Fanatic

[ruhitsblog]

Something forbidden is going happen

Part -2

Mystic Marcus didn't laugh. He just stared at the card for a long moment, then flipped the third one. A woman sat on a throne, her eyes blindfolded, surrounded by swords planted in the ground around her.

Something irreversible and forbidden will happen tonight. The universe demands balance. For every action, an equal reaction. For every soul that rises, another must fall."

My sister shifted uncomfortably on her stool, her earlier enthusiasm curdling into something more cautious. "Okay, that's... that's great. Very dramatic. Alex, babe, your turn."

Alex leaned forward, radiating that effortless confidence I'd never been able to replicate in my entire life. He cut the deck with one hand — because of course he could make even *that* look cool — and Mystic Marcus laid out three new cards in the same triangular pattern.

Alex's cards hit the table with a soft slap, face-down and waiting. Mystic Marcus turned the first one over with one ring-heavy finger.

"The Sun," he said, and I could almost hear the relief in his voice — like he'd been half-expecting another harbinger of doom. The card showed a radiant sun blazing over a joyous child riding a white horse. "Vitality. Success. A body in its prime. You are blessed with health and strength, young man. The world smiles upon you."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Alex said with that cocky grin of his, flexing slightly. My sister giggled and ran her hand along his arm. I tried very hard not to look like I was cataloguing the exact dimensions of his biceps.

Mystic Marcus turned the second card. His ring clinked against the table's surface, and the candlelight caught the image before he even fully revealed it — a figure hanging upside down from a tree, one leg crossed behind the other, his face eerily calm despite his predicament.

"The Hanged Man," the old man said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Surrender. Suspension. A different perspective gained through... sacrifice. Something will be given up tonight, though whether willingly or not, the cards do not say."

Alex's brow furrowed slightly — the first crack in that armor of cool confidence I'd ever seen. "That sounds pretty—"

"—ominous? Yeah, it does," I finished for him, unable to keep the slight smirk off my face. For once, Mr. Perfect wasn't looking so composed.

Mystic Marcus held up one ringed finger, silencing us both. "The cards are not finished." He reached for the third card, and the candles flickered as though a draft had swept through the tent, though the air was perfectly still. His fingers hovered over it for a moment — hesitating, I realized, which did absolutely nothing to calm the nervous energy that had suddenly settled in my stomach.

He flipped it.

The card showed a great wheel, ornate and ancient-looking, covered in cryptic symbols. Creatures clung to its sides — some rising, some falling — all caught in its eternal rotation.

"The Wheel of Fortune," Mystic Marcus said, and there was something almost reverent in his tone now. "Destiny. Turning points. The cycle of fate, spinning without mercy or preference." He looked up from the card, and his dark eyes settled on Alex with an intensity that made even me shift on my stool. "What goes up must come down. What is given can be taken. The wheel turns for everyone, young man. No one rides the top forever."

"Okay, so... what, I'm gonna get lucky and then not get lucky?" Alex said with a dismissive chuckle, but I caught the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That's basically life, isn't it?"

Mystic Marcus didn't smile. He just gathered Alex's cards with a slow sweep of his ring-laden fingers, and the candlelight caught the stones in those rings, sending little shards of colored light skittering across the velvet tablecloth like scattered gemstones. His eyes drifted from Alex to me, and something about that gaze made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

"And now," he said, his whispery voice carrying a weight that seemed disproportionate to its volume, "the young man who watches from the edge."

"I'd rather not," I said, half-rising from my stool. "Really, I'm not—"

"Nonsense," Mystic Marcus said, and his voice carried that strange resonant quality again — the one that seemed to bypass my ears and go straight to my chest. "The cards have already chosen you. Refusing them would be... unwise."

Something about the way he said *unwise* made me sit back down. My sister snickered beside me.

I sat back down on the rickety stool, the wood creaking under me as I shifted my weight. My sister was already leaning forward with that look on her face — the one she always wore when she was about to watch me embarrass myself. Alex had his arm draped casually across the back of her stool, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder, looking about as concerned as someone watching paint dry.

"Go on, James," my sister said with a sweet, poisonous smile. "Let's hear how you'll die alone surrounded by comic books."

"Thanks. Love you too."

I reached for the deck with slightly trembling fingers — though whether from the incense or the old man's unsettling gaze, I couldn't say. The cards felt weirdly warm as I cut them, like they'd been sitting too close to one of the candles. Mystic Marcus collected them with that same slow, deliberate grace and laid three new cards face-down in the triangular pattern.

"The wheel turns," he murmured, almost to himself. "Yes... it certainly does."

He flipped the first card.

The image that revealed itself was almost identical to one of Alex's cards — the same great wheel, ornate and ancient, with creatures clinging to its sides as it spun in eternal rotation. But where Alex's Wheel of Fortune had been bright, almost triumphant in its depiction, mine felt heavier somehow. The colors were darker, the creatures more desperate in their grip.

"The Wheel of Fortune," Mystic Marcus said, and this time there was no reverence — only a quiet certainty that made my stomach drop. "The same card. The same destiny. Fates intertwined." His dark eyes flickered between Alex and me, and I caught something in them I hadn't expected — a glimmer of something that might have been amusement. "What rises for one, falls for the other. The wheel does not discriminate."

"So... what, we're connected or something?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "That doesn't even make sense. We're not—"

"We're not anything," I finished lamely, gesturing between myself and Alex. "I'm just the chaperone. Trust me, there's no destiny binding us together."

Mystic Marcus didn't answer right away. He just stared at the card with those sunken eyes, his ringed fingers tracing the edge of the image like he was reading braille. The incense smoke curled between us, thick and sweet, and for a moment I could have sworn the smoke formed shapes — two figures, one rising and one falling — before dissolving into nothing.

"The cards do not lie, young man," he said finally. "They merely wait to be proven right."

Mystic Marcus turned over my second card with a deliberate slowness that felt almost cruel. The image showed a figure standing at a crossroads, two diverging paths stretching out before him into darkness. The figure's face was blank, featureless, as though the card itself couldn't decide who it belonged to.

"The Two of Paths," the old man said, though I was fairly sure that wasn't a real tarot card. Then again, I wasn't exactly an expert. "A choice approaches. One that cannot be unmade. The road you walk tonight will cease to be yours, and another will open in its place."

"Great. Vague and creepy. My two favorites," I muttered, but my mouth felt dry. My sister was unusually quiet beside me, her fingers no longer tracing lazy patterns on Alex's arm. Even Alex had straightened up slightly, that easy slouch replaced with something more attentive.

Mystic Marcus reached for my third card. His fingers hovered above it for a long, uncomfortable moment — longer than he'd hesitated with any of the others. The candles guttered and flickered, and I swear the temperature in the tent dropped a few degrees. My sister actually shivered beside me, pressing closer to Alex's side.

"Prepare yourself," the old man whispered, and I couldn't tell if he was talking to me, to Alex, or to the empty air itself.

He flipped the card.

The image on the third card hit me like a punch to the gut.

The Fool.

A young man walked toward the edge of a cliff, his eyes on the sky, completely oblivious to the drop inches below his feet. A small dog nipped at his heels. The sun shone brightly overhead. He looked joyful — blissfully, stupidly joyful — and entirely unaware that one more step would send him plummeting into the void.

"The Fool," Mystic Marcus said, and the word hung in the air like smoke.

I stared at the card — at the grinning idiot marching toward the cliff edge without a care in the world — and felt an inexplicable chill crawl down my spine. The little dog yipping at his heels seemed almost frantic, like it was trying to warn him, but the Fool just kept walking, eyes turned skyward, faith in every stupid step.

"Great. So I'm the idiot about to fall off a cliff. Fantastic," I said, but my voice came out thinner than I wanted it to. I cleared my throat. "Really inspiring stuff, Marcus. Can I get my five bucks back?"

Mystic Marcus didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He just gathered my cards with that same deliberate slowness, stacking them perfectly aligned atop one another, and fixed me with those sunken eyes that seemed to look past my face and into something deeper — something I wasn't sure I wanted examined.

"The Fool is not stupidity, young man," he said quietly. "It is the beginning of a journey. A leap of faith into the unknown. The Fool steps off the cliff not because he is blind, but because he trusts that something will catch him." He paused, his ringed fingers pressing flat against the deck. "Or perhaps because he has no choice."

"Well, that's comforting."

Mystic Marcus gathered the cards one final time, tapping the deck against the table with a sharp click that made all three of us flinch. He tucked them into a velvet pouch embroidered with symbols I didn't recognize and fixed us with that unsettling gaze one last time.

"Remember," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "the wheel turns for everyone. What is owed will be paid. What is empty will be filled." His eyes lingered on me, then on Alex, and a thin smile crept across his weathered face. "A reversal of fates."

"A what now?" I asked, but he was already waving us toward the exit, his bony hand flapping at us like we were pigeons he wanted gone from his presence.

We stumbled out of the tent blinking like moles, the harsh neon light of the fairground a jarring contrast to the dim incense-choked interior. The night air hit my face like a splash of cold water, and I sucked it in gratefully, realizing only then how stale and heavy the atmosphere in that tent had been.

"Well, that was a waste of five bucks," I announced, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Though I did enjoy the part where he implied you were about to lose everything, Alex. That was a highlight."

"Shut up, James," my sister muttered, but she was looking at Alex with something approaching concern, which was unusual for her. She usually treated her boyfriends like accessories — fun while they were new, easily replaced when they got boring. "That Tower card thing was creepy though, right? The whole 'something will break tonight' bit?"

Alex shrugged those broad shoulders of his, the movement so casual it was almost offensive. "It's just some carnival act, babe. The guy probably says the same dramatic crap to everyone who sits down. Keeps the tips rolling in." He draped his arm back around my sister and pulled her close. "Besides, you heard him — I got The Sun. Sounds like things are looking pretty good for me."

"You also got The Hanged Man," I pointed out helpfully. "Sacrifice. Suspension. Something about giving something up tonight?"

"Nobody asked you, Wikipedia," Alex shot back, though without any real heat. He was too busy nuzzling my sister's neck to put any effort into a comeback.

"Can you two seriously not keep your hands off each other for five minutes?" I groaned, already walking ahead. "I need cotton candy or something sweet before I diabetic-coma myself to death to escape this nightmare."

"Nobody's making you watch, James!" my sister called after me, her voice muffled — probably because her face was buried in Alex's neck. Gross.

I found the cotton candy stand and bought the biggest bag they had, stuffing pink wisps into my mouth as I waited for the lovebirds to catch up. The sugar did nothing to dispel the weird feeling that had settled in my chest since leaving that tent. *A reversal of fates.* The words kept rattling around my skull like loose change.

I was still picking sticky pink strands out of my teeth when they finally caught up — my sister's lipstick smeared halfway across her face and Alex's hair mussed in a way that told me exactly what they'd been doing behind the nearest tent while I'd been stress-eating sugar. I didn't comment. Some things were better left unacknowledged, like mold in a bathroom or the fact that my sister had zero self-awareness.

"Took you long enough," I said, tossing what was left of the cotton candy into a trash bin. "What were you two doing, drafting a peace treaty?"

My sister's face flushed — whether from embarrassment or annoyance, I couldn't tell. "We were talking, James. God. Not everything is about sex."

"Talking. Right. Is that what they're calling it now?" I said, eyeing the lipstick smear that extended from the corner of her mouth almost to her ear. "Must've been a really animated conversation."

Alex chuckled — that deep, rumbling sound that seemed to come from somewhere in his chest rather than his throat — and casually wiped his jaw with the back of his hand. It came away faintly pink. He didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.

"Where to next?" he asked, sliding his hand back into my sister's like it had never left. A magic show board nearby shimmered with golden letters, and before I could protest, my sister was dragging us toward the main tent. "Ooh, look! They're starting a magic show! Come on, we can get good seats if we hurry!" she exclaimed, her earlier unease from the fortune teller's tent already forgotten.

We filed into the crowded tent, thick with the smell of popcorn, body odor, and something sharp and chemical underneath it all. We found three seats near the back, and immediately my sister and Alex resumed their mutual occupation of each other's personal space. I sat on the end, arms crossed, resigned to another hour of watching the stage instead of watching them.

"Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" boomed a voice from behind the curtain, which rippled and parted to reveal a tall man in a shimmering purple suit, his face painted an unnatural shade of white with dark, exaggerated eyebrows arched like twin archways above glittering eyes. He swept off his top hat and bowed so low his nose nearly touched the floor.

"The dazzlingly and ingenious Mr. Wendigo!" The announcer's voice cracked on the last syllable, and a smattering of polite applause rippled through the audience. The man in the purple suit straightened up, revealing a grin so wide it looked painted on — which, considering the rest of his face, it probably was.

"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind, really, stop, you're making me blush," Mr. Wendigo said, not stopping or blushing. He swept his hat through the air and produced a single white dove from inside it, the bird fluttering its wings in confused indignation before settling on his outstretched finger. "Tonight, my friends, you will witness marvels that defy the very laws of nature! Illusions that will make you question the reality you take for granted! Magic that will—"

"He's going to pull something else out of that hat," I muttered to no one in particular. "Calling it now."

Mr. Wendigo did, in fact, pull something else out of the hat. A lizard this time — bright green with beady eyes that looked almost as unimpressed as I felt. It scurried down his arm and disappeared into the folds of his purple jacket while the audience clapped on cue.

"Is this what we drove forty minutes for?" I whispered to my sister.

"Shh," she hissed without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the stage. Alex's hand was resting on her knee, his thumb tracing slow circles that I was actively trying to pretend I couldn't see.

I settled deeper into my seat, resigning myself to an evening of watching a man in face paint pull livestock out of formalwear. Mr. Wendigo continued his routine — cards materializing from thin air, coins disappearing behind ears, the standard bag of tricks that every birthday party magician since the dawn of time had mastered. The audience ate it up like it was groundbreaking entertainment. I checked my phone. Forty-three minutes since we'd sat down. It felt like hours.

"And now," Mr. Wendigo announced, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried across the entire tent, "we approach the finale of tonight's performance. The piece de resistance. The trick that has mystified audiences from Cairo to Constantinople!" He paused dramatically, and even I'll admit the silence was effective. "I call it... the Pharaoh's Curse!"

Two stagehands in black rolled out the largest props of the evening — two massive glass coffins, each one tall enough to stand in and wide enough to stretch your arms without touching the walls. They gleamed under the spotlights, catching the light and throwing it back in sharp, fractured beams that swept across the audience. The coffins were mounted on circular platforms studded with golden hieroglyphics that looked vaguely Egyptian if you squinted and didn't think about it too hard. Which, judging by the gasps rippling through the crowd, nobody was doing.

"These ancient receptacles," Mr. Wendigo intoned, dragging his gloved hand along the surface of one coffin with a lover's tenderness, "were discovered in a tomb outside the Valley of the Kings. Crafted by priests who understood the fundamental truth of the universe — that the soul is but a passenger, and the body merely a vessel. And what one vessel contains, another may hold."

He snapped his fingers, and the glass doors of both coffins opened simultaneously with a soft hiss, like something out of a sci-fi movie. Fog crept out from inside them — from where, I had no idea, since I hadn't seen any fog machines — and curled across the stage floor in lazy tendrils.

"For this trick," Mr. Wendigo continued, his white-painted face catching the light in a way that made his exaggerated grin look almost sinister, "I require two volunteers from the audience!"

The crowd erupted — hands shooting up, bodies leaning forward in seats, a chorus of "me, me, me" from children and enthusiastic adults alike. Mr. Wendigo swept his gaze across the audience with the slow deliberation of a hawk surveying a field of mice. His eyes passed over the eager faces one by one, his painted smile never wavering.

And then they stopped.

On us.

On me.

And then on Alex.

[ruhitsblog]

Something forbidden is going to happen

Part - 1

Hey brother o you want to go to a fair tonigh?" I asked my sister as she was getting ready for her date. I couldn't help but notice how she was dressed up in her tight pink top and short skirt. She was definitely looking to get lucky tonight. "Mom and Dad said I have to come with you guys. Something about keeping an eye on you."

"Ugh, seriously? You're such a buzzkill, James," she groaned, applying another layer of cherry blossom lipstick. "Alex is going to think I'm a total loser if I bring my little brother along."

"Hey, I'm the responsible one here, remember? Besides, it's not like I want to be there either. Watching you two suck face all night isn't exactly my idea of fun."

"Just try to act cool for once in your life," she shot back, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "And at least *try* to talk to someone. Maybe you'll actually have fun if you're not hovering over my shoulder the whole time."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll try to contain my excitement."

The fairground was about twenty minutes outside of town, set up in a massive field that was usually used for cattle auctions. As we pulled into the gravel parking lot in Alex's sleek red truck, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy watching my sister slide across the bench seat to cozy up to him. Alex was everything I wasn't — tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that looked like it had been carved from marble. He played basketball at the local college and had this effortless charm that made people gravitate toward him. Meanwhile, I was five-foot-seven with a perpetual slouch and a wardrobe that consisted entirely of graphic tees and cargo shorts.

"Alright, lovebirds, try to remember I'm here, would you?" I muttered as we climbed out of the truck.

Alex shot me that easy grin of his — the one that made my sister melt and made me feel about two inches tall. "Relax, man. We'll make sure you have a good time too. Maybe win you a stuffed animal or something."

"I'm not five," I grumbled, but he was already walking ahead with his arm draped around my sister's waist. I watched the way his muscles shifted under his fitted t-shirt as he walked. Not in a weird way — more like studying what perfection looked like up close. The guy was built like a Greek statue. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, and I could see the outline of abs even through his shirt. Meanwhile, I had the physique of a damp noodle.

We hit the fairground running, or rather, Alex and my sister hit the ground running while I trailed behind them like a lost puppy. The place was everything you'd expect from a traveling fair — overly bright lights, the smell of fried dough and popcorn thick enough to chew on, carnival music competing with the distant sounds of ride operators shouting over the noise. It was chaotic, loud, and crowded, and I loved every minute of it.

Well, except for the third-wheel part.

"Come on, babe, let's check out the Ferris wheel!" my sister squealed, pulling Alex by the hand toward the line. I watched them go, thinking maybe I could sneak off and do my own thing for a while. Maybe hit up some of the game booths or grab one of those massive turkey legs I'd seen people walking around with.

I wandered off on my own, figuring I had at least thirty minutes before they noticed I was gone. The turkey leg booth was my first stop, and I had to hand it to the fair — they knew how to cook a turkey leg. I gnawed on the thing while wandering past rows of game booths, watching people throw rings at bottles and shoot water guns at clown targets. I even tried my hand at the basketball free-throw game, but the rim was bent just enough that my shots kept bouncing off. Typical.

It was maybe an hour later when I finally caught up with them again, and of course they were behind one of those massive striped tents, completely absorbed in each other. I could hear my sister's obnoxious giggle from twenty feet away.

"Oh, come *on*," I muttered, rounding the corner to find Alex pressed against the tent wall with my sister basically wrapped around him like a vine. "Seriously? I turn my back for five minutes—"

"Relax, little bro," Alex said, pulling away from my sister with that infuriatingly casual smirk. His lips were smeared with cherry blossom lipstick, and I had to resist the urge to wipe my own mouth in sympathy. "We were just—"

"I can see what you were *just* doing, thanks." I crossed my arms and fixed my sister with a disapproving look. "Mom and Dad didn't send me here to watch you two reenact a soap opera."

My sister wiped the corner of Alex's mouth with her thumb, completely unembarrassed. "You're such a prude, James. No wonder you've never had a girlfriend."

"Whatever," I muttered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Can we just go do something that doesn't involve me watching you two swap spit?"

My sister rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't get stuck that way. "Fine. But you're buying your own food from now on. My treat money isn't your personal allowance."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said dryly.

We wandered through the fair together for a while, the three of us moving as an awkward unit — Alex and my sister walking ahead with their fingers intertwined while I trailed a few paces behind like some kind of socially mandated chaperone. At one point Alex won my sister an oversized teddy bear at the ring toss game, tossing the rings with that effortless flick of his wrist while my sister cheered him on like he'd just won an Olympic medal. I tried not to roll my eyes too obviously.

It was somewhere around the far edge of the fairground that we stumbled upon the fortune teller's tent. It stood apart from the rest of the attractions, draped in deep purple fabric with gold tassels hanging from the entrance. A weathered wooden sign out front read "Mystic Marcus — Seer of Souls, Reader of Fates" in letters that looked like they'd been painted by someone who was either very artistic or very drunk. Possibly both.

"Oh, we have to go in!" my sister squealed, already tugging Alex toward the entrance.

"No. Absolutely not," I said, planting my feet on the ground like a mule. "I'm not paying some scam artist in a tent to tell me I'll meet a tall dark stranger."

"It's like five bucks, James. Stop being such a cheapskate," my sister shot back, already fishing through her purse. She turned to Alex with those doe eyes she always used to get her way. "Come on, babe, it'll be fun. I want to know what our future holds together."

Alex shrugged those massive shoulders of his. "Sure, why not. Could be entertaining."

The inside of the tent was exactly what you'd expect — dim, cramped, and thick with incense smoke that made my eyes water. velvet drapes covered every surface, and candles flickered on a small round table in the center, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Behind the table sat a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a black-and-white horror movie — rail thin, with sunken cheekbones and deep-set eyes. A hooked nose. His hair was long and silver, and his fingers were laden with chunky rings that clinked against each other as he shuffled a deck of tarot cards with practiced ease.

"Welcome, welcome," Mystic Marcus said in a voice that was somehow both whispery and booming at the same time. "Sit. The cards are restless tonight. They wish to speak."

We sat down on the rickety stools arranged around the table — my sister practically planting herself in Alex's lap before reluctantly sliding onto her own seat. I took the one furthest from the old man, still skeptical but admittedly a little curious despite myself.

Mystic Marcus swept his gaze over the three of us, his dark eyes lingering on each of us in turn with an intensity that made my skin prickle. When his eyes settled on me, then shifted to Alex, something flickered across his face — recognition, maybe, or surprise. It was there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.

"The young lady first, I think," he said, his ring-laden fingers placing the deck in front of my sister. "Cut the cards. Let fate decide where it wishes to begin."

My sister cut the deck with the enthusiasm of someone who'd done this a dozen times before — probably at every slumber party she'd ever been to. Mystic Marcus swept up the cards and laid three of them face-down on the table between us, arranged in a triangle pattern. He flipped the first one with a dramatic flourish.

"The Lovers," he murmured, turning the card to face us. A man and woman stood beneath an angel, their hands clasped. "A strong connection. Passion. Desire." He glanced up at my sister, who was practically glowing. "But also choice. And consequence."

"See, babe? The cards approve," my sister cooed, squeezing Alex's bicep.

Mystic Marcus flipped the second card with the same theatrical flourish, and this time his expression shifted — just barely, just enough for me to notice. The card showed a tower crumbling, lightning splitting the sky above it.

"The Tower," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Upheaval. Destruction of what was thought to be stable. Something will break tonight. Something... unexpected."

My sister's smile faltered for just a second before she laughed it off. "Oh, please. That could mean anything. Like maybe the Ferris wheel breaks down or something."

Wait part 2 will be available soon

[its-your-body-now-deactivated20]

Azure Sands 3

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.

[ruhitsblog]

Epitome of life

The sensation hit me like a freight train made of static electricity. One second, I was standing in front of the mirror, admiring the definition in my traps, thinking about which lucky girl I was going to let worship me tonight. The next, the world tilted on its axis, my vision swam, and a sudden, crushing wave of mediocrity washed over me.

I blinked. The air smelled different. It smelled like... dust and cheap deodorant.

I looked down.

My arms were gone. Well, not literally gone, but the magnificent, boulder-like biceps that usually strained the sleeves of my shirts had deflated into pale, spindly twigs. I flexed, desperate to see the peak, the striations, the sheer power I wielded like a weapon. Nothing happened. Just a pathetic little twitch under skin that looked like it had never seen the sun.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. I brought my hands—these stranger's hands—to my chest. The shelf of my pecs, the solid armor I used to catch every eye in a room, had vanished. In its place was a bony, concave ribcage. I couldn't see my abs, sure, but only because there was no muscle definition there whatsoever. Just a soft, undefined flab that made me want to retch.

"No. No, no, no," I rasped. My voice. That deep, baritone rumble that used to make people wet just listening to it? It was gone. Replaced by a nasal, cracking whine that sounded weak even to my own ears.

I spun around, away from the nightmare of my reflection, and slammed right into a wall of solid muscle.

"Whoa, easy there, buddy," a voice rumbled. It was a voice I knew intimately. It was *my* voice.

I looked up, craning my neck painfully. Standing over me was a god. The golden skin, the jawline that could cut glass, the eyes that held a smug, predatory glint I’d worn in the mirror a thousand times. It was my body. It was *me*. Or at least, the shell I used to inhabit.

The god standing before me smirked, and the sight of my own face twisting into that expression of arrogant superiority made my blood boil.

"You look a little pale, Drake," he—no, *I*—said, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He took a step forward, and I stumbled back, tripping over my own clumsy feet. My coordination was gone. My grace had evaporated. I felt like a newborn foal trying to walk on ice.

"What... what did you do?" I stammered, cringing at the high-pitched, pathetic wheeze that came out of my mouth. I tried to puff out my chest, to intimidate him with my sheer presence like I always did, but I felt like a deflated balloon. There was no weight behind me anymore.

The man wearing my face threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that I could feel vibrating in the floorboards. It was a sound that usually preceded me getting exactly what I wanted. Now, it was the soundtrack to my execution.

"I didn't do anything, *buddy*," he said, stressing the word with a sneer that looked disgustingly natural on lips that used to be mine. He raised a hand—the hand that used to belong to me, now adorning a wrist thick enough to snap a baton—and flexed the bicep. The fabric of his shirt strained, the threads groaning against the sheer mass of the muscle beneath. "I just upgraded. While you... well, you downgraded."

He stepped closer again, invading my personal space. Instinct took over, and I tried to shove him back. I put everything I had into it, expecting him to stumble, expecting to feel that satisfying impact of flesh against bone.

I might as well have been trying to shove a mountain.

My hands made contact with his massive, granite-hard chest, and I pushed with every ounce of strength this pathetic, weak body could muster. But he didn't move. Not an inch. He didn't even sway. He just stood there, an immovable object, looking down at me with a mixture of amusement and pity that was infinitely more humiliating than if he’d just punched me in the face.

It was a terrifying reality check. I knew exactly how hard that push felt to him—it felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I remembered feeling pushes like that a hundred times, laughing them off without even breaking eye contact. Now, I was the toddler.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I was experiencing the world from the other side of the glass. I was the weakling. I was the nobody.

"Is that all you got?" he taunted, looking down at my trembling hands splayed uselessly against his pecs. "Because honestly, I can barely feel it. It’s like a kitten batting at me."

He laughed again, a dark, rich sound that seemed to fill the entire room, dominating the space just by existing. The sheer sonic pressure of it made my ears ring. I hated him. I hated him with a passion that burned in my chest, but more than that, I hated how much I wanted to be him. How much I missed the vibration of that voice in my own throat.

Humiliation washed over me, hot and prickly. I felt my face burning—a sensation I wasn't used to. Usually, my skin was thick, impenetrable, cooled by the breeze of my own perfection. Now, I was blushing. I was actually blushing like a schoolgirl.

"It's not permanent," I snapped, though the words came out as a pathetic squeak. I tried to cross my arms, to look imposing, but the angles were all wrong. My elbows felt bony and weak. "Whatever freaky magic trick you pulled, Peter, it's going to wear off. And when it does..."

"When it does, what?" Peter interrupted. He took a step forward, forcing me to crane my neck even further back to maintain eye contact. God, he was tall. Had I always been this tall? He towered over me, blotting out the light, a monolith of testosterone and superiority. "You're going to beat me up? Please. Look at you. You couldn't even open a tight pickle jar right now, let alone take me in a fight."

How did you even manage to swap with me ? Tell me I cried out in a high pitched weak voice

"I didn't just manage it, Drake. I engineered it." Peter’s smile was all teeth, a shark’s grin in my face. He reached out, and I flinched, expecting a blow. Instead, he roughly patted my cheek, a gesture so condescending it made my teeth ache. "While you were busy fucking the cheerleading squad and flexing in the hallway mirrors, I was in the library. I was studying the ancient texts, the obscure ones about transmutation and vital exchange. You were too busy looking at your own reflection to notice the weird little nerd staring at you, taking notes on your aura."

He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—my cologne, a spicy, woodsy mix I’d worn for years—washing over me. It was intoxicating, and I hated that my body reacted to it. I felt a strange flutter in my stomach, a misplaced admiration for the sheer physical presence looming over me.

"I needed a vessel," Peter whispered, his voice dropping to a seductive purr that my vocal cords had mastered long ago. "Someone peak physical. Someone... perfect. And you, you arrogant asshole, were the most perfect specimen in the school. So I took what was mine. Talent for talent. Muscle for... well, nothing."

"Talent for talent," I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I stumbled backward, my legs feeling like wet noodles, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of a chair. I collapsed into it, looking up at the expanse of chest that now belonged to him.

It was surreal. I was sitting down, looking up, and the view was dominated by the very pecs I used to kiss in the mirror every morning. He flexed them, a casual, rhythmic bounce that made the shirt fabric scream, and my eyes—traitorous eyes—locked onto the movement.

"But... my genetics," I whispered, clutching at my own bony knees. "My doctor said—"

"Your doctor said what? That you were a genetic miracle?" Peter finished for me, cackling as he took a step closer, forcing my knees even further apart to accommodate his stance. He rested one massive hand on the top of the chair's back, effectively caging me in. "Turns out, biology is just code, Drake. And I’m the best damn hacker in school."

He reached down with his free hand and grabbed a handful of my shirt—his old shirt, which now hung off my new frame like a tent. He hauled me to my feet with zero effort. I dangled there for a second, my toes barely scraping the carpet, before he dropped me. My knees buckled, and I had to grab the edge of the desk to keep from crumpling into a heap.

"Admit it," Peter said, turning to the full-length mirror that had been the altar to my ego. He posed, hitting a front double bicep that was so wide his head nearly disappeared between the mountains of his arms. "It looks better on me. I actually appreciate the engineering. You were just wasting it on shallow fucks and staring contests with yourself."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch that smug expression right off my face—his face—whatever. But as I stared at the reflection, my small penis began to react and my face start blushing out of my control , I felt a strange, terrifying sensation settle in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't just anger. It was... awe.

God help me, I was awestruck.

"Pathetic," Peter sneered, catching my reflection in the mirror. He saw the flush creeping up my neck, saw the way my eyes were glued to his flexing form. "Look at you. You’re getting a hard-on watching your own body. That’s narcissism on a whole new level, even for you."

"I... I'm not..." I stammered, but the lie died in my throat. I could feel it—a humiliating twitch in the front of my pants. It was small, pitiable, nothing like the massive anaconda I used to wield. But in this weak, hormonal body, the arousal was overwhelming.

Peter turned away from the mirror and stalked toward me, his movements fluid and predatory, like a tiger approaching a crippled gazelle. I tried to back up, but my legs betrayed me, tangling together until I fell back onto the bed—*his* bed, with its sturdy, reinforced frame designed to handle... vigorous activity.

Peter loomed over me, starting to slowly peel off every clothing and starting to get naked , revealing the body that was supposed to be mine.

"Come on, Drake," Peter purred, his deep voice resonating in the very marrow of my bones. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what this looks like? Or are you just too scared to look at perfection when it’s standing right over you?"

His penis also started getting hard nd then he forcefully ripped my clothes off and held me down

I squeezed my eyes shut, a desperate whimper escaping my throat. I didn't want to see. I couldn't handle the visual confirmation that *he*—the nerd, the loser, Peter—was wielding the weapon I was born with. But the shift of the mattress and the heavy, suffocating weight of his scent made denial impossible.

"Open your eyes, Drake," Peter commanded. The authority in that voice—*my* voice—sent a shiver down my spine that was purely conditioned. For years, when that voice spoke, people listened. And now, I was just another one of them, helpless to obey.

I forced my eyes open, and the sight hit me with the force of a physical blow. There it was. The masterpiece. Thick, vascular, and heavy with a power that I used to take for granted. It bobbed in the air above me, angry and majestic, the crown glistening.

Before I could recollect myself he plundge his shaft in my mouth , the sensation was dizzying, a mix of overwhelming musk and sheer impossibility. I had taken my own dick in my hand a thousand times, but seeing it from this angle—feeling it fill my mouth to the point of choking, stretching my jaw to its limit—was a completely different experience. It was massive. It was a monster.

And it was inside *me*.

I gagged, the sound wet and pathetic, muffled by the sheer volume of flesh occupying my throat. My hands flew up to his hips, trying to push him away, to create even an inch of space so I could breathe. But my spindly fingers scrabbled uselessly against his rock-hard obliques. I wasn't pushing him; I was just tickling him.

Peter groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that vibrated through the very floorboards of the room. "Oh, fuck yeah," he rasped, looking down at me with eyes glazed over in lust. "That’s it. Take it all. You know, I always wondered what it felt like to be on this side of the equation. To be the one splitting someone open."

He gripped the back of my head—his massive hand completely engulfing my skull—and thrust deeper. I choked, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as the sheer girth of him blocked my airway. The taste was overwhelming—salt and musk and the raw, metallic tang of dominance. It was a taste I was intimately familiar with, but usually, I was the one forcing it on others.

The irony was bitter enough to make me gag, though the physical obstruction in my throat helped with that too. I had said those exact words. I had offered that exact "carrot" to guys who looked at me wrong, thinking it was the ultimate power move. Now, here I was, my jaw aching, my eyes streaming, realizing that the power wasn't in the having—it was in the giving. And I was the one taking it.

Soon he pulled his shaft out and began to shoot his load onto my face and chest. I stared up, eyes wide and unblinking, as the hot, white liquid splattered across my skin. It was humiliating. It was degrading. It was... massive. The sheer volume of it, the way it coated my pathetic, pale features in thick, sticky ropes, was just another reminder of the genetic supremacy I had lost.

Peter let out a long, satisfied sigh above me, the sound echoing in the room like a thunderclap. "Man," he breathed, looking down at me with a grin that was all teeth and arrogance. "I always knew you produced a lot, but feeling it pump out? That’s a whole new level of power. No wonder you walked around like you owned the place. It’s addictive."

I lay there, paralyzed, the warmth of his—of my—seed cooling rapidly on my skin, turning into a suffocating mask. I wanted to wipe it off, to scrub my face until it bled, but my limbs felt like lead. My body was in shock, overwhelmed by the invasion and the sheer physical reality of what had just happened.

I reached up a trembling hand, my fingers ghosting over the sticky mess coating my cheek. It was hot and thick, a visceral reminder of the virility that had been stolen from me.

"Look at this," he mused, holding his hand up to the light. "Prime grade A genetic material. Wasted on you, really. You were just a delivery system, Drake. A pretty container. But now? Now the container actually knows how to use the contents."

And you know what this swap was meant to be permanent because I destroyed the ritual circle

I stared up at him, my brain struggling to process the words through the fog of shock and the sticky haze covering my face. "D-destroyed?" I whispered. My voice sounded pathetic, thin and reedy compared to the thunderous baritone he now possessed. "You mean... I'm stuck like this? Forever?"

Peter threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the walls like a judgment. "Bingo. You catch on fast for a meathead." He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress next to my head, trapping me beneath the shadow of the body I used to own. "I severed the link. Burned the chalk, scattered the salts. There’s no going back, Drake. This..." He grabbed his still-hard cock, waving it menacingly in my face, "is mine. And this..." He poked my bony chest with a finger that felt like a steel rod, "is yours."

[ruhitsblog]

Lottery is wonderful

My name is Gary, currently a forty year old man . living in rented room the suburbs of Chicago.

I have two older brothers. Both of them obsessed with football (soccer). Me? Not really. I was just interested in the hot players.

I was in the closet, couldn't tell anyone. Jerked off to fantasies about football players dominating me.

Cristiano Ronaldo was always the star of those fantasies. It was impossible not to obsess over him; the man had the body of a literal god and a face so flawless it probably made every other man on the planet weep with jealousy. I was so desperately in love with him, but the reality was that he would never even know I existed. I was just a ghost in Chicago, and he was a living legend half a world away.

Or so I thought

One day a lottery was announced of first price meeting my idol Ronaldo a d have a full day with fhem . It was a "once in a lifetime" experience.

I entered. I won.

A few weeks later, I was in Madrid. I was nervous, sweating through my shirt. I was in a luxury hotel suite waiting for him.

The door to the suite clicked open, and my heart nearly stopped.

Cristiano Ronaldo walked in, and the photos didn't do him justice. He was wearing a fitted white shirt that clung to every inch of his sculpted torso and a pair of designer sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He looked like a Greek statue that had suddenly come to life.

"Gary?" he asked, his voice a deep, rich baritone that vibrated right through my chest. He smiled, flashing those perfect white teeth. "It is good to finally meet you. Come in, come in." Which made me hard and it didn't go unnoticed he began teasing while closing distance trying to fondle it.

I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream. I looked into his eyes, expecting to see mockery, but instead, I saw a dark, hungry desire that mirrored my own.

Then he forcefully ripped off my shirts and slid off my pants and undies. He forced me on the bed, and I went without a fight. He towered over me, his body a mountain of muscle that I was desperate to climb.

He didn't waste time. He spit on his hand, slicking up his massive cock, which was already hard and leaking. I stared at it, my mouth watering.

"You want this, Gary? You want me to own you?" he growled.

The sound of my name on his lips, spoken with that guttural, commanding tone, was enough to make my knees weak. I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded frantically, my eyes glued to the masterpiece of a man standing over me.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Use your words, Gary. Tell me what you want."

"I... I want you," I stammered, my face flushing hot. "I want to fell you inside and out, Cristiano. Please."

He didn't wait for a second invitation. With a fluid, predatory grace, he climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his significant weight. The heat radiating off his body was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned chill of the room. He positioned himself between my legs, his hands gripping my ankles and pushing them back and apart, exposing me completely to his gaze.

"Good boy," he murmured, his eyes raking over my chubby, trembling form with an intensity that made me feel like the most desired man on earth. "Let's see how much you can take."

I felt the blunt, thick head of his cock press against my entrance. My breath hitched in my throat, a mix of terror and exhilaration flooding my veins. I had dreamed of this moment a thousand times, but the reality of his size was daunting. He was huge.

He pushed forward, and the sheer size of him forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a burning stretch, an intense pressure that bordered on overwhelming, but beneath the pain was a flash of pleasure so searing it made my vision blur. He didn't stop, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and demanding, watching my every reaction as he buried himself inch by agonizing inch inside me.

He began to shoot his " Essence " onto me then he can to mack me but for the sake of the prize will try this tiny piece let me see how much it will produce .

At last I shoot my cum in his mouth filled with my em" Essence" but it was a small sprut which left me exhausted.

We were exhausted and decided to sleep together for tonight . During midnight out body began to change and morph into each other's form.

His hair and muscle grew on me and my body hair and fat grew on him. It was a chaotic swapping of biology happening under the moonlight.

When the morning light streamed through the heavy curtains of the hotel suite, I woke up feeling heavy. Not the heavy of a hangover, but a physical weight I wasn't accustomed to. My chest felt incredibly tight, and my legs felt like leaden weights. I tried to sit up, but my center of gravity was totally off, causing me to stumble awkwardly against the headboard.

That was when I noticed my arms. They weren't my arms. They were tanned, defined, and dusted with light hair. The bicep bulged even with the slight movement of trying to catch myself.

My heart hammered against ribs that felt far too broad and muscular. I scrambled toward the bathroom, my stride long and powerful, feeling a strange, heavy swing between my legs that wasn't there before. I slammed the light switch on and gripped the marble countertop, staring into the vanity mirror with wide, terrified eyes.

Or rather, *his* eyes.

Staring back at me was Cristiano Ronaldo. The sharp jawline, the perfectly groomed stubble, the intense brown eyes—I was looking at the man I had worshipped from afar for years. I brought a hand up to my face, watching the reflection mimic the movement. I touched my cheek, my lips. It was real. I was in his body. A sudden, manic laugh bubbled up in my throat, coming out as a deep, rich baritone that vibrated through my chest. I wasn't Gary the nerd anymore. I was a god.

On the bed saw my old self deep asleep still . I walk over to him with a smirk.

"You had your turn in the spotlight," I whispered, my new voice sounding alien yet incredibly powerful. "Now it's mine."

I walked to the bathroom to explore this new body. I pulled down the sweatpants and looked at the masterpiece between my legs. It was heavy, thick, and already twitching with a life of its own. I wrapped my hand around it, the sensation of touching a cock this size from the *inside* almost enough to make me pass out.

The sheer weight of it in my hand was intoxicating. My fingers didn't even meet around the shaft. I gave it an experimental tug, and a jolt of electricity shot up my spine, resonating in the core of this powerful new body. A low, guttural moan escaped my throat—Cristiano's throat. It sounded like distant thunder, deep and commanding. I watched in the mirror, mesmerized by the flex of his biceps, the way his abs tightened with every stroke.

For years, I had been the submissive one, the chubby kid fantasizing about being crushed under the weight of a man like this. But now, looking at the predator staring back at me, something fundamental shifted inside my psyche. The desire to be dominated evaporated, replaced by a burning, aggressive need to conquer. The power was a drug, and I was already addicted.

I let go, gasping, and turned back to the bedroom. The other me—the old Gary—was still sprawled across the king-sized bed, snoring softly. He looked pathetic. Soft, pale, out of shape. It was hard to believe that had been me only hours ago. I felt a surge of disdain, mixed with a strange, possessive curiosity.

I decided to wake him up . I walked over, enjoying the heavy thud of my bare feet on the plush carpet, and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly.

"Hey. Wake up," I barked.

Old Gary groaned and rubbed his eyes, looking up at me with a sleepy confusion that slowly melted into horror as he focused on the figure towering over him.

He scrambled backward, his movements clumsy and sluggish, a stark contrast to the athlete's body he had inhabited just minutes before. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and terrified, darting between my face and the mirror behind me.

"W-what happened?" Old Gary stammered, his voice high and whiny, the voice I had lived with for thirty years and suddenly found unbearable. "Cristiano? Is that... a swap?"

"We swapped, Ronaldo" I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The feeling of my massive pecs pressing against each other was electric. "The wish, the cosmic alignment, whatever you want to call it. We traded lives.

The color drained from the face of my old body. He looked down at his hands—soft, pale, and now slightly chubby—and let out a whimper that I found pathetic. "My... my career," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I have training. I have a contract. You can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want," I cut him off, reveling in the deep, authoritative resonance of my new voice. I stepped closer, towering over him, letting the sheer mass of this body cast a shadow across his trembling form. "And the first thing I'm going to do is fix your mindset , from now on call me Christiano Ronaldo ".

I saw tears welling up in his eyes. "But... I'm the real Cristiano. I'm the star. You're just... you're just a fan. You can't take this from me!"

I grabbed him by the throat—not enough to choke him, but enough to establish dominance—and pushed him back against the pillows. The ease with which I manhandled him was terrifyingly thrilling. In his old body, Cristiano was soft, weak. He had no leverage against me now.

"Let's get one thing straight," I snarled, tightening my grip just enough to make his eyes bulge. The feeling of power was intoxicating, a heady rush that went straight to my groin. "I'm not 'just a fan' anymore. I am the CR7. And you? You're just a sad, overweight accountant from Chicago with a rental agreement and a collection of stale porn magazines."

The look on his face—on *my* old face—was devastating. It was a mix of heartbreak and utter confusion. This was the man I had worshipped, reduced to a quivering mess in a body that couldn't do a single pull-up. The irony was delicious.

I released him and stood up, pacing the room. My movements felt so efficient, so explosive. Even just walking across the plush carpet felt like gliding. I caught my reflection in the full-length wardrobe mirror and stopped. I turned to the side, flexing my arm. The bicep peaked like a mountain.

I turned back to the bed, watching Old Gary shrink away from me. The realization that he was stuck in my old life—my cramped apartment, my mundane job, my lonely existence—seemed to be sinking in. He looked small, fragile, and utterly defeated.

"But... what do I do?" he whimpered, pulling the duvet up to his chin as if it could protect him from the harsh reality of his new situation. "I don't know how to be... you. I mean, *him*."

"You'll figure it out," I said with a dismissive shrug, walking toward the walk-in closet. "Or you won't. Either way, it’s not my problem anymore."

But now let's do what you did to me yesterday but more spicy.

I moved back to the bed, a predator stalking its prey. New Gary shrank away, but there was nowhere for him to go. I loomed over him, blocking out the light.

"No... please," he begged, his eyes darting around the room for an escape that didn't exist. "I don't want this."

"You don't have a choice," I growled, the words rumbling deep in my chest with a resonance that felt more like a purr of a luxury engine than a human voice. I didn't give him a chance to argue. I grabbed his ankles—feeling the soft, pale skin that used to be mine—and yanked him down the bed until his ass was perched right on the edge.

The rush was indescribable. In my old life, I’d been the one cowering, the one hoping for a scrap of affection. Now, I held all the power. Cristiano’s body was a machine built for dominance, and every instinct was screaming at me to use it.

"Look at you," I sneered, looking down at the chubby, trembling form of my past self. "You're pathetic. But you know what? I remember exactly how this body feels. I remember every sensitive spot, every place that makes a guy like you melt."

I released one of his ankles and used my free hand to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to his inner thigh. The sound echoed through the suite like a gunshot, and New Gary yelped, his body jerking in response. The sight of my large handprint reddening on that pale, soft skin was mesmerizing. It was a mark of ownership.

"You used to dream about this, didn't you, Gary?" I taunted, running a rough finger down the center of his chest, feeling the rapid, thudding beat of his heart against the ribs that used to be mine. "You used to lie awake in that little apartment in Chicago, touching yourself to the thought of Cristiano Ronaldo having his way with you. Well, here I am. Your wish came true. But the irony is... you're not the one getting to enjoy the fantasy anymore. *I* am."

He began moaning under my deliberate blow to all sensetive parts and spots which began to break his will to resist little little .

I leaned down, my massive frame covering his, caging him in. The scent of my new expensive cologne mixed with the musk of arousal was heady. I captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, forcing his lips apart and dominating his tongue with a ferocity that left him gasping for air when I finally pulled away.

"Please," he gasped, his eyes rolling back, his resistance crumbling under the weight of the pleasure and the sheer psychological shock of the swap. "I... I can't..."

"You can't what?" I growled, the deep, gravelly resonance of Cristiano's voice vibrating in my chest and against his. I didn't wait for an answer. I spat into my hand, the gesture crude and dominant, and slicked up the massive, throbbing cock that now belonged to me. The weight of it in my grip was unreal—a heavy, thick club of flesh that pulsed with a life of its own.

I hooked my arms under his knees, pushing them back until they were practically against his chest, folding him in half. The chubby body I used to inhabit was flexible, soft, and entirely at my mercy. Looking down, I saw the fear in his eyes, but beneath that, I saw the dark, swirling arousal of the man who had spent years fantasizing about this exact scenario. His body remembered what it wanted, even if his mind was reeling.

"Time to pay up, Gary " I sneered, using the name like a weapon. "You're the one who wanted to play with the fans. Now you're the fan. Gary " forcibly using my name to his .Now get ready for this ultimate sex."

I pressed the blunt, thick head of my cock against his hole. The contrast between our bodies was stark and erotic—my dark, tanned, ripped physique against his pale, soft, vulnerable form. I didn't prep him gently. I didn't have the patience. The urge to claim, to conquer, was too overwhelming.

Who am I say it to me who is the stat and celebrity... Tell me? I groaned deep in my throat. "You are the Cristiano Ronaldo," he moaned, the name feeling like a crown settling onto my head. "And you're just a hole I'm about to wreck."

With a powerful thrust of my hips, I buried myself inside him.

The resistance was significant—New Gary’s body was tight and unused to this kind of intrusion—but the sheer power of Cristiano’s body was unstoppable. I didn't stop until I was hilted, my heavy balls slapping against his ass.

He cried out, a mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure tearing from his throat. It was a sound I had never made in that body, a sound of total surrender. The feeling of being inside my old body, of knowing exactly how it felt to be in his position, created a feedback loop of ecstasy that made my head spin. I was fucking my past self, obliterating the person I used to be with the person I was always meant to be.

As I was about to climax I pulled out myew penis and shoot the sperm in his pathetic face . The climax was a nuclear explosion behind my eyes. I roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph, as thick ropes of cum painted his face, marking him as mine. He lay there, panting, covered in my essence, looking wrecked and completely owned.

I looked down at him, watching the cum drip from his chin onto his chest, and smirked. "Now go clean yourself up. I have a press conference to get to."

I walked away, feeling the power in every step. I had a career to manage, a legacy to uphold, and a world to conquer. And as for the man left on the bed? He was just a memory I was happy to leave behind. I was Cristiano Ronaldo now. And the world was my oyster. I grabbed the keycard and headed for the door, ready to face the cameras as the man, the myth, the legend.

Walking out of that hotel suite was the single greatest moment of my life. The hallway was long and lined with mirrors, and I caught every angle of my new reflection as I strutted toward the elevator. The way the hotel staff—a young woman in a crisp blazer—practically tripped over herself to press the button for me, her eyes widening as she realized who she was looking at, was a rush I knew I’d never get tired of.

This is the new life . In the weeks since then, a lot of things have changed. I have all Ronaldo's football knowledge still and I'm just as good a player as he ever was. It's his personal life that's changed a lot really - I came out as gay and I've been hanging around a lot of gay strip clubs lately, picking up guys so I can fuck them raw. I used to dream about being dominated by guys like Ronaldo but now I'm one of those guys, all I want to do is bury my cock inside some twink's cute little bubble butt. Fuck, I'm getting hard again. It's time to go out and find my next conquest

[ruhitsblog]

Revengeful slave

The story starts with the Indian servant named Suraj and the Korean master named Taemin .

Suraj, an Indian man in his early 30s, works as a servant for a wealthy Korean family. He's treated fairly well by the family, with bonuses and working like this for months till the heir of the family Taemin came , he was a student at a reputable college at Seoul  .

Taemin was a hot handsome guy with an idol-like appearance but he had a bad temper. He would often slap, hit, and yell at Suraj for the smallest mistakes. He hated the fact that his father had brought a servant for him, so that he wouldn’t be bored.

Suraj hated him for his behavior. As usual as the day begam Taemin return home after college entering while slamming the car door

. Suraj knew that Taemin had a bad day.  Soraj spoke while knocking the door  . "Master ,may I come in ?" I went in holding a glass of water into the room.He grabbed it all and drank it all. Before throwing the glass to So intentionally, he couldn't accept it. Until the glass fell to the ground and broke, "I'm sorry." I yelled in shock .

Taemin smiled and stared at the young man before taking this opportunity. Slapped the young man's head until he staggered, "Clumsy! Hurry and clean it up." Then Taemin fell onto the bed and lay on the phone, ignoring me . I walked out of the room for a while. before returning with a broom and shovel  I quietly cleaned up the broken glass. After a while, I cleaned it up before speaking to the Taemin." Young Master , would you like me to help you take off your shoes?" He  looked up from his phone.

Normally, he was too lazy to take off his shoes so he walked into the room often until it became a habit. Sometimes he slept like that. He sat up and lowered his feet from the bed. Point your feet at the young servant. Suraj walked in and squatted and slowly took off the Taemin's shoes and socks. During that time Taemin felt strange. He smelled a sweet scent from Suraj's body.

He sniffed and fit into the young servant. It's not like it's the smell of perfume. But it was a normal body odor that he didn't notice, similar to the faint smell of sweat that he normally said was foul. But today I felt that it smelled strangely. He bent down and smelled it until he is almost my 'head before asking, "Hey? Are you wearing any perfume? Why is it fragrant?"  Suraj turned up and smiled at the gods."Where would someone like me have the wisdom to buy perfume to wear?""... Why  are you standing up?

". Suraj  stood up to the Taemin  who smelled at Suraj's body.

He tried to chase it from my head. The scent that bothered me became stronger and stronger. He almost put his face in my crotch because he couldn't resist the scent. He inhaled with satisfaction, with indescribable satisfaction "n... Sit down on the bed," I said to Taemin. But it didn't seem to me that I was giving orders as usual. Taemin sat down on the bed,  put my face between my legs. I inhaled my body until his brother also hardened. Suraj lowered his head and whispered into the side of Taemin's ear."Do you want  to smell something better than that?"

Taemin stared back before nodding fearfully that I had changed my mind. I raised my feet. My dirty socks that I used were raised in front of Taemin Taemin couldn't resist the scent he received. He hung my head in and smelled my socks thirstily.  I laughed before slowly taking off my socks and giving them to Taemin  Taemin took a pair of my socks to cover his mouth and smelled them, and lay on the bed.

Suraj slowly took off his clothes, stacked on the floor. As for the trousers that he wore, he put them on the bed. I bent down and took off Taemin's school shirt. Taemin turned to look at Suraj with his eyes metaphysical. He did not resist, while his hands continued to hold my socks over his nose.  I took off Taemin's pants. Taemin's hard and greasy little brother stood up.

When Taemin's expensive pants were slid off my toes. I lowered my head to Taemin before whispering again. "Will you let me help me make you happy?" Taemin nodded with sparkling eyes.  I removed Taemin's socks from his Feet. Taemin tried to hold me back in mourning.  Then I took my underwear that was on his bed and covered it over Taemin's head. Let his crotch cover Taemin's nose while inhaling greedily. I took my socks and tied them over Taemin's eyes and nose.

Taemin moaned with satisfaction. I whispered into Taemin's ear again. "If you help me  I will help you be happy too. Is that okay?" Taemin nodded slowly. "Then we exchanged, ok?" Taemin nodded in response.

Without waiting, I pushed my cock in  Taemin's mouth and inserted his younger brother into my mouth. I took care of Taemin's younger brother. Both licked and chased each other's younger brothers into their mouths. I skillfully used my tongue and lost my head while sucking. While Taemin acted awkwardly, as if he had never done it before. But after a long time, Taemin's sperm broke.

I swallowed Taemin's semen from my satisfaction. I pushed my cock into Taemin's mouth, until I finally broke into Taemin's mouth. I withdrew my younger brother from Taemin's mouth which was moaning exhausted.

I turned over and lay next to Taemin, ready to wait for Taemin who wasn't right. With his eyes closed. It didn't take long before Taemin began to change. Taemin's body started to  datken from my tan. While his muscles that entered the fitness center began to decay into a worker-like muscle. As opposed to him who had beautiful muscles instead.

The couple started to change gradually. From my sharp face to Taemin's handsome face. Just looking like a divine young lman who was lying naked. Meanwhile, Taemin who was still unconscious was me instead.

After that, I got up and walked straight to the school uniform I had left off. I picked up "my " expensive pants and smelled them. Then I put them on. Then his school shirts and pants and socks. Finally finished with his shiny  black formal shoes. I took his cellphone on the bed. Before taking a photo of Taemin? Lying naked in my former body. There were underwear over his head. Socks covered his eyes and nose. Moaning, I went up to bed. I kicked him.

Taemin woke up and grabbed my socks and underwear off his head. Then stared at me standing confused. "You!? what is this ?" he asked in panic. I laughed at Taemin who stared at his hands. He looked at his unfamiliar body. Taemin looked into the mirror and stared at himself in fear.

"What did you do to me ?!" Taemin asked in shock. I kicked Taemin back until he was tight and swelled. I squatted down and punched him until he coughed. I pulled Taemin's hair up. "What you normally do is your business." I said. "But let me tell you that this matter will never be like before. Are you going to run away? Who will you tell? Who will believe you. Oh, if you want to leave here, look at this."

I showed a picture of Taemin on my cellphone. "I will show everyone how you are a prostitute." I went to pick up Suraj's clothes and threw them to him. I slapped Taemin's head before pushing him out of the room.

"From now on you are me. Got it?" Taemin looked at me with a pale face before nodding. I smiled and walked past Taemin. Then I called "suraj ."

"Get me the car, I will go out."  The new Suraj nodded. I stared at Suraj  who had to carry my bag. "Get me a glass of water too." I slapped him. "Do you hear me, slave?"  I shouted at him. Suraj looked up at me with sad eyes. "Yes, Master."

I laughed.  Then I kicked him until he fell. Then I turned to walk away.  Taemin in my body got up. Before staring at his new body and crying. Then he started running out of the house to call for help. But when he got outside. Taemin found only my new father standing outside with a confused face. "Suraj? Why are you here?"

Taemin in my body looked down at his body and shook his head in shock. "No! I am Taemin." Taemin's father looked at Taemin in his body with a frown. "Are you crazy? You are Suraj.  You are a slave. Get out of my house." Taemin looked shocked. "I am not. I am Taemin." His father slapped Taemin's face hard. "Do you think you're crazy? Are you a slave or not?"

Taemin lowered his head.  His father stared at Taemin with a serious face. Then he slapped him again.  "Suraj. You are the slave in my house. Do you hear me?" Taemin was scared of his new father. He nodded in fear. He was so scared of him.

"Suraj. Get my bag for me. I have to go to work." Taemin nodded. His father grabbed Taemin by the neck and pulled him into the house. I was standing in front of my mirror. I was smiling at my new handsome face. "Ha ha. I got you. Taemin. I win."

I heard Taemin's  father's footsteps. I turned around.  I saw my new father walking in. I looked back at my body. "My body is so beautiful. It's so handsome."

How about I put it to good use to fill up some maids in the house?  I walked into the kitchen.  I looked at a maid. I walked over to the maid.  I pulled her into the corner of the kitchen. I locked the door. I pulled her into my arms.  "Ma'am." I said.  She looked shocked at me. "Master. What are you doing?"  She was shocked and pushed me away.

"Master. Don't." She said in a panic. "No." I laughed and slapped her. Then I kissed her. I licked her lips and pushed her against the wall.

She was scared and tried to fight back. But I pushed her to the ground. I lifted her skirt. I took off her panties. Then I pushed my hard cock into her pussy.  She screamed. "Oh my God. Help."

She was screaming. I kissed her to stop her screaming.  I was having sex with her. I fucked her hard.  Finally, I finished in her pussy.

I pulled out my cock from her pussy.  I saw her crying.  I stood up.  She looked scared at me. I smiled at her.  Then I walked out of the kitchen.

I walked into my new room.  I took a shower. After that, I put on my new clothes. I saw a picture of Taemin and his father.  I laughed. "Now Taemin is a slave for me." I thought.  "Ha ha."

[ruhitsblog]

Fate is uncertain

Hey my name is Xiao Mo and I live in a rural  village in China with my poor family. I have one younger sister who is in high school. My parents are working in a small factory and I am studying at a law school, the best in China and I got a scholarship to be able to go to the school. I don’t have many friends and the people in the village are very traditional.

One day, a man who wears a traditional Chinese clothes with a mask is entering the village and is trying to help some people with their problems. I am curious and approach him to ask who he is. He tells me that he is a karma merchant,  he says everything has good and bad karma and his is to give some wishes in exchange for their good deed which he wil process to gain strength.

I don’t believe him at first, but he shows me some proof and I decide to give it a try. I say that I want to have more friends and be a good student. He tells me that it is not enough and that I need to wish for something bigger. I think for a moment and then say that I want to be a rich and famous lawyer with a hot girlfriend. The karma merchant tells me that my wish is granted but that it will cost me 90%of my entine good karma in my lifetime. I agree to his terms and he gives me a contract to sign. I sign the contract . The man then disappears and I am left alone.

On the other side of the village

A young man named Chen is getting a call from his father telling him that he needs to focus on his study because the family’s business is at stake if he keeps failing his classes and his father will not leave anything to him if he does not meet the expectations. He hangs up the phone and decides to go out and smoke a cigarette. He is a tall and handsome young man with a pretty girlfriend and many friends. But he is not studying well and his grades are very low. He was just a perverted fuck boy who changes girlfriends like changing clothes and brings back at least 4 girls a week to fuck with him. The room was as loud and steamy as ever.

But everything changed when the young man was knocked down by a falling flower pot from 3 rd floor to his head and the man was found dead. The karma merchant was looking at the young man from afar and he says that it is a waste of a life but he can make use of it and he smiles.

Xiao Mo's perspective

The karma merchant appears again and tells me that my wish has been granted  and then a blinding light engulfed me and I blacked out. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a luxurious room.  But a head hurted so much as I was trying to wake up . A man and a woman came bursting in the room, they start crying and saying "How are you my son ?"

   But I don't know any of them so I decided to play amnesia

   “Mom, dad ? I think I don’t know who you guys are, I don’t remember anything.” I said

The woman looks at me and then she said, “You’re in the hospital, you were hit by a flowerpot on your head, but everything is okay now.”

I act relieved, “I’m glad I’m okay, but what’s my name, where do I live?”

The man and woman look at each other nervously, but then the man says, “Your name is Chen, and you live with us in our house in Shanghai.”

I nod, pretending to remember. The man and the woman are relieved and they hug me tightly. I can see that they really love their son, and I feel sorry for deceiving them. But I need to be careful now and act like Chen, because if they find out that I'm not their son, they might get angry and kick me out. So, I need to observe and learn how Chen behaves and speaks, so that I can pretend to be him. I don't want to lose this opportunity and go back to my poor village life.

They began teaching me everything about how 'I' lived previously hoping it would recover me , within two weeks I almost know everything I had to know and began socializing  as Chen . Everything was going well and I was enjoying the life of a rich and successful young man. I had a hot girlfriend, many friends, and a promising future ahead of me. But I knew that I couldn't let my guard down, I had to keep pretending to be Chen and make sure that no one suspected anything.

One day, while I was studying in my room, Chen's girlfriend came to visit. She looked upset and sat next to me on the bed, she was wearing a very sexy dress that would make me hard and horny in my past life, but now I'm pretending to be rich and not a horny little peasant.

"Chen it seems you are recovered so how about this " she began undressing infront of me,  I was shocked because I had never done this kind of thing before and I don't know how to react. I was even more surprised when I saw that she was wearing sexy black lingerie, but it's not the time to be horny because it is the first time I did this. I need to pretend that I've done this before.

I look at her and say, “Baby, I don't think we should do this right now. I'm still recovering from my injury and I want to focus on my studies. Besides, I don't want to upset my parents.”

But your penis is already hard she said outing her hand on the underwear covering my hard penis, I instinctively grabbed her bra and tore it, pushing her on the bed. She was so turned on by my aggressive behavior that she couldn’t wait any longer. She spread her legs and I saw her vagina dripping wet. I was so aroused that I forgot all about my worries and started making love to her. We kissed passionately and I explored every inch of her body with my hands and mouth. She moaned and whimpered in pleasure and I felt like I was in heaven. I start fingering her hole till she was cumming all over my hand.

I was so horny that I didn’t care anymore about pretending to be good and better  Chen. I was just a young man who wanted to satisfy his sexual desires. I felt her tight hole,  as I inserted my cock inside her, she moaned and arched her back in pleasure. I started thrusting harder and faster, and she wrapped her legs around me, urging me to go deeper. We continued to make love for what felt like hours, and I could feel her body trembling beneath me.

Finally, I couldn’t hold back any longer and I came inside her, filling her with my hot cum. We both collapsed on the bed, exhausted but satisfied. I realized that I had just lost my virginity, and it was amazing. She was panting heavily and looked at me with a mixture of shock and pleasure.

“That was amazing, Chen. I’ve never felt like that before,” she said, still trying to catch her breath.

I smiled at her and kissed her forehead. “I know, me too. I love you.”

She hugged me tightly and we fell asleep in each other’s arms. But when I woke up I decided to be the better Chen than her previous boyfriend, I know it is not fair for her, but I will be a better man than the previous Chen.

I started going to school with her and met with all the friends of the previous Chen, they are all rich kids and all the girls in the school are throwing themselves to me. But I don't give a damn and I focus on being a better Chen,  I study harder, I hang out with his girlfriend more often and I try to be more polite and courteous.

I also started going to the gym to get in shape, because I know that Chen is a handsome young man and he needs to look his best. I work out every day and eat healthy food to maintain my physique. I also started dressing better, buying expensive clothes and accessories to match my new status.

After a few months, I noticed that people are starting to treat me differently.  They respect me more and they seem to admire me. His girlfriend is also happier and more affectionate towards me. I feel like I’m finally becoming the Chen that everyone expects me to be.

But I know that I still have a long way to go. I need to continue working hard and improving myself if I want to keep up this facade. I can’t let anyone find out that I’m not the real Chen. I have to keep pretending, at least for now. But as time goes by, I start to enjoy being Chen. I like the attention and the admiration I receive from others. I like having a hot girlfriend and I like being rich and successful. I start to wonder if I really want to go back to being Xiao Mo, the poor young man from the village.

I’m not sure what the future holds, but for now, I’m going to enjoy being Chen and see how far I can take this charade. But I will make sure I will be the best Chen I can be.

[ruhitsblog]

Blood is more important

part -2

Arman felt a pang in his chest at his mother’s words. He had never heard her say anything like that to him before, and it made him feel guilty for a moment. But he pushed the feeling aside, reminding himself why he had done this in the first place.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, forcing a smile. “That means a lot.”

Bekzat sat down next to Aida, putting an arm around her shoulders. “We brought you something from our trip. It’s on your desk.”

Arman looked over at his desk, where a small, exquisitely wrapped box was sitting. He picked it up, feeling a surge of excitement. He had always loved presents, and he couldn’t wait to open this one.

He tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small, velvet-covered box. Inside was a beautiful gold watch, intricately engraved with swirling patterns.

“It’s beautiful,” Arman breathed, holding the watch up to the light.

“We thought you might like it,” Bekzat said, smiling proudly. “We got it from a little shop we found in Dubai.”

Arman put the watch on his wrist, admiring the way it caught the light. “Thank you,” he said, looking at his parents with fake gratitude. “This means so much to me.”

Aida smiled, standing up from the bed. “We’re glad you like it, honey. Now, if you’ll excuse us, your father and I are exhausted from our trip. We’re going to get some rest.”

“Of course,” Arman said, standing up as well. “Welcome home.”

As his parents left the room, Arman sat back down on the bed, looking at the watch on his wrist. He had never gotten presents like this before, and he felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving his parents.

But he pushed the guilt aside, reminding himself that this was what he had wanted. He was finally getting the love and attention he deserved, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that.

He looked in the mirror again, barely recognizing the person staring back at

That same evening

I got a missed call from some girl name Karlygash I searched on Instagram and found that she is beautiful

She called again and I picked up

**Arman:** Hello?

**Karlygash:** Hey babe. Where have you been?

**Arman:** Sorry. I was sleeping. I just woke up.

**Karlygash**: Oh, I just wanted to talk to you. I missed you.

**Arman:** I missed you too. Did you get home safe last night?

**Karlygash** : Yeah, I got home fine. I wish you could have come with me, though. My parents are always giving me a hard time. They don’t like that I’m dating someone like you.

**Arman** : I’m sorry. I can talk to them if you want. I can tell them that I’m a good person, that I would never hurt you.

**Karlygash** (laughing) : Yeah, right. I don’t think that would go over too well. They don’t even want me talking to you.

**Arman**: Then why are you with me? Why don’t you just listen to your parents and stay away from me?

**Karlygash (sighing)**: Because I love you, Daniyar. I love you more than anything in this world. I would do anything for you.

Arman felt his heart race at her words. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He had never been in a relationship, never had a girlfriend. He had always been too focused on his studies, too driven to succeed.

But now, hearing Karlygash’s words, he felt a pang of longing. He wanted to be loved, to be cared for. He wanted someone to look at him the way she was looking at him now.

**Arman (sitting down on the bed)**: I… I don’t know what to say. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.

**Karlygash (softly)**: I know. That’s what makes this so special. We found each other in this big, crazy world. We connected. And now, I can’t imagine living without you.

**Arman (swallowing hard)**: I can’t imagine living without you either. (He hesitated for a moment, then added) I love you too, Karlygash.

Karlygash giggled on the phone " so what are you waiting for come to my room tonight with some condoms if you don't want it , we can do it raw hehehehe "

Arman was taken aback by her forwardness, but he couldn’t deny the excitement that was building inside of him.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“See you soon, babe,” Karlygash said before hanging up.

Arman quickly got dressed and made his way to Karlygash's house, his heart racing with excitement and nerves. When he arrived, he knocked softly on her bedroom window.

Karlygash appeared a moment later, smiling slyly at him. She opened the window and helped him climb inside.

“Hi there,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Arman kissed her back, feeling a rush of adrenaline as their lips met.

Karlygash pulled away after a moment, looking into his eyes. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

Arman nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I’ve missed you too,” he said honestly.

Karlygash smiled and took his hand, leading him over to her bed. She pushed him gently down onto the mattress and then climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Arman looked up at her, his heart pounding in his chest, he was nervous but she was hot asf, he couldn't even control his body, she took off her shirt then her bra then skirt and then she climbed on top of him and they had sex

He pounded her without any condoms so hard like he's never done in his life, he pounded her pussy like a mad man for like 30 mins straight she was cumming 5 times but he didn't stop, until he felt like he's gonna cum, he pulled out and sprayed his cum on her face.

“Fuck!” she gasped, her body shaking with pleasure.

Arman groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily as he continued to empty himself inside her. Finally, he finished, collapsing back onto the bed in exhaustion.

Karlygash lay next to him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She turned to look at him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“That was amazing,” she said, running a hand through his hair.

Arman nodded, still feeling dazed from the intensity of their lovemaking. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was incredible.”

Karlygash leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you,” she whispered.

Arman felt his heart swell with emotion. No one had ever said those words to him before, and hearing them now filled him with a sense of joy and contentment that he had never felt before.

“I love you too,” he said fully becoming his new self

Daniyarn POV

(Week later after the swap as he heavily drugged )

He woke up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his sheets drenched with sweat. He looked around wildly, trying to remember where he was and why he was there.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he slowly began to recognize his surroundings. He was in his bedroom, in his parents’ house. But something felt off, something felt wrong.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his head, making him fall back onto the bed with a groan. He lay there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing thoughts.

What had happened? Why was he here? And why did he feel so strange?

Slowly, the memories began to come back to him. He remembered going to the laboratory, he remembered the machine, and he remembered his brother.

Arman.

Daniyar’s eyes widened as he remembered what had happened. His brother had switched their DNA, had stolen his identity and left him for dead.

But why? Why would his own brother do such a thing?

Daniyar tried to piece together the events leading up to his transformation. He had been working late in the laboratory one night when Arman had shown up unexpectedly. They had argued, and then… and then…

Daniyar couldn’t remember what had happened after that. Everything was a blur.

But he did remember the pain, the excruciating pain as his body was transformed into something else. He had tried to fight it, but he had been too weak.

And now, here he was, trapped in a body that wasn’t his own.

Panic began to set in as Daniyar realized the extent of his situation. He was alone, he had no one to turn to, and he had no way of proving who he really was.

He thought back to his parents, to the way they had always favored Arman over him. Would they even believe him if he tried to tell them what had happened?

Probably not.

Daniyar felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he thought about his situation. He was completely alone, with no one to trust and nowhere to turn.

He lay there for a long time, trying to come up with a plan. But every idea he had seemed impossible, every avenue he tried to explore led to a dead end.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a fitful sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he felt a little better, but the reality of his situation still weighed heavily on him.

He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. As he looked in the mirror, he barely recognized the person staring back at him. His hair was shorter, his eyes a different color, and his face thinner.

He looked like a completely different person.

Daniyar sighed and turned away from the mirror. He knew that he couldn’t stay in his parents’ house, not now. He needed to get out, to find somewhere else to go.

He quickly packed a bag and made his way downstairs. His parents were in the kitchen, and they looked up in surprise when they saw him.

“Arman?” his mother asked, confusion etched on her face. “What are you doing here?”

Daniyar froze, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t planned on running into his parents, and now he was at a loss for words.

“I… I just needed to get out of the house for a while,” he stuttered finally.

His father frowned, looking at him suspiciously. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Daniyar shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I don’t know. I just need some time to myself, that’s all.”

His mother looked concerned, but she didn’t say anything. His father, on the other hand, looked angry.

“You can’t just leave like this,” he said firmly. “You need to stay here and finish your studies so you can earn for us .”

Daniyar felt a surge of anger at his father’s words. How dare he try to control him? How dare he tell him what to do with his own life?

“I don’t care about your damn money,” Daniyar spat, glaring at his father. “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Before his father could respond, Daniyar turned and ran out of the house. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew that he needed to get as far away from his family as possible.

As he ran, tears streamed down his face. He had never felt so alone, so lost and scared. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew that things would never be the same again.

[ruhitsblog]

Blood is more important

Arman was five years old when he got adopted, and for five whole years, he’d been told he was unwanted and unloved. At first, his new parents, Aida and Bekzat, were really nice to him, and it was a little too overwhelming. They seemed to love Arman and wanted him to be their son. A year later, when Aida gave birth to her and Bekzat’s biological son, Daniyar, things started to change.

As soon as Aida came back from the hospital with little Daniyar in her arms, it was like she forgot that Arman even existed. She used to hold him and tell him how much she loved him. Bekzat would smile at him and play with him. But the moment they laid eyes on their baby boy, it was like they forgot Arman was even alive.

He tried to be the best son he could be, tried to make them love him, but they didn’t even care. When Aida took him to his first day of school, she made it clear he was only going there because he was supposed to. When Arman got his first ever report card and showed it to Bekzat with a big smile, all he got was a pat on the shoulder and a quick “good job.” When Arman was sick with a fever, all they did was give him some pills and tell him to rest.

At first, Arman thought it was all because they didn’t know he existed before Daniyar came into the picture, but it was also that they simply didn’t care. Daniyar was the one getting all the attention and praise, the one they’d play with and go on walks with, while Arman was always left behind. When Daniyar started talking, Bekzat and Aida were the happiest parents ever, but when Arman learned how to ride a bike, all Aida said was that she was glad he could ride himself to school.

It was clear who their favorite was, and Arman couldn’t blame them. Of course, they’d love their real son more than a son they adopted. But sometimes, he couldn’t help but wish they’d notice him too, that they’d praise him and play with him and love him. He tried so hard to be a good son, but they just didn’t care, and slowly but surely, Arman started fading into the background.

When he was fourteen, he stopped going to school. He’d just stay outside all day, smoking, and then come back when it was dark. He didn’t know why he kept coming back. Maybe he hoped one day they’d realize what was happening, that they’d finally care. But when he came home, his parents would just yell at him, tell him he was a disappointment and that they didn’t want him.

Arman started to believe them. He started believing he really didn’t deserve their love because he wasn’t really their son, because he wasn’t good enough. So he’d just let them yell, and then he’d go to his room and fall asleep, waiting for the next day to come, hoping maybe things would change. They never did.

Arman never brought any friends home. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have any. The few friends he’d had when he was younger didn’t want to spend time with him anymore, and the more he faded away, the more they forgot about him.

One day, when Arman was home alone, he was looking for his cigarettes in the kitchen when he overheard his parents’ conversation. It was strange that they were home in the middle of the day, but Arman didn’t really care, so he just listened from the kitchen, out of their sight.

“We can’t just throw him out like that!” Aida said.

“But we can’t keep him here either. He’s becoming a problem. He’s been skipping school again.” Bekzat said.

“He’s only fifteen! You can’t just throw a fifteen-year-old out on the street!” Aida protested.

“I didn’t say we should do it now, but soon. Or maybe we should just send him away somewhere.” Bekzat suggested.

Arman felt his heart sink. He knew his parents didn’t love him, didn’t really want him, but he didn’t think it was this bad. They wanted to throw him away? He knew it was his fault for being such a disappointment, but the fact that they wanted to just get rid of him hurt.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe that is the best solution. He’s just so… unlike Daniyar. I don’t even feel like he’s my son.” Aida said with a sigh.

That was it. That was the moment Arman knew he didn’t matter. He wasn’t loved. He wasn’t wanted. He was nothing more than a shadow, a disappointment. And it was all because he wasn’t their real son. That night, Arman cried himself to sleep, wondering why he couldn’t just be more like Daniyar so maybe his parents would love him too.

As Arman grew older, he became more and more distant from his parents and brother. He started spending all his time outside, barely coming home. When he turned twenty five , he finally moved out and got a job. He didn’t talk to his parents or brother much, and they didn’t seem to care. Arman tried to move on, tried to forget about his past, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d wanted to be loved by his parents, how much he’d wanted them to notice him, to praise him, to be proud of him.

But they weren’t, and they never would be. Because he wasn’t their son. He was just an outsider, a shadow, a mistake. And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t escape that feeling. He felt like he didn’t belong anywhere, like he was just a ghost drifting through life without a purpose.

He wondered what it would be like if he could just be Daniyar, to be the beloved son, to feel wanted and loved. But he knew it was impossible. He’d always be the unwanted son, the shadow in the corner that everyone forgot about.

One day, Arman received a call from Aida. It had been years since he’d heard from his parents, and he was surprised to hear her voice.

“Arman, it’s your mother. How are you?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful.

“I’m fine. What’s up?” Arman replied, not really caring why she was calling.

“Well, your father and I are going on a business trip for a month, and we were wondering if you could watch the house while we’re gone. We’ll pay you, of course.” Aida explained.

Arman was taken aback. He hadn’t expected them to ask him for a favor, especially not after all these years. But he couldn’t deny that he was curious about what it would be like to be back in the house, to pretend that he was part of the family again.

“Okay, sure. I’ll watch the house for you.” Arman agreed, trying to keep his voice even.

“Great! We’ll leave you the spare key under the mat. And make sure you water the plants, okay?” Aida said before hanging up.

Arman sighed and put down his phone. He hadn’t planned on going back to his old home, but now it seemed like he didn’t have a choice. As he walked towards the house he grew up in, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over him. He remembered running around the yard, playing with his brother, and trying to get his parents’ attention.

But as he stepped inside, he was reminded of how things had changed. The house was empty, quiet. There were no signs of life, no laughter or conversation. It was just a shell of what it used to be, a reminder of what he had lost.

Arman spent the next few days doing chores around the house and tending to the plants. He tried to ignore the memories that flooded his mind every time he walked into a room, but it was hard. Everywhere he looked, he saw glimpses of his past, reminders of what he had wanted but could never have.

As the days went by, Arman started to feel more and more alone. He was surrounded by the echoes of his past, but there was no one to share them with. He missed having someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. He even missed his annoying little brother.

But most of all, he missed the feeling of being loved and wanted. He missed the attention and praise he never got from his parents. He missed feeling like he belonged.

One night, as Arman was lying in his old bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what it felt like to be happy, to be loved. But all he could think about was how much he wanted to be Daniyar, how much he wanted to have the life his brother had.

He wished he could just become Daniyar, that he could take his place and finally feel loved and wanted. But he knew it was just a silly dream, something that could never come true.

Or could it?

As Arman lay there, he started to think about how he could make his dream a reality. He couldn’t just magically become Daniyar, but maybe there was a way to take his place. Maybe he could find a way to trick his parents into thinking he was their beloved son.

It was a crazy idea, but Arman couldn’t get it out of his head. He started to formulate a plan, thinking about how he could convince his parents that he was Daniyar. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was desperate to feel loved and wanted again. He was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant taking his brother’s place.

As the night wore on, Arman became more and more obsessed with the idea. He couldn’t sleep, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could become Daniyar. He knew it was wrong, that it wasn’t fair to his brother, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was too desperate to feel loved, too desperate to belong.

Finally, Arman made a decision. He would find a way to take Daniyar’s place, no matter what it took. He would become the beloved son, and he would finally feel wanted and loved.

With a newfound sense of determination, Arman fell asleep, dreaming of a future where he was the center of his parents’ world. He didn’t care how he got there, or what he had to do to make it happen. All he knew was that he had to become Daniyar, and nothing was going to stop him.

It was the end of the season Aida and Bekzat were coming back from their business trip in three weeks . Arman knew he had to put his plan into action if he wanted to become Daniyar before they returned. He had spent the past few weeks researching and preparing, and he was finally ready to start the process.

He had found an old article online about a scientist who had supposedly found a way to transfer human DNA. According to the article, the scientist had created a machine that could extract DNA from one person and transfer it to another. It sounded like science fiction, but Arman was desperate enough to try anything.

He had spent countless hours searching for the scientist, finally tracking him down to a small laboratory in a remote part of town. The scientist was reluctant to help at first, but Arman had managed to convince him that it was for a good cause.

Arman had explained his situation, how he had always felt like an outsider in his own family, and how he wanted to become his brother to finally feel loved and wanted. The scientist had listened intently, and when Arman was finished, he had agreed to help.

He collected all the needed samples such as hair, sweat , Saliva , blood and even semen from his underwear from Daniyarn . It had taken several weeks, but finally, the machine was ready.

Arman also gave his DNA samples as backup

Arman stood in front of the machine, his heart racing with anticipation and fear. He knew that once he went through with this, there was no turning back. He would be giving up his identity, his life, to become someone else. But he was willing to do it, to sacrifice everything for a chance to feel loved and wanted.

The scientist handed Arman a small device that looked like a remote control. He explained that this was the control panel for the machine, and that Arman would need to use it to initiate the transfer.

“This is it,” the scientist said, his voice trembling slightly. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Arman took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he held the device. He looked at the machine in front of him, its metal exterior gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He thought about his parents, about his brother, about the life he had always wanted but could never have.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice firm. “I’m ready.”

The scientist nodded, a look of determination on his face. He stepped forward and flipped a switch on the machine, causing it to hum to life.

“Remember, once you start the transfer, there’s no going back,” the scientist warned. “You’ll be giving up your identity, your life, to become Daniyar.”

Arman nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the risks, but he was willing to take them. He was willing to give up everything to become the beloved son, to finally feel loved and wanted.

He raised the device in his hand, his finger hovering over the button. He took one last look at the scientist, then closed his eyes and pressed the button.

As soon as he did, Arman felt a surge of energy run through his body. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, a tingling sensation that started at the top of his head and worked its way down to his toes.

He opened his eyes to find the room spinning around him. He stumbled backwards, gasping for breath as the machine in front of him began to glow with an intense blue light.

The scientist shouted something, but Arman couldn’t make out the words. He could barely hear anything over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

Suddenly, Arman felt like he was being pulled apart and put back together again. It was a painful sensation, like his very cells were being rearranged. He cried out, his vision blurring as the machine continued to glow brighter and brighter.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. The machine fell silent, the blue light fading away. Arman stumbled backwards, gasping for breath. He looked down at his hands, expecting to see some kind of change, but they looked exactly the same.

He looked up at the scientist, who was staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear on his face.

“Did it work?” Arman asked, his voice shaking.

The scientist nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “It worked.”

Arman felt a surge of excitement mixed with fear. He had done it. He had actually done it. He was now Daniyar, at least in terms of DNA.

But as he looked in the mirror, he realized that he didn’t look any different. He still had the same face, the same eyes, the same hair. He still looked like Arman, not Daniyar.

“What’s wrong?” Arman asked, feeling a wave of panic wash over him. “Why don’t I look like Daniyar?”

“It takes time for the DNA to fully integrate,” the scientist explained. “Your body will need time to adjust to the new genetic material. It could take days, weeks, even months in worst case for the full transformation to take place.”

Arman nodded, trying to calm himself down. He had expected instant results, but he knew that this was a complicated process. He would have to be patient.

But as we about to leave he told the scientist to inject my previously extracted DNA to his brother

body. Scientist asked why? Arman said he wants to make sure his brother is safe and he don’t want his parents to worry about him being gone and there can't be two Daniyarn in the same roof .

Arman drugged the food with sedatives and brought the unconscious body of Daaniyar into the laboratory and injected his DNA into Daniyar body who was now unconscious

After that he went home and pretended everything was normal and the next morning Daniyar woke up like nothing happened, but now Arman's DNA was running through his veins.

Arman, now with Daniyar's DNA, spent the next few weeks waiting for the transformation to take place. He had moved back into his parents’ house, pretending to be his brother. No one suspected anything, and Arman was relieved. He was one step closer to his goal.

He stayed in the house, barely leaving his room. He didn’t want to risk someone seeing him and realizing that he wasn’t really Daniyar. So he spent most of his time sleeping, waiting for the DNA to take effect.

And then, slowly but surely, Arman started to notice changes. At first, they were small. His hair started to look a little darker, his eyes a little bluer. But over time, the changes became more and more pronounced.

His face began to look more like Daniyar’s. His nose became slightly smaller, his jawline sharper. His body started to change too, becoming leaner and more muscular.

Arman was ecstatic. It was working. He was actually becoming Daniyar.

He looked in the mirror every day, watching as his features slowly transformed. It was a strange and unsettling experience, but Arman didn’t care. He was finally becoming the person he had always wanted to be.

As the weeks passed, Arman became more and more confident. He started to venture out of his room, exploring the house and pretending to be his brother. He even started to go outside, careful to avoid anyone who might recognize him.

And then, one day, Arman caught a glimpse of himself in a window reflection. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the person staring back at him.

It was Daniyar.

Arman’s heart raced as he realized that the transformation was complete. He looked just like his brother, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He had the same hair, the same eyes, the same face.

Tears of joy filled Arman’s eyes as he realized that he had done it. He had become Daniyar. He was finally the beloved son, the favored child. He had taken his brother’s place, and now he would finally get the love and attention he had always craved.

He went back inside the house, a smile on his face. He knew that his parents would be coming home soon, and he couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they saw their “son” again.

As he waited, Arman thought about his brother. He wondered what he was thinking, how he was feeling. He knew that Daniyar would be confused and disoriented, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he had taken his place, that he had become the person he had always wanted to.

Arman was finally happy. He had what he had always wanted, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get it. He was Daniyar now, and nothing could ever take that away from him.

Bekzat and Aida pulled into the driveway, exhausted from their long flight. They had been looking forward to coming home for weeks, and they were excited to see their son again.

As they stepped inside the house, they called out for Daniyar. There was no answer, but they could hear music coming from upstairs.

“Daniyar, we’re home!” Bekzat called again, walking towards the stairs.

They made their way up to Daniyar’s room, expecting to see him sitting at his desk or lying on his bed. But when they opened the door, they were met with a surprise.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Arman said, smiling at them from his bed.

Bekzat and Aiden exchanged a confused glance. There was something different about their son, something they couldn’t quite put their finger on.

“Daniyar?” Aida asked, walking into the room. “Are you okay? You look… different.”

Arman shrugged, still smiling. “I’ve just been taking good care of myself while you were gone. I’ve been eating healthy and working out.”

Bekzat raised an eyebrow, looking his son up and down. Now that he looked closer, he could see that Daniyar did look different. He was taller, leaner, and his features seemed sharper somehow.

“Huh,” Bekzat said, crossing his arms. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up. You look good.”

Aida nodded, smiling at her son. “We’ve missed you, honey. How was your month?”

Arman shrugged again. “It was fine. Quiet. I mostly just stayed in my room and slept.”

Bekzat laughed. “That sounds about right. You’ve always been a bit of a homebody.”

Aida sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Arman’s arm. “We’re proud of you, Daniyar. You’re our son, and we love you no matter what.”

[ruhitsblog]

New year is not same for everyone

Working at an exclusive high-end Country Club has its advantages. There are a lot of perks to the job, especially when you get to mingle with the members. The guests are all members, so you get to see the same faces over and over again. It’s kind of like having a family.

As the year comes to an end, the club hosts a New Year’s Eve party, and I have to admit, it’s one of the highlights of the year. The energy is always electric, and it’s a great way to ring in the new year.

I get to know the members pretty well, so I make sure to keep their drinks coming. Champagne is always in high demand, and I make sure to keep it flowing. As I go around the room, I see familiar faces everywhere, including Brandon Richards. He’s home from college for the holidays, and it’s great to see him again. I saw him at the holiday party a few days ago, and he looked just as handsome tonight. He’s a good-looking guy, tall and lean, with short, dark hair and a charming smile. I’ve always thought he was cute, but tonight he looks especially attractive.

As a member of the staff, I’m used to seeing the members in their formal attire, but Brandon looks particularly dashing in his tight shirt and tailored pants. I can’t help but notice how well he fills out his clothes, and I find myself stealing glances at him throughout the night. I’m sure I’m not the only one who notices how handsome he is.

Most of the members are older, like his parents, or even older. Brandon is a good son and well-mannered, but at most parties, you eventually see him by himself, off to the side. I’m glad to see him here tonight, and I hope he’s enjoying himself. I have a feeling he might be looking forward to the party as much as I am.

I love to be with Brandon. He’s just so handsome. I’ve never seen him in such a tight shirt before, but I know he has a muscular physique just by the way he looks. Most of the members are older, but he’s a good son, well-mannered and behaved. However, at most parties, he eventually finds himself off by himself.

Like I said, I’m glad he’s here, and I was hoping he would be. Now my plans can go forward. I’ve been slipping something into his champagne all night, that could make someone's counciouness volatile and as time goes it will be attributed to another user exchanging their bodies

As midnight approaches, I want to get him alone. Everyone will be so busy celebrating that they won’t even notice us missing from the room. The staff is always busy during the countdown, and the members will be focused on their champagne toasts. It’s the perfect time to slip away unnoticed.

As the countdown begins, I make my move. I approach Brandon, who looks a little out of it, thanks to the champagne. I guide him toward the coat room, where no one will see us. He follows me without question, and I can feel a surge of excitement building between us.

I look up at him, and he looks down at me with a blank expression. I can feel the energy flowing between us, and I know what’s going to happen next. I lean in close to him, my mouth inches from his. I can feel his warm breath on my face, and I know he can feel mine.

I whisper, “Happy New Year, Brandon.” I kiss him softly on the lips.

The next thing I know, I feel a strange sensation wash over me. It’s as if my body is being rearranged, my consciousness shifting. I look down and see Brandon’s body, and I know that we have switched bodies. The sensation is overwhelming, and I feel like I’m floating.

I look at my new body in the full-length mirror. I see a tall, handsome guy in a tight shirt and tailored pants, with short dark hair and a dashing smile. The feeling of wearing Brandon’s clothes is exhilarating.

I look over at my old body and see my face staring back at me. I see a girl with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a petite frame in a white dress. My body looks so small and vulnerable compared to Brandon’s.

I feel a mix of emotions, a blend of excitement and nervousness. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I know this is what I wanted, but it’s still a surreal experience. I look back at my new body and take in the details.

I reach down and feel my new cock through my pants. It’s big and hard, and I can’t wait to use it. I feel a surge of arousal and excitement. I look back at my old body, still in shock from the experience.

I smile at my old self, knowing that we have switched lives. I feel empowered and excited about the possibilities. I take another deep breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I can’t believe that this is actually happening. I’m Brandon Richards now, and I’m ready to take on the world.

I kiss my old body goodbye, and then walk out of the room, closing the door behind me. I make my way back to the party, trying to act normal. I find Brandon’s parents and greet them with a smile.

“Hi Mom, hi Dad,” I say, trying to sound like Brandon.

They look at me with confusion, but they don’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. “Hi sweetie, are you okay?” his mom asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired from the party,” I reply, trying to keep up the act.

They nod and smile, seemingly satisfied with my response. I feel a pang of guilt for deceiving them, but I know that this is what Brandon wanted. I take a sip of champagne and continue to mingle with the guests, trying to act like everything is normal.

As the night goes on, I start to feel more comfortable in my new body. I enjoy the attention from the guests, and I feel powerful and in control. I know that I have a lot to learn about being Brandon, but I’m excited for the challenge.

I make my way over to the bar and order another drink. As I’m waiting for my drink, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I turn around and see a beautiful girl smiling at me.

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” she says, extending her hand.

I shake her hand and introduce myself as Brandon. We chat for a few minutes, and I find myself getting more and more attracted to her. She’s tall and curvy, with long brown hair and piercing green eyes. She has a beautiful smile, and I can’t help but stare at her.

As we talk, I realize that she’s very interested in me. She keeps touching my arm and laughing at my jokes. I can tell that she’s flirting with me, and I have to admit that I’m enjoying it.

Eventually, she asks me if I want to go somewhere more private. I agree, and we make our way to one of the empty rooms in the back of the club. As soon as we’re alone, she starts kissing me passionately.

I’m taken aback by her forwardness, but I quickly reciprocate. We start making out, our tongues intertwined as we explore each other’s mouths. I can feel her body pressed against mine, and I start to get aroused.

She breaks away from the kiss and starts to unbutton my shirt. I help her, and soon my shirt is off, revealing my muscular chest. She runs her hands over my body, feeling my muscles and kissing my skin.

I moan in pleasure as she explores my body. She works her way down to my pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them down. My cock springs free, and she gasps in amazement.

“It’s so big,” she says, staring at my cock in awe.

I smile, feeling proud of my new body. She starts to stroke my cock, and I moan in pleasure. She looks up at me and smiles.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, her voice husky with desire.

I don’t need any further encouragement. I pick her up and carry her to the bed. I lay her down and start to undress her. She helps me, and soon she’s completely naked.

I admire her beautiful body, taking in every curve and contour. She has large breasts, a flat stomach, and a round ass. She spreads her legs, revealing her wet pussy.

I can’t resist any longer. I climb on top of her and position my cock at her entrance. I push inside her, and she moans in pleasure. I start to thrust in and out of her, picking up the pace as I go.

She wraps her legs around me, pulling me deeper inside her. I can feel her tight pussy gripping my cock, and it feels amazing. I start to fuck her harder, pounding into her as she screams my name.

I feel my orgasm building, and I know I’m not going to last much longer. I fuck her as hard as I can, trying to prolong the pleasure. Finally, I can’t hold it anymore. I cum inside her, filling her with my seed.

As I cum, I know that this New year will be the start of a whole new chapter in my life. I’m now Brandon Richards, and I’m excited to see what the future holds.

[ruhitsblog]

Matty the monkey

My name is Max and I'm 24 years old. I'm fit, toned, and I like to think I have a pretty good physique. I take care of my body and I'm proud of the results I get from my hard work. I have a YouTube channel where I post videos and photos of my travels and adventures, so I like to look good for the camera. This is my story about how a simple vacation turned my life into a complete mess.

One of my friends invited me on a two-week vacation. It was a round trip through some of the most beautiful parts of Asia. I was excited because I knew I'd have plenty of opportunities to take photos and videos for my YouTube channel. The first week of the trip was amazing. We saw stunning landscapes, tried delicious foods, and even visited a few remote islands. Everything was perfect until we arrived in a small village in one of the provinces in the Philippines.

The scenery was breathtaking. There were towering mountains, lush green forests, and sparkling blue waters. I couldn't wait to capture it all on camera. After spending the morning exploring the area, we decided to take a break at a local village we spotted nearby. We could see dark clouds gathering in the distance, and we were worried that a storm might be coming. We wanted to find shelter before the rain started.

I was tired from all the walking and decided to sit under a large tree to rest for a while. As I was checking my camera, I noticed a monkey approaching me. He looked different from the other monkeys I had seen before. He wasn't aggressive or trying to steal my food. In fact, he seemed curious and friendly. I decided to take a few photos of him, and to my surprise, he started posing for the camera. He even took a few selfies! I was amazed and asked the locals about him. They told me that his name was Matty, and he had learned how to take selfies from tourists who visited the area. I was intrigued and decided to let Matty take more photos with my camera.

He took some great shots, especially one where I was flexing my muscles. I was impressed by how good he was with the camera. Suddenly, the dark clouds that we had seen earlier started to move closer. The sky turned dark, and we could hear the sound of thunder in the distance. As Matty and I were taking more selfies, a bolt of lightning struck the camera in my hand. The force of the lightning knocked me off my feet, and everything went black.

When I came to, I felt disoriented and confused. Everything around me seemed frozen in time. People were standing still, birds were suspended in mid-air, and even the wind had stopped blowing. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond. It was as if time had stopped, and I was the only one immune to it.

As I looked around, trying to make sense of what was happening, I noticed a figure floating above the ground near where Matty had been sitting. It was Matty, but he looked different. He was glowing with a soft, white light, and he seemed to be in a spirit-like form, similar to how I felt. He looked around frantically, clearly confused and scared. He started running towards the village, but I couldn't follow him. My spirit form didn't seem to be able to keep up with his movements.

I tried to call out to him, but no sound came out of my mouth. I realized that in this strange state, I couldn't communicate with the physical world. Matty disappeared into the distance, and I was left alone, floating above my motionless body. I decided to try and return to my physical body, hoping that would reverse whatever had happened to us.

As I floated back to where my body was lying on the ground, I couldn't help but wonder what had caused this bizarre phenomenon. Was it the lightning? The camera? Or was it something else entirely? I had so many questions, but no answers.

When I reached my body, I tried to re-enter it, but I couldn't. It was as if there was a barrier preventing me from connecting with my physical form. I floated around it, trying to find a way in, but it was no use. Just as I was about to give up, I saw Matty returning. He was floating towards his physical body, which was lying on the ground a few feet away from mine.

Matty seemed to be having the same problem as me. He was trying to get back into his body, but he couldn't. He floated around it, clearly frustrated and scared. Suddenly, he spotted my camera, which was still lying on the ground where I had dropped it. Without hesitation, he picked it up and pressed the shutter button. The camera flashed, and a bright light filled the air.

As the light faded, I saw Matty's spirit form slowly fading away. He was being pulled back into his physical body. I felt a similar sensation, as if I was being sucked into a vortex. The last thing I remember is being pulled towards Matty's physical body before everything went black again.

When I regained consciousness, I could hear a voice. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. The voice kept saying, "Yes, I can get used to this," and, "Thank you for this wonderful gift." I tried to open my eyes, but everything was blurry. As my vision cleared, I saw a figure standing in front of me. It was my own body, moving on its own and touching itself in ways that I had never done before.

The figure looked down at its hands, flexing its fingers and admiring its nails. Then, it looked up at its reflection in a nearby puddle and smiled. "Oh, I can also access your memories," the figure said, still using my voice. "This is so amazing!" As the figure continued to explore my body, I realized that something was very wrong. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a strange, guttural sound.

That's when I noticed that my hands were no longer human. They were covered in dark brown fur, and my fingers were much shorter than before. I looked down and saw that my entire body was covered in fur. I was no longer human. I had somehow switched bodies with Matty the monkey.

I tried to scream, but all that came out were the sounds of a terrified monkey. My original body, now inhabited by Matty's spirit, turned to look at me. "I see that you are already awake," he said, using my voice. "It took me almost an hour to learn how to control this body while you were passed out. Your brain has all the information I need." He flexed my muscles and admired my physique. "Thank you for this amazing body. Thank you for all the hard work you put into building these muscles."

He started doing squats and push-ups, clearly enjoying his new physical form. "You will also have access to my memories, or should I say, my instincts. Haha!" With that, he started touching every part of my body relishing on every muscle and then he touched my bulging penis. "Ugh, I can't hold it anymore," and then my body started to undo my boxer and started to jerk off. I'm so shocked and all I can do is scream. I could feel his excitement; I shot 3 ropes of cum that landed on my face. "Ahh, that was fucking amazing," he said after he was done. And then he left me alone in Matty's body, giving me a banana and then he joined my friends and left the area.

I'm now stuck in Matty's body, and he's living my life in my human form. I have to figure out how to switch us back, but until then, I'm a monkey with human memories and instincts. This is definitely going to be an adventure.

Matty's POV:

I'm finally in a human body! It's so much better than being a monkey. I can walk on two legs, use tools, and even talk. The first thing I did was check out my new body in the reflection of a puddle. I have muscles everywhere, and my penis is huge compared to what I had before. I played with it for a bit and even masturbated until I shot three huge ropes of cum on Max's face. That was amazing!

I joined Max's friends, and they didn't even realize that I wasn't the real Max. They just thought I was acting strange, but they had no idea what had really happened. We finished the rest of the vacation, and then I returned to Max's home.

Everyone was surprised by my new behavior. The old Max wasn't very confident and didn't show off his body, but I love it. I walk around the apartment without clothes sometimes, and I always play with my huge cock. I shoot so much cum with this thing. It's incredible.

One thing I still have from my time as a monkey is the love of taking selfies. Now, I can take even better ones with my human body. I love flexing my muscles and showing off my physique. It's so much fun being human.

I'm going to enjoy every moment of this new life. Who knows how long it will last? Until then, I'm going to make the most of it. Being human is amazing.

Matty's POV (One year later):

It's been an amazing year. I'm loving every moment of being human. My muscles are even bigger now, and I'm so much stronger than before. I've been using Max's YouTube channel to post photos and videos of my adventures, and it's blown up. I have millions of subscribers now, and I'm making a fortune.

I moved to a big city and bought a luxurious apartment. I have all the modern conveniences I never had as a monkey, and I'm taking full advantage of them. I spend my days working out, taking selfies, and enjoying all the pleasures that human life has to offer.

I have to admit, I do miss some things about being a monkey. The freedom of swinging through the trees and the simplicity of life in the forest. But those are small prices to pay for all the benefits of being human.

Sometimes, I think about Max and wonder how he's doing in my old body. Is he struggling to survive? Has he found a mate? Does he hate me for stealing his human form? I hope not. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to experience life as a human.

I'm determined to make the most of this new life, no matter how long it lasts. Being human is incredible, and I feel like the luckiest monkey in the world.

[ruhitsblog]

Crushed Chanp

I have been training my entire life for the Great Shift, to have my future taken away from me in one night.

I became the obese middle-aged man I am today. My name was Rafael Miller, 23 years old, and was about to start my boxing career. My father trained me my entire life to achieve success. Now, I think that all I will achieve is reaching 180 kg on the scale.

I was very unlucky, ending up in the body of an obese man named Davis. His entire life was a waste, so it wasn't strange that he became arrogant in my perfect body.

When I woke up, I found myself in the apartment that shared with his grandmother. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. I was surrounded by posters of naked Asian girls, plus-size clothes, and a garbage can full of chocolate wrappers and potato chip wrappers by the side of the bed.

I was no longer in the room of the apartment I rented with my brothers at the gym. I tried contacting , who was now in my body, but the bastard turned off my old phone to have privacy. It disgusts me to think about what he does now in my body. He's not discreet at all with his sexuality, showing it off on all my social media.

Hiss body is horrible. I have to endure an obese body over 100 kilos, with back pain and smelly gases every day. Looking in the mirror makes me want to cry, and if I'm honest, I have sometimes. But worst of all is how took over everything I had. In this body, my future was destroyed, and and my coach (my father) had the great idea to hide everything from everyone.

My father was obsessed with me being a junior boxing champion, like he couldn't be. He didn't know he was so obsessed that he ruined the only dignity I had left. When I spent all of 's savings to get to my hometown, neither my father nor were willing to reveal the swap because of my upcoming fight. My dad wasn't about to lose years of training.

I was devastated to learn my own father would hide everything instead of being with his real son. I “rented” the spare room so no one would find out I was living with them. I cursed a lot, knowing I couldn't stay in my old room, but my dad and decided it was better for to get used to his new life, clothes, and body in private.

My dad forced me to tell everything about my life and tutor him through every aspect of it so no one would suspect the swap, but he didn't seem to care much about the life I led in my body.

Davis started flaunting his muscles infront of me and even got to live in my room with all the my clothes, shoes and money that I had worked hard for, all while I was in the spare bedroom which didn't even have a bed I had to buy a new bed and new clothes all with the money I got from his wallet which barely covered the new bed.

I started crying every night after the training and after dinner, my father noticed but didn't care much. He was too busy enjoying my body and posting pics of his muscles on my instagram and making videos in TikTok of him dancing in front of the camera. He even bought some of his old clothes and wore it while doing the laundry and cleaning the house.

I couldn't take it anymore, I asked him to stop making fun of me with his behavior but he just replied that he was in my body so he could do whatever he wanted. I felt devastated, I just wanted to go back to my own body and return things to normal, but it didn't seem possible.

Then one night, after days of frustration, I discovered something about . He was actually very successful in his old life, despite how it seemed. He had a big house in the suburbs, a beautiful girlfriend, and a thriving career as a model.

I couldn't believe it. Here I was, crying every night and that bastard fucking my own girlfriend so hard that I can hear their moans till here. He was living my best life and I had nothing but my father's pity to keep me company. I decided I had enough.

I packed my bags and left, determined to make pay for what he had done to me. I couldn't stand the thought of him enjoying my body and my life while I suffered. I had to get revenge, no matter what it took.

I moved into his house with his grandmother and found his old life. It was everything I dreamed of - a beautiful mansion, a gorgeous girlfriend, and a successful career. I started living his life, trying to forget about my own, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

As days went on the champion belt that my dad promised was never going to be mine and the only one he trained now was . I couldn't believe my father would betray me like that. I thought he loved me, but I guess I was wrong.

I decided to confront him, to make him see what he had done to me, but when I went back to the gym, I found there, training with my body. It made me so angry. How could they do this to me? I had always been there for my dad, and this is how he repaid me?

I confronted him, but he just said that was the better boxer and that he couldn't risk losing everything he had worked for. He said that he still loved me, but that he had to make the best decision for the gym. It didn't make me feel any better. I left, feeling more alone than ever.

My dad told me in my face that the person in my former body was now Fully " Rafael Miller" the champion . He told me that it was best for me to leave the gym and forget about my old life. I realized that I was completely alone, and that no one was on my side.

I went back to 's house, feeling lost and hopeless. I didn't know what to do. I just sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, trying to figure out my next move. I felt like my life was over, like I had nothing left to live for.

In a moment of desperation, I decided to end it all. I couldn't take the pain and the loneliness anymore. I lied to myself that making this body fit will make everything to normal so I start to attend my father's gym , but I didn't expect that the new Rafael will torture me so much in there.

I don't know how much time passed, but at one point, I couldn't take it anymore. I was tired, hurt, and humiliated. I just wanted it to stop. So I did the only thing I could think of. I gave up. I stopped fighting and let continue to torture me, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop him.

When he finally left me alone, I was a mess. I was covered in bruises, cuts, and dirt. I could barely move, and I felt like I had been broken both physically and mentally. I tried to stand up, but my legs wouldn't support me. So I just laid there, on the dirty floor of the gym, wishing that I could just disappear. I had hit rock bottom, and I didn't see any way out.

It's been a month since that day in the gym, and things haven't gotten any better. Every single day I am forced to train by in my father's gym. The other boxers laugh at me, call me names, and even spit on me, but doesn't care. He just keeps making me train harder and harder, telling me that I need to "get my body back in shape." He doesn't even care that I am getting injured over and over again, he just wants to make me suffer, and he enjoys it.

I am getting tired of it all. I just want to go back to my old life, to my old body. But I know that's not possible. So I'm stuck in this hell, being tortured by the person who stole my body and my life, with no end in sight. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I just want it to end.

[ruhitsblog]

Now I am Justin Bieber

My name is Gustav and I have a remarkable likeness to Justin Bieber, which I have been capitalizing on for many years now. It began with an innocent request to be a part of a lookalike show in which I was paid to perform as a Justin Bieber impersonator. I was good at it, too, as I had studied his moves, his mannerisms, and even his speech patterns. The show was a huge success, and I began to receive requests to perform at various events, including birthday parties and corporate functions. I continued to be paid well for my performances and was happy to be doing something that I enjoyed.

I was not a musician, though, and could not sing well, but people didn't seem to mind. I began to grow a small collection of tattoos to match some of his, but only on my arms and not on the rest of my body. I also worked on my physique, developing a six-pack and toned muscles. I looked remarkably like him, and people often commented on it.

It wasn’t until I received an email from his lawyers, though, that things took a dramatic turn. It read:

“Cease mimicking Justin Bieber immediately. Our client would like to meet with you and discuss a proposal that could be of great benefit to both parties.”

I was taken aback, and at first, I thought it was a prank. I decided to reply and arrange a meeting. The following day, Justin Bieber sat across from me in my kitchen. The resemblance was uncanny, almost like looking into a mirror, but he was shorter than me. I was both excited and nervous to be in his presence.

He got straight to the point, explaining that he was tired of performing, tired of the spotlight, and wanted to pass on his legacy. He proposed a body swap, for a period of time that I was comfortable with. He explained that I would get his body, his life, everything. In exchange, he would get mine. I was shocked and asked him why he had chosen me.

He said that he wanted to look like himself, and I was pretty close. He also mentioned that he might need to make some changes to his new body if I accepted. I had to admit that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to become him. I had always idolized him, but I didn't want to date him. He then explained how the body swap would work, involving a body swap drug and having sex. I was hesitant, having never had gay sex before, but I knew I couldn't say no. We agreed that if I didn't like it, we could swap back.

The lawyers drew up the paperwork, and we signed the contracts. Justin asked me to lead him to the bedroom, and he told me he didn't want to see me naked until after the swap. We slipped our clothes off, and removed our sneakers to prevent damaging his when my feet grew. He pushed me onto the bed, pulled down my trousers, and began to have sex with me. It hurt at first, but as he continued, it felt better. I realized that I knew nothing about his body or his life, and began to reconsider, but then he started pounding me, and I enjoyed it. Before I knew it, it was too late. He had already come inside me.

Afterward, Justin said that I would change but he wouldn't, and that I would become his twin. He reminded me that I had signed a contract and promised that we would change back if I didn't like it. I knew it was too late; his cum was inside me. He pulled out, and I noticed parts of myself changing. I was hornier and fucked him, coming in seconds. Then I saw him changing. We were both naked.

He asked me not to take my dick out of him so he could feel what it was like to be fucked by himself. I did what he said, and for a few seconds, I had no dick, and neither did he. Then I felt it grow into a huge 9-inch inside my former butt. I realized I was circumcised, and he wasn't. I came in him as I was orgasming and gained his memories and life.

Clothes reappeared on our bodies, and I was no longer a lookalike. I was Justin Bieber, five years younger. We stayed close for years and never swapped back, though the option was always there. I was Justin Bieber now, not him.

This is my story of becoming Justin Bieber through a body swap. It's been five years since the swap, and life is good. I still perform and make music, and I've gotten used to the fame and attention. I've grown closer to my fans and have started various charitable initiatives. I have a new girlfriend, Hailey, and we're very happy together. I sometimes think about my old life and miss it, but I know this is where I'm meant to be.

Two Years Later

I walked into the dressing room, getting ready for the performance tonight. I stared into the mirror, seeing Justin Bieber looking back at me. It still feels surreal, even after all this time. I thought about how my life had changed since the body swap.

I had access to everything he had before the swap: his money, his fame, his connections. But I also had to deal with the constant attention, the paparazzi, the pressure to perform. It wasn't easy, but I had learned to adapt.

I thought about the first few months after the swap. It was overwhelming, learning how to navigate his life. But I had help from his friends and family, and they had accepted me as the new Justin. I had to learn about his past relationships and experiences. I struggled at first to connect with his fans, but eventually, they accepted me as well.

I looked down at my body, seeing the tattoos that weren't mine before the swap. I had grown used to them, but sometimes I still felt like I was impersonating someone else. But deep down, I knew that I was Justin Bieber now.

I thought about my girlfriend, Hailey. We had met a few months after the swap, and she had no idea about my true identity. She loved me for who I was, not for the fame or the money. She was my rock, my support system. I was grateful to have her in my life.

I finished getting ready, putting on the stage clothes and the accessories. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the performance. I walked out onto the stage, the crowd cheering as they saw me. I started singing, the music flowing through me.

I felt alive, performing in front of thousands of fans. I saw the excitement and joy on their faces, and it fueled my energy. I danced and sang, putting my heart and soul into the performance.

After the show, I met with some of the fans, signing autographs and taking photos. I could see the admiration in their eyes, and it felt good to know that I was making a positive impact on their lives.

As I walked back to my dressing room, I saw Hailey waiting for me. She smiled and hugged me, telling me how amazing I was. I felt grateful for her love and support.

I realized that even though I had taken over Justin Bieber's life, I had also gained a new sense of purpose. I was living a life that I never could have imagined, but it was mine now. And I was determined to make the most of it.

[ruhitsblog]

Lustful Dancer   

I’ve studied and toiled for decades, wishing for a fulfilling life. While I did achieve my dream job, I did not expect the long hours of monotonous work that would come with it. All the glamor and childhood fantasies faded with age, and I feel like a cog in this wage machine. My only refuge is watching the success of others behind the phone screen. It’s a bitter-sweet addiction, in a way. Here I am, suffering while enjoying someone else’s unattainable success. I enjoy watching them, but it always leaves a bitter aftertaste when I realize how envious I am of their lives.

Vincent Xu - A famous dance TikToker and fashion seller

Recently, I have taken a liking to this guy by the name of Vincent Xu. I like Asians in general, but something about him elevated that. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the cute face or the perfect lean body. It could be the energetic charisma he exudes in his videos. He checked all my boxes, and that made me addicted to him. I’ve watched every single video he posted several times. I even bought merchandise from his clothing business, even though I have a conservative fashion sense to don his wardrobe. One thing ticks me off, though…

It’s his dancing.

I don’t know... The face and attitude are heaven-sent. But the dance! I am not getting his dance. They looked so simple that I think a child could do it. While I haven’t done any dancing since elementary, it’s just waving your hands and feet with a beat, isn’t it? The moves he makes look ridiculous. I liked it when dances used to have class. Think of ballet or river dancing. Those have a better style, not this ride of the trend TikTok dances. I think it’s better if he switches to a better hobby like bodybuilding, photography, or even horseback riding. Anything but dancing.

“His dancing is so stupid,”

Despite all that, Vincent remains a sunshine in my dull day. Oh… how I wish I could be like him. To be that handsome and successful at such a young age. A man can only dream, and dream I did. While in the middle of work, an overwhelming feeling of lethargy. I could not help but lay down my head and lose myself to sleep. I just hope my boss won’t see me.

It was a dreamless sleep, like many of the naps I made in the workplace. However, I got this vague sensation of traveling through the air. Like I was a balloon getting dragged through the sky. Then I seemed to have heard my boss’ voice berating me for catching me sleeping during work hours. My heartbeat rose as I stirred myself awake. I was in for a shock when I opened my eyes. I am not in my cubicle anymore. I seem to be in someone else’s house. There’s a full camera set in front of me, and it appears to be in the middle of filming. When I rose from the floor, I was shocked when I felt the sudden height shift. Not only did I realize I am taller, but I am also heavier!

“Wh- what the fuck? These aren’t my hands. There’s not a callus in sight.”

I screamed in a stranger’s voice when I looked down. I am pretty sure that this is not my body. My pectorals aren’t this big, and my arms never experienced this degree of strength in their entire existence. I ran for the mirror and immediately saw a face I recognized for a change.

It’s Vincent Hsu! I cupped my face and pinched my cheeks. I felt pain, so that means this is not a dream. I wished I’d never wake up, even if this was a dream. I desperately looked for something that would break this sexy delusion. I squeezed my muscles, touched every inch of my skin, and even one hand dared to enter the den where my new dick hides. Even without touching, I could already feel the sheer size of the beast given how heavy it was down there.

To quell all doubts, I ran for the camera and rewound the tape. Vincent was doing his latest dance video. The moves played like tape in my mind. I haven’t seen this video before, but I could predict his next steps. I could feel my muscles twitch, as they anticipated the next moves. Before I knew it, my feet were dancing to the beat. In the middle of the video, Vincent suddenly collapsed. An entire minute had passed since he woke up. He scanned the room, and I realized it was already me doing that.

This is real. I am sure of it. If it was, then I better make the most of it. The thought of touching this body fills me with glee. I never really thought about it. I mean, how could I? I don’t know Vincent. Thinking of touching his body is nothing but an impossibility. Even if he knows me, why would he let a man like me touch his body? But now, I can do that impossible dream. At least, that is what I was about to do. As I was walking straight to his bedroom, I must have opened his phone which, in turn, also opened the Bluetooth speaker. The music he was dancing to earlier blasted on high volume. I was compelled by my desire to wank off upstairs, but this body was speaking another louder tune…

…and that was to dance.

“Creating these swift stylish movements is so cool. I’ve never felt this much freedom of movement before. How could I be blind to the joys of dancing?”

My body was alive and breathing in every beat of the music. My mind barely registered what my body was doing. I just moved with what I felt was natural. Now that I am doing this, I can recognize the complexity of moving one’s hands and feet simultaneously. It’s not just simple waving. One needs extreme focus to maintain body coordination, which would translate to a good fucking dance. I ended the routine with a smile and a better opinion of a hobby I saw as a waste before.

Like clockwork, I walked to the camera to check if the footage was good. That’s when I realized, it’s not something I would do. Vincent’s muscle memories are still in full effect. Nevertheless, I still checked the camera and found that I didn’t press the record button. I’d dance again if I didn’t ruin my T-shirt with my sweat. Too bad. I pulled my shirt off and threw it on the sofa. That’s when I was hit with this amazing musk. Like, one smell and I was instantaneously hard. I plopped myself on the sofa and unzipped my pants. If the dripping sweat from my armpits were already enough to make me hard, I was in for a better surprise when the musk from my crotch hit my nose.

“Oh, fuck!” I said with unbridled lust and joy. If an active lifestyle was a smell, then this is it. It’s a rich and pungent smell. It reeks, but it’s the type that’d make everyone beg to smell it. I just can’t stop smelling it. I spent minutes rubbing my pits and balls and smelling the smell that attached to my fingers. The smell just fills me up!

All that smell led to the hardest boner I’ve had in my entire life. It’s so hard that it’s painful. I was reluctant to touch the shaft because there are still doubts that this was just a hyperrealistic dream. I’ve had lucid dreams before, and over-exciting myself tends to pull me out. Slowly and surely, my perfect fingers clutched the skin of the shaft. And holy shit, I am not kidding you when I say that I felt electricity dance on my skin the moment I touched it. This body is sensitive. I mean, what else does this body not have!?

My delicious moans filled the room as they did my head. Every move of my fingers sent me into a daze. I could not take any more pleasure than what I am feeling right now, but a finger up my ass changed that thought quickly. I am still not used to controlling this body. There is this sense that I am not the owner of the hands touching me. That very thought makes it as if a stranger is touching my body. No. Not a stranger, but Vincent Hsu. I am touching Vincent Hsu, and he is touching me. The very thought was an impossibility before, but not now. It is my new reality.

“AH! AH! AH! AHHHHHHH!!!” Fuck! Even my moans are on the beat. The feelings of being alien to this body disappeared in an instant. As my cum launched into the air and onto my chest, I had the clarity of knowing that this pleasure is mine alone. I emptied my seed on my stomach and left the final one-liners on the floor. They were only minutes, but it felt like they were hours. I stayed on the sofa, staring emptily at the ceiling. The dull realities of my past are fading fast. There is only me, the new and better Vincent Hsu.

                                                                                                                       

“This is the best outfit I have had so far. It’s such a tease because my fans were salivating at the sight of my visible skin.”

After making Vincent’s body my own, his memories came fast. None of his friends or family recognized that the Vincent they knew was gone. My fans noticed though. I became bolder with my fashion sense, and I enjoyed dancing a little bit better. I am not afraid to show a little more skin, and that resulted in an uptick of people who’ve begun to follow my social media accounts. Some were even asking in the comment section when I would make an OnlyFans account.

“Soon,” I say with glee. “Soon.

Thanks to anonymous456 for sharing your story to me, I appreciate such followers who gives advice and ideas

[ruhitsblog]

A spark in life

Part -4

I was extremely excited on how to seducce him so I bought some aphrodisiac in small doses that would subtly change his mind day by day and making him love his own old body while I am it's perfect host . And as time passes he will not resist it and will accept it and start serving me as the old ronaldo.

I arrived at his place the next morning, and he let me in. I could tell that he's been stressed out lately, but he's trying to put on a brave face. We sit down in the living room, and I can see that he's nervous

I told him to bring two cup of coffee when he wasn't noticing I mixed the small doses in it and he drank the whole coffee.

I can tell that the aphrodisiac is starting to kick in, but it's a small dose and it will take time.  But it will be in his system.  I started giving him a shoulder massage, and I could feel him starting to relax.

“You're so tense, bro.” I say, trying to sound concerned. “You need to learn how to relax.”

“I know, but it's hard.” he replies, sounding a bit breathless. “There's just so much going on right now.”

“I get it, but you can't let it get to you.” I say, continuing to massage his shoulders. “You need to take some time for yourself and unwind.”

“Yeah, you're right.” he says, leaning into my touch. “I just don't know how to do that.”

“I can help you with that.” I say with a sly smile. “Why don't you let me give you a massage? It'll help you relax.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, sounding uncertain. “I don't want to impose or anything.”

“Don't worry about it, bro.” I reassure him. “I'm more than happy to help you out as he was leaning down I took off my jacket and shirt saying it's uncomfortable giving massage while wearing it.

  It's just a massage, and it's not like we're dating or anything.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

He nods, and I start to massage his shoulders, slowly working my way down his back. I can feel him starting to relax under my touch, and I know that the aphrodisiac must be working. But I need to be careful not to give him too much too soon, or he might get suspicious.

“Feels good, huh?” I ask, trying to distract him when he turns to me he blushed seeing his own old body shirtless, I can see the small buldge in his pants . That for today I am leaving meet you Tommorow for the content writting  session . And I left the place leaving him with some horny thoughts.

It went like this for  a week , until one day  when we were working on a video he got so hard looking at me shirtless working on laptop that his buldge got harder and harder  and I can't ignore it anymore.

I looked at him with a sly smile and said, “I can see that you're enjoying the view. I thought you were straight, but I guess I was wrong. Or maybe I am so handsome that I changed your mind. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your little secret crush on me.”

“Shut up,” he says, looking embarrassed. “It's not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You can't deny that you're turned on right now. I can see it plain as day. Or do you need me to take a closer look?”

“Shut up!” he says again, this time more forcefully. “I said it's not what you think! And who are you to judge me anyway? I thought you were supposed to be the open-minded one.”

“I am open-minded,” I reply with a shrug. “But that doesn't mean I'm not surprised. I didn't think you had it in you to be into guys.”

“Yeah, well, you don't know everything about me,” he shoots back. “And even if I was, it's none of your business. Just drop it, okay? Or do you want me to unzip it. I forcefully strip his boxer and saw his hard cock, oh someone's hard huh.

I grab his dick and start jerking it slowly, making him gasp. He looks at me with a mix of shock and arousal on his face. I lean in close to him, my lips barely brushing against his ear as I speak.

“You've always been a tease, but this time you've gone too far. Now you have to pay the price.” I start jerking him harder, making him moan softly. His dick is rock hard in my hand, and I can tell he's enjoying every second of it.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask him, my voice low and husky. “Is this why you've been teasing me all this time? You wanted me to take control, didn't you?”

I start jerking him even harder, making his breath hitch. He's moaning softly now, unable to hide how much he's enjoying this.

“You like that, don't you?” I tease him, my hand moving up and down his shaft. “You like it when I'm in control. You like it when I tell you what to do. You're such a fucking slut, you know that?”

I slap his cheek playfully, making him look at me with a mixture of shock and desire. He knows he should be offended, but he can't deny how turned on he is.

“I've always known you were a slut,” I continue, my hand still working his dick. “I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. I've seen the way your eyes roam over my body. You want me, don't you? You want me to fuck you like the little slut you are?”

I jerk him harder, making him cry out in pleasure. He's so close to cumming now, I can tell. Hiis mind was lost in lust. Admit it that I am better  than you That you will do anything to be with me. Anything to please me.

He nods weakly, unable to form words. I smile and lean in to whisper in his ear again.

“That's a good boy,” I say, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now, be a good slut and cum for me.”

I jerk him faster, my hand a blur as I work his cock. He cries out loudly, unable to hold back anymore. With a loud moan, he cums all over himself, his cock twitching in my hand.

I pull my hand away, looking at the mess he's made. He's breathing heavily, looking up at me with a mix of shame and desire.

Now it's my turn I unziped my prada pants and striped down my silk undies , before' speed' could do a thing I thrust my new  9 inch rod in his throat  making him choke

“Fuck,” I gasp, feeling his warm mouth around my cock. “You're now mine " after a few thrust as I was felling it I took it out from his mouth and thrust it in his ass

Now say who am I ? He replied Darren . I slapped him in his face , reply again but this time he said "Oh ! Fuck you are Ronaldo JR " that's when ii cummed inside him

When that happened something warm flowed though out both their body like it was binding some bond tightly  and speed felt like something is being drawn from him and something is being inserted into him which made me feel like I am now fully The real Christiano Ronaldo JR both soul and body

.

I felt like a different man, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I looked down at my hands, expecting to see the rough, calloused skin of a construction worker, but instead I saw smooth, unblemished skin. I looked in the mirror, and instead of the tired eyes of Darren Jason staring back at me, I saw the bright, youthful eyes of Christiano Ronaldo looking back.

I stumbled out of the bedroom, trying to wrap my head around what was happening. Everything felt different, from the way my body moved to the way my mind worked. It was as if I had been reborn, given a second chance at life.

[ruhitsblog]

New spark in life

Part-3

Speed spends the rest of the day trying to adjust to life in Junior Ronaldo’s body. He quickly realizes that being a famous, wealthy, and handsome man comes with its own set of challenges. Everywhere he goes, people recognize him and want something from him. Whether it’s an autograph, a selfie, or just a chance to talk to him, Speed is bombarded by fans and well-wishers.

He does his best to smile and be polite, but it’s exhausting. By the time he gets home at the end of the day, he just wants to collapse into bed and forget about the whole mess.

The new 'JR Ronaldo'  calls  his old body to get all the personal details  about the family and friends.  He is getting ready for the upcoming family dinner tomorrow. He need to know about the family and other things to keep the fake going.

The new speed began telling all his personal details of his parents, friends , his hobby and even about his Girlfriend that I fucked today. He kept on telling for about 5 hours  and then finally the call ended.

I start to digest every word he spoke to make it my own. I need to make this fake as real as possible.

Speed spends the next few days trying to adjust to his new life as Junior Ronaldo. He quickly learns that being a famous athlete comes with a lot of perks, but also a lot of responsibilities. He has to train hard every day to keep his body in top shape, and he has to be careful about what he eats and drinks.

Despite the challenges, Speed finds that he actually enjoys some aspects of his new life. He’s always loved sports, and now he gets to play soccer at a professional level. He’s amazed by how naturally his new body moves on the field, and he quickly becomes a star player on his team. It's crazy how good he is, and the girls and the fans love him even more now that he's being nicer and more down-to-earth.

He can't imagine how he would live without all of this since it became my very habit , it came in my mind if it can be made permanent   . He knows it's wrong, but he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards the old "Ronaldo" for having all of this his whole life and not appreciating it.

That's when I reverse researched into how to make the swap permanent  and searched online  how to make this body swap permanent

It took a lot of time  for me to reverse engineer but the most common theme is I need to take his most prized possession.

But I am not sure what's that and started thinking what could be the prized possession of the old JR Ronaldo  and then it hit me hard.  His identity itself , that's his most prized thing. And that's something I can't take away from him, but I can try to make him do roleplay while seducing him and making him serve me as Ronaldo JR wholeheartedly

But how can I do it, I need to gain his trust first and make him my bitch.  That's not going to be easy, but I'll try my best. I'll start by being nice to him and helping him adjust to his new life. Then, I'll slowly start to manipulate him and make him dependent on me. Once he's completely under my control, I'll be able to do whatever I want with him. And by that time, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to roleplay as "Ronaldo JR" and serve me wholeheartedly.

But first, I need to make sure that he doesn't suspect anything. I'll have to be careful and play my cards right. I'll start by calling him and checking up on him.

“Hey, how are you doing?” I ask him over the phone.

“Its been so stressful, can you help me out with the bank details so that I can do my personal transactions ” he replied

“Yeah, I��ll help you with anything you need, bro. Just let me know.” I reply, trying to sound as friendly and helpful as possible.

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” he says, sounding relieved.

“No problem, that's what friends are for.” I reply with a smile.

“That's good to hear. And how are the fans treating you?” I ask, curious to know how he's handling the attention.

“Thats not good bro , they are trolling me " because of the new content I made was horrific" they want me to delete that.  I said it's my channel do whatever you want  and they are getting mad and even the sponsors are asking to take it down.  Can you help me with that ” he said

Ok I'll be there tomorrow morning and guide you, hang in there and stay safe I said

[ruhitsblog]

25 posts!