In the public restroom, I was taking a leak in a urinal. A straight frat bro went to my left to take a leak too. Out of nowhere he flips out, "Did you look at my dick?" He demanded to know in a panic.
"No. I always keep to myself? Just maybe you should do the same." The frat bro's face goes red. He stormed out without even washing his hands.
Then in the middle of the night at 1:00 AM, I was abducted from my college dorm room. Tied up and my mouth covered. I awoke to Frat bros doing some sort of hazing ritual.
The frat leader walked in and declared my reason for being here, "I am Simon the wizard and tonight my fellow straight bros, you will be tested against the mental might of a single gay man's pride. Our newest and definingly straight frat member Clay will do the honors of trying to overpower his will within his own body."
Clay walked in, "Don't worry, Simon. He's no match for my masculinity and and my mind to body connection."
The wizard Simon just threw my consciousness, my soul into Clay's body. I looked down and said, "fuck, this twunk is ripped." And I felt the new package harden...
Clay himself felt great rage against me, "This is my body! Get out, I'm better than this gay guy!!!"
The wizard Simon gave some advice, "True pride is not thinking you're better or about arrogance. It's about self certainty in your own capabilities."
And I responded using Clay's voice, "I think I'm feeling pretty capable." I just relaxed and moved my body, while Clay's mind sunk like quicksand into a sleepy coma.
Simon smiled and flirted, "yeah, indeed you are pretty and nearly one of us. We are all gays in possession of super straight men. Clay needed his straight body filled with a gay spirit like yourself. Welcome to the club, Clay!" He winked at me, and my heart skipped a beat.
Later, Simon asked me out on a date. I said "Yes, I would love to fu- I mean go on a date with you!"
"Since you're so horny, Clay... let me show something the frat did last week. But promise to save yourself for me later. Here..."
Simon explained, "This was the last possession ritual before yours. We called him Bubble Butt Brian when he started moaning by our obsessive touching of his ass. It was a virgin straight ass until that day."
I covered my dick. It was fully hard, but haven't the time to see it in it's full glory yet. I pulled my jeans away from my waist and it must be around 7 inches and 6 inches of pure girth...
Simon watched me, "Remember no jacking off. I want to be your first sexy experience in your new life." He licked his lips and grabbed ahold on my dick and added pressure to his grip. "Just hold on until after we eat. Fucking while hungry could reduce pleasure. Now, let's go do our date in the arcade."
I saw him having fun, but secretly I think he was trying to turn me on at every turn by acting promiscuous in regards to showing off his body to me. He looked at me with an enchanted aura in his eyes, "How do I look? Hot enough to ride a different bike?" He laughed in a quiet manner.
We had a awesome date. Did everything we wanted until we got back to the frat house. And while we were still in the car...
He put curtains around the windows. He kissed me. Putting his hand down my jeans and used the other to put the seat all the way back. Breathtaking and breathless soon after. He rode my new dick for the first time. Right after which, I rode his 9 inch dick, in which moments my heart was his prisoner and him, my warden.
We announced to the frat of our decision to become a couple. But we still have to pretend to be our straight hosts as to not arouse suspicion. They're giving me training on how to be Clay the Frat bro.
1 week later.
Simon instructing me, "Say what we taught you."
"Dude. What the fuck. Get off my dick. I'm not about that, bro!"
Simon looked proud, "You're ready. Help the frat with our next straight frat bro when the time arrives." We finally went on another date night out, and man did I look like a catch- Maybe a little gay, but pink is just a color, not a sexuality. (Fun fact. In the early 20th century, blue was originally for girls, and pink for boys. But cultural changes happened)
Ready for my date with Simon. He says I need to loosen up and just have fun. Can't help but be gay and a perfectionist. People are starting to ask questions because I keep checking out Simon in public. He likes to punish me during sexy time for my incompetence.
And the cycle will continue... a straight frat bro becoming possessed by a stray gay.
Although he tried to stop his father, he was weak, powerless against the man who’s physical attributes had already been increased. “Come on son, join us.” He commanded, sticking the tip of his cock in his boy’s ass.
Even though he struggled, getting fucked by his dad felt so good, it was amazing. Once his dad finished inside him, it would already be too late. Even now he felt his body bulking up as his mind dimmed. Before he knew it, he too would become infected by the himbo virus and turned into a dumb, horny himbo too.
That sound was the thing that struck me first. Not the slick stretch of him inside me, not the deep stuttering moan rolling up out of a chest I should not have been straddling, nor the wet buzz of the toy he was working into himself with his free hand. The bed. The specific groan of the third slat from the headboard, the one I'd been meaning to replace for three years and never quite got around to. The sound was a key sliding into a lock I didn't know I had.
But I kept riding.
That was the worst of it, or the best, depending on which part of me you asked. My thighs were burning in a way that didn't feel like mine — narrow thighs, less stamina, bitten-down fingernails clutching at pecs they hadn't earned — this body I'd woken up in working harder than it should have to keep the rhythm going. But the rhythm itself was instinct. Up and down. The slow grinding pause at the bottom where he liked it, where the man under me liked it, because his hands tightened on a waist that didn't belong to either of us and his head pressed back into the pillow and that voice, my fucking voice, broke open into a sound somewhere between a curse and a prayer.
"Ohhh fuck — fuck, fuck — squirt, you feel that? You feel how deep you're sittin' on me? Ahnnh — goddamn, this fuckin' body, dude — I been goin' for like forty minutes and I'm not even— unh — not even tired, you believe that shit?"
He had the dildo in his other hand. He'd been working it into himself even before he pulled me on top of him, a thick veined silicone thing in a stupid sunset gradient, and he was not gentle about it. He was hammering it up into his own ass at the same rough cadence I was using on his cock, two rhythms cross-cutting through one body, and every time the toy hit deep his whole frame jolted and his cock kicked inside me and another shudder rippled through both of us. His own prostate was getting wrecked by his own hand and he was narrating the whole thing.
"S-so fuckin' full, man, you don't even know — got my new dick in you, got this fat thing from Mr. Leather splittin' me — ah-ah-ah — I'm like the meat in the fuckin' sandwich, dude, I'm— nnh — Christ on a cracker, you should see yourself riding me, you're so shrimpy, you're so—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. His free hand left the toy long enough to drag up his own torso, palm flat across the pecs I'd built, fingers spreading wide to feel every individual ridge of muscle, and the moan he made at his own touch was for himself, entirely for himself, and the loop fed itself the way it never stopped feeding itself. The cock buried inside me throbbed harder at the contact. He hadn't even touched anyone else and his body was getting off on its own existence.
"My body," he was muttering, eyes rolled halfway back, baritone gone slurry. "My body, my body, look at this fuckin' body—"
I sank down again and felt the head of his cock press against something deep that made the smaller frame around me shudder. A whimper came out of me that I didn't recognize. Thin. Reedy. The wrong throat making the wrong sound.
His hands slid up the stolen waist. Both of them now, the toy abandoned for a second, lodged deep in him while he pressed his thumbs into the soft place under my ribs. There was a freckle there I hadn't noticed before. Small and dark, just under the left side of my new ribcage. Someone else's. Someone else's me.
I looked down at him and tried, tried, to hate it.
He was beautiful.
That was the part I couldn't stop circling. He was beautiful in the way I had spent a decade and a half slaving over. The trapezius I'd built doing farmer's carries at five a.m. The obliques I'd sculpted with stupid little side bends nobody else in the gym would do. The small dark mole just above his left nipple that my mother had pointed to when I was six and called my khaal-e-shirin, my sweet little mark. He had my sweet little mark on his stolen chest and he was looking up at me through eyelashes I'd inherited from a grandmother he'd never met, half-lidded, slack-mouthed, fucked-stupid on his own reflection.
The expression. That was the worst part. He didn't wear my face the way I'd worn it. I'd worn it sharp, present, the jaw doing work. He wore it the way men wear someone else's good jacket — pleased with the fit, indifferent to the cut.
"You're so fuckin' tight, little guy—" The baritone cracked, the voice rolling up out of a throat that wasn't built to make that sound that high. He bucked up into me and I gasped, palms slapping flat against the pecs to steady myself. His chest. My chest. The skin was hot under my hands and slick with the sweat of how long he'd been working for it, and underneath the slick I could feel the script along his ribs, raised slightly the way fresh-ish ink does in heat.
I'd gotten it at twenty-six. I'd been reading Coleman Barks like he was the only translator in the world. I'd thought the line was the most profound thing anyone had ever written and I'd put it on my body in a script I couldn't read myself because I wanted to honor a heritage I'd only ever held at arm's length. Three years later I'd come to find the choice a little embarrassing — the Barks of it, the white-yoga-studio of it, the fact that I'd picked the most quotable line in the whole canon — but I'd kept it because removing it would have been worse than wearing it. Penance for my own earnestness.
He didn't know any of that. He just wore it. Because it had come with the package.
His left hip clicked.
Small sound. The kind of joint pop you only hear if you're close enough, the kind of pop my left hip had been making since I tweaked it deadlifting at twenty-seven. It clicked on the upstroke when he bucked up into me, and the click bypassed my brain entirely and landed somewhere lower, in the part of me that didn't have language yet, just recognition. I knew that click. I knew it from the inside. I'd been hearing it in my own pelvis for three years.
I didn't have time to interrogate it. He was talking again.
"—gonna come again, dude, I'm gonna— ahhh — I came like twenty minutes ago and I'm already— this body's a fuckin' factory, swear to god, it just— unh — keeps refillin' the tank—"
He shoved the toy deeper into himself. His thighs trembled under mine. His balls tightened.
I felt the draw of them against the base of the cock buried inside me, that specific physiological cinching I had experienced from the other side a thousand times and was now feeling from the inside like an inverted memory. His mouth fell open. His hands clamped down on the borrowed hips hard enough to bruise the soft skin there. He made a sound — deep, gutted, animal, the kind of sound my throat had never made when it belonged to me because I had been raised to be quiet about pleasure — and he came.
He came inside me. He came inside his own old body using his own old cock and the heat of it flooded into me thick and pulsing, and the dildo was still in him, and his free hand came up to drag through dark curls in a gesture so precisely minethat I felt the recognition like a slap.
He laughed, breathless. Stoned-sounding. "Fuck me sideways," he murmured, more to the ceiling than to me, "every fuckin' time, man."
His head lolled to one side on the pillow.
I was looking past his shoulder.
At the plaster seam above the headboard.
The uneven one. The one the contractor had bodged in 2019 when I'd had a leak in the unit upstairs and they'd patched the ceiling on the cheap and I'd looked at that crooked seam every morning for four years and meant to fix it and never fixed it. I was looking at my own deferred maintenance and the second click happened, the bigger one, the one in my chest.
I live here.
I fucking live here.
The thought didn't arrive as a sentence. It arrived as the entire architecture of the room reorganizing itself around me — the angle of light from the window I had chosen the curtains for, the corner where my reading chair used to be before he'd shoved it aside to make room for his stupid weight bench, the smell underneath the sweat and the cum and the cheap synthetic cologne, the smell of my own laundry detergent in the sheets because he hadn't even bothered to switch brands.
And then the bookshelf.
Mine. Every book on it was mine. The Hafez in the original. The dog-eared Le Guin. The architectural monograph my sister had given me for my twenty-eighth birthday, with her inscription on the flyleaf I couldn't see from here but knew was there. Mine, mine, mine, the spines in the order I'd put them in, alphabetical within genre, a system only I would have used—
Except for one book.
Third shelf down. Wedged in horizontal on top of the verticals, the way you stash something you didn't have a place for. Black leather. No title on the spine I could read from this distance, but the binding was wrong — hand-stitched, not commercial, the kind of object that does not belong in a Bay Area apartment in the twenty-first century. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't mine.
It was the only thing in the room that was his.
The fog covering me? It detonated.
It came back in a single shuddering rush — not memories one at a time but the entire form of myself returning at once, the weight of thirty-four years slamming back into a brain that had been running on a skeleton crew, and my name arrived with it like a struck bell.
Bardia.
Bardia.
I was Bardia Azadeh, though everyone here called me Blake because it was easier and this was my apartment and the man bleeding the afterglow into my mattress beneath me was wearing my body like a costume he'd shoplifted, and the book on the third shelf, the black leather book that was the only foreign object in my entire curated life, was how he'd done it.
He hadn't noticed yet. His eyes were closed. His hand was still in his own hair, lazy, the dildo still seated in him, the body cycling down into that brief and only window where the self-activation loop would slack — five seconds, ten, before his cock would start to fill again at the sensation of his own fingertips at his own scalp — and I knew that body's recovery period because that was my fucking body and the window was small but it was real.
I moved.
I came up off him in one motion, his softening cock slipping out of me with a wet obscene sound, his cum running hot down the inside of a thigh that wasn't mine but was now mine to use. His eyes fluttered open in lazy protest.
"Nnh — where you goin', squirt — c'mon, come back here, I'm not — I'm not even done—"
I was already off the bed. Already across the room. The boards of the floor I had refinished myself were cold under bare feet with bitten-down nails.
The book was heavier than it should have been. The small hand barely closed around the spine. I pulled it from the shelf and the leather was warm — not room-warm, not body-warm, warm in a way objects are not supposed to be — and I felt the back of my neck prickle with a knowledge that wasn't mine and a knowledge that was.
He saw what I was holding.
The lazy fell off his face.
"Put that down." Not soft anymore. The baritone gone hard, gone fast — but his body was still leaking afterglow, still loose-limbed on my bed, still betraying him with the slow involuntary thickening at his groin because his own forearm had brushed his own thigh as he tried to push himself upright. "Bardia. Put it down."
Fucking hell how did you ever walk around with this huge ass dick swinging around? You don't know what I'm talking about? Oh shit right, forgot i drained your memories haha. Don't worry bout it little guy, just keep doing you squirt. You doing anything after the gym? Fuck nevermind I'm getting hard just thinking about railing your little twink ass, god you look hot without all that muscle. Lets take a break in between sets and hit up the sauna real quick, give you a taste of your old self, yeah?
I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head, trying to make sense of words that should mean something but just... don't. It's fucking intoxicating, watching you struggle with the empty spaces where your memories used to be. Where you used to be.
"Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?" you ask, that soft voice so different from the deep rumble that used to vibrate through this chest. My chest now. Your hand fidgets with the bottom of your oversized tank top - probably one of your old shirts that hangs off your new frame like a fucking dress.
I flex casually, watching your eyes track the movement of muscles that used to belong to you. The pump is incredible in this body. Every vein, every striation - I'm still getting used to how fucking good it feels to inhabit this much raw power. And the best part? You have no idea you're staring at yourself. Or what used to be yourself.
"Nah, we just... ran in the same circles," I lie easily, stepping closer. You have to tilt your head back now to look at me. Fuck, that's hot. You used to be six-two, and now you're what, five-seven? Five-eight? "I'm just messin' with you, man. You seemed a little out of it."
"Oh! Yeah, I've been feeling kind of weird lately," you admit, running a hand through your hair - straight and blond now, nothing like the thick curly mop I'm currently sporting. "Like I'm forgetting stuff? But I can't remember what I'm forgetting, if that makes sense."
It makes perfect sense. I made sure of that when I drained you. Took everything - your body, your muscle, your cock, your memories of having any of it. Left you with just enough to function, to think you've always been this cute little twink who's maybe a little gym-curious.
"Makes total sense, little guy." I let my hand land on your shoulder - so much smaller than I'm used to, delicate under my palm. This palm that used to be yours. I can feel you tense slightly at the contact, but you don't pull away. "You know what helps with that brain fog? Sauna. Gets the blood flowing."
"Oh, I don't know, I've never really—"
"Never really what? Come on, it'll be good for you." I'm already guiding you toward the locker room, my hand sliding from your shoulder to the small of your back. You're so fucking little now, it's driving me crazy. I can feel my dick - your old dick - starting to swell in my workout pants. This thick, heavy cock that used to hang between your legs, and now you don't even remember what it felt like.
"I guess... okay, yeah, sure," you agree, and Christ, you're so fucking compliant in this new body. Is it the size difference? The missing confidence that used to come with being built like a Greek god? Whatever it is, I'm here for it.
We push through the locker room doors. It's mostly empty this time of night - I planned it that way. A couple guys at the far end, but they're in their own world. I grab two towels from the stack and toss you one.
"So do we just... go in with our clothes?" you ask, and the innocent confusion in your voice makes my cock twitch again.
"Nah, man. Strip down, wrap the towel around." I don't wait, just hook my thumbs in my waistband and shove everything down. Your old cock springs free, half-hard already, and I watch your eyes go wide.
"Holy shit, dude, that's..."
"Big? Yeah." I wrap the towel around my waist - barely conceals it, honestly. This thing is a fucking weapon. Eight and a half inches soft, thick as a beer can, and you grew it over years of good genetics and testosterone. Mine now. "What's wrong, never seen a big dick before?"
You tear your eyes away, face flushing red. "No, I mean, yeah, I have, just... sorry for staring."
"Don't apologize. I'd stare too." I lean against the lockers while you awkwardly strip down, trying not to look at me. Your new body is tight, smooth, the kind of twink build that would've had old-you drooling. Has current-me drooling, honestly. "Damn, you're cute as fuck. You know that?"
The blush deepens. "Thanks? I guess?"
Your new cock is maybe four inches hard - I saw to that. Nothing wrong with it, but the contrast is fucking delicious. You wrap the towel around yourself like you're trying to hide, and I want to rip it off you right here.
"Sauna's this way." I lead you through the wet area, past the showers. The sauna door is heavy, and wet heat billows out when I pull it open. Empty. Perfect.
The cedar walls glow in the dim light, and I can already feel sweat prickling across my skin - your skin - as we step inside. I sprawl on the upper bench, legs spread, towel riding up on thick thighs that you spent years building in this exact gym.
You perch on the lower bench, nervous energy radiating off you.
"So... you work out here a lot?" you ask, trying to make conversation.
"Starting to, yeah. Trying out this new routine." I run a hand down my abs, feeling each ridge. "It's treating me pretty fucking well, don't you think?"
You nod quickly, then look away again. The heat is building, steam rising from the rocks.
"You ever wonder what it would be like?" I ask, voice dropping lower.
"What what would be like?"
"Being big. Strong. Hung like a fucking horse." I adjust my towel, making sure you get another glimpse. "Walking around knowing you could have anyone you want."
"I... I don't know. I never really thought about it." But there's something in your eyes - a flicker of loss, like you're reaching for something that isn't there.
"Liar," I say softly, and pat the bench next to me. "Come here."
"What?"
"Come. Here." Not a question this time.
You hesitate, then climb up to the upper bench, sitting a careful distance away. I close it in one movement, sliding right up against you. My arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you against my side. You fit there perfectly, your head barely reaching my shoulder.
"Relax," I murmur against your ear. "Just wanna make you feel good, little guy. Give you a taste of what you're missing."
My other hand lands on your thigh - so much softer than mine, less muscle. You gasp as I squeeze gently.
"Ever been with a guy?" I ask, already knowing the answer. You have no memories of your extensive history with men. Or women. I took it all.
"N-no..."
"Want to be?"
Your breath hitches. My hand slides higher.
"I don't even know your name," you whisper.
I grin against your temple. Should I tell you? That I'm wearing your name now, that I took everything?
"Call me daddy," I say instead, and pull your towel open.
"You know what the best part is?" I don't give you time to answer, just keep talking as my hand wraps around your little cock. You're already hard - can't help yourself. "It's not even the big shit. Yeah, the muscles are fucking incredible, and this cock—" I thrust my hips slightly, making sure you feel the weight of it against your hip, "—is a goddamn gift. But it's the little things, man."
My other hand comes up to touch the small silver hoop in my ear - your ear. "This piercing? Got it two days after I drained you. Just walked into a shop and did it. Nobody questioned it because why would they? I look like the kind of guy who can pull off whatever the fuck he wants." I tug on it slightly, grinning. "You used to think about getting one but never had the balls. I have your balls now, so I just... did it."
You whimper as I start stroking you slowly, deliberately.
"And the smell, fuck. You have no idea." I lean in close, dragging my nose along your neck, then pull back. "Press your face right here. Right into my pit."
"What—"
"Do it." I guide your head down to my armpit, holding you there. "Breathe it in. That's what a real man smells like. That's testosterone and work and power. I fucking reek after the gym and I love it. Walk around with it like cologne. Your old deodorant is still in my gym bag but I haven't touched it in weeks. Why would I cover this up?"
I feel your breathing get faster against my skin, and my cock throbs.
"My sneakers, man. Your sneakers. Those beat-to-fuck Nikes in my locker?" I flex my foot, the one currently in a size thirteen that used to be yours. "They're rank as hell. Socks are crusty. I wear them without washing them because I can. Because they smell like me now, like this body that dominates every room it walks into. What size are you now? Seven? Eight? Bet your little feet are cute as fuck."
I pull you up to look at me, keeping one hand working your dick.
"And clothes. Jesus Christ, the clothes. Everything fits perfect. Shirts stretch across these pecs, sleeves hug these arms. But you know what I wear most?" I grin wickedly. "Almost nothing. Went to the grocery store yesterday in just these tiny fucking running shorts - the ones with like a two-inch inseam - and no shirt. No shoes, even. Just walked around barefoot and half-naked because this body is a fucking work of art and everyone should see it."
Your eyes are glazed, mouth open, and I know I've got you.
"Tank tops that show my whole torso. Shorts so small my ass hangs out. I go to the beach, the park, anywhere, and just let everyone look. You know why?"
"Why?" you gasp.
"Because I can. Because I took everything you were too modest to flaunt. All that muscle you covered up with baggy clothes, all that confidence you were too in-your-head to use." I lean in until my lips brush your ear. "I'm living your best life, little guy. The one you were too chickenshit to live yourself. And it feels so. Fucking. Good."
My hand speeds up on your cock and you're making these desperate little sounds.
"Every morning I wake up and I'm still in this body. Still big. Still strong. Still hung. And you wake up in that tight little twink body with no memory of what you used to be. That's power. That's the ultimate flex."
You're close, I can tell. Trembling against me.
"Come for daddy," I whisper. "Come for the man wearing your old life like a second skin."
It's your typical after-work night. What's the easiest dopamine? Yup, you scrolled through your endless Instagram feed, the bright screen lighting up your face in the quiet darkness of your room as your thumb flicked upward without much thought. Post after post of fitness models and travel snaps passed by until a vibrant red 'LIVE' icon grabbed your full attention.
It was him, Tyler, the smoking hot influencer you had been crushing on for months, going live from what must be his brand new apartment. Tapping the notification, the stream loaded instantly, revealing Tyler standing in the middle of a spacious bedroom, shirtless and looking every bit the hunk from his photos. His wavy brown hair was perfectly messy, stubble shadowing his chiseled jaw, and his body was a masterpiece of muscle – broad shoulders, massive rounded pecs that heaved with each breath, deep cuts in his eight-pack abs shining under the ceiling light.
"Hey yo, what's good everybody? Thanks for tuning in to the live! Just moved into this sick new place and I wanted to give you all the grand tour right now," Tyler said with a charming grin, panning the camera slowly to show the big window and the neatly made bed behind him. You felt a rush of heat flood your body, your own cock twitching to life in your pants as you stared at his perfect form, the power inside you stirring as your horniness peaked.
Focusing your will, you channeled the magical ability that allowed you to reach into anyone's mind and bend it to your desires.
'Tyler, you're starting to feel an itch in your chest, a warmth spreading through your body,' you thought intensely, directing the command straight into his head through the live stream connection.
On the screen, Tyler continued talking for a moment, gesturing around the room, but then his hand rose unconsciously to rub at his left pec, fingers brushing over the sensitive nipple.
"Man, it's feeling a bit stuffy in here already, or maybe it's just all the excitement of the new place," he laughed lightly to his viewers.
The chat exploding with comments like 'looking jacked as always Tyler!' and 'show us the bathroom next!'. But you could see the slight confusion in his eyes as he lingered on the touch a second longer than normal, his breath hitching just a bit as the suggestion took root deeper in his mind, his nipples visibly hardening into tight little peaks under the bright lights.
You pushed the power further, slow and deliberate, letting the real-time pace of the live unfold naturally as your cock throbbed harder in your shorts.
'Tyler, that warmth is sliding down now, making your abs tingle and your cock start to fill out heavy in your shorts,' you commanded silently, watching his every micro-expression. Tyler's hand drifted lower without him seeming to notice at first, palm gliding over the ridges of his carved abs as he tried to keep the tour going.
"Alright, check out this killer window view – natural light all day, perfect for workouts, you know?" he said, voice steady but with a faint edge now, his free hand absentmindedly adjusting the waistband of his low-slung shorts where a growing bulge was starting to strain the fabric obscenely.
Again, the chat lit up with fire emojis and 'damn those abs tho', but Tyler's brow furrowed slightly, his head tilting back just like in those flexing poses he always did, a soft "Mmm..." escaping his lips before he caught it and cleared his throat.
The mind control sank in deeper as you leaned closer to your phone, your own breathing quickening while Tyler's body responded helplessly on camera.
'Keep going, Tyler, that cock of yours is getting so fucking hard it needs attention, stroke it through the shorts for me,' you willed, exaggerating the sensual pull until his hand obeyed. Tyler paused mid-step toward the window, fingers pressing firmly over the thick outline of his swelling dick, rubbing up and down the length in slow, confused circles.
"Uhhh... guys, something feels... sooo weird all of a sudden," he muttered, voice dropping lower, but he didn't stop, the wet friction audible even through the mic as his palm schlicked over the fabric. His massive pecs heaved faster, sweat beginning to bead on the deep cleavage between them, and the chat went wild with shocked laughing emojis mixed with 'keep rubbing bro what the fuck'.
You held the command steady, drawing out the slow-burn torment as Tyler's resistance crumbled under the magical grip on his mind.
'Pull those shorts down now, Tyler, free that fat throbbing cock and wrap your fist around it for all your fans to see,' you thought with wicked focus, your own dick leaking pre into your underwear.
Tyler's eyes widened on screen, mouth opening in a perfect O of surprise as his hands hooked into the waistband and yanked the shorts down to his thighs in one smooth motion. His massive nine-inch cock sprang free, thick and veiny, the fat purple head already glistening with a fat string of precum that drooled down the shaft.
"Fuuuuck... what am I... ohhhh shitttt, my dick's out on live," he groaned, but his hand was already gripping the base, squeezing the heavy girth as a deep "Nnnngh..." rumbled from his throat, head tilting back again with eyes fluttering half-closed.
The live stream captured every vulgar detail in real time as you fed him more commands, making the jerking build gradually hotter and more desperate.
'Stroke it slow at first, Tyler, pump that meat nice and easy, feel those heavy balls slap against your hand,' you directed, savoring the way his body obeyed instantly. Tyler's fist glided up and down the slick shaft with wet schlick-schlick-schlick sounds echoing through the mic, his hips bucking forward involuntarily while his free hand roamed up to pinch a swollen nipple.
"Ahhh... bros, I can't... uhhhnngh... stop touching myself," he panted, voice cracking into a needy moan as precum oozed in thick rivulets over his knuckles, dripping onto the floorboards below. His abs clenched visibly with every stroke, the defined V-lines framing that pulsing cock like a obscene frame, and the incoming comments flooded faster – 'Tyler wtf is this hot af' and 'stroke faster daddy'.
You ramped up the intensity bit by bit, keeping the pace real-time and torturously slow as Tyler's mind fought and failed against your unbreakable control.
'Faster now, Tyler, jerk that fat cock like the horny slut you are, slap those balls harder and moan louder for the camera,' you commanded, your own hand slipping into your pants to match his rhythm. Tyler's strokes quickened, fist flying up and down the veiny length with lewd wet slaps, his heavy balls swinging and smacking audibly against his wrist.
"Mmmph... fuuuck yes... ahhh it feels so good, why can't I stop..." he groaned loudly, head thrown back exactly like those video frames, mouth wide open in raw ecstasy as sweat poured down his chiseled torso, making his pecs and abs gleam like oiled marble. The chat was a blur of shocked caps and horny gifs, viewers begging for more while Tyler's legs trembled.
The buildup crested higher as you held him right on the edge, forcing every exaggerated sensation to flood his controlled mind in vivid waves.
'Edge it, Tyler, don't cum yet, keep pumping that throbbing meat and feel your balls churning full of thick load,' you willed, watching his face contort in desperate pleasure. Tyler's hand slowed teasingly then sped up again, thumb swirling over the leaking slit as ropes of precum flew everywhere.
"Uhhh... I'm so close... fuck bros my cock's gonna explode... haaaah... don't know what's happening but it feels too good," he whimpered between moans, eyes squeezing shut as his body arched, massive pecs thrusting forward and nipples rock-hard. The onomatopoeia of his frantic stroking filled the audio – schlick-schlick-schlick – mixed with his deep guttural groans, the live counter ticking up with hundreds more joining the chaos.
You finally released the dam, commanding the explosive finish with full vulgar force as the real-time climax hit.
'Cum now, Tyler, shoot the biggest load of your life all over yourself on live, let it splatter everywhere you sexy stud,' you thought triumphantly. Tyler's body seized up instantly, fist blurring on his cock as his balls drew tight and erupted.
"FUUUUCK... nngghaaah... I'm cumming... ahhhnnngh... spluuuurt... spluuuurt... OHHHH YESSSSSS! My god it's everywhere!" he bellowed, thick white ropes of hot cum blasting out in powerful arcs, painting his heaving pecs, dripping down his abs in messy streaks, and puddling on the floor at his feet with wet splats. His mouth hung open in a perfect silent moan, head tilted back just like the video captured, body shaking through spurt after endless spurt until his cock finally stopped pulsing, leaving him glazed and panting.
Tyler blinked hard on camera, cum still dripping from his chin and chest as the post-orgasm haze clashed with your lingering mind control, confusion washing over his flushed face.
"What the... why the fuck did I just jerk off on live? Guys, I swear I don't know what came over me... that wasn't me," he stammered, voice hoarse and shaky, trying to pull his shorts up with trembling hands while the chat exploded in a frenzy of 'that was insane' and 'do it again' messages.
"Shit, shit, shit! Holy shit! What have I done?" he panicked, his eyes darted around the room, cheeks burning red under the stubble as he wiped a streak of his own load off his abs absentmindedly, the live still rolling with thousands watching every second of his bewildered afterglow.
You weren't done yet, the power humming stronger in your veins as horniness surged through you at the sight of his cum-covered muscles.
'Tyler, scoop up some of that hot cum and taste it for your fans,' you commanded smoothly, forcing the next wave without mercy.
Tyler's hand moved on autopilot, fingers scooping a thick glob of his own jizz from his pec and bringing it to his lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean.
"Mmmph... tastes so freaking salty and tasty and... WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK why am I doing this on camera?"
Philip wasn't used to all the stares he was getting from his workers; for god's sake, he was the CEO, and they should be paying respect to him, but instead all the builders to whom he paid the salary just stared in confusion and pity at the tall man in his suit guiding the investors around the construction site.
His black suit, thin build, and clean-shaven appearance drew a harsh contrast to the men that watched. The bored faces of the investors showed that they were just as interested in this as he was, so it was a respite when he managed to excuse himself to go to the bathroom.
Stumbling along, dirt and dust caking his boots, he finally ran into the manager of the property, a bulky man with a short fuse. "Where is the bathroom?" he inquired, only greeted by a judging glance as he stared down. "It's employee only; the public bathroom is a block away." Philip was shocked by the never-ending argument, but he made a mental note to find some recourse for the attitude. He picked his way through the clogged city blocks, finally coming to the public bathrooms.
As he walked into the graffiti-covered stall, he felt his disgust build as he saw a strange liquid covering not just the floor but the bathrooms and walls as well. and judging from the smell, he could tell where this liquid came from. Knowing that he didn't have time to waste, he quickly rolled up toilet paper and wiped down the seat of the toilet. After a few seconds, he went to chuck it when he stepped into a large puddle of cum, glaring at the gunk stuck on his heel. Using the wall to support him as he tried to scrape it off, he only managed to get it on his clothes before finally feeling more drip from the roof on top of his bald head.
Now thoroughly disgusted, he went to leave but found he couldn't; he seemed to be...
rooted to the spot? Phillip's whole body began to shiver as his eyes moved rapidly in his sockets. The shivering began to localize on his legs as a cracking sound filled the air. Did the door seem to grow bigger and bigger, or was he getting smaller? He remembered from the view that his height had gone from 6 feet 3 to 5 feet 6. His mind kept screaming as his body tingled, his thin arms tingled, and he began to thicken along with his legs, a small gut growing out.
His pale skin soon would change too as his skin darkened and tanned, matching that of his many workers. changed rapidly now, his once clean, shaven body growing hair all over and his slightly below-average "tool" shrinking a few inches. Finally able to leave, he felt his head fuzz as if his thoughts were being yelled at him through glass, but he did begin to panic when he didn't return to his investors but rather to the man. "Where have you been?" Phillip thought he was yelling; he couldn't hear anything, though. Looking down, his clothes also changed to a plain tee and some shorts; he truly looked just like a worker now.
The next 5 hours, his body went on autopilot, working harder than his old body ever had, but when the work day finally ended, he kept walking to a house he had never seen, climbing stairs after stairs before finally coming to a door that reeked of cum and sweat. Opening in, he saw a young Latino man, no pants, and busy playing some kind of video game. He somehow knew that this was the man whose cum had covered the bathroom that had caused all this.
glancing over the man—his boyfriend? No, that can't be. He was married, and his thoughts were getting harder. Mmm, Phillipe could see the bulge in the other man's underwear, and the other man obviously could see Phillipe's eyes. "Why don't you come help Daddy out, baby?" excitedly he moved forward and began stripping his BF. "That's it, ik you liked the stuff you found in the bathroom you slut, come get some from the source" as he greedily sucked away his memories. Natural, his Spanish accent? attractive to the ladies, not like he needs it with his boyfriend around. His memories shifted fully, and Philip was gone. He was Philip, a Mexican immigrant working hard so his hot boyfriend could play games. His life was difficult with working and then doing all the chores, but at least he got some good dick. and not a person would miss who he was...
germansingergirl
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
yousharknotpass
