Vendetta @vindictivenerdcels - Tumblr Blog

Bigger, Better, Harder, Stronger

My mind's a bit rusty after months of not writing this many storyline that racked up quite some length. So, I dumped my entire draft of this story I have on my phone and then asked AI to optimize it

Joshua had been planning this for months. Not in some vague, pathetic daydream way — no, this was calculated, surgical, inevitable. Every night after his dead-end coding gig, he’d sit in his cramped studio apartment, laptop glowing on his scrawny lap, and scroll through Rob Harlan’s socials like a man possessed.

Rob was everything Joshua wasn’t. Six-foot-one of sculpted, vascular perfection. Dark, wavy hair that fell just right over those sharp, arrogant eyes. A jawline carved from marble, broad shoulders tapering into a waist so tight it looked photoshopped, and a chest that jutted out like twin slabs of marble — heavy pecs, deep striations, nipples that always seemed perked from the pump. Then the abs — eight thick, cobblestone ridges that flexed even when Rob was just breathing. And below that…....fuck, the way those white Calvin Klein briefs hugged the heavy, swinging bulge in every mirror selfie. Rob posted them daily: shirtless in the gym bathroom, towel slung low, that cocky half-smirk saying I know you want this.

Rob had the life too. Modeling gigs that paid stupid money, a luxury apartment downtown, and Jess — his fiancée — a stunning brunette who looked at him like he hung the moon. Joshua had seen the stories: them at rooftop parties, her hands all over those abs. Meanwhile, Joshua was invisible. Five-eight, narrow shoulders, soft belly, a dick that barely made a tent in his boxers. Girls never looked twice. Guys like Rob barely registered his existence unless they needed an assistance or forced to interact with their kind. But Joshua knew the truth deep in his bones: that body was wasted on the jacked douchenag. Rob was born with it, took it for granted, used it to cruise through life on autopilot. If Josh owned that physique, he could do so much better....and more. He’d studied the forums, the darknet drops, the countless dark corner of the internet until he landed on the goldmine. A freaking innovative breakthrough by some rogue Montenegrin scientist working as a double-agent for MI6 and SVR developing a nanite skinsuit system — irreversible, perfect, living flesh turned into a custom-fitted garment. One dose injected and the target’s body became yours. The original mind? Trapped in the lining forever, screaming aimlessly, while the one wearing the skin gained everything and infiltrated so deep, no technological scan could catch the difference. The scientist worn a German diplomat facade for the past 2 years with no side effects whatsoever and the chat turned into a transaction with the scientist asking for an update upon the success of the nanite.

#male takeover #identity theft #nerd to jock #male possession #male puppet #male body theft #male body suit #male bodysuit

alienpossession

I just watched this crazy series called "Bloom" and let me tell you, it's quite a TF ride! There's so many TF scene! Spoiler below, so if you wanna watch the show with no idea what the fuck is going on, don't scroll down to read more!

Take this character. He's a wanted murderer that found himself rejuvenated to his younger self after eating the berries (this on Eps 2 Season 1). Stunner of a character to be honest. His on-screen presence is demanding and he'll sweep you away. In this scene below, he's literally f*cking the police officer's wife (messy LOL)

Or this one plotline where the now-younger female MC gives the berry to her ex-boyfriend and bring that old man back to his PRIME because she wanted nothing more than a kid and her husband cannot get younger even after swallowing the berries!

Intrigued? Yeah if I read those scenes description for the first time, I would run too and start watching right away. Ok, before I yapped too long, I'm just going to give the Wikipedia premise/byline on what kind of show Bloom is

"A year after a devastating country flood kills five people, a new plant is discovered with the power to restore youth. This is a miracle for locals but some are prepared to kill for it"

I enjoyed this more compared to The Beauty simply because the actors can deliver their lines well and the script is just on different levels. Phoebe Tonkin is also one stunning actress and the actors casted for the youth version are all just gorgeous on the 1st season.

vindictivenerdcels

Shit.......this is incredible and my mind instantly flooded with ideas, especially the fact that throughout the show, it seems like the character cannot stop but emphasizing moral corruption (and horniness) that happened upon consuming the fruit......

For example, the character Herb

Well......since you ask, Father

#reblog #bloom #older to younger #male muscle growth

its-yours-now-deactivated202603

Dominating the Rich Bo(d)y Pt. 2

The next morning Diego woke up in the king-size bed, the sheets cool against his new skin. Sunlight cut through the half-open blinds and landed across his chest, highlighting the smooth, even tan. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy against his thigh, the kind of morning wood that came from sleeping like a king.

On the floor beside the bed, Mateo lay curled on the hardwood, no blanket, no pillow, just the thin rug under him. Goose bumps covered every inch of what used to be Diego’s body. The skin looked wrong now—pale, a little gray under the eyes, the kind of pallor that came from a night of shivering and zero sleep. Mateo’s eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but he didn’t move when Diego sat up.

Diego swung his legs over the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor, right next to Mateo’s head. He reached down, grabbed a fistful of his own old hair, and yanked Mateo’s face up to look at him. “Morning, bitch,” he said, voice still carrying that smooth, rich-boy lilt.

“Sleep well?”

Mateo swallowed, throat working. “No, Sir.”

“Good.” Diego let go and stood, naked, letting Mateo’s cock—now his—bob in the air. He felt fucking fantastic. Rested. In control. The decision he’d made sometime after midnight, while Mateo whimpered through the last round of punishment, sat solid in his gut. He wasn’t swapping back. Ever.

He looked down at the pathetic shape on the floor. “I’m keeping this body. For good.”

Mateo’s breath hitched. His eyes flicked down, then back up, and Diego saw it—the twitch in his old cock, the slow swell starting at the base. The fucker was getting hard.

Diego laughed once, low. “Look at that. You like the idea, don’t you? Staying swapped.”

He reached for the cage on the nightstand, the same heavy steel one from before. Mateo’s hands shook as he held still, but he didn’t fight when Diego knelt, fitted the ring around the thickening shaft, and locked the tube in place with a sharp click.

“Oh, you like the idea of staying swapped,” Diego said, snapping the lock shut. “Well, no. I’m keeping your body. But you’re not keeping mine.”

He stood again, key dangling from the chain around his neck, and walked over to the desk where his phone—Mateo’s phone, really—sat charging. He picked it up, opened the Twitter app, and logged into his original account.

Diego hit record, propped the phone against a lamp, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. He flexed once, slow, letting the golden skin catch the light. The abs popped.

“Got myself a new life from the prettiest cash fag I’ve ever broken,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Giving my old body away permanently.”

He paused, let that sink in, then kept going.

“Contest starts now. One week. I’m handing over my old body—the one you’ve all been drooling over—to the most pitiful, old, flabby, fat, pathetic, desperate loser I can find. The winner gets to be Diego Morales. For good.”

“Rules are simple. Send the plenty of money. Post videos wearing my worn, sweaty clothes. You had to buy them already, so only those of you that have been following me have a chance. In every video, you beg for my body. Tell me exactly why you deserve it. Post at least three times a day. All of it on your public accounts. I want your boss, your family, your fucking neighbors to see you groveling. And when you win, you get your ass on a plane to Argentina to pick it up. No exceptions. If you can’t come get it, I pick someone else.”

Diego leaned closer to the camera, eyes hard.

“I’m serious. I want the saddest sack of shit out there. The one who knows he’ll never be anything on his own. The one who’ll worship his new body every day and thank me for it.” He ended the video, hit post, and watched the likes and comments start flooding in almost immediately.

Mateo was still on the floor, cage locked tight, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Diego tossed the phone onto the bed and smiled down at him. The notifications started the second the video dropped and didn’t stop. Diego’s phone—Mateo’s phone—vibrated nonstop on the nightstand while he lounged by the pool, feet up, scrolling through the replies with a lazy grin. Mateo stayed inside, locked in the room with the blinds drawn, probably still sore from the night before.

The subs came out of the woodwork fast. A 55-year-old retired realtor in Miami wired $15k within the first hour, then posted a shaky montage of himself stroking in front of a full-length mirror, Diego’s black compression shorts pulled down around his thighs, muttering “thank you Sir thank you Sir” every time he edged closer. Another one, some 60-year-old accountant from Manchester, filmed himself in a cramped hotel bathroom wearing the jock Diego had sold him two years back—faded gray, stretched out, the pouch still carrying the ghost of old sweat. The Brit held up a bank transfer receipt for $8,200, then turned around, bent over the sink, and spread his hairy cheeks for the camera while he begged in a thick accent.

Diego laughed out loud at that one, thumbed through the comments, and pinned the Manchester video to the top of his replies. But none of them hit like Javier, his uncle.

Diego almost dropped the phone when the notification came through. The username was just “J_Rivera87”. The post loaded slow because it was a long video, and when it finally played, Diego froze.

Javier was in Diego’s old bedroom back in the house in Queens. Same peeling paint on the walls, same twin bed with the sagging mattress, same faded wrestling posters tacked above the headboard. The window was open; traffic noise drifted in from the street below. Javier stood in the middle of the room wearing nothing but Diego’s high-school wrestling singlet—the red-and-black one from senior year, the one Diego had outgrown by graduation. The fabric looked ready to split. Javier’s dad gut pushed the material out in a wide, soft dome; the straps dug into his shoulders, leaving red marks; the legs rode high on thick, pale thighs dusted with black hair. His cock was already out, thick and uncut, foreskin halfway back, leaking steadily onto the carpet. Javier’s face was wet. Tears tracked down his cheeks, mixing with sweat. He was jerking himself with one meaty hand—slow, deliberate pulls—while he stared straight into the camera.

“I’ve wanted this body since you were 18, mijo,” he said, voice cracking. “I used to steal your cum-rags that you hid in your closet. The ones you thought nobody knew about. I’d take them to the bathroom, smell them, wrap them around my dick while I thought about you coming home from practice all sweaty and tired. I used to jerk off in your bed wearing your dirty football jersey while you were at practice. I’d press my face into your pillow and imagine it was you. I still do it sometimes when I visit your mom. I want to wake up every morning and see this cock in the mirror. Please, sobrino… let me be you. Let me fuck with your cock. I’ll never waste it. I swear on everything. I’ll take care of it. I’ll use it right.”

He kept stroking the whole time he talked, faster toward the end, breath hitching. When he came it was sudden and messy—thick ropes hitting the carpet between his feet, splattering the singlet’s already-stained crotch. He kept pumping through it, whimpering, until the last spurt dripped down his knuckles. Then he dropped to his knees, right there in the middle of the childhood bedroom, and pressed his forehead to the floor like he was praying.

The video cut.

Diego sat there for a long minute, phone in his lap, cock half-hard against his thigh just from the sheer fucked-up rush of it. He hadn’t spoken to Javier in years. He never would’ve guessed the man even knew about the account, let alone that he’d been buying the gear, lurking in the shadows, waiting.

He opened the transfer app. Javier had already sent $42,000. The biggest single donation so far.

Diego typed out a quick reply under the video, public for everyone to see:

“Damn, Tío. Didn’t know you had it in you. Keep going. You’re in the lead.”

He hit send, then leaned back in the lounge chair and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm Mateo’s perfect skin while the notifications kept rolling in.

The week dragged on with more videos, more wires, more desperate begging, but nobody came close. Javier kept posting—three, four, five times a day like clockwork. Shirtless in the singlet again, on his knees in the living room, in the shower with Diego’s old jock draped over his face while he sobbed out another plea. The money kept climbing: $68k, then $92k, then $115k by day seven. Every cent he had. He sold his car. Cashed out his 401k early. Maxed credit cards. The comments under his posts were brutal—people calling him disgusting, pathetic, a family disgrace—but he didn’t stop. He just kept thanking Diego in the captions. “Anything for you, sobrino. Anything.”

On the morning of day eight Diego posted the announcement. “Contest over. Winner: @J_Rivera87. Get your ass to Buenos Aires. Bring proof you’ve got nothing left to go back to.”

Javier arrived at the clinic two days later. The staff didn’t blink. They were taken to the same private suite—two beds, monitors, calm professionals in scrubs. Mateo fought when they strapped him down—kicking, cursing in Spanish, tears streaming—but the restraints held. Javier just stood there, docile, letting them hook him up without a word.

The procedure was the same low hum, flashing lights, blackout. When they came back online, everything had shifted again. Javier sat up first in Diego’s young body—smooth skin, carved abs, heavy cock already stirring between his thighs. The cage was still locked on it. He looked down, hands trembling, and let out a soft, broken sound.

Across the room, Mateo—in Javier’s 52-year-old frame—curled on his side. Soft gut spilling over the waistband of the loose scrub pants they’d given him. Thick salt-and-pepper hair covering his chest, arms, trailing down to a groin that hung heavy and low. The skin sagged in places it never had before. He stared at his own hands like they belonged to someone else, then down at the gut, the thick thighs, the cock that looked nothing like the one he’d spent his life jerking to in secret.

Diego—in Mateo’s body—stood between the beds, arms crossed, watching it all settle.

Diego took out the key to the cage and stepped to Javier. He knelt, unlocked the cage slowly, deliberately, letting the steel slide free inch by inch. Javier’s new cock sprang up, thick and veined, already leaking at the tip. He stared at it in stunned silence, then wrapped a hand around it—gentle, reverent, like he was afraid it might disappear if he gripped too hard. He stroked once, twice, eyes wide, breath catching. Diego didn’t wait. He turned to Mateo, grabbed the base of the soft, heavy cock now attached to him, and snapped the cage on. The ring went around first, cold against the loose skin, then the tube slid over, locking with a sharp click. Mateo whimpered, low and broken, hips jerking once before he went still.

They left the clinic in a black SUV. Mateo sat in the back between them, caged cock straining uselessly against the steel, gut pressing against his thighs. Javier kept touching his new arms, his chest, his face—fingers tracing the jawline, the tattoos, the smooth pecs—like he couldn’t believe they were real.

Back at the compound the gates opened automatically. The staff lined up at the entrance—housekeeper, groundskeepers, the pool boy—heads bowed the second they saw Mateo’s body step out first. Diego. “Welcome home, señor,” the housekeeper said, eyes on the floor. Diego nodded once. They walked through the open spaces—marble, art, glass. Everyone deferred. Exactly like he’d wanted. In the master bedroom Diego pointed to the couch.

“Javier. Fuck him.”

Javier moved like he was in a dream. No hesitation, no questions. He walked over, eyes locked on Diego, not even glancing at the man bent over the arm of the couch. Mateo—in Javier’s old body—didn’t fight. Just let himself be positioned, ass up, gut hanging, thick thighs spread. He whimpered when Javier’s hands gripped his hips, but it wasn’t protest. More surrender.

Javier slid in raw. No prep, no lube, just the slow push until he bottomed out. He started thrusting—steady, deep, mechanical at first, then smoother as the rhythm took over. But he never looked down at Mateo. Never acknowledged the body he was buried in. His eyes stayed on Diego the whole time—wide, shining, grateful.

His hands roamed his own new chest, abs, thighs. Tracing the lines of ink, feeling the hard muscle flex under golden skin. Every thrust punctuated by soft, dazed murmurs.

“Thank you so much, mijo… thank you… dios, this body… it’s perfect…” Over and over. No taunts. No cruelty. Just pure, overwhelmed awe. Like Mateo wasn’t even there. Like the man he was fucking had become invisible the second Javier got what he’d begged for.

Diego leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching it all. Cock hard in his jeans. Smiling slow.

Mateo’s whimpers turned to low, broken sobs. Javier didn’t notice. He just kept moving, kept thanking, kept feeling every perfect inch of the body that used to be Diego’s. And Diego let him.

Javier kept moving, slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize every inch from the inside. His hands never stopped roaming—sliding up over the hard ridges of his new abs, across the smooth planes of his pecs, down the inked lines on his forearms, then back up to squeeze a bicep that flexed under golden skin. Mid-thrust he paused, just for a second, to press both palms flat against his own chest, feeling the heartbeat there, the heat, the youth. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, lost somewhere between disbelief and worship.

Diego sat back in the armchair across from the couch, legs spread wide, one hand wrapped loose around the thick cock that used to belong to Mateo. He stroked slow, lazy pulls, not rushing, just enjoying the show. Mateo’s perfect body felt like it was made for this—relaxed, powerful, in total control.

He tilted his head, eyes locked on the man bent over the couch arm. “See this, Mateo?” Diego said, voice calm, almost gentle. “This is what you begged for all those months. Getting fucked by my body. Worshipping it. Well, now it’s happening.”

Mateo didn’t answer. Just quiet, choked sobs muffled against the leather cushion. His new gut hung low, pressing into the couch edge with every shallow rock of Javier’s hips. The steel cage strained hard against the soft, heavy flesh of his groin—useless, trapped, the skin around it flushed red from how bad he wanted out. A thin string of pre-cum dripped from the slit, pooling on the floor beneath him.

Diego kept thrusting.

“Now cum,” he said.

Javier’s rhythm broke. His hips stuttered, then slammed forward one last time. A long, low groan tore out of him—raw, grateful—as he buried himself balls-deep and started unloading. Thick pulses, one after another, filling the body he barely registered as belonging to him just a few hours ago. His hands stayed glued to his own new biceps, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself to the miracle happening under his skin.

“Gracias… gracias, mijo…” he whispered, over and over, voice cracking on every syllable. He kept rocking gently after the first rush, slow rolls of his hips, milking every last drop while he trembled through the aftershocks. His eyes never left Diego. Not once.

Diego leaned back farther in the chair, legs still spread, hand still moving easy on himself. He watched Javier finally pull out—slow, careful. The cock that used to be Diego’s slid free, slick and shining, already twitching back toward half-hard. Javier stared down at it in open awe, chest rising and falling fast, one hand drifting to trace the vein along the shaft as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Mateo stayed collapsed over the couch arm, ass still up, leaking slow and steady onto the cushion. His sobs had gone quiet, just shaky breaths now. Ruined. Caged. Forgotten.

Diego let his hand fall still. He looked from Javier—dazed, reverent, already reaching to stroke himself again—to Mateo—broken, leaking, trapped in the body nobody wanted—and finally down at himself. The rich, pretty skin. The carved lines. The life he’d taken and made his. He smirked, slow and satisfied.

This was exactly how it was supposed to end.

He stood, stretched once, feeling every perfect muscle shift under Mateo’s golden tan.

“Clean up,” he said to no one in particular.

Then he walked out of the room, leaving them both behind—Javier still touching and flexing his new body like it might vanish, Mateo still bent over the couch, leaking and silent.

The compound was his now. The body was his. And nothing was ever going back.

vindictivenerdcels

Deliciously cruel. I wish we can get a little bit more story on how Diego enjoyed the access that he now possesses as Mateo, the way he command everyone in the house that now obeyed him as they view him as Mateo. Or maybe, a closing chapter where he and his uncle explore their newfound dynamic and lavish life. All in all, what a hot piece, and for this to be just your third post? Amazing @its-yours-now

#reblog #male body swap #alpha dominance #male takeover #identity theft #fat to fit #old to young

thesuitaskin

Take a Photo (Alternate Version)

One of my favorite caption stories by @2xskin Ideas had been floating around in my head for years, and still being hooked, I finally decided to explore it in my own way. It might be the start of something. https://maletransformation.blogspot.com/2015/12/seanday-treat-take-photo.html

“You want to take a photo? It’ll last longer,” John muttered as Ryan watched him flex.

“I didn’t know there was so much ink,” Ryan replied, already opening the camera on his phone.

John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow beneath the close-cropped hair. The trimmed beard sharpened the expression, made it look more severe, more confrontational. “I was being sarcastic,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh,” Ryan said, embarrassed, and turned his camera off.

“So what can you tell me?”

“About what?” John sighed.

“You know,” Ryan said carefully. “About John.”

John didn’t answer. He continued feeling the tight, muscular pectorals that sat heavy on his shoulders—solid, veined slabs of flesh that looked less like a body than a piece of equipment. Beneath his ribs, a black rose tattoo bloomed across his side, stark against tanned skin. A thin gold chain with a small cross lay against the center of his chest, catching the light every time he shifted.

In the mirror opposite, John turned slowly from side to side, studying his reflection with a calm, almost clinical focus, as if assessing whether everything was still in place.

He stretched, hooking his fingers into the skin of his tattooed bicep and pulling. The muscle swelled under his grip. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “This is a good fit. One of the best I’ve had.”

Ryan watched, saying nothing.

John lifted his chin. Not a big movement—just enough to lengthen his neck and square the line of his jaw. His head stayed tilted up like that, eyes hooded, gaze level with his own reflection. It made him look taller and even more full of himself. He didn’t drop his gaze once. Then, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his black FILA trunks and started to adjust them. He stepped slightly to one side, flexed his legs once, and watched how they tightened and relaxed. He made a small adjustment and looked again.

John picked up the smartwatch from the ground and slid it onto his wrist. He adjusted the strap with quick, practiced movements, then checked the display in the mirror.

Satisfied, he lowered his arm and reached for the pants.

He picked up the black athletic pants. Lightweight fabric. He shook them once, stepped into them, and pulled them up over his hips. The waistband settled just below the FILA lettering. He adjusted the height, checked it in the mirror, and left it there.

Then his eyes moved. They slid from the mirror to Ryan, slow and delayed, as if Ryan had only just entered the room.

“What the fuck,” John said quietly. “Why are you still here, you piece of shit?”

The voice was exact. Flat. Rough. No warmth at all. Ryan felt his chest tighten. “Ok Chad. Nice impression.”

“What’d you just call me?” he asked.

Ryan hesitated. John stepped forward. “You trying to be funny?” he said. Ryan backed up without meaning to. John closed the space and then shoved him. The wall stopped him.

“Don’t talk,” John said. “You’re already fucking this up.”

Ryan swallowed.

“You’re not him, Chad,” he said. “You’re just pretending.”

John smiled slightly.

“Yeah?” he said. “Then why are you shaking?” He leaned in close. Too close. “You say that name again,” he said quietly, “and I’ll see how brave you are when you’re on the floor.” John — the real one — had a short temper and had been inside for assault; this was his first week back on the streets.

Ryan didn’t answer. John straightened even more, satisfied. He looked back to the mirror, adjusted his stance, lifted his chin again. “Thought so,” he said. Then something shifted.

The hard set of his jaw loosened. The glare drained out of his eyes. The posture stayed — broad, confident — but the menace fell away like a coat being shrugged off.

John’s arrogant persona washed from his face.

“Well,” he said, almost casually, “that was easy.”

Ryan blinked, still pinned where he stood.

“There’s not much going on in his head,” John continued, voice lighter now, sharper in a different way. “Surface stuff. Anger issues. Habit. Reaction. Sucked it up real quick.”

Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands were still shaking.

“That's fucked up. You were pretty convincing,” he said.

John smiled.

It didn’t belong on that face.

The expression was wrong somehow — too narrow, too familiar. Ryan could see Chad in it immediately, thin and sharp-eyed, the kid he’d known for years. Skinny Chad. The one who used to get shoved around in school corridors. The one who’d graduated with him only months ago.

Seeing that smile on John’s face unsettled him more than the threats had.

Ryan shook his head slowly. “And I still can’t believe it’s you in there.”

John glanced back at the mirror, then at Ryan. “But here we are.”

Ryan remembered the fight — how hard it had been. How John had thrown them both off more than once. How he’d gone straight for damage, elbows, head, anything he could reach. Not panic. Experience. He fought like someone who knew exactly where it hurt. Ryan could already feel the bruises forming under his shirt.

John rolled his shoulders once. “He’s strong,” he said. “And he doesn’t stop once he starts.”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. John’s voice had changed, but Ryan’s body hadn’t caught up. His shoulders were still tight, his hands still hurt where they’d hit the wall earlier, and the room felt quieter now. He looked at John and tried to line up what he was seeing with what he remembered.

Ryan still couldn’t believe it was Chad inside—thin and skinny Chad, someone he’d known for years. They’d only just finished high school together. It had taken both of them to subdue John; he was big and strong. A few times he’d managed to throw them both off. He fought dirty, something he’d learned from being inside or maybe as a kid. He knew how to hurt people. Ryan could still hear John's short, ugly laugh and already feel the bruises.

Ryan had finally got the needle into his ass, and the two of them lay on him until the juice started to work. Ryan sat in the corner holding his side as Chad unbuttoned his shirt.

“Help me, will you!” Chad muttered.

Ryan shook his head and could only watch as Chad pulled off his Hi Tops, socks, and skinny jeans. He only paused for a moment before pulling at John’s white underwear. There was hunger in Chad’s eyes as he looked at the lifeless monster that hung between John’s legs. Then he mouthed mine and grinned.

He started to feverishly pull at John’s neck, finding an edge he gently eased his fingers underneath. Ryan could see his concentration; it was like he wasn’t even there. Chad followed the edge high across John’s back, almost to the ends of his shoulders, then down following the line of his chest.

Ryan heard a snap, and John’s head was separated from his body. Chad threw it over and it landed in Ryan’s lap. John’s brown eyes stared up at him, cursing. Ryan could almost hear him vowing his untimely death. He brushed John’s eyes closed, fearing what might have been if he hadn’t been able to get that needle into him. Examining John’s head, Ryan still couldn’t believe what Chad was planning. Like himself, Chad had always been the victim—the skinny kid people picked on. Ryan pushed his hand into the empty neck and held up John’s head. Soon Chad would be taking on the identity of the local thug that ran the district.

When Ryan looked up, Chad had all but transformed into the twenty-seven-year-old and was forcing his arm down into John’s.

“You still want to go ahead with this?” Ryan asked.

Chad scrubbed at his brown shoulder-length hair. “Hell yeah, I’ve got nothing, except this now,” he said.

He started to feel his entire body—the thick strong arms, deep heavy chest, and tight abs. He closed his eyes and groaned as his stolen body reacted. He sighed and looked down.

“And this monster,” he muttered, giving it a couple of jerks. “Plenty of time for that later.”

He reached down and pulled on the underwear, struggling to cage the stolen manhood.

Ryan had told him to leave off John’s mask and just have the body, but Chad said he wanted the whole package.

“Give me it,” Chad said, pointing at the mask.

He looked into Chad’s blue eyes and handed it over. Ryan felt kind of sad seeing his friend swallowed up by John. He wondered if he’d ever see him again—the real Chad, he meant.

Chad pulled it over his head, and Ryan watched his thick long hair disappear under John. Chad pulled at his new face, pushing the mask’s features into place.

John blinked for the first time and looked over at Ryan. Chad’s blue eyes were lost; only John’s dark brown eyes remained as he smoothed out the joins, creating a seamless, undetectable transition.

----

John shifted his weight and looked at Ryan, casual now.

“You’re replaying it,” he said. “I can see it.”

Ryan swallowed.

“I’m processing all of it.” “It didn’t have to be like that,” Ryan said. “And you didn’t need to scare me like this.” “Yeah,” John said evenly, glancing back at the mirror, checking his posture, smiling. “But it felt great and it was fun.” Ryan took a step back without thinking. John noticed and smiled—not cruel this time, just certain. “Relax,” he said. “You’re still useful.”

John then forced Ryan on his knees while pushing down his own pants. In an instant John’s monster dick jumped into Ryan’s face.

Finally. Ryan, driven by lust, was just about to start when John grabbed him by the hair with both hands. Without giving Ryan a chance to react, he rammed his cock down Ryan’s throat. Ryan quickly realized that John was only interested in his own satisfaction, but it was Ryan’s wet dream becoming reality.

“Now be the good little cocksucker,” John said confidently. “You can feel honored, I don’t let a fag suck me off every day.”

Ryan did so and tried to ignore the pain and not gag as he listened to John's taunts. A stain became visible in his own pants.

John shot his load recklessly into Ryan’s throat. “Fuuuuuck!” With a single deep groan and full of relief, John pushed Ryan away and turned around.

John picked up his black T-shirt like nothing had happened. No pause. No glance back. He shook the fabric out once and pulled it over his head. The cotton dragged across his shoulders before settling into place, the red stag spreading tight across his chest. He tugged the hem straight with a quick, practiced movement, then lifted his chin and smoothed the collar flat against his throat with two fingers, checking the fit in the mirror.

When John finished, he looked exactly as he had before Ryan and Chad had taken him down. Ryan watched in silence — heart still racing, breath uneven.

Suddenly a tune came up from Chad’s pile of clothes dumped on the floor. John glanced at Ryan, then bent down to dig through the piece and grab John’s ringing phone.

Ryan watched in silence as John tapped the screen and answered — his demeanor changed immediately.

“Tony, you fucking jerkoff, where the hell are you?”

He started pacing the small room, cocking his head with a wide grin on his face — the same one Ryan had seen on the unfortunate original not thirty minutes earlier.

“Man, I was right behind you. Then your girlfriend wanted to go into that clothes store. No way I was hanging around while she tried on a bunch of crap.”

Ryan smirked, and John shot him a look. Ryan’s mouth snapped shut, frozen by excitement or fear.

"Nah mate, I shouted I was going for a piss, but that bird of your must have been hanging off your ear. Bitch, you should get rid of her, she’s always nagging you." I saw a glint in his eyes, John was notorious for not giving a fuck. John laughed.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you. She’s fine.”

He glanced at Ryan and made a quick jerking motion in front of his dick.

“Man, I don’t give a fuck. Look, I’ll meet you at that fancy cafe on the second floor in twenty. Yeah, like I care if she brings her friend.”

He hung up.

“Jerk,” he muttered under his breath.

John then shot a look at Ryan and held out a hand.

Ryan hesitated before taking it. John’s grip closed around his wrist and hauled him upright without effort, like pulling dead weight off the floor. He didn’t let go right away. He stood too close, crowding Ryan’s space, forcing him to look up.

“I know what I just did.” John said. His voice was lower, steadier, stripped of the earlier menace but not softened.

Ryan nodded, uneasy, eyes fixed on the familiar face that didn’t feel familiar at all. This was the same man who’d pinned him to the wall minutes earlier, who’d scared him without even raising his voice.

“I wanted you to see it work.” He gave Ryan’s wrist a brief squeeze before letting go. “It’s still me in here.”

Ryan swallowed. He wanted to believe that.

“I’ll be in touch,” John said. “Couple days. Maybe more.” He stepped back, already shifting into that confident, street-ready posture. “Once I get Tony alone, I’ll call you. Then you can dump that bitch and we can do all sort of things.”

With a smug grin, he pushed Ryan aside and walked away...

vindictivenerdcels

Back like he never left!

#male transformation #male bodysuit #reblog #thesuitaskin

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Finale

It's been a while since the brothers met each other, they rekindled their past on quite a rowdy Christmas Eve

"Fucccckkkk.....you really pounded my daughter with all this strength, huh?"

"Yeah, everytime I undressed, she went nuts and just latched herself within seconds. Seems like that traits come from you, huh?"

"What can I say, I appreciate a fine-tuned physique. Just look at me, close to 60 but clearly I can keep up with you,"

"Yeah right, LOL. Hmmmm.....the thought of you massaging your wife just less than an hour ago and here you are worshipping me, I didn't know you have it in ya, Bob,"

"Guess something got into me and changed me for the better. I didn't know you are open for this kind of shit too, Brock,"

"Oh, I'm always open for suggestion, you can slip ideas into my mind and body and I'm willing to test it further to see whether I really enjoyed it or not,"

Both of them grinned to each other as they then kissed passionately on the lips. Then, they consummated their lust for each other on the couch, careless, loud and sloppy because Elaine won't be back until at least January 10th from a much-needed meditation retreat plus the wives of these two would never even suspect that their husbands outing for last-minute grocery dash actually take a detour. They will return their neighbors back as soon as they feel like it, complete with the so-called groceries that Jeremiah and Marcus will just order through online deliveries and fork the money from these two clueless folks pockets. So much talk of not doing it anymore until next year, they cannot even contain themselves to not use the spell until at least the New Year's Eve.

----

Christmas morning dawned with a crisp chill. Tyrell stirred groggily in the guest room bed, his body ached like he'd been through a twelve-hour shift on the construction site, but even worse. His muscles sore, hole throbbing with a dull burn that sent confusing sparks up his spine, and his head pounding from what he chalked up to jet lag and too much eggnog the night before. The sheets were crusty in spots, a sticky reminder of..... something. Flashes of last night violation teased at the edges of his mind that matched this mess of a surrounding he's in. Sweat-slick skin, grunts, a familiar voice whispering filth and even more closer noise of his slurred speech, but eventually the flashes slipped away like smoke when he tried to grab them. He sat up slowly, his massive frame creaking the bedframe, and rubbed his eyes. He felt......vulnerable, like something inside him had cracked open and wouldn't seal back up.

He swung his legs over the side, feet hitting the cool hardwood, and glanced at the mirror across the room. His reflection stared back: beard unkempt, eyes bloodshot, cock stirring inexplicably under his brief as if it'd been primed overnight

"The fuck..." he muttered, shaking his head. The nightmares from last night lingered like a bad hangover, but they were just dreams, right? Jet lag messin' with his head. He pulled on sweats and a tee, the fabric clinging to his still-damp skin from night sweats, and headed downstairs.

The scent of breakfast hit him halfway, the festive scent of Christmas mixed with bacon sizzling and coffee brewing. It smells warm, comforting, lovely. But as he entered the kitchen, his gaze locked on Tyrone, and everything tilted.

Tyrone stood at the stove, flipping eggs in nothing but his underwear and that gold chain glinting against his caramel chest. He moved with that irresistible swagger, muscles rippling under smooth skin, sweat from an early workout making him glow like he'd been oiled up. Elaine bustled nearby in her robe, setting the table with plates of the bacon and eggs while Marcus sat quietly at the island, scrolling his phone, looking a bit pale and there's this suspicious sniffle that he learned all too well from the bratty children of his sisters that wanted to skip school. Yet, despite all that, Tyrell couldn't tear his eyes from Tyrone. For a split second, he eyed his brother up-and-down and thought how great he looked. The thought intruded unbidden, his dick stirring again, tenting his sweats slightly. He shook it off, but the stirring wouldn't tame, a low throb building as Tyrone turned, flashing that cocky grin.

"Yo, lil bro! Merry Christmas! Finally up? Thought jet lag had you down for the count."

Tyrone plated some eggs, handing them over with a shoulder clap, his hand lingering a beat too long on Tyrell's trap, the warmth seeping through the tee. Tyrell swallowed hard, the contact sending a jolt straight south. His dick twitched, refusing to calm.

"Merry Christmas, man. Yeah... rough night. Head poundin',"

He sat at the table, trying to focus on the food, but his eyes kept drifting to Tyrone's pecs flexing as he poured coffee, the way his sweatpants hugged that bulge, the intoxicatingly musky sweat-cologne scent combo wafting from him that made Tyrell's stomach flip.

Elaine smiled, setting down the piping hot black coffee

"Poor thing. Drink this, it will wake you up," She leaned over to kiss Tyrone's cheek, her robe slipping slightly, but Tyrell barely noticed as his gaze fixed on how Tyrone's arm wrapped around her waist, possessive, alpha.

"He got her wrapped tight," Tyrell thought, but the image twisted as suddenly he imagined himself in her place, Tyrone's arm around him. His dick stirred harder, an unwelcome hardness pressing against his sweats.

"What the hell?" He thought to himself, but turns out he vocalized it a bit too louder, even Elaine paused a bit and stared

"Is there something wrong with the coffee, Tyrell?"

Tyrell just shook his head and apologized. Meanwhile, Marcus glanced up, smirking subtly that Tyrell obviously missed because he never paid attention to the kid, especially now. Tyrone sat across from Tyrell, digging into his plate.

"So, lil bro, how's the job? Still breakin' backs on them sites?" The words were casual, but "breakin' backs" hit Tyrell like a spark. It seems unintentional, but charged, his mind flashing to being bent over, back arched. His dick throbbed, and he just brushed it aside as merely his morning wood that just didn't settle down quick enough

"Good, man... steady work, got promoted in this new project to become site manager," Tyrell mumbled, shifting in his seat to hide the growing tent, "What about you? Still livin' off Elaine's dime?"

Tyrone laughed, deep and rumbling as he smooched a kiss

"Wow....Mr. Site Manager acting as if I don't give you handouts from my baby here. You know my routine, workout with clients, doing some of those shoots with brands and then managing my social media. Elaine simply assisted with the other aspect of my life, the 5-9 if you may say. It's one year anniversary soon, seems like she's deep in it, can't get enough."

"Tyrone Henry Williams, Christmas morning and you are speaking like that!?" Elaine said, half chuckling as she ruffled Tyrone's hair, "But yeah, who would have thought that we will last for almost a year now? Oh, how time flies by,"

The whole time Elaine's speaking, Tyrell's eyes fixed on Tyrone's full, smirking lips. Then, as he licked a bit of yolk off them, the sight hit like a gut punch, arousal spiking as intrusive thoughts entered once more

"Irresistible... bro too hot...imagine kissed by that lips,"

The longer the breakfast dragged, the wilder the intrusive thoughts about enjoying the kind of forbidden brotherly love he never even thought before frequented his mind. It didn't help that Tyrone seemingly speaks this double-edged swords that intended for one thing but hit Tyrell like crazy

"Pass the sausage, the thick one."

"Elaine wrapped me tight this year, gifts on point."

"Yeah, the office party was nuts. You have to see how Elaine's co-worker erupted in joy that the Secret Santa really got her this bougie ass gift. She bounced up and down in joy,"

Lucky for Tyrell, Marcus stopped the "assault" launched by Tyrone as he claimed to his mom that he didn't feel so good. Elaine, sighed with disappointment, allowed Marcus to spend Christmas on his room and only greeted the guests quickly while also wearing mask. That also gave Tyrell the opening to excuse himself and solved this persistent morning woods

"Head killin' me... gonna shower." he said as he directly turned around so his bulging meat remained unseen by Elaine or Tyrone.

Tyrell bolted up the stairs two at a time, his massive frame making the steps groan under his weight like they were protesting the burden. His mind was a storm, and his dick, stirring untamed in his sweats, was the lightning rod.

He slammed into the bathroom next to Marcus's room, locking the door with a click that echoed in his ears like finality. The space was sleek with Italian marble tiles, a rainfall showerhead, Elaine's fancy amenities lining the shelf, but Tyrell barely noticed all those grandeur. His reflection in the fog-proof mirror looked rough, eyes wild, beard unkempt, sweat beading on his forehead from the internal heat. His dick tented obscenely, the outline thick and insistent under the gray sweats.

"Fuck... what the hell's wrong with me?" He muttered, voice gravelly and low, the words bouncing off the walls. But even as he said it, the image of Tyrone flashed. His athletic form, leaner but cut like diamond, that smirk, those hands......thick digits. The thought made his cock twitch harder, stirring beyond control.

He stripped rough and quick, yanking the tee over his head as his man-boobs jiggling free, nipples hardening in the cool air. Sweats and boxers followed, his cock springing out like a released beast: girthy, uncut, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal a glistening head already leaking precum in a slow, sticky bead. It bobbed heavy between his thighs, veins pulsing like ropes under the dark skin, balls hanging low and full, dusted with coarse hair. Tyrell stepped under the showerhead, twisting the knob to hot. The water cascaded down in a warm torrent, steam rising instantly to fog the glass. The spray hit his chest first, rivulets tracing the deep cuts of his pecs, pooling in the valleys of his eight-pack before trickling lower, over his stirring dick that refused to soften.

He leaned against the tile wall, the cool surface a shock against his heated back, and wrapped one massive hand around his shaft. The first stroke was slow, tentative, the warm water lubing the glide as precum mixed with the spray.

"Ahhhh... shitttttt," he groaned, voice echoing off the marble like a rumble in a cave. The sound was deep, guttural—unh-unh—as he pumped once, the head flaring redder under the foreskin. But his mind wandered immediately to Tyrone. Tyrell's soul, still malleable from the night's corruption, fed the fantasy, unaware it was planted and for him at that moment, it felt like truth bubbling up.

He imagined Tyrone slipping into the shower behind him, those strong hands, thick digits calloused from weights, gripping his waist.

"You been starin', lil bro," dream-Tyrone whispered, breath hot on his neck.

Tyrell's stroke sped up—shlick-shlick—the wet sound of skin on skin under the water, his hand twisting at the top to rub the sensitive underside. His free hand roamed his own body, pinching a nipple hard, the jolt making his dick throb, stirring wilder. In the fantasy, Tyrone's fingers trailed lower, spreading his cheeks, exposing his hole to the warm spray.

"Gonna open you up first, with these." The thick digits pressed in, one at first, breaching slow, the stretch burning like the real ache from last night, but now laced with euphoric want.

Tyrell's groans grew, echoing louder, the steam thickening the air like a musky veil. He leaned forward, one hand braced on the wall, ass pushed out as if inviting the phantom touch. Water pounded his back, cascading over his glutes. His dick leaked steadily now, precum stringing from the tip to mix with the shower flow, the shlick-shlick-shlick picking up pace.

The fantasy only deepened from then one Tyrone's finger curling inside, hitting the spot and making Tyrell's knees buckle in the fantasy and real life simultaneously

"Feel that, lil bro? Spreadin' your hole wide, gettin' you ready for the real thing, making you my bitch," Tyrell added a second finger to his own ass, mimicking the intrusion. It was tight but slick from the bar soap he grabbed blindly. Squish-squish—the sound of digits spearing in, his hole yielding with a burn that turned to pleasure.

His breaths came ragged, fogging the glass further as he jacked faster, hand flying up and down the girthy shaft. The musky scent of his own arousal mixed with the steam created this earthy, potent scent like locker room funk amplified. Tyrone's image loomed larger, his athletic frame pressing against Tyrell's back, those thick digits scissoring now, spreading him open.

"You always wanted this, big bro takin' control, dominating you," Tyrell's soul, malleable and corrupted, agreed in whispers

"Yeah bro......make me your bitch, take control, take it,"

The arousal he never knew surging like a dam breaking. His man-boobs heaved with each pant, nipples diamond-hard under the spray, one hand abandoning the wall to tweak them roughly, sending sparks straight to his dick.

The strokes turned frantic—fap-fap-fap—the wet slaps echoing off the tiles, his balls swinging heavy between his thighs. Fantasy Tyrone withdrew his fingers—pop—and lined up the meaty monstrosity. It's thick, veined, uncut like Tyrell's but charged with elder dominance.

"Gonna slide in now, fill this hole like it was made for me." Tyrell imagined the breach, slow at first, the head popping past the ring, the stretch immense, burning euphoric. He fingered himself deeper, three fingers now—squish-squish-squish—mimicking the girth he remembered from the stolen glances he had of Tyrone's silhouette, his hole clenching greedy.

Tyrone's phantom thrusts built in his mind: slow to pounding, balls slapping ass, the rhythm matching his jacking.

"Take big bro's dick, get loose and spread wide, lil beast." Tyrell's free hand slapped his own ass, the sting heightening the arousal, his hole spasming around his fingers.

As he neared his climax, the realization started to sunk in. Is he about to shoot his load to the fantasy of his own brother breeding him

"Oh hell yes you will," fantasy-Tyrone suddenly said, as if reading his thoughts. But that voice came out weird....like a glitched blend of Tyrone's voice with someone else that is way more creaky. But before Tyrell could think further, his fingers managed to push him to the edge as he roared in delight, the cum erupted from his morning wood matched exactly with the copious amount seeded by Tyrone in his dazed and broken mind. Spent on the floor, he curiously laughed out loud as his whole body stirred and twitched before staying still. He seemed to enjoy the sensation that washed over his body as he stood slowly from the shower tiles, cum, sweat and water cascading off his hulking frame, steam swirling around him like victory smoke. A smirk plastered across his face, slow and wicked. He cracked his neck with a sharp pop, water droplets flying, then reached down to grab his hefty cock, stroking it once, possessively.

"Showtime," he muttered under his breath, voice deep and satisfied, Marcus fully in control

When he returned to the room, Marcus were aware that Tyrell followed him right after. Marcus noticed the noise that Tyrell made and used it as an opening to enact the spell right-away. Those flashes of Tyrone that Tyrell materialized inside his mind were nothing but a cruel invasion from Marcus, disguising himself as Tyrone and effortlessly assaulted Tyrell's crumbling and confused soul. The takeover was swift and easy, the moment he convinced Tyrell to shot his load was the final key that ejected Tyrell's soul from the control seat while Marcus easily assumed the full control of the body. As he walked out from the bathroom, he checked his room to see his slumbering form under the blanket. He smiled devilishly at the sight, his body safely cocooned inside that fuzzy blanket, looking sickly and fully innocent from the kind of mess that would destroy his Mom's Christmas plan

---

The family gathering went on like normal. Elaine only has one sibling, her parents already passed away too, so the Christmas gathering were not necessarily the usual huge festivity filled with 30+ family member. She even invited some neighboring families to join her party. Marcus and Jeremiah seamlessly played the role of two alpha brothers not necessarily built from the same wealth as these other swanky folks, stealing knowing glances on their ultimate plan. As he purposefully chugged a tad too much alcohol to be a bit rowdy, Marcus in Tyrell excused himself to nurse his head a bit by going to his room. Jeremiah in Tyrone helped his brother to go back to the room

For a moment they just stared, two possessed men wearing the brothers’ bodies, the air thick with lust and purpose.

Then Marcus dropped to his knees.

“Let's get this over with," he said in Tyrell’s lighter, younger voice as he grabbed Tyrone's bulge, "been wantin’ this all day.”

Tyrone’s eyes darkened with hunger. He unzipped the jeans, freeing Tyrone’s thick, uncut cock. It's already hard, curving up toward the cashmere sweater. Marcus puppeteered Tyrell's body to lean in, inhaling the musk. Then, in one swift move, he instantly swallowed Tyrone's massive tool. The gag reflex stopped him to reach the base in one go, so he worked his way through a series of pulling in-and-out of that thick rod. It was sloppy, loud and he seemed to be very eager to worship the cock that belonged to his own older brother. Tyrone winced in delight, gently pressing Tyrell's head to keep going deeper with every return. Wet sucks filled the room, muffled by the closed door and the holiday chatter downstairs. Tyrone threaded fingers through Tyrell’s shorter curls, guiding him.

“That’s it, lil bro,” he growled. “Suck your big brother’s dick on Christmas. While his girlfriend hosts downstairs.”

Tyrell moaned around the shaft, pushing deeper until he gagged, tears pricking his eyes. Spit dripped down his chin onto the carpet.

Tyrone pulled him off after a few minutes, hauling him up by the hoodie and tossing him onto the bed. He stripped Tyrell’s clothes roughly, the hoodie, jeans, and at last the boxer to reveal Tyrell thick built underneath.

“On your stomach,” he ordered.

Tyrell complied, ass up, face buried in Elaine’s pillows that still smelled faintly of her perfume while the mistletoe dangled right on top of the headboard

Tyrone spat on his fingers, worked them into the tight hole, Tyrell really was untouched there until last night, and the tightness seems to return for a second-breaking. Marcus-in-Tyrell whimpered, pushing back.

He pushed in slow yet relentless. Tyrell bit the pillow to muffle the cry as the thick head breached him, stretching him wide. Inch by inch, Tyrone sank deeper until his hips met ass. Then he started moving. Slow at first, savoring the clutch of virgin heat, then harder as the bed creaking softly, skin slapping. Tyrell clutched the sheets, moaning into the pillow with every thrust.

“Fuck, so tight,” Tyrone grunted. “My lil bro’s pussy feels good.”

Downstairs, laughter, Elaine's sister told the story of her family trip to visit Elaine this year to the other guests. Midway, Elaine’s voice called

"Tyrone? Tyrell? Brock and his wife brought tiramisu made by their mother, don't yall want some?"

Both men ignored it and didn’t stop. Tyrone leaned over Tyrell's back, one hand over his mouth, pounding deeper. Minutes blurred, sweat and pre pooled as Tyrone reached around, stroking Tyrell’s leaking cock in time to push it off beyond the edge. As Tyrell erupted to the sheets with a muffled scream, his hole clenched even harder and that drove Tyrone to his climax as he roared loudly and unloading thick, heavy pulses of tasty, creamy cum with the consistency of the eggnog served downstairs.

They were still locked together, breathing hard, when the door handle rattled.

“Tyrone? Baby?” Elaine’s voice, confused.

The door was not locked. Another rattle. Then the knob turned and the door swung open. Elaine stood there in her red dress, plate of tiramisu in hand and froze. Her boyfriend, Tyrone, balls-deep in his own younger brother on their marital bed. Tyrell’s face twisted in ecstasy, cum staining the sheets. For one eternal second, no one moved. Then Elaine dropped the plate. It shattered on the hardwood. Her scream was short, cut off as shock took over. But the damage was done.

Guests rushed upstairs at the sound. Elaine waved them back downstairs, voice trembling but firm

“Everything’s fine—just a spill. Go back down.”

She shut the door, locked it again, and turned to the two men now scrambling apart.

Tyrone pulled out, tucking himself away. Marcus-in-Tyrell sat up, dazed and leaking.

Elaine’s face was stone.

“Get dressed,” she said quietly. “Both of you. Out of my house. Now.”

No hysterics. Just cold, final steel.

Tyrone opened his mouth, trying to act like he really cared and has something to explain, but she cut him off.

“Don’t. Just go.”

Tyrone and Tyrell were gone from the penthouse within fifteen minutes, bags shoved into Tyrell’s rental car. But, they were not leaving instantly from the parking lot* not before the parting gift. In the underground garage, away from cameras, Jeremiah—in Tyrone—grabbed Tyrell by the throat and slammed him against the car.

“You stupid fuck,” he snarled in Tyrone’s voice, pure rage. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants one goddamn day? Insisted on gettin’ messy on Christmas Eve? Ruined everything ‘cause you wanted to play with your big bro’s dick? Elaine was a dumb oblivious bitch, and you fucked it all up!”

Tyrell still dazed after Marcus left his body, cum leaking down his thigh as he stammered in confusion.

“I—I don’t—”

Jeremiah didn’t let him finish.

He spun Tyrell around, yanked down his jeans, and fucked him senseless right there against the car. It was raw, brutal and punishing. Tyrell cried out, but Tyrone clamped a hand over his mouth, pounding until he unloaded one final time deep inside.

Then, spent, he stepped back, closed Tyrone's eyes and chanted the spell as he left the body for good, snapping back to his dorm room. Tyrone’s body slumped instantly, knees buckling, collapsing to the cold concrete, passed out from the sudden void and exhaustion. Memory gaps would fill the blanks; he’d wake confused, hungover, with no clear recollection of the last weeks.

In the condo, after he calmed his mom's down, Marcus walked into his room and then found several miss call from Jeremiah. He returned the call, setting it in FaceTime and within seconds, Jeremiah answered. Jeremiah’s real face filled the screen, smiling ear to ear.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly, voice warm and his own again. “Merry Christmas.”

Marcus laughed, shaky with relief and leftover adrenaline. “You did it. We did it.”

“Your mom’s safe now,” Jeremiah said. “No more leech. Tyrone’s gone. Tyrell… handled.”

“I love you,” Marcus whispered.

“Love you too,” Jeremiah replied, grin widening. “Hopefully no more of this next year? Talk to your mom, make sure that next Christmas is gonna be just us. No possessions. Just you, me, and your mom opening presents like a normal family.”

"That sounds nice," Marcus smiled, tears pricking his eyes

They stayed on the call for hours, talking softly, planning a future without secrets or spells. A real Christmas miracle.

---

Finally, right on the cusp of New Year HAHAH. Sorry it took so long, hopefully this 6 chapters filled yall with warm, fuzzy feeling during this holiday season. See you next year and in another series????

#male possession #personality change #straight to gay #male takeover #christmas tf #christmas possession

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Part 5

All of that comes down to this final stretch

On Christmas Eve, the condo is a whirlwind of holiday chaos downstairs. Mom is humming carols in the kitchen, the oven timer beeping for her pecan pralines, the tree lights twinkling like distant stars. Upstairs, in the guest room, silence reigned except for Tyrell's heavy snoring. He'd crashed hard after the flight from LA, a quick basement pump to "shake off the stiffness," and a belly full of Elaine's pre-dinner snacks. At 28, Tyrell is the "bigger" little brother. He is broader than Tyrone, with a construction worker's bulk: 6'3", 240 pounds of raw power, man-boobs like armored plates, thighs that could snap rebar. Straight as they come, chasing women at dive bars, trash-talking "soft dudes" at family cookouts. But now, his body is my playground.

Ever since that day I slipped into Dre, Tyrone drilled me with various session under his watch to ensure that I can seamlessly wrestle control from Tyrell and pilot his body around for our Christmas grand plan. It involved all sorts of random possession, from the pizza delivery guy, the startup dude living next door and we even have session with Dre once more since Tyrone's been craving to feel his straight friends mouth wrapped around his cock ever since I denied him that chance in the cafe. Tyrell practically become a rather easy possession case in comparison to the others. He's jet-lagged, drained from all the travel today and maybe I did cheat a bit and crushed some of mom's sleeping pills to his casserole, that giant instantly felt drowsy after the last spoonful of mom's hearty casserole passed through his throat. So, when I tiptoed my way in to his room and slammed with my full force to enter Tyrell's physique, I practically faced no resistance as he just weakly sidelined, too jet-lagged to even put up a fight. I instantly opened my eyes earlier and I inhaled as much oxygen as I could, feeling the way his chest ballooned up in response to it and started my exploration over his body

Now, it's 11:32 PM, the room is dimly lit but my senses are all fried from the possession. I jump off from the bed and staring straight to the full-length mirror attached on the closet. Looking at all the fullness, the imposing height, the face, I cannot help but grin as I decide to flex the arms for starter. As the biceps swelled and veins charted like rivers, I cannot help but cursed to the foreign yet obscene sight in front of me

The mirror revealed a god: mahogany skin taut over muscle, pecs heaving with each breath, these hard man-boobs begging for hands. I stop flexing to the reflection and then instead cup these amazing bad boys, giving them a rather firm, unyielding squeeze.

"These tits... fuck, Tyrell, you a whole meal." I pinched a nipple, groaning as Tyrell's cock stirred—girthier than Tyrone's, heavy and uncut.

The sensation must have been earth-shattering or awareness-inducing, because why on Earth I heard some faint whispers from inside my head

"T--this is wrong.....why am I like this?"

I cannot help but smirk. Seems like I have a guest with me, so the best and polite way is to greet the guest back. As I pinched my nipple once more, I exaggerated my moan while my eyes staring straight at my reflection. Tyrell Williams. Naked. Hard. Aroused.

"Mmmhhhh.....I'm so fucking big, bro. These racks can compete with Elaine's," I said with delight, the confusion and panic getting louder yet I know he has no strength whatsoever to fight me. I'm fucking charged, well-rested and horny as fuck, there's nothing can stop me in this state. Tyrone explained that his best sex with my mom involved him titty-fucking her, and I put that in mind as I pictured Tyrone's monstrosity slide in between these boobs of mine. God, I'm so fucking horny I cannot help but leak pre thinking about my own big bro!

Right when I tried to puncture my hole with my own well-soaked index finger to really drive the point home, Tyrone opened the bedroom door with his eyes wide open

"Yo, Tyrell? The fuck are you doing?"

I know he knows I'm inside. So, I just stared at him from the mirror and replied back at him

"Mirin' myself, obviously. You can come join me....if you wanna get mogged,"

Tyrone—Jeremiah's control seamless—stepped in, locking the door with a click. He scanned me, looking at my fucking fat ass, my hands on my pecs, dick raging hard and I'm glowing with this sheen of sweat coming out from my body

"Damn bro, what's gotten into you?"

That asshole. He really just knew the right word to trigger me. I grinned at him, know fucking well it comes off very delicious since it's Tyrell's mischief shown here rather than my usual sheepish and awkward smile

"Nothin' really. Just chillin'. Feelin' kinda... heated." I flexed my pecs, making them bounce. Fuck......this is nuts, here we are, two gay nerds in a relationship now linked through blood because we are slipping into a pair of straight bros doing homoerotic bait under brotherly tease. I sensed something pressing and uncomfortable come from within. Tyrell's soul twisted inside, a spark of recognition and confusion

'What....the fuck? Bro, help! This is me, some freak sh---"

As Tyrone kissed me right on the lips, I found myself lost in the sensation that swelled within me. Yes I kissed him before, but never with this lips, this tongue, this breath. Sparks crackle inside me as none of us stop this pretty much incestuous, slobbering and lustful kisses.

"Why the fuck do you taste like cinnamon?"

"Just kissed Elaine before this. She's so busy making all those desserts,"

"And her guest decided it's a good idea to steal a kiss from her man? Yeah, that guest really crossed the line, don't you think?"

"Quite a bold guest, I gotta say. But still, as you said, it's rude of that guest to be so nonchalant about it. That guest deserve to get punished or something,"

"But she's busy with cakes and all, I don't think she has time to punish the guest,"

"Oh, lucky for her, she has a runt yet brave knight in black, muscular armor ready to do her biddings,"

As he shoved me to land on my back on top of the queen-sized bed, he started to undress himself to reveal the entire shaft I've grown to get fond of despite its insane size. Tyrell on the other end? He's scared shit of the prospect, his soul panicking as he definitely know what's about to happen

Tyrone hands landed on my hard man-boobs, his squeezing feels confrontational as his thumbs circling the perked up nipples, pinching to elicit a gasp out of me, which he of course successfully managed to do

"These pecs swole as hell, bro. What, you tryna outgrow me? Tryna be like a chick?"

Thank fuck for lengthy cock and insane stamina, because I would've spurted all over the place with just his words and touches! My body buzzed in delight as I subconsciously arched my back as if I'm riding through the wave of orgasmic euphoria that jolted all over my body. Tyrell begged to be let go of the situation, probably daunting the fact that he's turned on by the idea of getting pleasured by men, and not just any men, his own brother. But much to his horror, it's just the start because Tyrone then placed his cock right on top of my pecs and then slotted that musky, veiny monstrosity in-between

"Hmmm.....you built these tits for moments like this, huh?"

He squeezed my fucking man-boobs together while thrusting slow, the head popping out, brushing my chin. I adjusted my head and tried to lick the thick spear teasingly, euphoria flooding inside of me while Tyrell's soul anguished....

"No... brothers don't...---"

"MMMFFFFUUuuuck, bro... titty-fuckin' your lil brother's chest? Now tell me, Elaine never let you do this, right?" I casually uttered that acting all curious, Tyrell's voice sounding extra hot speaking in this manner

He grinned. I know he will lie, just to ruin Tyrell even more.

"Oh yeah, never. She's quite conventional. You, on the other hand, you're down with everything. You're such a slut, bro,"

That's enough to shut the whimper for a while, so then Tyrone upped the ante as his pace quickened, cock sliding with squish-squish sound as my cleavage smeared with pre-cum and my cock is getting harder by the seconds. I tried to grab Tyrone's ass and then directed him to bury himself as my cock speared his hole, but he swatted my hand and instead getting more intense working on my tits like it's a fucking warm, tight hole. I legitimately think he will explode right in this position but then, he flipped me around onto my stomach

"Time for the real violation."

He spread my cheeks around, spitting on the hole and also at his cock before spearing in raw—the stretch agonizing yet insanely fulfilling once it tightened when that massive dong entered my hole Tyrell's soul screamed mentally

"Get out! Both of you! BRROOAAAHHHHHH----"

With the first thrust, a cherished memory shattered: childhood backyard brawls, brothers rolling in grass, competitive fire. The vision corrupted, Tyrell beneath Tyrone, the roll turning to grinding, passion igniting, subservience blooming as Tyrell begged for more. It was not sexual then, just Tyrell letting his brother pinned him down because he enjoyed the fact that someone can knock him down. Tyrone, disgusted, called him a slut and tell him to stop acting out like he's a chick

I moaned in euphoria, my body thrumming, Tyrell's bulk under my command, every twisted corruption a high.

"Fuck, Tyrone......Deeper! It's working!" Tyrell's soul practically cried inside, the euphoric waves that washed over me clashed with his horror.

Then another thrust, this time deeper. A scene of family barbecue scuffles, uncles cheering. Tyrone finished uni while Tyrell just started. Brotherly brawl turned into passionate rekindling of separated brothers. Behind the shed, he pinned me down and the scuffle devolving to forbidden kisses as I was pliant to his touch. More relentless thrust corrupted this vision even more. The night of that forbidden summer, where both bros slept soundly and minding their own business turned into one where Tyrone finally fucked Tyrell. The sweltering summer heat feels realistic and the morning excuses slid in effortlessly

"The AC didn't work, and goddamn the room is like a sauna!"

Tyrell's soul fractured with each thrust and headboard thump. His sense of self and his memory feels hazy and filled with paradox. He's always been straight, not a single thought about other dudes ever crossed his mind. But these memory injected into him confused the hell out of him. Then, I simply whispered

"You never looked at other men because your brother is already hot enough,"

He tried to resist that, but I timed that speech with all the pounding from Tyrone, drilling it deep to his psyche. And when we simultaneously blow our load, it seemed like Tyrone's cum flooding and eroding all the brotherly memory between the two of them as I sensed that Tyrell's whimper getting quieter. My body goes limp instantly, my whole frame collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy thud. My chest heaving, I can see my sweat-soaked skin glistening under the dim lighting of the room. The drain is total: the red-eye flight's exhaustion, the basement workout's burn, the relentless sex that had turned this virgin hole into a slick, gaping mess. Cum leaked slowly from my ass, pooling on the sheets alongside mine that splattered like crazy, a viscous reminder of the violation. I lingered for a moment in the afterglow, riding the euphoria, feeling Tyrell's heartbeat slow, the endorphins flooding the system like a drug.

"Fuck... that was intense," I muttered, my soul buzzing with triumphant sensation. The corruption had been masterful: every thrust a chisel, reshaping Tyrell's mental landscape into one of passive acceptance. No more fierce competitiveness, no more straight alpha, just a weakened spirit, primed like soft clay for future molding. I can sense it, the soul's anguish had peaked during the sex, each memory's violation a euphoric knife twist for him, but now it simmered in quiet defeat, making re-possession tomorrow a breeze.

With a deep breath, and feeling like it's a good enough job, I initiated the ejection. The spell reversed in my mind as I whispered internally, will pulling back like a tide retreating from shore. My consciousness snapped free, a disorienting rush as it hurtled back to my original body slumped in the couch facing the balcony. I blinked awake in my own skin, lighter and less imposing, a nerdy mixed-race frame compared to Tyrell's beastly bulk. Weirdly, the euphoric bliss still lingered in my veins, a post-orgasmic high mixed with the thrill of power. I had conquered yet another alpha, corrupted a soul, and left it malleable. Across the bed, Tyrell remained passed out, his face slack, mouth slightly open, drool trickling onto the pillow. His soul is probably now passive and weakened, floated in a haze of fragmented memories, the brotherly bonds forever altered. Where once he'd recall wrestling Tyrone with pride, now flashes of subservient passion intruded: yielding on the grass, moaning under his weight. The big alpha body recuperated slowly as his heart rate steadying, muscles twitching in aftershocks. But the soul, it's primed, its defenses crumbled, ready for me to slip back in tomorrow like a key into a well-worn lock.

Tyrone eventually pulled out with a wet schlick when I ejected myself. His thick and veiny cock, still semi-hard and glistening with saliva and cum. He slapped Tyrell's ass one last time, a possessive smack that echoed faintly.

"Sleep it off, lil bro. Jet lag's a bitch."

He wiped himself on the sheets and smirked, tucking his bulging cock back into his shorts. The fabric is tenting obscenely, the outline clear as day. The room reeked of sex from all the sweat, cum, musk is a potent cocktail that could give away everything if Elaine wandered up. But the noise during the pounding? The bed's rhythmic thumps, the grunts and moans, Tyrone had timed it perfectly. Downstairs, Elaine had her gospel playlist blasting on the kitchen speakers, Aretha Franklin belting "Mary, Don't You Weep" to cover the holiday baking clatter. Any stray sounds would blend into the "boys being boys" assumption, brothers roughhousing, as they always did when Tyrell visited. No suspicion; just family dynamics.

Tyrone straightened his sweater, the gold chain settling back against his chest. He glanced at me and give a subtle nod.

"Good work," he mouthed, before unlocking the door and slipping out casually.

I also slipped out from Tyrell's room a couple moments later. The hallway is quiet, the scent of pies stronger here, masking any lingering musk coming out from this room and maybe it can hide Tyrone's scent too? I heard him skipping staircases earlier, his cock probably still throbbing in his shorts, the bulge impossible to hide if anyone looked close. But I know that his confidence will carry him, Jeremiah channeling Tyrone's narcissistic swagger, striding like nothing happened, strutting as if he just didn't fuck his younger brother

I roamed around trying to listen on the conversation downstairs as I walked out from the bathroom and brushed my teeth while eavesdropping my mom and Tyrone. She's probably still at the counter, apron dusted with flour, stirring a bowl of icing or something. Her face must've been beaming when she said.

"There you are, babe! Tyrell okay? I heard some noise up there—y'all wrestlin' again?"

Fuck.....she really is that oblivious.

Jeremiah—Tyrone—laughed, deep and easy, sounds like he's pulling her into his arms as she sounded a bit more muffled and the stirring sound stopped. Damn....if that's the case, he must've been real bold because when he walked out, I can still see the sweat drying on his skin and the faint sex scent clinging on his body.

"Yeah, lil bro jet-lagged but talkin' big. Had to put him in his place—straight brother shit, you know?" He kissed her right there, deep, possessive, tongue slipping in to claim her mouth, his bulging cock pressing subtly against her thigh through the apron, at least that's what I envisioned based on the sounds they make. She melted into it, oblivious, her hands floury on his back. The kiss lingered, wet and hungry, Tyrone tasting pie dough on her lips, maybe his mind replayed the kiss he gave Tyrell upstairs? Mom pulled back breathless, giggling.

"Mmm, save some for later. Pies almost done."

He slapped her ass playfully.

"Aight, babe. I'ma shower—worked up a sweat handlin' family business." She nodded, turning back to her baking, none the wiser. As he walked up on me eavesdropping, he just smirked at me and muttered under his breath

"She won't be that oblivious tomorrow. Now scooch, boy, I wanna shower. Or are you jealous with your future uncle and want to get a piece of me too? Elaine still busy for at least another hour,"

---

Chapter 6 will be the finale! Tell me what you think about this series so far and by the way, if yall ever wanna do a spinoff like having the drill session fleshed into a full story or have additional scenes like the characters are in a a Christmas shopping spree with sex in-between, feel free to expand it all you like! I feel like 6 is already long enough and I definitely don't want to risk bringing this story to January. All in all, Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday!

#male possession #male takeover #nerd to hunk #gay to straight #straight to gay #personality change #memory rewrite

tf-lover

Happy Holidays!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all! Whether you're celebrating Christmas like me or just enjoying a day off (better be getting extra pay if you're working!) I hope you're all having a good time.

Thought I'd do a little end of year check in.

Had a bit of an extended absence earlier this year with work being busy recently (and a fair few videogame releases this year that've distracted me from writing admittedly) but going to be getting back into it with a mix of stories and captions as usual. May do another interactive story too if people are interested in that, be sure to check my pinned post for that.

Plenty of ideas on the way though so ready assured there's still some very interesting scenarios I'll be exploring stories of. If there are any writers interested in collaborating it's been a while since I've done any so do reach out!

And well, if you've been good enough maybe a few of you have woken up in your dream bodies as a gift from Santa!

Me, well it seems I hit pretty lucky personally, must have been good for Santa to gift me the body of my favourite tiktok/onlyfans star Jake Andrich. I did have a new tattoo penciled in over the Christmas period, but I think Santa heard me and took that one step further... Not that I'm complaining.

Being a whole ocean away from people I intended to see sure isn't convenient, but I think this body is gift enough don't you all? Without going too into personal details I've had quite the enjoyable morning exploring this body; I think you can all probably guess what I spent my Christmas morning doing in it.

And now, well I've been relaxing and getting in the Christmas spirit. And yes, I've been doing that in just a jockstrap and Christmas hat, it'd be a crime to cover a body this gorgeous up.

And since I'm in the giving mood, why don't you all get in touch? Got questions for Jake and how I'm spending my time settling into being him then do get in touch and I'll be sure to answer your questions and share a few more selfies 😉. I'll be spending a good while in this body going forward, so get used to seeing me around! And who knows, for those that have been extra good maybe I'll share some gifts of my own?

All my best,

- Jake Andrich (TF-Lover)

vindictivenerdcels

I spent all my December writing stories with this dude as the inspo.

Guess Santa noticed the outrageous spike in interest and intense passion I have while visiting his pages. As I spent countless hours doing my research, viewing all his videos, ogling at his muscles, imagining him into the scenes I wrote, he appeared on my dreams. Sometimes it was just a glimpse of his video replayed, a loop in my brain. At other times, my mind brought reality and fantasy merged as one when the scenes I outlined in my draft with him as the centerpiece seemingly brought to life right in front of my eyes. The setting, the noise, the scent, those wilder dreams felt so vivid and realistic, as if he's not just reachable, he existed in the same space as me and aware of my presence. He even called me once in those dreams. Maybe Santa read it as me wishing to be close to him or get to know him better, but I would never expect it to be this wild as I found out earlier this morning that I somehow woke up thousands of miles away in a cozy Chicago apartment I grew to recognize within seconds due to my research.

Let's just say, the fact that he's actually a bachelor living all by himself presented me with quite an opportunity to.....know him better, at a much more intimate rate. I have quite a different Christmas this season, but as you can tell, I'm not complaining even once. In fact, I wish I can stay inside him until New Year.....or beyond. Expect more realistic scenes in the upcoming chapters, guess the research will be much more easier if you are the subject of your own story ;)

#male possession #reblog #santa granted our desire

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Part 4

Being Tyrone is way easier once Jeremiah unlocked the hunk's memory

A loyal reader requested the story to be told from Marcus perspective so maybe this part can be a good try out

Anyway, Merry Christmas. One or two more parts before this story comes to an end

---

We headed to the private parking lot of the building where my mom stashed her car collection. The Porsche looking like a sleek, black predator ready to roar on the street. Her love for cars stemmed from my bio dad, and this lucky, gold-digging bastard has been the one enjoying all the luxe, until now. As we hopped inside the beast, the cool leather instantly warmed as he turned on the heat a bit. Then, like the same old routine, cock's dangling once more as he grabbed me by my chin

"You will look so cute sucking on my fat, monster cock once more, but let's keep it risky yet lowkey," he said as he gives me a kiss right on the lips and then grabbed my hand to then directly land at his growing erection

"My hands on the steering wheel and the stick, while yours.....will be on my fuckstick," Jeremiah said, his tone low and menacing while his warm breath enveloped me, fully sounding like Tyrone when he's conspiring behind closed doors

I nodded, obediently, a bit too eager, as he gently slapped my face and called me a good boy, another Tyrone's classic.

And just like that......my hand is slick with sweat and pre as I keep on pumping the entirety of that meat throughout the way, only the tinted windows and the Porsche low-seating covered me from getting busted jacking on another dude's dick while he's driving with all these vehicles whizzing around us to their respective destination. I think I pumped it a bit too good because he moaned approvingly with the small, detailed tweak I give him with every pump. Yet all in a sudden, arousal turned into fear when he suddenly swerved trying to avoid a fucking truck coming from the other side. The truck honked loudly and he gasped, adrenaline seemingly coursed through all over his body because how on Earth is he hard after a near-death experience like that? And the fact that Jeremiah has 0 driving skills because none of his foster parents ever bothered to taught him the skill, seeing him blazing through the street, this feels like full Tyrone in action and mannerism. But aside from that scare, we arrived safely at the gym for a light workout and he instantly swatted my hand

"Stop grabbing my pole, fag. There's bitches around, don't ruin my chance with them," he said with a grin, "such a fucking tool he is, still flirting around despite Elaine gave her everything. Guess Tyrone need fresh, tight pussies here and there to compensate for the lame sensation she got from granny,"

"Hey, that's my mom!"

"And she's my bitch. HAHA, sorry babe, looking at all those bitches in Lulu really drive something in Tyrone. Ever since I internalized all his memory as mine, he's leaking out more and more and it just gets comfortable acting out like him, you know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He was battling me last night, trying to kick me out while I drowsed off to sleep, or so he thought. But then, I flipped the script, showing him what he really did the past 24 hours, guess he's just not that mentally strong after all. Then, I tainted all his memories with a touch of me, call it reality-bending or whatever, but all his past wrestling match? All the girl she fucked? His memory with Tyrell? Mine to savor, mine to corrupt,"

"Are you telling me that you're permanently becoming him then?"

"Oh no babe, don't worry. I can still leave him and return to my body as I please. I just need......better control over him. Guess after I tainted his memories when he first saw you and planted these thoughts that he always saw you as not just Elaine's gay son, but also the alternative cum dump if Elaine's busy and no pussies are available nearby, he's defeated,"

"Wait.....he knows I'm gay?"

"Of course. He realized all your weird staring. The way your eyes lingered too long at his jutting pecs everytime he worn any compression shirt. Your stupid gaping mouth when I descended the stairs in a grey sweat and having my bulge shown, you're not really good at hiding it, your mom is just too oblivious,"

I gulped as I noticed the shift as he addressed himself as Tyrone's once more mid-talking to me. I even noticed the change in his eyes, a total shift from casual into mischief

"He's planning to snitch on ya watching some sort of gay porn or shit during this break. Well, with me in control, guess I make the two of us as the star of our own porn show LOL. I installed CCTV in several spot in the condo a couple months before this without her knowledge, trying to get some info like her safe combination and some spicy footage of her as blackmail in case she tried to act up, so I'm pretty sure we can found some footage of our action from yesterday,"

Jesus.......my cock stirred due to the thrill. My mom can literally one day stumbled on the footage of me getting impaled by his boyfriend all over our home. That might result in Tyrone no longer have the prospect becoming my stepfather, but I'll be disowned too! That revelation also shown me how disgusting Tyrone actually is and he needs to be stopped before he controlled my mom further. As I snapped back to reality, Tyrone already walks out from the car with the backpack in tow

"Come on, fag. You are my spotter for the day, don't just stare at me like I'm some kind of meat and get the fuck out from my car quick!"

The energy inside the gym is electric and intoxicating. Everyone seemed to focus on their workout, building up a sweat, pushing themselves to the limit. Tyrone is in his element, sculpted forms all around looking aesthetically-pleasing and make Tyrone seemed less of a stand-out beast when he's around me and mom.

Jeremiah really pulled off all the social interaction with fellow gymgoers, relaxed, natural and speaking with brevity about how he achieved his physique, what's the best way to emphasize muscles on stage while in a bodybuilding contest or how he can nail a "Corporate MILF" like Elaine Wiley. Me? I'm the "cousins on a visit", tasked to be an obedient spotter while occasionally having Tyrone to spot me because "you need to put up some sweat too, make that hole slick a bit more so I can slide in with ease," he whispered in between talks

After all the socializing, we hit the bench press first. Tyrone loaded the bar heavy at 335 pounds and lay back, gripping it.

"Spot me, kid."

I stand at the head, hands ready under the bar, but as Tyrone pushed the first rep, his tank rides up, exposing ripped abs glistening with fresh sweat. I'm distracted, and my gulp must've been fucking loud because he swatted my legs for getting to close to his head

"Focus, boy. Bar's over here, stop ogling at my v-taper or visualizing my dick, will ya?" He hushed in a voice loud enough for me to notice but low on other's frequency.

I obviously take a step back with my face looking like steamed lobster for getting too close to Tyrone's until it disturbed his rhythm, and then without I realized and as if losing track of time, he finished his set and barked at me

"Hey boy, I'm not letting you tag along just for you to daydream. C'mon, other machines await,"

The cycle repeated. Me assisting at first, but then Tyrone ordered me to just get the fuck away because I just ruined his rhythm. He then will tell me to do some light workout, which always failed to seemingly satisfy him with all the sighing and look of disappointment shown in his face. Did people notice the speed of how quick I was dismissed or how miserable I looked like doing all this workout? Then, with a rather thunderous clap, he got my attention once more, my mind failed to compute we are already on the lifting platform now and he seemingly just finished quite a hefty lift

"Your turn, load it light, pussy."

I struggled to lift even 175, legs shaking, but Tyrone spotted from right behind me, hands on my hips, breath hot on my neck. This is supposedly just a typical weightlifting session with friends and clients, but I can feel the bulge protruding and trying to penetrate just down below as he keeps himself super close to me, we are practically rubbing skin-on-skin

"Rock hard watchin' me glaring at you, ain't ya? And mmmMHHHHH.....my fucking musk, you smelled it, right? My sweat got you losin' focus, drip by drip."

Tyrone purposefully rubbed his pit and then massaged my shoulder before patting me on my back. Gym folks did it as a sign to give the other person more "strength", like saying "you can do it". Jeremiah never went to the gym so it's not like he understands what it entails. But anyway, Tyrone's aroma is super intense, just that hand on my shoulder and I'm straight getting assaulted by the scent that hit and then soon enveloped me. It's fresh, musky and just oh-so-good, all these sensorial rush instead turned me into a mess as I barely got any energy to do more rep and my head starts to spin

"Ck, you're such a lost cause. You really need the upgrade, y'know?" He said as I finally getting that one last lift, with a lot of help from his end

He decided to call the day off seeing how I struggled

"I still can spot you," I said to him, half-pleading because I know I can still see a lot more of him pushing that body to a limit I would never otherwise witness

"Nah, I got better workout in my mind," he said with a mischievous glint as he dragged me to the locker room

It's like I'm stepping into a completely different realm because there's just something much more intense in this gym locker room compared to others I've ever been to. Since Jeremiah never walked into the gym, let alone a locker room not in our school, ever, in his life, this must be one heck of an experience for him. Yet, encased inside a hunk like that clearly allowed him to feel at home in this foreign, sweaty space as he quickly peeled off his tank and his shorts, standing gloriously in the middle of the crowded space only in his underwear that hides nothing to the imagination. His pecs heaving with residual pump, nipples dark and pert against caramel skin, abs etched deep with shadows from the overhead lights. The gold chain settled back into the valley between his chest, catching eyes from a few guys nearby who nodded respect and admiration

"Lookin' beast, man." the folks said

Tyrone just simply smirked, flexing subtly for the mirror before signaled to me to find a stall while he talked crap with other gymgoers. I darted to the other end of the room to the rows of individual shower stall blurred by the obscure glass panel. The space is tiny if we are using Tyrone's physique as measurement, but it's not like I want to take up spaces in the freaking disabled stall!

I purposefully hummed and pretended to shower by turning on the water so Tyrone can notice my whereabouts. By the time he walked in, the steam already thick and it's actually quite hazy momentarily before we get adjusted to see each other in this state as I'm kneeling on the floor and looking up at him as soon as he stepped in

But it seems like he wanted something else from me, so he lifted me and then pinned me to the tile wall immediately, one hand fisting my hair, the other gripping my jaw. "Now for another set," He grinned like a maniac as he treated this whole thing like a workout. I can sense the cock that I've begin to get familiar to. It's fully hard now, thick and veined—pressed against my thigh, hard, thick and veiny, with some sense of heat surrounding it that built anticipation for its recipient. It's still a crazy sensation regardless as my chest pressed to the cool tile while an absolute destruction happened on the rear end as he pounded me with the entire strength he possessed. I tried to scream due to the spearing pain but he's quick to subdue me by muffling my mouth with one hand while keeping his mouth shut everytime he pounded me. At one time, there's a bunch of guys right outside our stall, chatting to each other quite intensely, and instead of slowing down, he increased the speed, causing these watery schlorp-schlorp noise as our bodies pressed and glide against each other while the both of us held our moans from cracking through

"Nnggghhhhh.....ssshhhh.....be really quiet, we don't want 'em hearing your cries,"

The tight space amplified everything: steam trapping musk, bodies slick and sliding, Tyrone's chest pressing my back, gold chain cool against skin. Then, as if this is not enough,Tyrone flipped me face-to-face, lifting one of my leg to hook over his arm, spearing deeper at a new angle.

"Look at me while I wreck you." He said while our yes locked to each other, some sort of understanding that we both want this and we are not going to stop or make a mess for the others as the risk of getting caught is even higher with the way we fuck like. Water cascaded over our bodies, his sweat mixing with spray, dripping into my open mouth when the hand slipped.

As Tyrone thrusts turned erratic and he made some silly faces due to the pleasure from how my hole really gripped that cock lf his, I can feel the meat is getting a bit more tense. As he grabbed my head as a way to force me to stare at him while he shoot his load, warmthness eventually pread inside of me as geyser of thick, creamy substance filled me in once more, causing full body shiver as the sensation overrides all my senses with euphoria. His legs wobbly and barely able to support me any longer while I'm a total wreck as he gently lowered me to the slick and cold wet floor of the stall. I must have looked like a mess as I laid on the floor as my eyes fluttered, body shuddering, cum leaking from my hole, lips bruised from his rough hand. He rinsed quick above me and without even looking, stepping out casually from the stall with the towel slung low, heading to change like nothing happened, no suspicion from the other gymgoers but also no one that walked in on the wasted me

When I eventually managed to compose myself and holding some semblance of decency as if I didn't just spend 20 minutes getting bred by my own mom's boyfriend, I returned to the locker room with 4 gymgoers already grouped up with him, all clothed with athleisure and seemed ready to go somewhere altogether

"There you go, what took you so long? Are you making a mess or something?"

"Uh--oh....no, just....lost track of time, that's it,"

"Hmmmm....sure. Anyway, let's go then, Nia here already booked us a brunch spot. It's the go-to for everyone that worked out here,"

"Yeah, trust me, it's good, you two will love it, right Dre?" said the girl with grey Lulu tanktop and a brunette braided extension

"Consider me a convert. I never enjoyed pasta before, boring food, but that place pasta is the bomb," Dre answered Nia, they seemed to be cool with each other, no past dating history there, shame because this Dre dude looked like 80% of Tyrone, and that's a compliment

"And they have great coffee too, James is very picky about his coffee but he can enjoy theirs. Just a total vibe overall," added Sasha, the one in Alo head-to-toe

"Sure folks, sounds nice. Lead the way then," Tyrone answered for the both of us as we head out for a brunch with Tyrone's friends, another opportunity for Jeremiah to flex that roleplay further

To my surprise, everything goes pretty normally. Conversation flows pretty seamlessly and Jeremiah really handled all the personal questions directed to Tyrone really well. Maybe it's the way we're seated opposite from each other with both girls by his side and the two other dudes flanked me from each side or just the cafe having no tablecloth or anything, but he's quite tamed for the standard I've developed in the past 36 hours. This is the longest time I'm interacting with Tyrone this normally, I occasionally forget that my boyfriend is fully in control of that beast. Then, dessert comes and like a fucking buffoon, I spilled the espresso for the affogato all over Dre's clothes. He looked pissed, but there's not much he can do so he goes for the bathroom with me following closely behind him while Nia headed to the front of the restaurant to ask the valet to come around with the car so she can pick up some other clothes from his duffel bag. That will give us some times, as calculated before

Basically, during our drive to this cafe, Tyrone explained to me further about the spell he chanted that allowed the possession to happen. I've been quite silent throughout the brunch because I was super nervous about timing the incident perfectly while finally trying out the spell. Judging from everyone's reaction, I think that was quite a smooth and completely natural accident. I caught a glimpse on how he looked at me when I spilled that espresso shot, and he looked amused

As me and Dre are the only two person in the bathroom, I decided to act quick and chanted the spell as soon as I entered the private space after him. Dre is mid-stripping in front of the mirror when my body slumped weightlessly to the floor with a rather loud thud, and as soon as he can see once more, he looked right back at me in a slightly confused state, just when I phased into his body.

No resistance, but there's also a sense of feeling foreign and invasive to this mass. At the same time, the whole thing moved under my own accord and everything feels entirely brand new. His nose detected far more scents than me, or at least he captured it more intensely. His height is quite a trip. The skin feels tight, warm and also pumped, so I turned back to the mirror to see my reflection in all his shirtless glory.

"Look at you, stud. So freaking gorgeous," I said as I cupped my-now hefty man boobs clearly built from countless hours of workout

But then, a knock on the bathroom door followed by a deep gravelly voice surprised me

"Yo Dre, can I come in?"

Tyrone. I quickly move my passed out body to the toilet stall so I can open the door of the bathroom with ease and no one glanced at my body in case someone's peeped around when I opened the door. Tyrone then walked in with a smirk plastered on his face

"Have you seen my little cousin? He followed you, right?"

"Yeah, little cousin cannot resist himself so he phased into me to take control of this bod, bro,"

"Oh, really? If that's the case, then kneel, let's expose the real bitch in ya, he was a good cocksucker, maybe he brought it along as an additional skillset for you?" Tyrone grinned devilishly, hands already hooking down his pants

"Boys, are you two in there?! Dre, got your clothes already,"

We just smiled ironically. That fucking bitch, how on Earth she's so quick with the valet? I just tapped Tyrone's shoulder gently and push him aside a bit so I can open the door and grab the clothes. As I opened the door, Nia just smiled at me as he handed me the clothes

"Will see ya back at the table, in a minute,"

"Sure thing,"

As the bathroom door closed once more, I sniffed the clothing and smiled at Tyrone

"Well, I think I covered the basics already. I don't feel any resistance, I heard no noise whatsoever coming from inside his brain. Too bad we cannot weirdly spend too long of a time now in this bathroom so I'm just gonna jump back out, okay?"

"Smmmhh.....so fucking disappointing. I've been waiting to have some memorabilia of the ladies man Andre himself begging on his knees, but guess it's for later time,"

"Yeah, can't risk it, you know? Plenty of times to do this at other dates, don't you think?"

He just nodded dejectedly and walked out from the bathroom, leaving me all alone with my passed out body slumped on the stall and me breathing through this massive dude. Still got time for more tranining too though, it's still a few days away before Tyrell comes to town

#male possession #nerd to hunk #male takeover #identity theft

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Part 3

Obviously after all that, they need rest, right?

The clock on the nightstand glowed 1:17 AM, December 13, 2025. The apartment is silent except for the low hum of the heater. Elaine lay on her side of the king-sized bed, breathing slow and deep, one arm draped over the extra pillow she always hugged when she took her prescription sleep aid. The little amber bottle on her nightstand is nearly empty, she’d popped two tonight after complaining that the endless meetings had “fried her circuits.” Within fifteen minutes, she's gone, deep in a dreamless, pill-assisted slumber that nothing short of an earthquake could disturb.

Beside her, Tyrone’s body is anything but asleep. Jeremiah lay on his back, eyes wide open in the dark, every muscle in the borrowed physique taut like bowstrings. The sheet is pushed down to his waist, exposing the broad chest that rise and fall in shallow, controlled breaths. Tyrone’s cock throbbing with a heartbeat of its own as it goes rigid against the abs. It's been hard for the last hour, ever since the lights went out. Jeremiah has tried to will it down, to let the body rest, but something is pushing back.

A pressure. A presence. Deep inside the skull, like a second heartbeat trying to sync up and overtake the first. Tyrone’s soul that's been dormant all day sensed weakness. Jeremiah’s own consciousness is exhausted from hours of roleplay, deception, and raw physical exertion. Souls, it turned out, needed rest too. The moment Jeremiah’s guard slipped, the original owner stirred, angry, confused, and very much aware that someone else has been piloting his body like a stolen car for almost a full day

"Get out,"

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they echoed in the shared mind. Tyrone’s voice, low, gravelly and furious, but inside.

Jeremiah’s soul smile curved into a slow, predatory smile in the dark.

Not a chance.

Still in control of the physique after all, Jeremiah decided to slid one large hand down the ridged abdomen, fingers tracing the deep valleys between each ab until they wrapped around the base of the raging erection. The cock jumped at the contact, hot and velvety, foreskin already pulled halfway back by the sheer swell of blood. A bead of precum welled at the slit and rolled down the head. Jeremiah smeared it with Tyrone's thumb, using it to slick the glide as he begins a slow, deliberate stroke.

If Tyrone wanted a fight, Jeremiah will give him one, on his terms. He closed his eyes and projected. Something sharper than mere memories. It's a constructed mindscape, vivid and relentless, fed directly into the shared consciousness like a private theater only the two souls could see.

In the vision, the real Tyrone stands in the dimly lit kitchen, set after the dinner earlier tonight. Elaine's voice still in the study, oblivious as always and just like what happened earlier tonight. Marcus is on his knees, sweatpants pooled around his ankles, mouth stretched wide around Tyrone’s cock. No possession, no Jeremiah, just the original man, homophobic gym rat, gold-digging alpha, taking what he wanted from his girlfriend’s son.

The mental imagery is mercilessly precise in its detail, and Tyrone found himself unable to move or look away. Marcus then looked up with those pleading eyes, lips glistening, throat working to take more. With horror, his own hand fisted in Marcus’s hair, guiding him deeper, hips rocking with slow, dominant thrusts. The wet sounds of suction filled the projection, obscene and intimate. Tyrone heard his own deep, guttural groan of approval as Marcus’s tongue swirled under the head.

"This is what you did," Jeremiah whispered into the shared mind, "this is how you sounded when his throat clenched around your cock,"

"NO! I would never---" Tyrone’s soul recoiled, horrified with the idea that he willingly let fruity ass Marcus sucked him when Elaine just feet away and breedable anyway, but that's just not the case in this scenario and Jeremiah pushed harder.

The scene shifted.

Now, Tyrone has Marcus bent over the kitchen island, the same spot where they’d actually fucked hours earlier. In the vision, Tyrone’s hands gripped Marcus narrow hips, slamming in deep, watching his thick shaft disappear into that tight heat again and again. Marcus moaned like a slut, pushing back, begging for more. Tyrone’s own rough voice now sounded like its laced with filth and desire to wreck Marcus pussy as he growled things he would never say in real life

"Take it, boy. Take your stepdaddy’s dick!"

The real Tyrone thrashed inside the mental cage, rage and disgust boiling over.

"Stop it! That’s not me! I’m not—"

"You felt it," Jeremiah cut in, voice calm and cruel. "every second of that pounding. Not only that, you tasted his precum at the dinner table when you licked it off your thumb. Your filthy thought it was gravy. You smelled his fear and wanted more. You liked controlling him. You liked how tight he was. You liked coming inside him while his mother was mere feet away,"

The stroking in the real world speeds up as Jeremiah firmly twisting and pulling the meat from the base to its crown, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive underside on every upstroke. Jeremiah made Tyrone'sms hips lifted slightly off the mattress, abs contracting into sharp relief. Precum flowed freely now, slicking the entire length, dripping down over his balls.

Then, another projection. This time, Tyrone in the bathroom mirror after a workout, flexing, admiring himself, exactly what Jeremiah had done all morning when he first landed inside.

Only now it was done from the perspective of the real Tyrone burying his nose in his own pit, inhaling deep, tongue dragging across salty skin. Tyrone's real soul now somehow found itself jacking his cock to the thought of Marcus on his knees again, imagining forcing the boy to swallow every drop.

The original soul howled in denial, but the horror is laced with something else, confusion, fascination, a dark curiosity he can't suppress. Jeremiah sensed that feeling, like a crack in armor and he decided to really take it up to the highest notch to end this for good

"You’re not as straight as you thought," Jeremiah taunted, voice velvet and venom, "you liked the power. You liked how wrong it was. You liked how he looked at this body like it belonged to a god. And deep down, you liked how it felt when he sucked you,"

The internal fight intensified. Tyrone’s soul surged, trying to seize motor control as the busy fingers twitching while his legs spasming, but Jeremiah clamped down harder, channeling all that resistance into pleasure. Every push from Tyrone translated into a tighter grip, a faster stroke, a deeper thrust into his own fist.

The fantasy evolved again, this one's Jeremiah reserved for the final blow

Now, Tyrone is in bed beside Elaine, just like they are now. She sleeps soundly while Tyrone rolled onto his side, spooning Marcus who had snuck in. In the vision, Tyrone’s cock slide between Marcus’s thighs, pushing into that slick, welcoming heat. Slow, quiet fucking right next to the oblivious woman. Tyrone’s hand clamped over Marcus’s mouth to keep the boy whore quiet, hips rolling in deep, rhythmic strokes. Marcus’s muffled moans vibrated against his palm as Tyrone’s own breath comes hot and fast against the boy’s neck as he whispered the final blow

“This what you wanted, huh? Your mom’s man breeding you while she dreams?”

The real Tyrone’s soul fractured under the assault as the words clearly coming out from his mouth. He never would speak like that but in here, it seems like he really just said that to Marcus. The disgust in him quickly twisted into unwanted arousal as he witnessed himself enjoying the whole thing. Heard himself grunting like an animal. Feels the clench of Marcus around his cock. And worst of all, he feels the edge approaching, the need to cum building in his own balls.

Jeremiah smirked, the finality is coming in fast. The resistance is getting weaker but it's expected to be a tough battle noting how mentally strong Tyrone is. Trembling in shock for not being able to stop himself pounding Marcus, like in a trance, Tyrone's whole body spasmed before sobbing and releasing itself free from the tight hole.

"You’re hard right now, Tyrone. Your own cock is leaking because part of you wants this. Part of you wants to be the manipulator. The alpha who takes whatever he wants. You’re not fighting me anymore—you’re fighting yourself,"

The stroking become punishing as Jeremiah did it fast, rough, and unrestrained. The slick sound of skin on skin barely audible over Elaine’s soft snores. Jeremiah’s balls drew up tight, heavy and full. His breath comes in sharp pants, chest heaving. He's close! But to really drive the point home, Jeremiah prepared one last vision

The final projection hit like a sledgehammer.

Tyrone alone in the gym locker room, Marcus waiting on his knees. Tyrone feeding him cock, then flipping him over a bench, pounding him raw. Grunting. Sweating. Owning.

Gym.....the most personal space for him. The place where he carved his physique and mentality. The place where he's making his livelihood and camarederie, now also becoming the place where he sinks his cock into a guy that has the potential to be his future stepson. As his cock finally shoot its most-awaited load, he did it with a low, approving growl and the kind of possessive touch only a lustful beast would do to a breedable object that fully turned him on, and it's Marcus in this case

The original soul shattered.

A wave of submission rolled through the shared consciousness as the pain of defeat and resignation blended with something more muted yet darker: acceptance. Tyrone’s essence doesn't vanish, it merely reshaped and twisted. The homophobic rage dulled, the rigid heterosexuality warped and cracked. Jeremiah felt it happen in real time, the soul bending, folding into something new. Not erased, but altered. Subservient. Compatible. While his? Upgraded for transformation. The shift crested just as Jeremiah’s orgasm hit.

His back arched off the bed, hips bucking hard into his fist. A deep, animalistic groan tore from Tyrone’s throat, barely muffled against the pillow. Thick ropes of cum shot across his abs, splattering the ridges of muscle, pooling in the deep lines between them. Pulse after pulse, the release is massive, prolonged, draining every ounce of tension from the body.

Jeremiah rides it out, stroking through the aftershocks, milking every drop. Cum cooled on his skin, the scent sharp and musky in the dark room.

Inside, the battle is over.

Tyrone’s soul curled into a corner of the mind like a tamed beast. No more rebellion. No more denial. Just watchful, slightly awed silence as Jeremiah soul now looking like the perfect copy of the once confidence Tyrone as he strut to the throne to control the beast fully

Jeremiah chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in Tyrone’s chest. He dragged a finger through the mess on his abs, bringing it to his lips and tasting himself. Salty, bitter, victorious, his.

Elaine never stirred. Her breathing remained slow and even, the sleeping pills doing their job perfectly. She had no idea her boyfriend had just fought and lost a war inside his own head. No idea that the man beside her was now more in control than ever, having reshaped the original owner into something that would never challenge him again.

Jeremiah wiped his hand on the sheet, pulled the covers back up, and finally let the body relax. The cock softened against his thigh, spent and satisfied.

He turned his head on the pillow, staring at Elaine’s sleeping form in the dark.

“Sleep tight, babe,” he whispered in Tyrone’s voice, amusement thick in the words.

Then he closed his eyes, a quiet victor in a war no one else would ever know had been fought.

The apartment settled back into silence, the only evidence of the struggle a faint, lingering scent of sex and sweat and the slow, steady smile on Tyrone’s lips that hadn’t been there when the lights went out.

---

Morning light filtered through the half-open blinds of the master bedroom, painting golden stripes across Tyrone’s bare chest. Jeremiah wakes up slowly, luxuriously, the big body sprawled on its back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting on a ridged abdomen still faintly sticky from last night’s victory. Elaine had left at 6:45 AM sharp, kiss on the cheek, duffel bag in hand, off for some much-needed Saturday Spin sesh with the girls followed by long brunch. The penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the distant clink of weights that clearly sounded like Marcus trying to impress him in the home gym downstairs.

Jeremiah stretched, feeling every inch of Tyrone’s powerful frame respond. And then it hit him like a floodgate bursting open.

Memories.

Not just the muscle memory that had carried him through the last thirty-six hours: how Tyrone liked his coffee, the exact way he slapped Elaine’s ass when she walked by, the rhythm of his douchebag laugh. No. These are deeper. Older. Sharper.

He sees Tyrone at eight years old, crying in a cramped apartment bathroom after his father called him soft for losing a playground fight.

He then witnessed sixteen-year-old Tyrone in the back of a beat-up Chevy, fumbling with his first girl, bragging to his boys the next day like he’d invented sex.

He has the vision of twenty-nine-year-old Tyrone scrolling Elaine’s LinkedIn at 2 AM, calculating her net worth, deciding she was the mark—beautiful, successful, lonely enough to fall for the alpha act.

He remembered how he noticed Marcus’s lingering stares months ago during summer break, the way the boy’s eyes flicked to his crotch when that fruity ass thought no one's looking. He had smirked then, filed it away. Kid’s a fag. Useful leverage someday.

Jeremiah sat up slowly, a slow grin spreading across the handsome face that feels like his for ages. The thoughts might be problematic for Jeremiah, but that's how Tyrone rolls and fuck it feels delicious

He owned it all now. Every secret, every lie, every malicious intention. He could play Tyrone flawlessly to anyone. Family, friends, exes, cops, whoever. The original soul is tamed now, reshaped, folded into him like clay. There's no more resistance left. He is Tyrone

Feeling very fresh, Tyrone rolled out of bed, naked, cock swinging heavy between his thighs, and padded downstairs to the basement gym.

Marcus is already on the bench press, shirtless, headphones in, pushing moderate weight with good form. The second he spotted Tyrone in the doorway, he racked the bar and pulled the buds out.

“Morning,” Marcus said, voice shy but eager, eyes already dropping to the sweat beading on Tyrone’s skin from the short walk down the stairs.

Jeremiah doesn't answer with words. He just lifted one size-13 foot and planted it on the bench beside Marcus’s thigh. The sole is still damp from the insane fight in the dream realm from last night, the scent rising, sharp, masculine, a little cheesy from yesterday’s socks.

Marcus’s breath hitched. He knew exactly what's expected.

He dropped to his knees on the rubber mat without a word, hands gently cradling Tyrone’s ankle and calf like it's sacred. His tongue comes out, tracing the arch, lapping at the salt. Jeremiah watched with half-lidded eyes, arms folded across his chest, feeling the big body respond as blood rushing south, cock thickening against his thigh.

Marcus worked reverently: licking between each toe, sucking the big one into his mouth like it's a cock, swirling his tongue around it. Soft moans escaped him, muffled by foot flesh. Jeremiah flexed his toes, pushing deeper, making Marcus gag just a little.

“Good boy,” Jeremiah rumbled, voice low, commanding, a touch condescending, pure Tyrone

Marcus’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. He moved to the other foot, repeating the worship, hands massaging the thick calf muscles. By the time both feet are shining with spit, Jeremiah’s cock already reached its full mast, curving up toward his abs, foreskin peeled halfway back, a steady drip of precum trailing down the shaft.

Jeremiah reached down, fisted Marcus’s hair, and guided him upward.

Marcus just goes willingly, mouth open, taking the head in with a grateful moan. He slowly lowered his head, throat relaxing to accommodate the girth, until his nose buried in the trimmed pubes. The musk is stronger here, a mixture of sweat, dried cum from last night, pure alpha manliness. Marcus inhaled like it's pure oxygen

Jeremiah let him set the pace for a minute with his slow, worshipful bobs before he then tightened his grip and started guiding. Deeper. Faster. The wet sounds of suction filled the basement, punctuated by Marcus’s occasional choked gasp.

That’s when Jeremiah pulled out his phone.

He thumbed through Tyrone’s contacts—now his contacts—and hit call on “Lil Bro Tyrell.”

The FaceTime connected after two rings. Tyrell’s face filled the screen: younger yet bigger, same wild hair and full lips, seemingly on an outdoor run or some sort with his chest fully hugged by the compression gear

“Yo, big bro! What’s good?” Tyrell greeted, exhaling smoke, a blunt just appeared from out of the screen

Jeremiah angled the camera carefully—chest up only, background just the gym mirror. No risk of showing what's happening below frame.

Marcus never stopped. If anything, he got sloppier and louder with wet glurks and moans he know Jeremiah would feel in the head of his cock.

Jeremiah kept his face perfectly straight, voice all douchebag charm, Tyrone.

“Ay, what’s poppin’, lil bro? Just finished crushin’ leg day. You know how I do.” he said while flexing his massaged toes for emphasis to Marcus

Tyrell laughed.

“Still pounding them hoes, huh?”

Jeremiah smirked, thrusting subtly into Marcus’s throat just enough to make the boy’s eyes water.

“Always, bruh. Listen, I'mma shoot you another four bands tomorrow. Elaine dumbass still think she runnin’ shit, but I got her wrapped tight around this finger.” He flexed his free hand on screen, gold pinky ring glinting.

Tyrell whooped.

“That’s my fuckin’ brother! Gold-diggin’ legend,"

Jeremiah’s hips rolled again, slow and deep. Marcus gagged quietly, spit dripping down his chin onto the mat.

“Yeah, and get this,” Jeremiah continued, voice casual, “I finally busted her faggy-ass son. Caught the little fruit jackin’ off to some gay shit on his laptop. Told him if he don’t wanna get disowned, he better stay in line. Boy been real obedient since.” He emphasized the last word with a sharp thrust that made Marcus whimper around the shaft as he smirked devilishly to Marcus just for a split second

“Yo, that’s cold! You own the whole damn family now!” Tyrell cackled, oblivious

Jeremiah chuckled, the sound rumbling deep. “Exactly. Got the kid handlin’ all kinds of chores around here. Real thorough, too. Deep cleans everything I tell him to.” Another slow thrust and a mouthful schlorp-schlorp from Marcus. “Takes direction real good. Swallows instructions without complainin’.”

Marcus’s eyes flicked up, shining with mischief and lust. He hollowed his cheeks harder, tongue working the underside.

"You wild, bro. Keep that shit up. When you bringin’ me up there to see the setup?” Tyrell just nodded, high and clueless

“Go use that four bands to book a flight right away. Probably set your arrival to Christmas Eve or maybe the day of it so we can still pick you up and shit. Still need to do some decoration, shopping and make sure everything stays… under control.” Jeremiah’s voice stayed steady even as his balls drew up tight. “Aight, I’ma let you go. Hit the showers. Stay up.”

“Sounds like a plan already. Well, another 2 bands or shit won't hurt bruh, you know how ticket on holiday can get a bit crazy. Anyways, you'll see me on the 24th then. Love you, big bro.”

“Love you too, man.”

Call ended.

Jeremiah dropped the phone onto a nearby weight bench, both hands now free to fist into Marcus’s hair. He fucked the boy’s throat like he doesn't have tomorrow, relentless strokes that make Marcus’s eyes roll back, tears streaming, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“MMHHHHH FFUUUCCKKK YEEAAAHHHHH,” Jeremiah growled, voice finally breaking character. “Swallow that dick while I talk to his brother, you nasty little bitch.”

Marcus moaned in agreement, the vibration sending Jeremiah over. He slammed deep one last time as he unloaded thick, heavy pulses straight down Marcus’s throat. Marcus gulped greedily, throat working, not spilling a drop.

When it's over, Jeremiah pulled out slowly, cock glistening, and let Marcus catch his breath. The boy is certified busted, lips swollen, chin slick, eyes dazed and happy.

Jeremiah crouched down, cupped Marcus’s jaw with one big hand, thumb brushing over the wet bottom lip.

“Good job, babe,” he said softly, voice shifting back to his own nerdy warmth for just a second. Then the smirk returned, pure Tyrone arrogance.

He leaned in close, breath warm against Marcus’s ear.

“Do you wanna try an upgrade?”

Marcus blinked up at him, still panting, cum-drunk and curious.

“Upgrade?”

Jeremiah straightened, towering again, cock still half-hard and shining as he extended his arm and lift Marcus effortlessly back to his feet

"Let's clean-up first, your mama said we should bond a bit more intimately today, just the two of us. I'll tell you more what I have in mind,"

---

Yeah, I know I lagged behind because I did plan to post this one on the 18th or 19th. But if I post 1 part per day still, yall see the ending right on the 25th, gonna have to sneakily post it in-between eggnogs and shit LMFAO.

Fuck.....the idea of sweet, respectful me posting these stuff online with all the extended family around thinking I'm just the good 'ol, smarty-pants reserved dude doing his corporate jobs hence spending a lot of my time on my phone or in my room really drive me nuts. This is one heck of a risky Christmas sesh and I'm happy with how this part turned out

#personality change #male possession #nerd to hunk #male takeover #identity theft #boyfriend possession

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Pt. 2.5

Marcus spent the first night with the reformed Tyrone and it seems like it's far from over

She disappeared again as both men then settled onto the living room, Tyrone sprawled like a king, legs spread wide, remote in hand flipping to the football game.

Marcus curled up beside him, head resting innocently on a cushion…..but positioned perfectly between Tyrone's thighs. A blanket draped over them for coziness but under it, the real game is about to start

Tyrone does not even glance down, eyes glued to the screen as the kickoff soared. But his cock twitched in the brief, already semi-hard from the anticipation. His right hand casually held the remote, thumb flicking volume up.

"Damn right. Eagles gonna penetrate that Dallas defense hard. Watch 'em sack the QB, pin him down with no mercy."

Not even 5 minutes into the game and Tyrone already went full domineering mode, guiding Marcus head with his right hand by pulling the boy's hair while his left hand busy caressing Marcus back with the kind of move that promised something later. Underneath the blanket, Marcus takes an active participation to the debauchery, flopping free his mom's boyfriend hefty cock and inhaled its musky and salty scent before going to town with it, expertly licking the shaft like its some kind of lollipop that he enveloped with his warm mouth

Tyrone grunted softly, shifting his hips just enough to feed Marcus more.

"Mmmhhh.....there we go.....First down. Eagles drivin' it in.....slow and steady, buildin' that momentum."

On screen, the quarterback dropped back, scanning the field. Tyrone's left hand clicked the remote to zoom the replay, but then it wandered lower under the blanket—sliding past Marcus's hip to the cleft of his ass. One thick digit, calloused from his rigorous workouts, and it teased the tight boycunt, circling the rim before pressing in knuckle-deep with an emphasized "oomphhh" from Tyrone when he makes that entry. Marcus moaned quietly around the shaft, the vibration humming up Tyrone's length. He takes it deeper, throat relaxing to accommodate the girth, gagging softly as the head nudged his tonsils. Tyrone's right hand held him there firmly, while the left busy invading the slick yet tight hole, spreading Marcus open, scissoring gently to loosen the heat.

The crowd cheered as the running back broke a tackle.

"Look at that—power through the line, slippin' right into the hole. No one's stoppin' that." Jeremiah's voice stayed level, like he's commentating for ESPN, but his gold-digging dick swelled thicker in Marcus's mouth, veins pulsing against his tongue. His left hand withdrew the finger momentarily to grab his phone from the side table, scrolling notifications one-handed, checking some interesting DMs and the countless group chats buzzing with unread notifications about parties, workout and other activities. With no warning, Tyrone just plunge the fingers back in, this time two thick digits spearing Marcus's boycunt, spreading and stretching while his cock speared the now-more receptive throat.

Marcus's eyes watered, but he held it through, saliva dripping down the length, pooling at the base. The dual invasion is overwhelming: mouth stuffed full, ass opened wide by those relentless fingers. The roleplay burned hot: him as the perverted stepson, sneaking sucks and fingering while "Dad" watched the game, ignoring the fag under the blanket like he's just some kind of sex toy with no other value other than pleasuring its user.

A commercial break hit—beer ads, scantily clad women cheering. Jeremiah used the lull to thrust subtly, fucking Marcus's mouth with shallow pumps while his right hand controlled the pace. His left hand set the phone down, alternating back to the remote to skip ads, then diving under again, three fingers now, thick and insistent, curling to hit Marcus's prostate.

"Intermission. Time to regroup—get that formation tight, open up those gaps."

The game resumed—second quarter, score tied 7-7. The Eagles' defense blitzed, sacking the Cowboys' QB. Jeremiah whooped, hips jerking involuntarily, shoving deeper into Marcus's throat while his left hand pistoned those fingers faster, spreading the boycunt wide, slick with spit and precum lube.

"Pin that motherfucker down! Make him feel the ground and pound!"

Marcus gagged hard, spit bubbling from his lips, ass clenching around the invading digits. Jeremiah's right hand tightened in his hair, holding him impaled, while the left twisted deeper, knuckles grazing sensitive walls. Tears streamed down Marcus's cheeks, mixing with drool, his vision started to get blurry due to the lack of oxygen and the increasing heat. Can he survive this whole thing? His lungs started to feel like it burns while his throat and ass convulsed and definitely turning red from all the action. Tyrone noticed the struggle so he eased off and even let Marcus to stop sucking for a while, an audible gasp and greedy yet exasperated inhale followed as Marcus trying to extend his life. As he peeked through the blanket, he stared at the strings of spit connecting Marcus lips to his well-lubed shaft and he grinned like a devil as he focused back on the game while pushing Marcus back to his duty. Marcus is taken aback by the forceful shove yet his throat already eased off to the massive meat so it just slides comfortably into place and he started once more, slow licks along the underside, fondling and sucking the fuzzy heavy balls one by one, it feels hefty and full of promise

"Good hustle, boy. Keep grindin'—we're in the red zone now."

Tyrone spread his legs wider, giving access. His right hand guided the bobs, while the left fingered relentlessly, spreading the boycunt until it gaped slightly under the blanket.

"Defense holdin' strong—blockin' those holes, no penetration allowed." But under the blanket, it's all penetration: Tyrone's dick spearing the mouth while his digits penetrated the ass with no signs of slowing down

Halftime approached—score 14-10 Eagles. The announcers dissected plays: "That quarterback's got a cannon—firin' rockets downfield."

Jeremiah echoed it with a growl: "Cannon's loaded, kid. Ready to fire." He bucked his hips, fucking Marcus's face faster now, the blanket tenting with the motion, while his left hand added a third finger again, spreading wide as the cock speared deep.

Marcus gagged repeatedly—glurk, glurk—eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The perverted connection deepened: whispers under the blanket, Marcus mouthing "Ty, please....." around the cock, Jeremiah responding with a subtle thigh squeeze and deeper finger thrust, affirming the taboo roleplay.

"You're so fucking close, boy. But the match ain't over yet," Jeremiah murmured low, barely audible over the TV, right hand controlling the suck, left alternating remote clicks and prostate hits.

"Sneakin' this while your mama literally worked her ass off just behind us. What would she say if she knew her sugar baby was fingerin' and feedin' her boy dick?"

Marcus whimpered, sucking harder, ass pushing back onto those thick digits. The words fueled his lust. Tyrone might be her sugar baby in a way—gold-digging alpha living off her corporate cash—but in this moment, he's Marcus's dom, the straight facade cracking just for him. Tyrone is on the verge of shooting his load but this body is built for relentless temptation, so he ride through the waves and calm himself down, denying pleasure for both parties temporarily. Before long, the third quarter. Cowboys mounting a comeback, driving downfield.

"They're pushin' hard—inch by inch, grindin' toward the end zone." Tyrone's right hand forced Marcus into a rhythm—up and down, twist at the top, gag at the bottom—while his left pread and curled, making Marcus leak profusely.

A fumble on screen recovered by Eagles. Jeremiah laughed, thrusting deep while fingering harder.

"Strip sack! Turnover—now we're takin' it back, deep into enemy territory." Marcus's jaw ached, throat and hole raw, but the lust override it.

And then not even long, the fourth quarter, score's tied 24-24, clock ticking.

"Crunch time—gotta execute in the clutch." Jeremiah's thrusts grew erratic, close to the edge, right hand clamping down, left spreading wide one last time. Marcus on the other hand started to really lose his consciousness. Tyrone clearly forget that he needs air or maybe Tyrone just completely abandoned Marcus and treat him like a sex toy because there's no slowing down from the massive alpha. Marcus tried to whimper and begged for air, even grabbing Tyrone's thighs as hard as he can but it seems like Tyrone focused too much on the tense game he just simply swatted Marcus plea and keep on pumping. Then, it happened

The QB dropped back, evading rushers and then launched a Hail Mary. Receiver leaped, caught it in the end zone. Touchdown!

The stadium erupted and Tyrone followed with his very own eruption. His hands worked in tandem, right clamping Marcus's head down deepthroat, left buried knuckles-deep spreading Marcus easy hole as he came hard.

"FFUUUUCCKKK YEEAAHHHH! Touchdown! Score!" Thick ropes shot down Marcus's throat, pulsing hot and heavy. Marcus swallowed convulsively, milking every drop, gagging but holding, ass clenching around the fingers. But he's exhausted and the pressure might be a bit too much.....

Tyrone ride through the waves, hips jerking, commentary blending with moans as he jetted several more before finally stopping. The lack of tension from under the blanket alerted him that something's happened. Taking a peek, he smiled like a maniac as Marcus passed out already with the cum leaking all over his mouth and then pooled at his lower abdomen. Disgusting sloppy mess of a work, and yet he grinned. This is quite literally the kind of stuff he and Marcus watched on their screen back in their dorm, knowing full-well none of them got the cockiness nor the stamina to bring someone pass the point of exhaustion through sex without feeling drained too. Well, guess being inside Tyrone allowed such fantasy to become reality now, Jeremiah thought to himself as he scooped out some of the still runny cum of his and give it a taste

"Yumm......what a fucking health freak,"

He ruffled Marcus hair and tenderly mouthed "I love you, boy," amidst the perversion they both just did before covering the passed out Marcus with the thick blanket and slide off gently from the couch, turning the TV and lights off so Marcus can rest well

"Hope your mom doesn't check on you later, LOL," he said with a chuckle as he put his underwear and sweats back on, heading upstairs to the master's bedroom where he will wait for Elaine to finish her work. But....as he climbed the stairs, he sensed something weird stirred from inside himself. No, this is not arousal.....this is something else, yet he cannot put the sensation into words......like there's another presence that tried to disturb the peace he established already

----

Welp, here goes the football-watching part that I took out from the previous iteration of Chapter 2, hope yall can enjoy 'em

#personality change #male possession #boyfriend possession #male takeover #nerd to hunk #identity theft

Christmas Series Pt. 2: Under the Mistletoe (Re-Post)

Something happened to the annoying Tyrone, Marcus mom's sugar baby boyfriend

The dining room in Elaine’s upscale condo glowed with soft overhead lighting, casting a warm, golden hue over the mahogany table. Plates of roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed asparagus sat neatly arranged, Elaine’s attempt at a “family dinner” despite her packed schedule.

On the surface, it looked like a picture-perfect domestic scene: Elaine at one end, poised and professional even at home; Tyrone, her imposing boyfriend, at the other, filling the chair with his broad, muscular frame currently not fully on display as he put on a pump cover and slightly baggier sweatpants to hide the obscene raging hard-on that he just can't tame yet from the high it received from actively fooling Elaine and playing his Tyrone role faithfully down to the perpetual air of confidence now he can proudly called his; and Marcus, her son, seated right next to Tyrone, subdued, well-behaved yet his mind running all over the place in excitement seeing his boyfriend fully playing Tyrone to its maximum similarity

Elaine's laptop is opened directly in front of her plate, the blue glow reflecting off her reading glasses. A muted Zoom call played through her AirPods, some emergency leadership sync that had been cancelled yet now placed back on the schedule. Her right hand balanced a fork, occasionally spearing a piece of chicken, while her left thumb scrolled endlessly through emails and Slack notifications on her phone. She's physically present on the table, but mentally miles away in conference rooms and spreadsheets.

“Pass the salt, babe,” Tyrone rumbled in that deep, authoritative baritone that always made Elaine smile absentmindedly.

Jeremiah, still perfectly inhabiting Tyrone’s chiseled body, lifted the shaker with one large hand and passed it across the table. As he did, his other hand, hidden beneath the long tablecloth, slid smoothly onto Marcus’s thigh. Marcus nearly jumped, his fork clattering softly against the plate. He shot a quick, wide-eyed glance at Jeremiah, who didn’t even look at him as he just kept that neutral, straight-guy expression fixed on the TV in the corner playing pre-game analysis of an upcoming football match.

Tyrone’s face looked calm, almost bored, the picture of a sports-obsessed alpha unwinding during dinner with his beloved family, but under the table, Jeremiah abused Tyrone's thick fingers as it traced slow circles on the inside of Marcus’s thigh through his sweatpants. Marcus swallowed hard, shifting in his seat, trying to keep his breathing even. His mother failed to notice anything; she's busy nodding along to something a VP was saying on the call, typing a quick response.

“You good, son?” Jeremiah asked casually, voice laced with just enough paternal condescension to sound exactly the way Tyrone would convey his concern. He then squeezed Marcus’s thigh in a firm, possessive way

“Y-yeah,” Marcus managed, voice cracking slightly. “Just… hungry.”

Elaine glanced up briefly.

“There’s plenty left, honey. Eat up.” Then her eyes returned back on the screen as someone unmuted and started droning about Q4 projections.

Jeremiah decided to then bring the massive hand to creep higher. Marcus bit his lip, heat flooding his face. He could feel himself hardening already, the thrill of danger making his pulse race. Tyrone’s pinky brushed the growing bulge in Marcus’s sweats, feather-light, teasing. Marcus’s hand dropped below the table, trying to push this narcissist's hand away, but the moment his fingers wrapped around that massive wrist, he couldn’t bring himself to actually stop it. Instead, his grip turned into a squeeze of encouragement.

Tyrone's lips twitched into the faintest smirk, still not looking over. His fingers deftly slipped under the waistband of Marcus’s sweats and boxers, wrapping around his bare cock. The contact is warm, calloused, perfect. Marcus stifled a gasp, disguising it as a cough. Elaine looked up again.

“You okay, honey?”

“Allergies,” he croaked, face burning.

She frowned slightly but accepted it, returning to her call. Jeremiah then decided to risk it further as he then began a slow, torturous stroke using Tyrone's massive mitts. The movement is methodical, up and down, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum that's already leaking. Marcus’s hips twitched involuntarily. He gripped the edge of his chair with one hand, the other now resting on Tyrone's thigh under the table and clenched hard everytime Tyrone provoke him. It is dangerously close to the thick bulge straining against Tyrone’s sweatpants. Tyrone shifted slightly, spreading his legs wider under the table, giving Marcus silent permission. Marcus’s heart hammered. He glanced at his mom, fully engrossed to the work, one AirPod out now as she responded to a colleague. Slowly, carefully, Marcus’s hand slid over, cupping the heavy weight of Tyrone’s cock through the fabric. Even soft, it feels massive. He can sense and visualize it's heftiness, thick, warm, radiating heat. As Marcus palmed it, he felt it twitch and begin to swell. Tyrone exhaled slowly through his nose, the only outward sign of pleasure. On the surface, he's just eating mashed potatoes, eyes flicking occasionally to the TV. Underneath, he's rock hard and leaking pre, the shorts tenting obscenely and wet spot started to appear right on the end of the bulge of his gargantuan cock that strained the poor sweats.

Marcus squeezed gently, then traced the outline of the shaft with his fingertips. He could feel the ridge of the head, the thick vein running along the underside. His mouth watered. Jeremiah reciprocated the excitement, his hand speeds up on Marcus’s cock in response, firmer now, twisting slightly at the top. Marcus had to bite down on his fork to keep himself from moaning like a slut in heat right in front of his mom. Elaine’s call finally hit a lull. She muted herself and looked up properly.

“This is ridiculous. They’re going to keep me on this forever. Why don’t you two clear the table? I’ll take dessert in the study when I’m done here.”

Both men froze for a split second, holding their arousal right on the verge of breaking down as Elaine's stared right at them. They smoothly released their grip from each other's cock and both acted like they grabbed their napkin. Jeremiah recovered faster, voice smooth as he responded to Elaine with him sneakily sniffing his pre-cum sprayed hands

“Sure thing, babe. We got it.” he said it in a way that he managed to lick of the bead of pre-cum leaked by Marcus. On the other hand, Marcus acted a bit too nervous. His mouth stammered looking for response, his cock twitched from seeing the subtle porno that Tyrone just did, but Elaine already stood up anyway so it doesn't matter anymore. They gathered plates in silence, Elaine already wheeling her laptop chair toward the study down the hall.

“Thanks, guys. Meeting should wrap by ten, latest. Love you!”

“Love you too, Mom,” Marcus called, voice strained. The moment the study door clicked shut, Tyrone dropped the plates in the sink and turned, backing Marcus against the kitchen island.

“You little slut,” he growled low, Tyrone’s voice dripping with filthy amusement. “Touching your mom’s boyfriend under the table? While she’s right in front of you?” Marcus whimpered as Tyrone pinned him with his hips, grinding the massive erection against his stomach.

"Y---you started it,"

Tyrone ignored the whimpering and just went straight to kiss Marcus hard, claiming Marcus mouth with tongue and teeth. Marcus melted into it, hands roaming greedily over Tyrone’s pumped chest and arms. The kitchen smelled faintly of dinner, but underneath is the raw scent of sweat and arousal, Tyrone’s post-workout and raging sex musk still clinging to his skin and even exemplified due to the dampness of the short shower.

Using Tyrone's strength, Jeremiah hoisted Marcus onto the island rather effortlessly and then spreading the 20 years old legs like it's a fucking conjoined and stiff chopstick. He yanked Marcus’s sweats down just enough to free his cock, then dropped to his knees.

“Quiet” he warned, before swallowing Marcus to the root in one smooth motion. Marcus slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the cry.

Tyrone's mouth is hot, wet, just the most arousing sensation possible that turned on all his nerve-ending. But honestly, the hotness really is amplified because he recognized how Jeremiah really influenced most of these lewd homosexuality that fused really well with Tyrone's persona too. Marcus can feel how Tyrone is sucking him hard, tongue swirling, beard scraping deliciously against Marcus's sensitive skin. He bobbed fast and messy, saliva dripping down Marcus’s balls as Marcus arched his back and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

"Mmpphhhhhh!!!""

Marcus lasted less than two minutes. He came with a choked gasp, hips jerking as he shot down Tyrone's throat. Tyrone swallowed every drop, then he towered over once more as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Your turn,” he barked.

Marcus panted, sliding off the counter and dropping to his knees without hesitation. Tyrone pulled his shorts down just enough to free his massive cock. It bobbed heavily in front of Marcus’s face, a bead of precum already pearling at the tip.

Marcus doesn't waste his time with all the teasing and foreplay. Instead, he swallowed the entire shaft in one go, gagging slightly on the girth, eyes watering. Jeremiah threaded fingers through his hair, guiding him with gentle thrusts.

“GRRRRrrrhhhh.....ffffuuuck yes,” Jeremiah groaned quietly using Tyrone's deep baritone, “suck your mom’s boyfriend’s dick in her kitchen.....while she’s twenty fucking feet away trying to maintain the roof above your head!"

Marcus moaned around the shaft, the tightening and gaping of Marcus's mouth making Tyrone hissed as he muttered to Marcus to shut his bitchy mouth and keep on choking. Marcus worked faster, even sloppier than Tyrone's, eager, spit running down his chin. Tyrone’s hips rocked subtly, fucking Marcus’s mouth with restrained power. They heard Elaine’s voice faintly through the walls, laughing at something a colleague said. It only made everything hotter.

Tyrone then pulled out suddenly, hauling Marcus up and spinning him around. He bent him over the island and he slicked himself quickly with a glob of his spit

“Gonna fuck you right here,” he whispered against Marcus’s ear. “where your mom just prepared all that disgusting asparagus,"

Marcus almost yelped in delight as he pushed back desperately, his eyes hungry,

“Just fucking destroy me already," Jeremiah, offended for being told to do shit as his Tyrone's self bloomed, instantly yanked Marcus hair and growled in his ear

"My bitch, my call. I suppose you don't understand enough that I'm making your entire family my bitch, heck your real dad is probably a bitch too like you," As he then tossed Marcus back to the island with all his might, Jeremiah then pressed in slow, stretching the sobbing Marcus open inch by inch.

Marcus buried his face in his forearm to muffle the sounds he let out. Short, sharp thrusts at first, followed by something much more rougher and dangerous. The island, made from marble, provide a cool and slippery base for the whole act. Tyrone’s hand snaked around to stroke Marcus in time, keeping him on edge.

“Imagine if she walked in,” Tyrone murmured, voice rough. “seeing her precious son bent over the Carraran marble she handpicked on her own, getting railed by her man," Marcus clenched around him with all these insane verbal play, whimpering in shame, arousal and every emotion he could think off. He tried to scream when Tyrone's dick hit his prostate, but Tyrone's stuffed three fingers to keep him shut. Tyrone speed things up, hips snapping harder. The wet sound of lube and skin faint but unmistakable. Moments later, the cock twitch and the louder muffled moan indicate a defeat from the young fighter pinned and speared by Tyrone's cock. As Marcus comes again with a muffled cry, spilling over Tyrone’s fist and the marble, the streak blended well with the pattern on the marble block.

The tightened clench of Marcus snug-fit hole dragged Tyrone over the edge. He buried deep and unloaded, pumping rope after rope of cum into Marcus, hips jerking with each pulse. They remain locked like that for a moment, panting and grinning to each other as they just did something conspiratorial together. Then, with a slap on Marcus red ass, Jeremiah pulled out the entirety of the 8 incher girthiness and tucking himself away like he didn't just fuck the shit out of his future stepson.

Marcus, still flushed, straightened himself up and ensured his underwear can absorb the cum well even if it leaks out. He pulled up his sweats, both of them a bit rosy and sweaty from the fuck sesh they just did.

Tyrone then grabbed a napkin, wiping down the counter quickly.

“Dessert,” he said with a grin, plating slices of chocolate cake Elaine had bought earlier.

Marcus laughed breathlessly.

“You’re insane.” They carried the plates back to the living room, casual as anything.

Elaine emerged briefly from the study.

“Oh, perfect, thank you, guys.” She took her plate and kissed Tyrone on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Jeremiah smiled down at her using Tyrone's wolfish grin, giddy for getting away with the most outlandish fuck once more, "Anything for you, babe.”

She disappeared again as both men then settled onto the living room, Tyrone sprawled like a king, legs spread wide, remote in hand flipping to the football game. Marcus curled up beside him, head resting innocently on a cushion…..but positioned perfectly between Tyrone's thighs. A blanket draped over them for coziness but under it, the real game is about to start

#repost #remade #male possession #male takeover #identity theft #straight to gay #boyfriend possession

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Pt. 1

The winter break means that most students decided to leave this quiet university town to go back to spend Christmas and New Year with their family. Not for Jeremiah though, as the foster kid practically has nowhere to call home so the sophomore sticks around in his dorm while his boyfriend, Marcus, dejectedly leave Jeremiah behind to spend the holiday with his mom and her new boyfriend that he despised judging from their only two encounter during summer break and Thanksgiving. Marcus actually wanted to ask his mom about the idea of having "a friend from college with no family" back to their home as a way to spend Christmas with Jeremiah, but he digressed before even asking. His mom, Elaine, is a high-powered Chief Legal Officer for a company that is planning to get listed in NYSE by next Spring. She's sharp as a tack but mostly blinded to solely focus on her career development and the looming IPO. Is she homophobic? Marcus is not sure, she seems indifferent, but she did say a lot to Marcus about having girls so she might not be very open. Tyrone in the other hand, that's an entirely different matter.

Dude's an arrogant douchebag through and through, and Marcus already spoke about him at length to Jeremiah. That man is a gold-digging brute only eyeing to be Marcus's mom eye-candy while definitely playing around on the side (not like he can proof it, just the vibe). He treated Marcus like he's a pesky, disrespectful brat and despite still just a boyfriend only separated by 13 years to Marcus while the gap between Tyrone and his mom is like 15 years, Tyrone acted less of an older brother and more like as if he's Marcus's dad or something. That frustrated Marcus but Jeremiah said that he should go home to accompany his mom anyway and paid zero attention to Tyrone, so he eventually head home and leave Jeremiah on his own in the dorm as Jeremiah's probably the only student in the entire floor of their dorm that skipped the chance to get out from the quaint little town during the break.

But, instead of digging himself to read books or play games, on a rather plain yet crisp December morning, something extraordinary happened. Jeremiah, experimenting with an obscure occult ritual he'd found online, accidentally triggered a possession ritual. One moment, he's in his dorm room; the next, his consciousness slammed into Tyrone's hulking body as his mind wandered to check on Marcus and how Marcus spent his holiday. The transition as his soul ripped out from his body to then crash into another one hundred miles away is pretty disorienting, a rush of heat and power that made his nerdy frame feel like a distant memory. He blinked, staring at the bathroom mirror in Elaine's upscale condo that he recognized pretty well from all the visual story Marcus give him, and grinned. Tyrone's face stared back: sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, curly hair twisted into tight coils, and skin a rich caramel tone that screamed confidence.

Jeremiah flexed his new arms, watching the biceps bulge like coiled pythons under the skin.

"Holy shit," he muttered in Tyrone's deep, rumbling voice. It's gravelly, commanding, the kind that could silence a room. He then run his hands over the chest—broad, pectorals like slabs of marble, nipples dark and pert. The sensation is electric; every touch sent shivers through this borrowed form. He lifted an arm, bringing the pit close to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent is musky, a mix of sweat from last night's gym session, cologne that smelled like leather and spice, and something primal, almost animalistic. Jeremiah's mind reeled with excitement as he never really enjoyed other people's scent this much and yet, smelling himself in this form is intoxicating and gives him some sense of forbidden thrill. He buried his face deeper, tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness, groaning as the flavor exploded on his palate: tangy, earthy, utterly masculine.

He stripped off the remaining clothes, standing naked before the mirror. Tyrone's physique is a masterpiece, six-pack abs etched like a washboard, veins popping along the forearms and down to the hands, which were large and calloused from weights. Jeremiah traced the V-line dipping toward the groin, feeling the coarse hair there, then cupped the heavy balls, warm and full. The cock is a spectacle, thick, uncut, hanging semi-erect and it twitched at his touch. He stroked it lightly, marveling at the weight, the way it swelled into a beer-can size in response as it feels heftier in his hands. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the room, heavy and rhythmic, echoing off the tiles. He posed in between strokes, flexing his quads, watching the muscles ripple. The feel of power is overwhelming; every movement is effortless, like piloting a sports car after years on a bicycle.

Jeremiah spent what felt like hours in self-worship. He turned sideways, admiring the lats flaring out like wings, the traps rising to meet the neck. He squatted, feeling the glutes tighten, then jumped, landing with a thud that vibrated through the floor. The taste of his own skin lingered on his lips as he licked sweat from his upper lip. Salty, with a hint of the protein shake Tyrone had chugged earlier. He heard the distant hum of the city outside, but it faded as he focused on the internal symphony: heartbeat strong and steady, lungs expanding like bellows. He imagined Tyrone's life: endless workouts, picking up women (or so he bragged), but now it's his playground to explore. Then, it hit him. Marcus is literally in the same unit as him now, so with a smirk, he then inhale for a deep breath as he readied himself to see how far he can play along in this look

Jeremiah sauntered into the kitchen, clad in Tyrone's usual gym shorts and tank top, the fabric clinging to every curve.

"Mornin', babe," he drawled, pulling Elaine into a rough kiss.

She melted, oblivious to the change. Inside, Jeremiah smirked, how easy it was to mimic Tyrone's douchey swagger, the way he slapped her ass possessively, the drawl, this is all based on the recent and surface-level muscle memory of Tyrone, and he chugged every drop of it and poured it into action. Marcus is at the table, scrolling his phone, avoiding eye contact. Jeremiah ruffled his hair roughly using Tyrone's calloused hand.

"Hey, kid, pass the eggs. And fix your posture; you look like a slouch."

"Whatever, Tyrone." Marcus said as he rolled his eyes, and yet also still handing out the eggs.

Jeremiah sensed an opportunity to push this further so he leaned in, voice dropping to a petty growl.

"Watch your tone, boy. Or I'll tell your mom how disrespectful you're bein'."

He snitched right then, turning to Elaine.

"Babe, your son's got an attitude this mornin'. Thinks he can talk back."

Elaine sighed, checking her watch.

"Marcus, behave. I don't have time for this. Remember, no access to my card unless Tyrone told me you've been good to him and don't mess up with him," She was already in her power suit, briefcase in hand, heading out for work. As she kissed Tyrone on the lips for a quick second, she then said, "You two play nice. I'll be back late for today," with the nice stated directly to Marcus, guess it's easy to tell which man is the fave in this household and it ain't the pesky, bratty son

As the door clicked shut, Jeremiah's pulse quickened. Alone with Marcus, but still in character. He reveled in the deception—Marcus had no idea his boyfriend is inside this homophobic brute. Jeremiah flexed subtly, feeling the tank top strain.

"Gonna hit the gym, kid. You comin' or what? Nah, you probably too soft for real work."

Marcus muttered something under his breath, retreating to his room. Jeremiah laughed inwardly, amused with how perfect everything has been. He headed to the home gym in this private section of the condo unit, pushing Tyrone's body to its limits. He clearly is not experienced enough to handle any of these equipment, but Tyrone's muscle memory quickly takeover as he then gravitate to the weight racks. Deadlifts first: gripping the bar, he heaved 400 pounds like it's nothing, grunting with each rep. Sweat poured down, soaking the shorts. The burn in the hamstrings and back is quite an exquisite pain, a testament to the form's power. He moved to bench presses, loading the bar heavy, chest exploding with each push. Then, pull-ups followed, bodyweight feeling light as he cranked out sets of 20. The mirrors reflected a god: veins bulging, muscles pumped, face contorted in effort. Jeremiah paused between sets, sniffing his armpits again—deeper musk now, post-workout intensity. He tasted the sweat trickling down his abs, salty heaven. Touching himself, he can feel the hardness everywhere, the cock stirring in the shorts.

Hours blurred; Jeremiah lost track, immersed in the worship. He posed like in those Instagram fitness pics—double bicep, most muscular, abs crunched, pecs popped. Fooling them had been a rush: Elaine's trusting kiss, Marcus's annoyed glances. No one suspected the nerd inside the alpha. He imagined revealing himself later, but for now, the charade is too fun.

Exhausted but exhilarated, Jeremiah headed upstairs with his body glistening with sweat still. But that's when he heard it: groaning from Marcus's room. Low, rhythmic, unmistakable. Curiosity piqued, he crept to the door, peeking in. Marcus is on his bed, pants down, hand stroking furiously to gay porn on his laptop—two muscular guys going at it. A wicked grin spread across Tyrone’s full lips. Inside his borrowed skull, Jeremiah’s nerdy excitement buzzed like electricity. This is the moment he’d been building toward all day: the perfect collision of fear, arousal, and revelation.

He shoved the door open without knocking. The sudden intrusion made Marcus jolt upright, eyes wide with pure terror.

“Tyrone! What the fuck--get out!” Marcus scrambled for the blanket, yanking it over his lap, but it's too late. The laptop teetered on the edge of the mattress, still playing the unmistakable slap of flesh on flesh and the loud groan of two men completely succumbed to lust in the background. Jeremiah stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He filled the doorway like a wall of muscle as his broad shoulders straining the tank top, veins still pumped from the basement workout, skin shining under a fresh sheen of sweat. Tyrone’s deep voice rumbled out, thick with feigned disgust.

“What the hell is this, boy?” He took another deliberate step forward, towering over the bed, “You in here jackin’ off to faggot shit? Two dudes fuckin’ each other?”

Marcus’s face drained of color, yet he still tried to speak back

“It’s none of your business! Get out, Tyrone, I swear to God—”

“You swear to God what?” Jeremiah interrupted, voice dropping to a dangerous growl that sounded insidiously threatening coming from Tyrone. He leaned in, planting one massive hand on the mattress beside Marcus’s thigh, caging him.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it, little man? Huh?”

Marcus shoved at Tyrone’s chest with both hands hard. His palms met solid, unyielding pecs, slick with sweat. The push barely budged the bigger man. Jeremiah didn’t even flinch; he just let the resistance roll through Tyrone’s powerful frame like it's nothing.

“Get off me!” Marcus hissed, panic rising. He swung a fist this time, aiming for Tyrone’s jaw. Jeremiah caught the wrist mid-air effortlessly, Tyrone reflexes, thick fingers wrapping completely around it.

“Boy, you done lost your damn mind,” Jeremiah snarled in character, twisting the arm just enough to make Marcus wince. With his free hand, he snatched the blanket away, exposing Marcus fully as his erection still half-hard from the interrupted session, now rapidly deflating under the weight of fear.

Marcus kicked out, trying to scramble backward on the bed, but Jeremiah is faster. He climbed onto the mattress, knees pinning Marcus’s thighs, using Tyrone’s sheer mass to immobilize him. The struggle is brief and one-sided; Marcus thrashed, cursing, but every twist and push only pressed him harder against the immovable wall of muscle above him.

“Stop—stop it!” Marcus panted, chest heaving. “I’ll scream. Mom’ll hear—”

“Your mom ain’t here,” Jeremiah growled, leaning down until their faces mere inches apart. Tyrone’s breath is hot, smelling faintly of pre-workout and raw masculinity, "and even if she's here, what you think she’d say seein’ her son jackin’ it to gay porn, huh? She’d throw your ass out on the street.”

Marcus went still, breathing ragged, eyes glassy with humiliation and dread.

“Please… don’t tell her. Tyrone, please.”

Jeremiah’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Beggin’ now? Pathetic.” He shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels but keeping Marcus pinned. Slowly, deliberately, he reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his own gym shorts. Marcus’s eyes followed the movement, wide and unblinking.

Jeremiah tugged the shorts down just enough to free Tyrone’s heavy, thick, uncut cock that is already half-hard from the dominance play. It flopped out with a soft thud against Marcus’s bare thigh, the foreskin partially retracted, the head glistening. The scent hit immediately: musky, potent, a mix of dried sweat from the workout and fresh arousal. It dangled inches from Marcus’s face as Jeremiah leaned forward again, letting it sway teasingly.

“Look at it,” Jeremiah commanded in Tyrone’s low timbre. “That’s what a real man’s dick looks like. Bet you wish yours was half this big, don’t you, fag?”

“Fuck you.” Marcus replied as he turned his head away, cheeks burning

Jeremiah chuckled darkly. He gripped the base of his cock and give it a slow stroke, making the shaft swell thicker, veins pulsing along the length. A bead of precum formed at the tip. He angled it closer, brushing the slick head against Marcus’s clenched lips.

“Well, guess I'll be doing just that, with your assistance though. Open up and say sorry, boy. Maybe I won’t tell your mama what a little cocksucker you are,"

Marcus jerked his head side to side, lips sealed tight, but his breathing had changed into shallow and quick exasperated breath. His own cock, traitorously, twitched against his stomach.

Then Jeremiah let the mask slip.

His voice softened, the gravelly edge melting into something familiar, something Marcus knew intimately.

“Babe… it’s me," he said in a tone completely foreign from Tyrone

Marcus froze. His eyes snapped up to Tyrone’s face as he really looked at the face this time. The cruel smirk had transformed into something warm, loving yet mischievous.

“Jeremiah?” he whispered, disbelief cracking his voice.

Jeremiah’s grin widened ear to ear, Tyrone’s perfect white teeth flashing.

“Surprise.”

Marcus stared, mouth falling open.

“No fucking way. You—you’re inside him?”

“Every inch,” Jeremiah said, giving Tyrone’s cock another playful pump for emphasis. “Possessed him this morning. Been flexing and sniffing myself all day like a total narcissist. Then I heard you in here…figured it was time to scare the shit out of you before I gave you the best Christmas present ever.”

Marcus let out a shaky laugh that bordered on a sob.

“You asshole. I really thought—” He reached up, hands trembling as he touched Tyrone’s chest, tracing the ridges of muscle he’d only ever admired from a distance. “I thought he was gonna kill me. Or tell Mom.”

“Nah,” Jeremiah murmured, leaning down to kiss him gently, putting Tyrone’s full lips soft against Marcus’s. “I’d never let that happen. But admit it… you were kinda into the fear, weren’t you?”

“Shut up," Marcus flushed darker

Jeremiah laughed, the sound rich and deep in Tyrone’s chest.

“Knew it.”

The shift is immediate. The terror melted into hunger. Marcus surged upward, capturing Tyrone’s mouth in a desperate kiss, hands roaming greedily over the broad back, the pumped delts, the taper of the waist. Jeremiah groaned into it, letting Marcus explore the body he’d spent all day worshipping himself.

“Been hard all day thinking about this,” Jeremiah admitted between kisses. “Kept smelling these pits, licking the sweat off these abs… now I get to share it with you.”

Marcus pulled back just enough to stare. “You’re such a freak.”

“Your freak,” Jeremiah corrected, and pushed him flat again—this time willingly.

Clothes comed off fast. Marcus’s shirt yanked over his head meanwhiJeremiah peeled off his underwear fully. Marcus’s hands are everywhere—palming the heavy pecs, tracing the deep cuts of the eight-pack, wrapping fingers around the thick shaft that had terrified him minutes ago.

“God, it’s even bigger up close,” Marcus breathed, stroking slowly, watching the foreskin glide over the head.

“Suck it. Been edging myself thinking about your mouth all day.” Jeremiah hissed in pleasure

Marcus didn’t need telling twice. He scooted down, lips parting to take the head in. The taste exploded across his tongue, salty skin, faint bitterness of precum, the overwhelming musk of a man who’d just crushed a brutal workout. He moaned around it, taking more, cheeks hollowing as he worked the shaft.

Jeremiah threaded fingers through Marcus’s hair, guiding gently at first, then firmer. “That’s it… take that alpha dick. Take your mom’s boyfriend’s cock down your throat like a good side whore!"

The roleplay sent a fresh surge through both of them. Marcus pulled off with a gasp as his moan momentarily stopped

“Say it again.”

Jeremiah grinned down at him.

“I’m Tyrone. And you’re the dirty little secret I’m gonna fuck senseless while your mama’s at work.”

Marcus whimpered and dove back down, taking him deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through. Jeremiah’s hips rocked subtly, fucking Marcus’s mouth with controlled thrusts, watching the lips stretch around Tyrone’s girth.

Eventually, Jeremiah pulled him off with a wet pop.

“Turn over. I want that ass.”

Marcus scrambled to comply, getting on all fours. Jeremiah grabbed lube from the nightstand and slicked his fingers. He worked Marcus open slowly, teasingly, crooking fingers to hit that spot that made Marcus bury his face in the pillow and moan.

“Mmpphhhh.....please,” Marcus finally begged, pushing back. “Ty ....Fffuuuccckkkk......I need it, give....mmmmpphhaaahh....it to meee,"

Jeremiah lined up, the fat head pressing against the entrance. He slide in inch by inch, savoring the tight heat, the way Marcus’s back arched and his breath hitched. When he bottomed out, balls pressed against ass, both men stilled, breathing hard.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Jeremiah groaned the same way Tyrone would growl when he fucked Elaine. He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a steady rhythm that quickly built to something harder, deeper. The bed creaked under Tyrone’s powerful strokes.

Marcus reached back, gripping Jeremiah---Tyrone---thigh.

“Nghhhh...harder! Punish me!"

Jeremiah obliged, grabbing hips with bruising force, pounding relentlessly. Skin slapped against skin, the room filling with grunts, moans, the wet sounds of lube and flesh. He leaned over Marcus’s back, chest to spine, one hand snaking around to stroke Marcus in time.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled in Marcus’s ear, voice rough with impending climax. “Gonna breed this ass with Tyrone’s load while you think about how close you came to getting caught.”

Somehow, such threat is enough because Marcus instantly cried out, coming first—stripes of cum painting the sheets beneath him. Soon after, the tight clench of Marcus asshole pushed Jeremiah over the edge. He buried himself deep and unloaded, pulse after pulse of thick seed flooding Marcus, hips jerking with each spurt.

They collapsed sideways, still joined, Jeremiah’s arms wrapped possessively around Marcus from behind. For several minutes, there's only heavy breathing and soft kisses along Marcus’s shoulder.

Then, the front door lock clicked.

Both men froze for a second

“Marcus? Tyrone? I’m home early, the meeting got canceled!” Elaine’s voice echoed from the first floor, heels clicking on hardwood.

Panic surged. Jeremiah pulled out carefully, cum already leaking from Marcus. “Shit----ughhh, shower....shower, I need to go now," Jeremiah said as he tiptoed out from the bedroom and headed to the bathroom right in the opposite side from Marcus bedroom, heart pounding in Tyrone's chest like crazy. Marcus grabbed tissues, wiping his creamed ass dry and all sorts of residue and spots of cum in his bed frantically, while Jeremiah cranked the shower on full blast, stepped in for exactly ten seconds, just long enough to soak his skin and hair, then shut it off. He grabbed whatever clothing he could find that he usually hung around the bathroom while making sure that the water from the quick shower dripping strategically.

Marcus managed to yank on his boxers and a T-shirt, snatched his phone, and already sprawled on the bed scrolling like nothing happened by the time Elaine knocked lightly and pushed the door open.

“Hey, baby,” she said, smiling at Marcus. Her gaze then shifted to the bathroom behind her back as Jeremiah opened the door quite loudly purposefully to ensure that Elaine does not spend too much time scanning the ground zero as he leaned casually against the doorframe, in damp clothes and still smelling like a wet dog. The air still hung heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, but the steam from the shower masked it just enough.

“Just finished cleanin’ up,” Jeremiah drawled in Tyrone’s lazy baritone, running a hand through wet curls, “Hit the gym hard today. Boy was there playin’ games or whatever kids do.”

Elaine wrinkled her nose slightly—probably catching the lingering musk—but dismissed it.

“You've been speaking like an old man the past few hours, a bit try hard as I might say. And you do smell like you worked out, babe. Anywau you two, dinner in an hour, okay?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Marcus mumbled, eyes glued to his phone, cheeks still flushed but passing as college student sullenness, meanwhile Tyrone just mumbled in agreement

Elaine left, closing the door behind her and kiss Tyrone as she said

"Can't believe we'll have some times for tonight since I'm home early....hmmm......love this smell on you, don't clean-up further, okay? I want this scent imprinted on me tonight,"

"Oh, you'll get it and more, babe," Jeremiah said seductively as he grabbed Elaine's ass and bite his lips sensually, really playing Tyrone to the tee.

She chuckled in excitement as she then stepped down to put on everything into her study room on the first floor while preparing some food test she wanted to make for Christmas later next week. The second her footsteps faded, Jeremiah opened the door to Marcus room and both men locked eyes. Marcus bit his lip to stifle a laugh. Jeremiah grinned, droplets still sliding down Tyrone’s carved torso, underwear tenting slightly from residual arousal.

“That was too close,” Marcus whispered.

Jeremiah sauntered over, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Worth it.”

Marcus glanced at the strained underwear, then back up.

“Round two after she goes to sleep?”

Jeremiah’s grin turned wicked.

“Oh, we’re just getting started.”

---

Amazingly, I have finished this series on my draft so you'll see me dropping the next parts in the next couple days before closing it right on Christmas. If you have any thing you want to be added to the storyline, please comment or you can DM me and I'll see what I can do. Until then, see ya!

#male possession #male takeover #nerd to hunk #boyfriend possession

Jeez......no wonder all them folks folded so easily, I really looked like a fuckin' muscle hunk that always gets what they want, no questions asked! Fuck......the smirk......the facial hair....the angularity.....all the muscle bulging in all the right places, this medallion is sick! And the way it also gives me the energy boost and the strength to destroy the workout as intended for a fucking alpha hunk that looked like he could bench double his body weight, this shit really foolin' everybody with no chance to realize I'm still the same old pathetic pasty nerd they would never give their time of the day previously. I will never ever takeoff this medallion if it keeps me looking like this, heck, for all I care, the old me no longer existed, this is the life I will live from now on, this is the sole truth and reality I will embrace, and I'm never looking back

#male transformation #male illusion #male muscle growth

An Instant Promotion

The fluorescent hum of the 27th floor is the only sound in the open-plan office after 9 p.m. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, except for a handful of junior staffer including Ethan Hwang. Twenty-five, perpetually hunched, elbows sharp enough to slice paper, who still wore the same rumpled white shirt he’d arrived in at 6 a.m. He is working at his tiny cubicle in the corner, the one with the flickering monitor and lack of decorations, clutching the obsidian amulet he’d lifted from the Director’s handbag during the quarterly off-site in Langkawi just last weekend. The coast is clear so far if he wants to try out what the amulet is capable off, but, not taking any risks, he decided to head home first before verifying on the legitimacy of this outlandish item

The Director—Thomas Lawrence Sedgwick, thirty-four, 6'3", 215 lbs of sculpted arrogance—is a notorious leader with known-temper issue among the folks at the office. But, he was not like that previously. He was a warm personality, a bit of an airhead too and not necessarily cut-throat enough to survive corporate politics hence him ending up in a not-so-competitive market like Malaysia. Until that one day when he adorned this obsidian amulet and started becoming the Tom people recognized today. The ruthless one. The one that can always forecast major changes that might affect the holdings portofolio. He's changing his fate from your regular Joe into one that might be promoted in the following quarter, which he did get. And Ethan Hwang suspected that the amulet involved much more deeper rather than just some "good luck charm" or "confidence booster" for Tom, and he wants to experience it too

Ethan watched how Tom worn this amulet underneath his crisp Brioni or Caraceni suit, peaking through when his muscular chest stretched his dress shirt and revealed a jet black stone that just hangs there around his chest. It intrigued him and even, it seems to call him at times. That's why he did what he did at Langkawi as Tom handed his luggage and handbag to Ethan to be placed in his room as if Ethan is a freaking concierge or something. But, Ethan already knew about the possibility of him being treated like porter/concierge by the more established management, so he prepared himself already as he came up with the exact replica of Tom's amulet so he can conveniently swap it. He checked earlier today that Tom opted out for something much more laid back so he did not even wear the amulet.

Lucky for Ethan, as he rummaged through the duffel bag, he found the amulet wrapped in black silk at the bottom of a dopp kit, pulsing like a second heartbeat and glow like it begged to be stolen. Then, he wrapped the fake replica he owned with the silk covering and decided to hide it until they were back to KL, yet the business slammed him hard so he did not have the chance to explore the amulet further, until today

Now, back in Ethan's Kuala Lumpur residential mid-tier flat, he whispered his hidden desire. He suspected the amulet to be some sort of wish-granter or something along the way, so he repeated his wish once more

"Let me see and experience the world from his eyes," he murmured as he pictured Thomas in all of his suited glory.

All in a sudden, the air in his apartment thickened. He opened his eyes and feel some sort of pressure constricting the air he breathes. The lights flickered and then dimmed. Ethan’s knees buckled as the amulet cracked open against his sternum, spilling liquid shadow into his veins.

He didn't scream. He couldn’t. But like lightning strike, everything went by so quickly as his soul ripped away from his physical self and moments later, appeared in an entirely different room then his own. Then, it hits him. He's in Tom's condo......witnessing Tom just arriving in his unit looking spent and a bit flustered. He just went out for a couple beer or something, maybe? Not even finished with all the pondering and confusion, Ethan suddenly found himself pulled closer to latch right on Tom's body. Shivers went down Tom's spine upon contact yet it also meant that it's a one-way traffic as Tom got no willpower or divine strength to stop Ethan's soul from sinking deeper to gain control over his physique. Tom tried to prop himself up as his knees trembled and his back arched as more and more of Ethan's sliding into him. Imagine Tom's surprise when he almost let out a very loud groan due to the suffocating pain, his hands moved on its own to shut his own mouth. That's when everything went from bad to worse as Tom realized that he's fighting a losing battle.

After eventually dropping to the floor with hands still around his own mouth, Tom wakes up with a new driver on duty. Ethan’s reflection in the full-length mirror showed a very masculine face—high cheekbones, square jaw, eyes the cold North-Sea gray of Thomas Sedgwick. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, deeper, masculine. The last of the old Ethan dissolved somewhere behind those eyes.

He staggered to the bathroom in the opposite side of where the original Tom would love to go to wind down after a hard day of work. Instead, here he is with no shirts, skin still glistening with the sweat from God knows what. The body is absurd in its perfection: abs carved deep enough to lose coins in, obliques slicing down into the obscene V that disappeared beneath the waistband of Calvin Kleins two sizes too small.

Ethan—Thomas—raised a trembling hand. The reflection mirrored it. Thick fingers, manicured nails, the faint white scar across the knuckles from a rowing accident at Oxford. He pressed his palm to the mirror. The glass is cold. His palm is warm. Real.

He exhaled, and the sound that comes out is Thomas’s low, confident baritone.

“Fuck me,” he said, and grinned with teeth too white and straight to belong to the old Ethan.

With the coast clear as he's shielded from the outside world, the exploration begin slowly. A flex of the biceps—peak rising like a mountain range. A twist to watch the lats flare, wings broad enough to cast shadows. He runs both hands down the ridges of his abs, thumbs hooking under the waistband, tugging it lower. The underwear strained. He is already hard—impossibly hard, thick and heavy against his thigh.

Thomas has always been big; Ethan only ever seen softness in his own reflection. Now the contrast is dizzying. He palmed himself through the fabric, groaning at the weight, the heat. The mirror fogged with his breath.

He shoved the Calvins down just enough. The cock that spring free is flushed, veined, a shade darker than the rest of him. He wrapped his fingers around it—Thomas’s fingers, strong enough to crush walnuts—and stroked once, slow, savoring the drag of skin on skin. His knees nearly buckled.

“Look at you,” he told the mirror, voice rough. “Look what you are now, a fucking Oxford graduate nutting to his own reflection in the mirror,"

He braced one hand against the glass, forehead pressed to his own reflection, and started moving in heat. The rhythm is instinctive, hips rolling the way Thomas moved on the rowing machine in the corporate gym—fluid, powerful, relentless. Each stroke sent sparks up his spine. His balls drew tight and the sound he lets out definitely belong to an animal in heat as he is inching even closer to the climax.

With a snarl he ripped his hand away, denying himself, cock bobbing angrily in the air, purple and slick. He watched it twitch, watched a fresh bead of precum swell and fall in slow motion.

"HHHHNGGGHHHHH........!!!" he huffed maliciously, grinning with excitement upon seeing the control he managed to exert upon this body, to the point of denying its much-deserving orgasm

He doesn't want it to end quickly, he want to push its limit. And limit he goes, as he decided that the pits lacked the worship it deserve so he sensually sniffed both of his reeked pit that's been trapped under three-layer of clothes all day long, making it extra pungent yet still deliciously musky.

"Hnggghhhhh.......that pricing meeting must be tough huh??? Yeah......you sweat a lot trying to describe to those fools what was wrong on their calculation......hmmmmm ffuuuckkkk I was so smart in that room,"

Then, remembering the scribbles HE wrote in that meeting room and looking at HIS now-calloused thick fingers, an idea spark in his mind.

He turned sideways, admiring the impossible taper of his waist, the way his glutes dimpled and flexed as he shifted his weight. Then he reached back, spread one cheek, and dragged a single finger down the cleft. He's doing it slow, teasing, until he brushed the tight, virgin ring of muscle that had never been touched

The sound that comes out of him is inhuman.

He pressed the pad of his finger inside (just the tip), just enough to feel the clutch, the impossible heat, and his cock jerked so hard it slapped his abs, leaving a wet streak across the bottom row of his eight-pack.

That's it.

He spun back to the mirror, gripped himself with both hands now (one stacked over the other, still not enough), and fucked into the tunnel of his fists like a man possessed. The glass shook. His reflection blurred with motion, sweat, and the frantic pump of his hips.

“Fuck—fuck—Thomas—”

The orgasm hit him like a car crash.

The first rope hit the mirror with a wet slap, streaking down Thomas's perfect cheekbone. The second painted the glass across his own parted lips. Ethan—Thomas—kept going, milking every drop, thighs trembling, until the mirror is a mess of streaks and fingerprints and the air smelled like salt and money.

He stayed there a moment, panting, watching the cum slide down the reflection of the man he’d stolen. Then he laughed—low, triumphant—and wiped a thumb through the mess, smearing it across the glass like war paint.

He licked a stripe through the mess on the glass (tasted himself, tasted Thomas, tasted victory), then straightened his disheveled self up by putting on the work attire Tom worn earlier today back on. He cleansed his throat, releasing any sort of phlegm or anything that can ruin his voice projection and then smiled wickedly to the iPhone in the countertop. A phone call this late to a scaredy cat sounds like a nice plan

He thumbed through the contacts until he landed on Jeremiah Tan, a junior analyst in the cubicle next to him and also the same ome who’d hissed

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours, Ethan” when he accidentally seen the obsidian amulet in Ethan's hands during their trip to Langkawi

Ethan had just smiled then, all teeth and nerves. Now he smiled wider and crueler with Thomas Sedgwick's mouth

He tapped call. Speakerphone. Let the whole marble penthouse hear.

One ring. Two.

A nervous swallow on the other end.

“…H-hello? Director Sedgwick?”

Ethan let the silence stretch just long enough for Jeremiah to squirm. Then he dropped his voice into that low, boarding-school register that made interns cry in quarterly reviews.

“Tan.” A purr. “You sound perplexed, little mouse. Not expecting a call?"

A choked breath.

“S-sir? It’s past ten, I—”

“Shut up.” The command cracked like a whip. Ethan unbuckled Thomas’s belt with one hand, the clink of metal loud in the quiet. “You told me not to snoop, remember? Told me some things are above my pay grade.” He unzipped slowly, deliberately, let the teeth of the zipper rasp over the speaker. “Guess whose pay grade I’m on now?”

Jeremiah’s voice cracked.

“Oh my God......."

Ethan pulled Thomas’s cock free, still half-hard, heavy, wet from the mirror session, and give it one lazy stroke. The wet sound carried clear across the line.

“You hear that, Jerry?” Another stroke. Slower. Filthier. “That’s your Director’s dick. Except it’s not his anymore. It’s mine.”

A whimper. Jeremiah is not hanging up as he connected the dots. Instead, he gulped as he realized the tent straining his khakis

Ethan leaned back against the window, cool glass on hot skin, and started a steady rhythm. From Tom's muscle memory, his hand started to twist just under the head the way Thomas had learned at some exclusive Swiss boarding school. Precum welled instantly, slicking the glide.

“Picture it,” he growled. “Your scrawny little friend Ethan, five-foot-seven, elbows like coat hangers, gone. He upgraded himself, snapped his spine into this.” He flexed his free arm, watched the bicep peak in the reflection of the window. “Six-three. Two-fifteen. Shoulders that don’t fit through economy seats. And this cock?” He squeezed hard enough to make himself groan. “Eight and a half uncut inches of your fucking nightmare, Jerry.”

Jeremiah’s breathing had gone shallow, frantic. Ethan could hear the creak of an office chair, making things much more tastier as his mind pictuted Jerry still at his desk at this hour, too terrified to move but too enamored by the call.

“You told me not to touch what wasn’t mine,” Ethan continued, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “Now I’m touching everything. Starting with myself.” He sped up, hips rolling into his fist, balls slapping against his thigh. “Listen close.”

He angled the phone down, let the microphone catch every slick stroke, every wet slap of skin on skin. His breath hitched, still sounding deep and commanding even when wrecked because it's Thomas's

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasped. “You ever wonder what it feels like, Jerry? To have a body that makes people kneel? To walk into a room and watch jaws drop?” He laughed, dark and mean. “I just came in my bathroom condo. Left my cum all over the mirror. My cleaner will find it tomorrow and probably thank me for the extra work

Jeremiah made a broken sound, half sobbing, half moaning, the way his cock strains his khakis really tempted him to just unzip it altogether and let it spring free

Ethan’s rhythm turned punishing. The glass behind him fogged with every exhale. “You’re hard right now, aren’t you? Sitting there in your sad little cubicle, cock leaking because the big bad Director is jerking off to the sound of your panic.”

“N-no, sir—”

“Liar.” Ethan’s voice cracked like a gunshot. “Follow your instinct. Don't ignore it. Touch it. Through your khakis. Now.”

A rustle. A stifled gasp. Jeremiah obeyed.

“Good boy,” Ethan crooned. “That’s the closest you’ll ever get to this body, for now. You’ll come in your fucking boxers imagining it’s my hand, my mouth, my—” He broke off with a guttural moan as his balls drew up tight. “Fuck, here it comes—”

He aimed the phone at the window, let the first thick rope splatter against the glass with downtown KL as his backdrop) Another shot, another, until cum streaked down in slow rivers, city lights warping through the mess.

He kept stroking through the aftershocks, milking every drop, voice ragged. “You feel that, Jerry? That’s power. That’s what I stole. And tomorrow—” He wiped his hand on Thomas’s discarded tie, smearing it with seed. “Tomorrow you’ll bring me coffee. Two sugars. You’ll call me sir. You’ll watch me sit in the chair you’ll never touch and you’ll thank me for letting you breathe the same air. We'll keep this between the two of us, but I want you to picture a much different dynamic between you and me from now on, you got me?"

A long silence. Then Jeremiah’s tiny wrecked voice followed with a “…Yes, sir.”

Ethan smiled using Tom's gorgeously spent smile, slow and savage.

“Knew you’d understand. Night, little mouse.”

He ended the call.

The city sparkled below, oblivious. Tom's body (Ethan’s now) stood tall, cock still dripping, tie ruined, reflection giddy like a wolf who’d eaten the shepherd and wore his skin.

Tomorrow, the real games begin.

#nerd to hunk #male possession #personality change #male takeover

"Cmon, bitch. Get lost in it. Sniff it. This is what you like, right? Sniffing your own brother's stench, getting lost in my musk like a fucking faggot! Fuck, you are such a disappointment, I thought all the muscle and all those talks about chicks were real. Turns out it was all just a cover for your pathetic faggot self,"

"W---wait, Brad....I--I can exp---"

"That hard cock and my fucking underwear on your hand is enough explanation of what you are, fag! Goddammit, this is so disappointing. Such a fine bod like that wasted on a fucking wuss, there must be a lot of other folks more deserving to be in control of such physique,"

"Wait.....what?"

"I rather have a bro that fuck chicks with me rather than worship me, but I guess I can only work with what I have, so go on here and start sniffing, fag!"

As he forcefully grabbed my head with his calloused mitt and shoved me right then and there to his wet, musky pit, I found the pits to be......soft....and hairless. I snapped awake from my sleep with my hand pressing on my crown pillow as if suffocating myself and raging hard-on visibly shown alongside the beads of sweat trickled down all over my body. I'm drenched, horny and I just had yet another wild dream involving people close to me figuring out about my actual......interest.

While I panted for my breath trying to recover, my brother walked past my room.....in the same tanktop I saw him in my dream.......now that's fucked up. As he glanced at me while walking by, I feel like I'm a deer in front of a headlight, too tense to move yet too quiet for my own liking, so I mustered up the courage to furtively said hi to him while calmed myself down, which he replied casually as he walked to his room. Damn.....that was clearly not awkward at all, I thought to myself sheepishly. And to make it even more awkward, my mind seemingly plotted against me as a little part of my brain ached for that dream to be real, that my observant yet emotionally distant brother shown some sort of interest or attention to me more than just his little glance, casual nods or fleeting remarks.

I decided to clear my head by walking and jogging around the neighborhood. This damn fever really bound me in my bed for the past few days and despite the meds from my regular doctor, this one is a heck of a fever. I feel better today though, and there's just something liberating and relaxing for me when it comes to running, and I usually feel so much better and clear-headed after a run.

But, despite reaching the 4 miles run I usually covered when I'm in my best form, I just cannot brush off all the stupid dreams I have in the past few days. It's always the same, with just the character and the setting swapped according to the main arc, but generally it has this similar veins. It all involves any dudes I know, all cornering me in whatever settings about my sexuality, and they forced me to do something to ensure that I'm not gay, which I obviously always failed and then right before getting trampled or shoved or told to worship, I woke up drenched in sweat and realized that it was all a dream. I never experienced such detailed, homoerotic dreams before this bout of fever, and I sure as hell don't have any plan to talk about this to anyone. I just hope I can get better soon and maybe I will no longer have that kind of silly dreams again

As I arrived back to my house, I decided to quickly whip some light breakfast so I can chug my antibiotics. I found Brad eating his post-workout snack at the dining table while busily scrolling his phone. As usual, he acknowledged me, but that's it, no small talk, no warmth, just regular Brad being his regular self

I joined him at the table and devoured my breakfast quickly so I can get through my meds and rest a bit more. Dr. Filmore gave me 7 pills and this will be the last one alongside the 2 other pills he prescribed. I've been thinking about dressing up for tonight's Halloween party if I got better, but even until today, I still feel light-headed so maybe I will just stick around here for tonight. After chugging the pills and washing the dishes, I sit back to the table and realized that Brad also finished with his snack already so I asked Brad

"Do you want me to wash your dishes too, Brad?"

"I want you to sniff my sole and worship it, bro,"

My eyes definitely went wide in surprise or something, because Brad doubled down and then put another foot of his on top of the table, causing the musk of his fresh-from-workout pair to hit my nose even more.

"C'mon bro, open up that mouth and start worshipping. Your cock can't lie. Your vlazed eyes can't lie too. Swallow 'em all and let my musk controls you,"

This is crazy absurd to say the least. He was silent for half an hour and more, and suddenly now he shoved his feet right to my face? What on Earth is wrong here? Is this some kind of sick prank or something? Am I hallucinating or something? I tried to leave the table and just purely ignore the situation. If this is a dream, he will not follow me and instead weirdly appeared in front of my face or something. To my surprise, I feel a powerful tug from behind me and then seconds later, I found myself slammed to the floor by Brad

"Who told you that you can leave just like that, fag? Stay put,"

And he suddenly drooled this thick and disgusting glob of spit from his mouth, and I weirdly opened my mouth voluntarily to receive it

Suddenly, my whole mind spins. Foreign memories that I have no recollection about. Sensation of warmth that travelled down my body and reached all of its extremities. From the corner of my eye, I see a rather bright light appearing from the stairs that lead to the second floor. That bright light then float itself closer ro Brad and when that light engulfed Brad, he vanished and the bright light manifest itself into a form I'm not familiar with. It smiles......rather wickedly, before shoving its hand right into my mouth. Shock is an understatement, because I can definitely tell you I'm scared shitless on what's about to happen.

Yet the contact made by the light also allowed me to finally understand what's up here. Dr. Filmore lost his only son just recently and this medicine he gave me supposedly weakened my physical and mental state to a point where I wouldn't be able to withstand......an assault. He believed in occult and stuff, and he drugged me so his dead son, utilizing the energy emanated by the widely celebrated Halloween, can enter my body. Those weird dreams and their awkward lines about me undeserving of my physique, it was all his son trying to manipulate me. Everytime whoever person told me to sniff them or worship them that I always failed to withstand in my dream realm, that's all me allowing more and more of him planting his seed of influence over me. Including that disgusting spit, which is probably even more potent then all the abruptly-ended worshipping session I always snapped myself awake from. That's why, the moment he decided to pounce on, it becomes a very quick process where I'm on the verge of losing my body as more and more of his form slipped into me. I'm probably still on the table or in adjacent to it, Brad probably already left to his room or somewhere when I washed the dishes or something so he's actually no longer there and the dream started as soon as I chugged that pills.

As soon as the final part of his head slipped into me, I found myself trapped in a prison inside of my own mind as I can see that he opened my eyes and feeling all the living sensation once more through my body. I'm still in the dining table, yet as I suspected, Brad is nowhere to be seen, he probably left me on my own as soon as he noticed that I fell asleep. I heard myself giggling as I can hear Dr. Filmore's son thanked me for my body. He takes off my jacket and started rubbing my hand all over my body, feeling all my muscles and claimed it as his. Then, his hands grabbed my crotch but then he stopped right away as his eyes darted to the stash of pills prescribed to me by his father. Much to my horror as our connected memories allowed me to know what he's thinking about, he grabbed another pill that Dr. Filmore prescribed.

"One more and you'll be out for good, dude. Sorry not sorry,"

He doesn't just want to hijack my body. He wants me to be gone!

As he makes his way to the guest bathroom, I pleaded to him not to follow through with his plan. I cannot imagine myself living with no body whatsoever, and if I'm not wrong, that's practically similar to death. He brushed me aside and marched on regardless. As soon as he steps into the bathroom, he quickly propped his phone to record the whole thing.

He completely ignored me as he then stared right at the vanity and then chugged the pill in one go and swallowed it. Right at the moment, I feel like I'm getting sucked out from my brain and head on to a one-way traffic out from my body. I can hear his laughter, booming loud and filled with excitement as he hollered about my appendage that he just exposed before I sense the impending doom as I stream out from my body right from my cock into the toilet basin.

The final image of myself is my face smiling ear to ear while I spiraled into the darkness of the toilet basin alongside the rest of the water, flushed like I never mattered and merely a natural excess of one's body

---

"Morning dude, you look terrible,"

"Yeah, last night was wild tho. Are you good? You barely functional yesterday's morning. Look at you now,"

"Yeah, better than ever actually. Guess the party last night really fueled me, and the meds of course," he said with a smirk on his face, his mind wandered to the shenanigan he's up to last night with his bros and some friends, drinking and partying like crazy

"I feel like I can use some of that meds of yours. I feel like shit, you know? Do you still have it?"

"What about I drive you to Dr. Filmore instead, see what he can get you,"

"Oh yeah, that's a good idea. I can't be sick, I have stuff to do in the office on Monday,"

"I bet he has some fast-acting meds that can cure you in no time and makes you feel brand new," he said with a smirk, wondering what his dad can do to his older brother over here

---

I was hella sick since Thursday so, there goes the belated Halloween tale. Hopefully it's decent enough, time for more rest so I can recover soon and write better stories for yall

#personality change #male possession #male takeover #halloween possession

fullfriendnerdclutch

Work really occupied almost all my waking hour the past few months, I found no excitement or energy to prepare for a Halloween costume for this year. I think I'm just going no costume this year and host my own party. But rest assured, I'm not really hosting the party looking like myself, oh that's gonna turn south real quick judging on how I haven't drained my lymphatic system and my eyebag really screamed for more sleep. Instead, I'm picking my favorite OF star for the season, put their profile in Chronivac or MorphMage depending on what app is not restricted in my area for now, and turn myself into them for my Halloween costume. I think this is quite a sick costume idea, don't you think?

Oh, because I have two accounts (cc: @fullfriendnerdpurse), it only feels right to have another me so I also put the note that I have a fraternal twin and voila, a younger sibling appeared out of thin air HAHAHAH.

I made it him extra submissive to me so while I waited for yall to come join my party, I have a sloppy mouth to worship my feet and nursing my cock. Do lemme know if you're about to swing by and please also indicate who you really are LOL

vindictivenerdcels

Hey, just a quick check-up before I attended the party. I still can come in costume, right? Snatched this dude's look that I called for pest cleaning because how can I resist such temptation to not copy him when he came in all worked up like this??

Even better, dude seemed ready for a Halloween party too with all the clothes he gathered in the back of his van when I peeked at his car, so I took the liberty to keep several items from it and let him go to do his business while I dashed my way in and started frantically uploading his image to my Chronivac. Now, which look I should choose? Ghostface or Jason?

#male shapeshift #male transformation #male tf #chronivac #halloween tf celebration

Super inspired by this piece by @take-my-body-from-me also originated from a story written by @malebodyswapper But I want to use the Sergio character as my departure point for this spin-off

His memory of what transpired last night was blurry. Mikey remembers that he went to the club, but aside from a handful of songs and who he went there with, the only thing he could remember is the 3 glass of vodka soda and the glimpses of a stranger's face that reappeared several times from the club.....and in his bedroom?

As he looked around his room and found a bunch of scattered clothing on the floor, the blurry imagery of a fit stud undressing himself right next to his bed gets a bit clearer. The first thing that crossed Mikey's mind is the fact that he pulled that hunk last night? How? He remembered seeing the stud frequenting the club before, but he always leaned towards the girls, and yet.....he was here last night?

The stud's name......ughhh.....Gi??? Gio??? Oh.....Sergio....yeah, Sergio. A Latin lover, with the most seductive accent and that "bedroom" huskiness in his voice that could melt any of its listener in a heartbeat. The glint in his eyes and the intense stare from the corner table as Mikey's eyes scanned the club attendants at first, the way Sergio gyrated his hips on the dance floor, hands wrapping around this gorgeous brunette while keeping eye contact to Mikey. The inviting smirk and the final wink that led to bathroom kisses and then transpired into something Mikey didn't even prepare for, all of the sequence of action that led to them ended up in Mikey's bedroom becomes crystal clear like a perfect recording being replayed. And then the way Sergio stripped Mikey so aggressively as soon as they were confined in the privacy of Mikey's bedroom, tossing Mikey to the bed as soon as Mikey's lithe, 6'2", 150 pounds frame exposed in all of its vulnerability.

As he remembered that Sergio went on to choke him before pummeling that veiny monster into his puckered hole, the constant sound of the water running in the bathroom stopped. Wait......he thought.....as his eyes went wide listening to low humming from the bathroom, he just realized it, Sergio is still here....in his apartment! He has been concentrating a bit too good this time, he failed to realize that a man is showering in his bathroom for the past few minutes. And as the bathroom door creaked open and a tall, studly figure emerged from the bathroom alongside the steam that released from what must be a high-temperature shower sesh, Mikey's breath hitched to see Sergio just nonchalantly walked out from the bathroom with nothing to cover his perfect form.

The scar on Sergio's calves. The very veiny, half-hardened, pink weapon dangling in-between his legs supported by those juicy balls he remembered to be greedily sucked just hours before. His effortlessly gorgeous face framed with that equally effortlessly perfect hair. Everything about that man screams sexual perfection, and Mikey can only blush seeing such a man graced his bedroom and roamed around butt-naked as if it's nothing. As Sergio glanced at Mikey, he just sighed with no sign of interest or care or any expression to be fair, just plainly stating

"Oh, you're awake,"

Silence then followed. Not a single word spoken, but Sergio seemed to not care at all with Mikey's eyes following all his movement as he grabbed whatever sweatpants that could fit him from Mikey's wardrobe after putting on what must be one heck of a pungent underwear he worn from at least last night. Then, as he put on his jewellery, he stared right at Mikey's eyes and leaned forward

"Ck, I don't know what gotten into me last night until I fucked you like that. Must be the drugs or something making me thinking like a fool,"

Mikey instantly closed his gaping mouth. Feeling cornered and intimidated, he gulped, his lips trembled. What is this guy about to do to him?

"Oh, what now, are you gonna cry? Please stop being so disgusting. Aren't you a man, don't you dare cry on my watch! If you want to cry, it better be to thank me because it was a blessing I gave you my time last night and even seeded that loose boypussy of yours, himbo,"

"And now you are harder than ever! You are so funny, you know? Your brain told you that I'm a threat but I always know the kind of shit that can trigger a fag like you to get freaking hard. Go on, get even harder and shoot that load to this, you know you like this dynamic,"

And as Mikey's found his dick to betray him and throb senselessly like a geyser erupting its content, Sergio simply stepped back and looked on the mess he managed to made Mikey created

"Truly disgusting and easy. That's what I thought, hahahah. Consider yourself lucky I don't beat you up for shooting your sperm like that just because I talked dirty to you. Fuck, you are no different than those betas that signed up to my OF, maybe you're one of them LOL,"

As he grabbed Mikey's oversized stash of shirt and put it on as if it's his personal clothing, albeit several sizes smaller, Sergio gathered his items from last night and just simply walked out from the apartment with a rather gleeful sneer, leaving Mikey distressed and yet horny in his own bedroom.

Then, in his confusion, Mikey's eyes darted to a piece of business card that must be left behind by Sergio

"Tor Erik - Echo Fitness"

Is that where he can found Sergio after this? Because yes he clearly is a crazy narcissist, but he's one heck of a hot crazy narcissist and despite all the hurtful words he said, Mikey could sense that Sergio actually teased him to push things further, or maybe it's just his delusion.......

#male body swap #male body theft #male takeover #identity theft #echo fitness

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