as possible, enough to push discomfort into pain. It wasn’t as if Carlos would be foolish enough to try and fight back; they both knew Jake could overpower him in an instant, even with all of Carlos’ bulk.
Jake had confiscated a strange amulet from Carlos's neck during the pat-down, a glowing obsidian pendant etched with ancient symbols. As he toyed with it in the room, mocking Carlos's "voodoo crap," a surge of energy ripped through them both. The world spun, colors inverted, and when Jake blinked, he was staring at his own hunky body from across the table, only it was now occupied by Carlos's leering grin.
"What the–?" Jake's voice came out high-pitched, accented, and breathless. He looked down, horror flooding him as he saw rolls of fat spilling over a cheap belt, stubby fingers adorned with gaudy rings, and a crotch that felt... different. Heavy, unfamiliar. His skin was brown, his clothes reeked of cheap cologne and sweat, and he was cuffed to the table. He was in Carlos's body, now every bit the overweight, gay Mexican body he'd just ridiculed!
Across from him, his own perfect physique flexed the muscles in his arms, eyeing them up with a hungry gaze. There was no doubt that Carlos was now inhabiting it. "¡Mira eso! Look at this gringo body, eh? So strong, so... delicioso." Carlos ran Jake's former hands over the abs, pinching a nipple through the uniform shirt, moaning exaggeratedly. "Oh, papi, you were hiding all this? No wonder you're so uptight. You’re repressed as hell."
Jake lunged forward, seeking to attack, but his new body was sluggish, the extra weight throwing him off balance. He tripped, landing on his knees in front of Carlos. "Give it back, you spic queer! This is my body!" But his words came out in a thick Mexican accent, mangling the English with unintended slang. Humiliation burned in his cheeks as Carlos laughed, grabbing Jake's new chubby face by his cheeks and forcing him to look up. Seeing his own face sneering down at him… it was a humbling moment.
"Not a chance, hermano. Nah, this is an upgrade for me, officer. Or should I say, ex-officer? Look at you now: fat, brown, and probably craving dick like I do." Carlos unzipped Jake's former pants, pulling out the impressive cock Jake had always been so proud of. Eight inches, thick and powerful. It hardened instantly under Carlos's touch, the drug lord stroking it lazily. "See? Even your body's betraying you. Bet you've never felt this... liberated."
Jake's mind reeled with xenophobic rage. "You Mexicans are all the same: thieves, liars, invading our country!" But as he spat the words, his new body's urges betrayed him. A strange heat built in his groin, unfamiliar but insistent. Carlos's body was aroused by the sight of his own hunky form, the gay wiring kicking in against Jake's will. He felt his borrowed ass clench, a wetness he didn't understand pooling. "No... this can't be..."
Carlos hauled him up by the collar, slamming him against the wall. In Jake's body, he was a tower of strength, pinning the flabby form easily. "Humiliation time, gringo. You're gonna learn what it's like on the other side." He ground his hips forward, rubbing that hard cock against Jake's belly.
Jake gasped, the sensation electric. It was wrong, but so intoxicating. His new hands fumbled, attempting to push the other away, but ending up doing nothing other than groping the muscles he'd built through years of gym sessions. "Stop... I hate fags like you..."
"But you're me now," Carlos whispered, his breath hot against Jake's ear. He stripped off the uniform shirt, exposing the sculpted chest, then forced Jake's chubby fingers to trace the veins on the arms. "Feel that power? It's mine. And you're just a fat spic nobody. Say it. Admit you're a worthless Mexican queer."
Tears of rage and shame stung Jake's eyes. The xenophobia he'd spewed for years echoed back at him, twisted. "I'm... I'm American, damn it!" But Carlos shoved him down again, making him kneel. The drug lord's new body - Jake's body - towered over him, cock throbbing inches from his face. The scent was musky, familiar yet alien, stirring unwanted desire in Carlos's gay physiology. Jake's mouth watered against his will, his borrowed tongue darting out involuntarily.
"Suck it, Ramirez," Carlos commanded, using Jake's own voice. "Or should I call the guards? Tell them the drug lord escaped and swapped places? Who's gonna believe a fat Mexican over a hunky cop?"
The identity theft hit like a gut punch. Jake was trapped. His badge, his authority, his very self, all stolen by this "invader." Humiliated, he leaned forward, lips parting as xenophobic slurs died in his throat. The taste of the cock in his mouth was salty, overwhelming, and as he bobbed his head, clumsy at first, waves of forced pleasure coursed through his new body. Carlos moaned, thrusting deeper. "That's it, take it like the bitch you called me."
After a while, Carlos dragged him back up his feet and pushed Jake chest-first onto the table, yanking down the pants to expose the plump ass. "Time to feel what you hate most." He slid in between the fat ass cheeks, the intrusion painful yet sparking fireworks in Jake's altered nerves. Each thrust hammered home the humiliation. Jake's grunts turning to moans, his body betraying him with orgasms that shattered his straight, American pride. "You like that, eh? Deep down, you're just like us, you’ve been craving it."
By the end, spent and broken, Jake lay there in Carlos's body, staring at the floor. Carlos, dressed back in the uniform, adjusted his badge with a wink. "I'm Officer Thompson now. And you? You're going to rot in jail as the gay spic drug lord. Enjoy your new life, puta."
As Carlos sauntered out, locking the door behind him, Jake touched his new curves, the weight of his stolen identity crushing him. The xenophobia he'd wielded like a weapon now turned inward, a bitter poison in his veins. And worst of all, a part of him still craved more.
Months turned into years after the swap, and the long-term consequences rippled out like poison in a well, tainting every corner of what had once been Jake Thompson's life. In the sweltering confines of the federal prison, Jake rotted in Carlos's body. The weight had only piled on, his once-sluggish frame ballooning to over 350 pounds from stress eating and the lack of gym access. Inmates sneered at him, calling him "Gordo Ramirez," the fat spic queer who'd ratted out his own cartel. Xenophobia he'd once dished out now boomeranged back tenfold; guards with American flags on their sleeves "accidentally" roughed him up during searches, muttering slurs about "invaders" and "border trash."
His cellmate, a burly Aryan type, used him nightly, forcing Jake to his knees or bending him over the bunk. The body's gay urges made it worse; Jake's mind screamed in revulsion, but Carlos's physiology craved the degradation, orgasms ripping through him like betrayals. Identity theft? This was identity annihilation. No one believed his ravings about a body swap; shrinks diagnosed schizophrenia, pumping him full of meds that dulled his rage into numb despair. He stared at smudged mirrors, hating the brown skin, the jowls, the accent that twisted his pleas into broken English. His American pride eroded, replaced by a hollow echo of the xenophobia he'd wielded, now internalized, a self-loathing that whispered he deserved this for being "one of them."
Meanwhile, Carlos reveled in his stolen privilege, settling into Jake's life like a king claiming a throne. As Officer—now Sergeant—Jake Thompson, he patrolled the streets with a swagger that turned heads. The hunky body was a weapon: 6'2" of rippling muscle, kept honed at the precinct gym where colleagues slapped his back, envying his "genetics." No more hiding in shadows as a drug lord; now he was the law, corrupt as ever but untouchable.
He shook down the same immigrants Jake had, but with a twist—extorting favors, sexual or otherwise, from desperate young men crossing the border. "Papers? Nah, papi, show me something else," he'd growl, his new deep voice laced with authority. The xenophobia he'd endured flipped; now he dished it out from behind a badge, deporting rivals while letting his old cartel's shipments slide for kickbacks. Wealth poured in through bribes and seized assets funneled into offshore accounts. He bought a sprawling ranch outside town, complete with a pool where he'd lounge naked, stroking the cock that had once been Jake's, moaning as the sun baked his pale, perfect skin.
Socially, Carlos ascended. Jake's family, who were blissfully oblivious to the swap, welcomed him with open arms. At barbecues, he'd charm Jake's sister with stories of busts, all while eyeing her husband, the forbidden thrill sparking erections he no longer hid. One night, drunk on whiskey, he cornered the brother-in-law in the garage, pinning him against the workbench. "You ever wonder what it's like with a real man?" Carlos whispered, grinding against him. The man resisted at first, but Carlos's strength and that intoxicating cop aura won out. They fucked right there, Carlos thrusting deep, the conquest a delicious humiliation of Jake's straight-laced kin. Word spread in whispers; Carlos built a network of secret lovers—cops, informants, even the mayor's aide—turning Jake's homophobic legacy into a playground of debauchery.
Promotions came easy. With cartel intel whispered in his ear by old allies, he "busted" competitors, earning medals and media spots. "Hero cop takes down drug ring," headlines blared, his chiseled face beaming on TV.
But privately, he taunted Jake during rare visits, flashing the badge through the plexiglass. "Look at me, Ramirez. I'm the American dream now—strong, white, straight-passing when I want. And you? Just another fat queer spic doing life." Jake would pound the glass, his chubby fists useless, tears mixing with snot as Carlos laughed, adjusting his crotch visibly. Once, Carlos arranged a conjugal visit ruse, sneaking in to fuck Jake in the visitation room—pounding that plump ass while whispering xenophobic barbs. "Feel that, invader? This is what you get for thinking you're better."
Years later, Carlos ran for sheriff, his campaign slogan "Secure Our Borders" an ironic triumph. He won in a landslide, the hunky ex-cop image sealing votes. Married to a trophy wife for cover, he kept a stable of boytoys on the side, his life a tapestry of power, sex, and revenge.
Jake, broken and forgotten, succumbed to a heart attack in his cell at 45, Carlos's original body giving out under the strain. Carlos attended the pauper's funeral incognito, pissing on the grave afterward as a final show of disrespect. "Adios, gringo," he murmured, zipping up, before returning to his perfect stolen life.
Sergio was a walking gay man’s fantasy. He was tall and muscular as fuck. Beefy could barely even begin to describe him as everything from his biceps, chest, thighs, back, and even ass were massive! He made his living off of flexing his hot body as well as fucking other beefy dudes on camera. Sergio was truly living the life many could only dream of having.
But although Sergio was living the good life, he couldn't deny that something was missing. More specifically, something about his sex life. Sergio loved his very active sex life and was more often than not satisfied after every hookup he had. Yet at the same time, Sergio found himself wanting more. He wanted something new, and he knew exactly who to contact. Kris the Kink Witch.
Sergio reached out to Kris through Twitter DMs. Kris, like Sergio, also made his living off of recording and selling the videos of his gay escapades. He was known to be one incredibly kinky motherfucker online, and he took great pride in it too- as evidenced by his self proclaimed title the Kink Witch. But unlike Sergio, Kris took a much more professional approach to his line of work. For Kris, it wasn't about pleasure, it was about money. He meant business, and he never shied away from demonstrating that fact.
Fortunately, Sergio was also pretty well-known in the online gay community. Kris recognized Sergio and responded back to him within a couple of minutes. Their conversation went as follows...
S: Hey, you're the Kink Witch right? I've got a request in mind.
K: Yo. Yeah that's me. You want to film a collab together?
S: Not at all. I was actually thinking you and I can link up and have some fun. No cameras.
K: Sorry, I don't do charity work.
S: Trust me, I don't either. I just need to have some real fun and I know someone like you can help me out with that goal. I'll pay you a good amount too if you're interested.
K: Go on, I'm listening...
Sergio and Kris went on to negotiate the deal. In exchange for a kinky night of fun, Sergio would pay Kris $2500 in cold, hard cash. However, in order to earn that money, Kris needed to get Sergio to cum and to feel real pleasure while doing it too. But before they could seal the deal, Sergio gave Kris a heads-up by saying that he had already done almost everything anyone can think of. If it wasn't something new and exciting like he wanted, then Sergio had no problem calling the deal off. Yet despite his stark warning, Kris accepted the deal without any hesitation. It slightly unnerved Sergio how confident Kris was. He was pretty sure they both had more or less the same amount of experience when it came to sex. Could Kris really know something Sergio didn't?
Regardless of the initial unease Sergio felt, it was too late to back down now. Kris was already on his way to his apartment. Sergio passed the time by doing the usual prep work of cleaning himself out, just as Kris told him to. Yet despite his best efforts to distract himself, Sergio couldn't help but wonder what Kris had in store for him.
Does this twink really think he's gonna satisfy me just by fucking me? Ha! I've already taken on plenty of men, there's nothing new he can do there!
Sergio chuckled at his own thoughts. His curiosity was making his mind run wild. Luckily it didn't take much longer for Kris to arrive. He showed up at the entrance of the building and Sergio buzzed him in. Sergio then welcomed the young man into his home, and although he was excited to hook up, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in over his head by hiring some 20 something year old dude with messy hair and a dirty hoodie.
"Alright, you ready?" Kris said as he began to strip down to nothing but his underwear.
"Yeah, do you wanna go-"
"Wrong answer," Kris interrupted Sergio. "I'll excuse the first mistake but you'll only address me as Sir, Daddy, or Papi from here on out. Got it?"
Sergio was thrown off by how to-the-point Kris was but decided to just ignore it.
"Yes, Sir."
"Good boy, now whip out your cock. Get hard too,"
Sergio did as he was told. Kris did the same. Sergio was impressed with Kris' member. It was long and hairy with some decent girth too. Although his was definitely longer, Sergio's cock was the thicker one. They were both hung, Sergio like a bull and Kris like a horse. Once they were both erect, Kris reached down to his pants. He pulled out two rings out of the back pocket, one gold and one silver. He put the gold ring on, then handed the silver cock ring to Sergio.
"Put this on, then on the count of 3, twist it to the right."
Sergio held the cock ring in his hand. The silver hue of the ring almost seemed to glimmer under the light. He hesitated putting it on. It definitely wasn't the first time he wore a cock ring, but Sergio got an inexplicable feeling telling him that he shouldn't put it on. Kris noticed his hesitation right away.
"C'mon, don't be shy, put it on!" Kris said firmly. Sergio looked up and met his gaze but didn't say anything. A moment of silence passed, then Kris sighed.
"Look man, you paid me to do a job and I plan to deliver. You trust me, right?"
Kris seemed slightly more empathetic now. It was just enough to make Sergio trust him. Sergio nodded, then proceeded to put on the ring. He placed it on the tip of his dick and slid it down to the base of his rock hard member.
"Alright, ready? 1... 2... 3!!!"
Sergio and Kris then twisted their cock rings to the right at the same time. The moment they did, a wave of orgasmic sensations hit their bodies, causing them to throw their heads back with pleasure.
"UURRGGGHHHHH!!!" They both moaned obscenely loudly.
Sergio's vision blurred as he felt the wave of pleasure overtake him. His body trembled as the ring grew tighter around his cock, making it engorged. Then suddenly, Sergio became extremely lightheaded. He could feel his very soul leaving his body. As his soul stepped out of its vessel, Sergio lost all physical feeling as he became nothing but a mass of light. He looked ahead and saw the same had happened to Kris. Both of their souls had just stepped out of their bodies!
Sergio was mind blown by what he was seeing. But before he could even react, his soul began moving on its own. His soul was floating towards Kris' body. At the same time, Kris was floating towards his body. During the brief moment they passed each other, Sergio could've sworn he saw Kris smirking. His soul continued its march towards Kris' body, and as soon as it made contact, it began sinking into the soulless body. Sergio's soul aligned with its new vessel within seconds. Every single cell of Kris' was invaded by Sergio's soul, and he could feel ecstasy wash over him as his soon-to-be new body surrended itself to his control. Once it was done, Sergio immediately felt the difference as he longer possessed his jacked, beefy body but instead a hairy twink like Kris.
"Arghh fuckk.. what the fuck..." Sergio said with his new voice. All of the extraordinary sensations he just experienced made him fall to the ground. While he was busy trying to recover, he could see his body moving out of the corner of his eyes.
"Bro look at these fucking pecs! These are some massive slabs of meat on your chest!!"
Sergio watched as Kris bounced and groped his pecs with shameless joy. Slowly but surely, while Kris was enjoying himself, Sergio came back to his senses. He sat up, then kneeled down onto his knees. Well, Sergio was mostly back to his senses anyway. The sight of seeing a burly man play his own chest was filling him with lust. The only thing on Sergio's mind was how to best worship and please his master.
Kris noticed Sergio was basically drooling and smirked.
"What's the matter, you want something?" Kris stripped down naked, then bounced his pecs again. Sergio nodded his head vigorously. "Then ask for it, tell Daddy what you want."
"I want milk Daddy..." Sergio said with bated breath and dilated pupils. "Please, Sir, let me worship your beautiful pecs!"
"Good boy," Kris put his thumb on Sergio's chin and flicked it down, leaving his mouth hanging open with his tongue out. "Now show your Daddy what you can do with that mouth."
As soon as he heard he got permission, Sergio couldn't contain himself anymore and pounced onto Kris. He immediately planted his mouth on one of Kris' nipples and began suckling away while Kris enjoyed getting serviced. He was smirking all the while. His plan had gone off perfectly; the cock rings switched their bodies! That was the kink Kris had planned for Sergio, and he knew it would be the fun night he could've never predicted. After all, nobody knew how literal his title of Kink Witch was. But while Sergio was aware that they switched bodies, there was one little detail Kris kept to himself. Both rings would allow a body swap, but only the gold one would let the user retain their original personality. Because Sergio used the silver cock ring, his soul was forced to absorb Kris' hidden total sub personality when it took over his body. It might still be Sergio in mind and spirit, but it was now Kris in personality. With Kris possessing Sergio's muscular body with his mind still intact, the conditions were now set for him to complete the request Sergio made.
"FUCK yeah, just like that!" Kris moaned. He could feel as Sergio alternated between licking, sucking, and flicking his nipple with his tongue. His warm mouth felt amazing against his sensitive nipples. Kris pressed Sergio's face down into his chest. Sergio let out a muffled groan of pleasure as he motorboated Kris. They were both having the time of their lives, filling the room with their sensual moans.
Kris let Sergio worship his chest for a while longer before moving onto the next phases. Within the span of the next half hour, they made out passionately and intensely. Kris stuck his tongue inside Sergio's mouth as they grinded their bodies together, sharing their body heat together. Kris then began moving his mouth down Sergio's body, covering his neck and torso with hickies as he bit and sucked on his body. All while Kris had his middle finger firmly set inside Sergio's ass, massaging his hole and making him squirm while he claimed him as his sub.
Then, before the final act, Kris tore Sergio off his body. He had a hand wrapped around his throat, lightly choking the panting young man. Sergio's eyes were lit with an intense lust, begging and desperate for more. Kris smiled internally. He had him right where he wanted him.
"Fuck, Boy!! You really know how to please your Master, I wanna give you a reward... Are you ready? Are you ready for Daddy's present for his favorite sub?"
Sergio whispered "yes Sir, please Sir." Kris then pulled out a couple more things he brought and gave them to Sergio, who put them on enthusiastically.
Sergio laid there with his ass perked up. Kris came up from behind and laid his big, strong hands on Sergio's perky cheeks. He massaged him first, letting Sergio's bubble butt jiggle in his hands for a bit. He then spread his cheeks apart and leaned down to stick his tongue deep inside his ass.
"Nghh..." Sergio groaned. He could feel Kris' tongue swirl and flick around inside of him and it. Felt. AMAZING.
Kris ate Sergio out for a while, making sure his ass was nice, wet, and ready for his girthy cock. Once he had enough of using his tongue, Kris got back up and positioned himself just above Sergio. He let his dick rest in between his cheeks and moved it up and down, making Sergio squirm in anticipation. Then, with a wide grin on his face, Kris stuck his dick inside of Sergio. He let out a silent "fuck..." as he watched his cock head penetrate his bound up sub. He thrusted slowly, letting inch by inch of his fat member disappear into Sergio's hole. Kris was proud of his tight and warm hole, and now he finally got a chance to fuck himself in a very literal way. He waited a bit to let Sergio's wall expand to accommodate his dick, then began pounding away at him.
Loud obscene moans, guttural groans, and boorish grunts filled the room as the two men fucked. Kris found the perfect rhythm to move his hips, fucking Sergio like he was a jackhammer. Sergio closed his eyes as he took the dicking down like a champ. Somewhere in the back of his head was the vague memory that he and Kris had switched bodies. The thought of getting fucked by his own body made his pleasure increase tenfold. It was his own cock stretching out his hole and rearranging his insides. It was a strange thought, but Sergio didn't care. All he could think about was how he was Daddy's personal fleshlight and how much he was loving servicing a big, strong man like Daddy.
They fucked for a while longer until Kris couldn't hold his load in any longer. He pulled out, flipped Sergio over, tore off the jockstrap, then stuck his cock back on.
"C'MON! CUM FOR ME! COVER ME WITH YOUR- FUCKKKKK!!!!"
Kris finished mid sentence. He rammed his throbbing dick deep inside Sergio and let out all of his loads inside of him. Hearing Kris' satisfied groaning as he cummed along with the sensation of getting filled with his seed made Sergio shootout ropes of warm jizz all over. Within seconds, they had both become incredibly sweaty, potently musky, and drenched in Sergio's spunk. Sergio got his walk on the wild side and Kris completed his job.
Once they cooled down and cleaned up, Sergio collapsed onto his bed. Aside from the mind blowing sex, he was also exhausted by swapping bodies. He was a first time swapper after all, it was only natural.
But just before he could drift away into a deep sleep, he noticed Kris was still moving around with his body.
"Hey... what are you doing?"
"Daddy's gonna go have a night out with his bros. Don't worry about it, just go to sleep."
Kris hopped into bed with Sergio. He kissed him on the forehead, snuggled with him, and watched as he fell asleep in his embrace. Sergio was way too tired to question it, and Kris was glad. Kris then hopped out of bed and let Sergio rest inside his body while he went out to complete his next assignment: find a hairy, muscle bear with a big ass. Now it was his turn to bottom, and although Sergio woke up the next morning not knowing where Master was with his body, he had no problem patiently and eagerly waiting until Daddy returned home.
I groggily woke up to the sight of my toned body caressing my best friend, Connor’s, body. Wait that wasn’t right. I tried to get up but my hands were tied to the bench, my legs spread out and tied to each of the bench’s legs, but these weren’t my legs. I wasn’t this dark and my legs were certainly not this fatty or bulbous.
“Oh look who woke up. Good morning, Jerry.” My body said, giving that sexy smirk all the girls swoon over. I couldn’t help but realize I was getting hard, if you could even call it that. My new dick went from a measly two inches to barely four. “Oh look he’s excited to see me in my new body. Thanks for the donation. I think it suits me much more than you.” My body said, contorting my face into a glare as he flexed my stolen, toned arms.
“J-Jerry isn’t my name. I’m -“
“Oh right I forgot. Hey, CONNOR, give Jerry a mirror.” He offered me his phone and I gasped in horror. “That’s right, JERRY. You’re the pathetic fat gay nerd and I’m Asher Romelli, the sexy soccer star, and known bisexual.” He says as he grabs Connor and starts to make out with him. I was disgusted but this body was responding so much to the sight of the two toned teens groping one another.
“W-wait. Where am I?” I heard a voice mutter next to me. I turn and see Dante McPheerson, the black Comp Sci major widen his eyes at the sight of the jocks playing rougher.
“Hey look, babe. Dante woke up. Guess what, nerd, this is my body now.” The new Connor gloated as he crossed his arms. Neither of us could move as our old bodies began to get friskier, stroking one another with the hottest faces imaginable plastered onto our old facades. I wanted to cry but my new body was getting so worked up by the sexy sight in front of my eyes. I came without warning and a wave of exhaustion came over. Jerry suddenly stopped and looked at me with a devilish grin.
“Wow, we didn’t even have to touch you. Guess what, bitch. We’re locked in now. No more going back to that ugly piece of shit body. I’m a new man.” Jerry triumphantly proclaimed in my body, caressing each of my stolen muscles. “Oh and because were locked in, you can’t even try and say we switched. It’s impossible. Hahahahaha.” Asher proceeded to give Dante’s old body a lap dance, kissing different spots on his bony black body. The new Connor giggled and strutted over, flexing his new pecs and stroking his new, longer cock. The new Dante came within one minute.
“Guess what babe, we’re here for the long haul.” Connor celebrated, making out with my body. I couldn’t bare to see my hard earned body acting like this anymore, no matter how hot or sexy the view was. I blacked out, accepting my new life at the bottom of the social hierarchy.
“I’m sorry do I know you? You’re in my light, man.”
“Oh, you must be mistaken! I didn’t steal this body, I’m borrowing it for spring break.” *tenses abs*
“It was yours? No, you really are mistaken. I bought this body. From the concierge. He said that all Platinum Packages come with a hunk for the week.” *flexes arms and checks out veins*
“Yeah, no I’m not giving this back. I paid too much for it. You’ll get it back by the end of the week…. if you stop bothering me”
“Keep talking and I’ll extend my stay. This body’s nice and way better than the old husk I left with the front desk. I’ve lived a whole life and built up an entire empire, what makes you think I don’t have the funds to stay for the rest of YOUR life?”
“I must say though I would be mad losing this body too. I know the host they gave you sucks. You look so pathetic next to me. Undeveloped, unremarkable, untanned. Man you really are ugly.”
“Me on the other hand. I’ve never been athletic and you’re body is just the cream of the crop. God you’re so hot. Gonna have a lot of fun with this body. Mm mm mm, these twinks are gonna love me plowing them in the ass all week long. They don’t call it the Platinum Package for nothing.”
“God you really are pathetic. I’m keeping this husk for the long haul. Say goodbye to this perky ass and this meaty chest. All of it gone. Your cobblestone abs, mine now. Your toned legs, mine now. Everything, your styled blond hair, your chiseled jaw, your piercing blue eyes, even your athletic hands and cute manicured toes. All mine now.” *leans back into mat*
