I finally clocked out at 8 PM. Another eleven-hour soul-crushing workday. My back was screaming, my eyes felt like sandpaper, but my dick had been half-hard since lunch. All I could think about was getting home, collapsing onto my shitty mattress, unzipping my work pants, and stroking myself stupid.
It was the only thing in my life I actually looked forward to anymore.
The bus was packed with the same dead-eyed zombies as always. I wedged myself against a pole, phone held low, and opened my secret Tumblr feed. I scrolled past thick chests, veiny arms, and arrogant smirks, my cock twitching against my thigh with every new image. The guy next to me smelled like cheap cologne and defeat.
God, I’m so fucking done with this.
I didn’t want to just live like this anymore. I want to be rich. To wake up whenever I wanted and jerk off all day in some massive bed if I felt like it.
Fuck that — why stop at rich?
I want to be hot. Huge. Powerful. The kind of man people drooled over. The kind who took up space and made others feel small.
My thumb kept moving, heart beating faster, when a GIF suddenly loaded.
Holy shit.
I turned the phone off like a secret nobody else could watch
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The second I stepped inside my tiny room, I started stripping. Shirt, pants, boxers — my daily ritual. But tonight my heart was pounding harder than usual. I knew what I had waiting on that screen.
I didn’t even make it to the bed. My cock was already throbbing as I wrapped my hand around it, slowly stroking while I was still standing. In my head I kept replaying that GIF on loop: his perfect body, that cocky smirk, the way his hands gripped those legs like he owned every inch of anyone beneath him.
His beauty. His roughness. His raw fucking power.
I grabbed my phone again and opened my little secret.
There he was — even better than my imagination. The man I want to be. The man I deserve to be. Just pixels on a cracked screen… yet I could already feel his magic pulling at me, like the universe was daring me to want it harder.
I stroked faster, eyes locked on a loop showcasing his power, my breath getting ragged. “Fuck… I wish that was me…”
The screen flashed.
==============
For a split second everything vanished — my shitty room, the phone in my hand, the familiar weight of my own cock.
Then the world slammed back in.
I wasn’t laying down anymore. I was on my knees, powerful thighs spread wide, muscles burning with effort. My hands — no, his hands — were gripping two smooth, trembling legs, folding them back hard against a slender chest in a deep mating press. My hips were driving forward on pure instinct, slamming a thick, heavy cock into a tight, twitching hole.
What the fuck—?!
Panic exploded in my chest. This wasn’t my body. This body was huge — broad shoulders, thick slabs of muscle, veins popping along my forearms as I held the twink’s legs open. My cock felt monstrous inside him, stretching him wide with every thrust. I could feel the heat, the insane tightness gripping me, the way his walls fluttered and clenched.
Below me, a cute, flushed twink stared up with wide, watery eyes, mouth open in a silent moan. His smaller cock leaked against his stomach as I drove into him again. I didn’t know him. I’d never seen him before. But this body knew exactly what it was doing.
“F-fuck—” I gasped, my voice deep and rough, nothing like mine.
I tried to stop, but the hips kept moving — powerful, relentless thrusts that made wet, obscene sounds every time I bottomed out. Pleasure rolled through me like a drug. Every stroke felt better than the last. My new cock was so much bigger, so much more sensitive. I could feel his hole milking me, greedy and hot.
The smell of sex was thick in the air — sweat, lube, and raw musk. I could taste salt on my lips. My new heart was pounding hard in my wide chest.
This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.
But it was. I was him. The man from the GIF. Rich. Hot. Powerful. And right now I was balls-deep in a twink, wrecking him.
My panic started to melt as another hard thrust made him cry out. A low, feral groan left my throat. My hands tightened on his legs, pushing them further back, folding him in half. The motion felt… natural. Like the body was teaching me what it wanted.
I could feel every inch of this new body coming alive under my control. The burn in my powerful thighs as I drove forward. The flex of rock-hard abs with every thrust. The heavy swing of my massive balls slapping against his ass. My thick cock throbbed inside him, so much more sensitive than anything I’d ever felt — every ridge and vein dragging along his tight walls sent sparks up my spine.
“Shit… so fucking tight,” I muttered, voice thick with lust. My hips snapped forward harder, chasing that mind-numbing pleasure. I looked down at my massive chest, sweat glistening on carved pecs, the way my abs flexed powerfully with every thrust, the thick cock disappearing into his stretched, pink hole.
This body was responding to me more and more. My fingers dug deeper into his soft thighs, feeling the strength in my grip. I could hear the wet, filthy sound of my cock pounding into him echoing in the luxurious bedroom. The twink’s desperate little whimpers were like music.
Slowly, I started to control the rhythm. No longer just being carried by instinct — I was steering it. I pulled back until just the fat head of my cock stretched his hole, then slammed back in with a powerful roll of my hips, savoring every sensation.
This was mine now.
I leaned in closer, pinning him completely, and let the body take over even more. The panic was still there, flickering at the edges… but it was getting quieter with every deep, claiming stroke.
Then the memories slammed into me all at once.
One second I was panicking — the next, everything clicked.
I am Yoshi.
37, world famous actor, owner of a sleek penthouse overlooking the city, a supercar, and more money than most people could spend in three lifetimes. Respected. Feared. Desired.
And married.
A beautiful wife was out right now — elegant, high-society, none the wiser. She thought I was “working from home” again. I saw her face in the painting next to me and memories flood: smiling at charity galas on my arm, kissing me goodbye in the morning, completely oblivious to the fact that her husband regularly destroyed tight little twinks like this one in her own bed.
A low, possessive growl escaped my throat as another memory locked in. This no-name twink was just another stress relief. An eager hole I used whenever I needed to remind myself I could take whatever the fuck I wanted.
“Fuck…” I breathed, voice deep and commanding. My hips snapped forward harder, driving my massive cock balls-deep into him. The memories made everything hotter. I wasn’t just fucking him — I was cheating. I was the rich alpha who had it all and still took more.
The twink moaned loudly beneath me, his smaller cock leaking all over his stomach as I folded him in half. My new body knew exactly how to wreck him — brutal, confident strokes that made his eyes roll back.
I grinned, sweat dripping down my carved abs. “That’s it. Take my cock like a good boy.”
The words felt natural now. The old me was already dissolving, buried under waves of power, money, and pure sexual dominance. I had a wife at home… and right now I was balls-deep in a secret twink, stretching him open like he was made for it.
I slammed in again, groaning at how incredible my thick cock felt. Bigger than anything I’d ever had before. Veiny. Heavy. Perfect.
This was my life now.
And I fucking loved it.