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[swappingbryn]

[gayblast]

𝐶𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑛

[dewesker1998]

Controlling Friends

After graduating High school, Narco and Jack moved in together and they continued to develop and explore there new lives into adulthood.

Narco being the successful salesman that he is thanks to his intelligence and understanding of people, manages to earn his spot there continuing to expand there.

His friend Jack, on the other hand, still the somewhat shy boy he was, manages thanks to his efforts and a bit of Narco support, manages to get a spot at a good college to start his education in Criminal Justice to one day be a police officer.

Up to that point, both him and Jack had jobs, Narco near the peak of his career and only in his early 20s and Jack taking up job similar in that field as a Security Agent.

Now, they may have been doing well in there fields individually, but Narco still enjoy the benefits of his special ability and who wouldn’t if they could possess any person they want.

Now while Jack was off in his studies, Narco tried to look for victims to his special ability, particularly to go into bars and clubs that he may drink and have sex. Usually he would go to bars where female strippers were, but since a year back when he possessed Jack’s father, he hasn’t had sex with men and his father was fucking jacked and sexy hot.

He still had to maintain public image to a degree but he also knew that he would be bottom despite working out and since high school.

So he started a Grindr account which gave him low profile and found jacked studs who liked to top twinks which he would be to them because of his average height and weight when he was bored at the striped bar with women.

This gave him people to possess as well as sex in his own body at other times.

So he found this guy named Brock, who was a gay man that did modeling and construction as a side hustle.

It was one of those nights when Jack was at work late, he invited Brock over.

Narco was prepared, he had his glasses off and was naked.

Hey, your my bottom tonight, said Brody.

Thats right jockey, said Narco wasting no time for both to release their horniness for each other.

Brody pick up Narco as they had an intense kissing session while manhandling him in his strong arm pushing his strong body against Narco as he pressed him to the wall.

After a short time, Narco replied,

So ready for round 2 big boy, said Narco.

Oh yeah man, said Brody lustfully.

My room is on the left, where we can go all out, said Narco.

So Brody carried him to his room while making out and from there it got heated.

Narco was pressed toward the bed while Brody was kissing him all over in the most dominant way alpha could.

I been waiting to take control all night, just let daddy take care of you son, said Brody.

Brody then turned Narco on his stomach as he begin spreading Narco cheeks placing his tongue in between his hole licking in between going deeper as he did.

As he went deeper with his tongue, Narco felt great euphoria sending him on edge as he felt the hair on his beard moving side to side feeling like a tickle but on an intimate level.

When the stud was done lubricating his hole, he began to stick out his dick and thrust in and out, smoother and faster, keeping his rhythm.

Narco moans increase, trying to contain the intensity of them but it was so much to bare.

When climax finally started after minutes, both let out loud intense moans as Brody cum into Narco who filling it as it began to overflow to the point it dripped over his ass down on his bed and cock as Narco also came with his shots being nearly as wild than a hose spraying everywhere.

The room’s passion calm as they begin to draw close to one another wrapped in an embrace of men while Brody cock was still in Narco hole.

All right, now it’s my turn to be in you, so sit back and let me take it from here, hehe, said Narco to the sleeping stud.

Narco taking advantage of the buff stud tiredness, he begins to position the back of his body to align with Brody while his hard cock was still planted Narco’s hole for his own curiosity on how his possession might play out with it inside him.

As Narco pressed his ass toward Brody crotch, he began going deeper into him continuing to press his back towards Brody’s buff and hairy chest as he was sucked into his skin, feeling his cock go deep into him up until the possessions near completion.

As Narco consciousness began to reawaken inside Brody, he began to open his eyes as one awaking from a good night sleep.

Narco(now Brody) then went to the mirror to inspect his new body, feeling it up as one giving a full inspection as he squeezed his tight chest, down to the rock hardness of his abs and the tight globes of his glutes moaning in pleasure as he went toward the massive junk of a cock on him and initially feeling it size and texture only stroke it for a little edge, but as usual, getting carried away started going faster as he bucked his hips forward. Not long after, he started shooting warm and ready sperm all around him, coating the mirror, sink, floor and even himself.

As he lay on his back breathing, he slips a finger over his abs and brings a taste of Brody’s cum to his mouth, savoring it leaving a malicious smile across his sweaty face laughing lightly, he says,

It worked again, haha, another one down for the books and my first body victim for my new plan.

“Man that was the best sex I’ve had in my own body, of course, after all, who knows a man’s body better than we do, hehe.

It felt so good when he was inside me with his big cock planted in me, but I can go deeper and now that I’m inside of Brody, let’s see what he can do, hehe.”

After a short while, Narco would get up to shower himself to prepare for his next move as Brody.

[hairy-bothered]

A Future Problem

Thomas liked Nate almost immediately, which embarrassed him a little. He was usually more measured. At thirty, Thomas had accumulated enough bad dates to know that immediate chemistry often meant nothing more than two people being good at first impressions - and sometimes good in bed for one night. He knew not to confuse charm with compatibility or intensity with intimacy. He had repeated those lessons to friends often enough that they had become part of his public identity: Thomas, the sensible one. Thomas, the engineer. Thomas, who could turn almost anything—including his own romantic disappointments—into a problem with measurable causes and manageable outcomes.

Then Nate arrived at the restaurant five minutes late, carrying the faint scent of tobacco and rain, and Thomas forgot to be sensible.

Nate was forty-four. His hair was cropped short and touched with gray, particularly around the temples. A heavy brown mustache covered his upper lip, giving his face an old-fashioned severity that softened whenever he smiled. He was broad through the chest, in good shape without looking sculpted, and wore a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows.

Thomas had always had a weakness for older men who looked as though they belonged beside a fireplace with a whiskey glass in one hand and a pipe in the other. Nate looked precisely like that. Exactly what Thomas found appealing.

“You’re even better-looking than your pictures online,” Nate said.

It was not an unusual first-date compliment, but he delivered it without the nervous laughter or exaggerated enthusiasm Thomas was accustomed to. Nate looked directly at him as he said it, his pale blue eyes moving once over Thomas’s face before settling on his.

Thomas smiled. “That’s a dangerous way to start a first date.”

“I'm nothing if not a little dangerous.”

That should have sounded rehearsed. Instead, it worked.

Their date lasted three hours. Nate asked good questions and listened carefully to the answers. He wanted to know what kind of engineering Thomas did, not merely whether he liked his job. He remembered the name of Thomas’s sister after hearing it once. When Thomas mentioned that he had moved twice as a child because of his father’s work, Nate asked which house still appeared in his dreams. No one had ever asked him that.

Thomas told him about the narrow brick house in Ohio, the maple tree beyond his bedroom window, the hollow knocking sound the furnace made at night.

Nate leaned forward, one hand resting beneath his mustache. “What color was your room?”

“Blue.”

“Dark blue?”

“No. Almost gray.”

“And the curtains?”

Thomas laughed. “Why?”

“I’m picturing it.”

There was something flattering about the concentration on Nate’s face. Thomas answered.

After dinner, they walked beneath a row of wet sycamores. Nate produced a narrow leather cigar case from inside his coat.

“Do you mind?”

Thomas shook his head. “Actually, I kind of like it.”

Nate looked pleased. He cut the end of the cigar with deliberate care, turning it between thick fingers before lighting it. The ember briefly illuminated the underside of his mustache. Thomas watched smoke drift around Nate’s face and felt a small, adolescent thrill you only get when in the company of an older man.

“You really do have a type,” Nate said.

Thomas looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only because you’ve been staring at me for most of the evening.”

“You’ve been staring too.”

“Yes,” Nate said. “But I have a better excuse.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m trying to remember everything about you.”

At the time, Thomas thought it was romantic.

⸻

They did not see each other again for almost three weeks. Nate traveled for work, though he remained vague about exactly what the work involved and where he was going. Consulting, he said. Private clients. Short contracts. He sent Thomas a photograph from an airport lounge, his mustache visible above a cup of coffee, and another from a hotel balcony overlooking a city Thomas could not identify.

Most of their courtship happened through messages. Nate did not text constantly. He appeared at deliberate intervals, often just as Thomas was beginning to wonder whether the connection had faded.

What are you wearing to your big presentation tomorrow?

Thomas sent him a photograph in the bathroom mirror: navy suit, pale shirt, no tie.

Nate replied almost instantly.

Blue suits you. Turn sideways. I want to see the fit.

Thomas did, laughing at himself as he took the second photograph.

Perfect - Nate wrote.

Later that afternoon:

Oh, btw did you get the promotion?

Thomas had forgotten telling him about that opportunity.

He sent voice messages while driving home, describing the presentation and imitating his manager’s habit of pausing too long before delivering good news. Nate responded with a voice message of his own, his tone low and amused.

Do that laugh again. The one at the end.

Thomas listened to the request twice before recording another.

Nate remembered everything. Thomas’s coffee order. His gym schedule. The name of the project coordinator he disliked. The brand of shirts that fit his shoulders without billowing around the waist. Thomas mentioned once that his mother called him Tommy only when she was worried, and Nate never forgot it.

Sometimes, Nate repeated Thomas’s own phrases back to him.

Thomas wrote: That’s a future problem whenever he did not want to make a decision. A week later, Nate used it.

Thomas often ended voice messages with Anyway, you get the idea. Soon Nate did too. It felt intimate, like the development of a private dialect.

Once, after Thomas sent a photograph from the gym, Nate replied:

You take very good care of yourself.

Thomas wrote back:

Trying to. Thirty isn’t ancient, but the warranty is definitely expiring.

There was a long pause before Nate answered.

Thirty is the perfect age. Old enough to know who you are. Young enough to do something with it.

Then, after another minute:

You have no idea what some men would give to look like you.

Thomas read the message while standing beneath the locker-room lights, his hair still damp from the shower. He felt heat rise beneath the dark hair covering his chest.

You seem to like how you look - Thomas replied.

I know how I look. That’s different.

Thomas assumed he was being modest.

⸻

Their second date was at a small Italian restaurant Nate had chosen because Thomas once mentioned liking quiet intimate places where the tables were spaced far apart.

When Thomas arrived, Nate stood to greet him. His hand settled briefly at Thomas’s waist, firm and warm. “You changed your hair.”

Thomas touched it self-consciously. “Just a trim.”

“Shorter at the sides.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice everything about you.”

Nate smiled after saying it, transforming the words into flirtation. During dinner, he asked Thomas about his apartment.

Not whether he liked the neighborhood or how much he paid—questions Thomas expected—but which floor he lived on, whether the windows faced east or west, whether the building used keys or electronic access.

“Electronic downstairs,” Thomas said. “Regular lock on the apartment.”

“Facial recognition?”

“For the building app? No. Just a code.”

Nate swirled wine in his glass. “And your phone?”

“Face ID.”

“Of course.”

“What does that mean?” Thomas inquired.

Nate looked at him over the rim of the glass. “It would be criminal not to put that face to work.”

Thomas laughed. Later, after joking about taking bad photos, Nate asked to see Thomas’s driver’s-license photograph.

“No one looks good in those,” Thomas said.

“I want proof.”

Thomas took out his wallet and handed over the license. Nate studied it longer than the joke required.

“You were twenty-six here?” Nate asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“Same address?”

“No. That was my old place.”

Nate’s thumb passed lightly over the date of birth, then across the small holographic image.

“You always photograph well, I see” he said with a smile, returning it.

After dinner they went to a cigar bar. Nate chose a leather chair in the darkest corner, cut a cigar, and showed Thomas how to toast the end without setting it fully alight.

Thomas did not really enjoy smoking, but he liked watching Nate do it. There was something ceremonial about the way the older man handled tobacco. Mature. Controlled. Slightly erotic.

“You’d look good with a pipe,” Thomas said.

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Would I?”

“Very distinguished.”

“Older, you mean?” Nate replied.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” There was no smile on Nate’s face.

Thomas hesitated. “I like that you’re older.”

The severity disappeared. Nate reached across the small table and touched Thomas’s wrist. “I know you do. Someday soon, before you know it, you’ll be my exact age too and maybe you’ll look good with a pipe.”

His fingers remained there while Thomas’s pulse beat against them.

⸻

The third date took place at Thomas’s apartment. He cooked. Nate watched from a stool at the kitchen island, asking questions about every object within reach. The framed photograph of Thomas and his sister at a lake. The ceramic bowl his mother had made. The narrow wooden box where Thomas kept his spare keys.

“Organized,” Nate said.

“I’m an engineer, after all.”

“You always say that like it explains everything.”

“It explains a lot.”

Nate opened the wooden box and looked inside. Thomas glanced over from the stove. “Planning to rob me?”

“Only taking inventory.”

He closed the lid and smiled.

After dinner, Nate wandered through the living room while Thomas cleared the plates. He paused before a shelf of old photographs, lifting them one at a time.

In one, Thomas was twenty-two and standing outside his university dorm, thinner in the face but unmistakably himself.

“You had more hair,” Nate said.

“I have plenty of hair now.”

“I meant on your head” Nate said with a laugh.

Thomas threw a dish towel at him. Nate caught it. “I’m kidding.”

He returned to the photograph.

“You were beautiful.”

“Were?” Thomas retorted.

“You are. But differently.”

Thomas leaned against the bookcase beside him. “You analyze people this much for work?”

“Sometimes.”

“What exactly do you consult about?”

Nate set the photograph down. “Transitions.”

“That clears it up.”

“I help people become who they need to become.”

The answer sounded manufactured, but Nate kissed him before Thomas could ask another question.

Later, in bed, Nate rested his hand against Thomas’s chest. His fingers moved slowly through the dense hair between Thomas’s pecs, tracing the path down his stomach.

“You ever think about shaving this?” Nate asked.

“I did actually. Once in college.”

“And?”

“Hated it.”

“Good.”

Thomas laughed softly. “Strong opinion.”

Nate’s hand stopped. “I wouldn’t change it if I were you.”

Something in his voice made Thomas look at him. Nate was staring at Thomas’s chest, his expression distant and strangely tense. Then he seemed to notice Thomas watching and smiled.

“It suits you,” he said.

Nate’s hand remained against Thomas’s chest, his fingertips moving slowly through the dark hair as if memorizing its texture. For a moment the intensity in his face made Thomas uneasy, but then Nate smiled and leaned in, and the unease dissolved beneath the warmth of his mouth. Thomas drew him closer, attracted all over again to the contrast between them—the roughness of Nate’s mustache, the mature weight of his body, the quiet confidence with which he had guided Thomas back toward the bed. Nate took his time, watching Thomas’s reactions with an attentiveness that felt flattering, almost reverent. Each touch seemed to ask permission, and Thomas answered by pulling him nearer.

It wasn’t long before Nate was fucking Thomas from behind observing how Thomas reacted - the younger man on all fours with his back arched as Nate’s mature dick tickled his prostate.

“Let me see how you move while being fucked” Nate said. “I think I know your body better every time I touch it.”

Thomas turned his head around with a grin, wrapped in the pleasure of being filled by the sexy older man. “You like what you see?”

Nate gave a deep seductive smirk and replied, “One day you’ll understand exactly what I see when I look at you.”

A couple of minutes later, Thomas - overstimulated from penetration, sweat, and the feeling of Nate’s testicles slapping against his ass - replied with soft moans and an “I’m getting close.”

“Turn around I want to see the face you make when you cum” Nate responded.

Thomas turned around, lying on his back while Nate reinserted his dick hard and quick into Thomas. Thomas grimaced then grabbed his own perky uncut dick and began vigorously jerking off while staring deeply at Nate’s handsome older face. Within a few seconds Thomas began to loudly moan as cum splattered on his abs and chest. Nate followed suit by ejaculating deep into Thomas then collapsing on his chest - leaving his dick inside.

Nate looked deeply into Thomas’s eyes and began to lick up Thomas’s cum. “I knew you’d taste sweet. Sometimes I look at you and think you were made for me.”

Thomas blushed at the kinky behavior and comments made by a man he was both enamored with and enchanted by. The attention to detail and the way Nate worshipped him made him feel seen, important, in a way no man had ever made him feel.

Later, the room had gone quiet except for their breathing. Thomas lay against the pillows while Nate rested beside him, one hand still spread over his chest. Thomas assumed the older man was savoring the closeness, but Nate’s gaze kept traveling: across Thomas’s face, down the shape of his shoulders, along the body he had already begun to covet. When Thomas caught him staring again, Nate softened his expression and brushed a kiss beneath his jaw. Thomas smiled, mistaking possession for affection, and closed his eyes while Nate continued studying him in the dark.

In the morning, Thomas found Nate in the bathroom wearing only his undershirt and trousers.

He stood close to the mirror, one hand resting on the sink. For a moment Thomas assumed he was washing his face, but then he realized Nate was not looking at himself. He was holding his phone. On the screen was a photograph Thomas had sent from the gym weeks earlier.

Nate raised his eyes to the mirror and saw Thomas in the doorway.

“You caught me,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Admiring you.”

He turned the phone around. The photograph showed Thomas shirtless, smiling.

Nate looked from the image to the living man.

“You make being you look very easy.”

Thomas smiled. “I’ve had thirty years of practice.”

“Lucky you.”

Nate slipped the phone onto the counter and kissed him.

⸻

Two more weeks passed before their fourth date.

By then Thomas had grown accustomed to Nate appearing in his days. A morning message. A photograph. A voice note late at night. Sometimes Nate asked questions Thomas found oddly specific.

What did his signature look like when he was rushing? Did his coworkers call him Thomas or Tom? Which side of the bed did he always sleep on? What was the first car he owned? Which knee had he injured playing soccer in college?

Nate remembered the answers better than Thomas did. Once, during a video call, Nate imitated the way Thomas tilted his head when skeptical.

“Do I really do that?” Thomas asked.

“Constantly.”

“Show me again.”

Nate repeated the gesture perfectly. Thomas laughed. Nate repeated the laugh and for one disorienting second, it sounded almost identical.

“You’ve been studying me,” Thomas said.

Nate’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. “Yes.” Then he smiled. “You’re interesting to study.”

The fourth date was the best one. Nate planned everything around small details Thomas had mentioned in passing: dinner at a restaurant with a rooftop greenhouse, a walk through a neighborhood of old brick homes, then drinks at a hotel bar with dark wood walls and brass lamps.

Nate prepared for the night of a lifetime. He wore charcoal trousers and a cream shirt beneath a brown jacket. His mustache had been freshly trimmed. A silver band gleamed on his right hand.

Thomas noticed it while Nate ordered two whiskeys from the bartender. “That’s new” he said while playfully tapping a finger on Nate’s ring.

Nate looked down. The ring was broad and old, made from two metals twisted together—one dark and new looking , one older and pale. “It belonged to someone important.”

Thomas waited. Nate rarely discussed his past. Whenever he did, the stories had soft edges: a former boyfriend without a name, a family he no longer spoke to, a mentor who had taught him to smoke a pipe. Thomas had decided not to press. At forty-four, people were allowed to contain rooms they kept locked.

“My uncle gave it to me,” Nate said finally. “Though he wasn’t really my uncle. More like a father, for a while.”

“That sounds complicated. What happened to him?”

“He started over.”

Nate rotated the ring around his finger. “He believed people spent too much of their lives trapped inside themselves. Their fears. Their bodies. The stories everyone else told about them.”

Thomas smiled faintly. “He sounds… cheerful.”

“He said two people could never truly understand one another until they had seen the world through the other person’s eyes.”

Nate slid the ring free. The skin beneath it was pale.“He gave me this when I was younger. Told me I’d know when I met someone capable of understanding.”

He placed the band in Thomas’s palm. It was heavier than expected and warm from Nate’s hand.

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Only for tonight.”

Thomas looked up. For the first time since meeting him, Nate appeared genuinely uncertain. His confidence had dropped away, leaving something naked behind it.

“I want you to wear it,” Nate said.

Nate pushed the ring onto Thomas’s right index finger. It fit snugly, though not uncomfortably.

Nate inhaled. His eyes followed the band as it passed over Thomas’s knuckle and settled against the base of the finger. “There,” he whispered.

Thomas raised his hand. “How do I look?”

Nate looked at the ring. Then at Thomas’s face. “Exactly right.”

⸻

After their final round of drinks they returned to Thomas’s apartment shortly before midnight. Rain tapped lightly against the windows. Nate opened one of the balcony doors and stood beside it smoking a pipe he had brought in a leather case since Thomas said it would suit him.

Thomas watched him from the couch. The older man’s face appeared carved in the low light: gray at the temples, heavy mustache, blue eyes reflecting the ember in the pipe bowl. Thomas thought again that Nate looked like someone from another time.

“You’re staring,” Nate said.

“I’m allowed.”

Nate smiled around the pipe stem. “Come here.”

Thomas joined him beside the open door. Nate rested one hand at the back of his neck and kissed his forehead.

For a moment, neither man spoke. “What are you thinking about?” Thomas asked.

“That I’m going to miss this.”

Thomas leaned back. “Miss what?”

Nate removed the pipe. “This night.”

“We could have another one.”

“Yes,” Nate said. “I suppose we could.”

He turned away and emptied the pipe into a small ceramic dish. Thomas felt suddenly tired. It had arrived as a pleasant heaviness, the consequence of two much alcohol and a long week. He sat on the edge of the couch.

Nate closed the balcony door. “You all right?”

“Just hit a wall.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

Nate went into the kitchen. Thomas heard a cabinet open, then the tap. He looked down at the antique ring. The two metals seemed almost to move against each other in the dim light. Nate returned with a glass. “Drink.”

Thomas took it. The water had a faint bitter taste beneath the lemon slice floating at the surface.

“You put something in this?”

“Just something to help with a hangover.”

“You carry anti-hangover medicine on dates?”

“At forty-four you’ll always travel prepared.”

Thomas laughed, though the sound came out sluggish. By the time he reached the bedroom, the carpet seemed unusually soft beneath his feet. Nate helped him remove his outer shirt and slacks. “You don’t have to baby me,” Thomas said.

“I know, but I’ve made a considerable investment in you and I want to ensure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Nate’s hand rested against Thomas’s chest. His fingers spread across a grey t-shirt, pressing lightly over Thomas’s heartbeat.

“You really are remarkable,” Nate said.

Thomas’s eyes were closing. “That’s a strange thing to say to someone passing out at the end of a date.”

“You’re not passing out. You’re falling asleep. Don't worry, when you wake up you'll feel like a new man.”

Thomas tried to focus on Nate’s face, but the features blurred. The pale eyes. The mustache. The thin gray at the temples.

Nate lifted Thomas’s right hand. The ring seemed to tighten around his finger. “Does this hurt?” Nate asked.

“No.”

His thumb stroked the band. “Good…”

Thomas’s body felt distant now, as though the bed were lowering him slowly into deep water. “Nate?”

“I’m here.”

“What was your uncle’s name?”

Nate smiled. “That’s a future problem.”

Thomas recognized the phrase. He wanted to laugh. Instead, darkness moved quietly across the room and covered him. The last sensation he felt before drifting to sleep was Nate removing his own button up and laying beside him on the bed.

⸻

The ring grew cold. Not cool, but impossibly cold, a small circle of winter clamped around Thomas’s finger.

Nate watched the unconscious man’s face. The sleeping expression was softer than the one Thomas wore in photographs. His mouth rested slightly open. A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. Beneath the collar of his undershirt, dense chest hair curled against his throat.

Nate had imagined this moment so many times that the reality of it seemed strangely subdued. No thunder. No flash of light. Only the cold tightening of the ring and a sensation like his body dropping through the floor.

For an instant he could not breathe. Then he inhaled. The breath came easily. Too easily. The lungs drawing it were younger and deeper than his own had been. Nate opened his eyes. The ceiling looked different. Closer, somehow, though he knew that was impossible.

He raised one hand. Thomas’s hand. Broad palm. Long fingers. A faint white scar across the knuckle from the childhood bicycle accident Nate had heard about on their second date. Dark hair dusted the wrist and forearm. The ring was gone.

Across the bed lay Nate’s old body, unconscious and slack. Nate stared at it as if he were looking into a mirror. The gray hair at the temples. The heavy mustache. The chest that required more effort each year to keep firm. The softening around the waist that Thomas had never seemed to mind but he had grown to resent.

He felt no affection for it. Only relief. Nate sat up. The motion was startlingly fluid. No stiffness in the lower back. No familiar pressure in the neck from an old weightlifting injury. He rolled Thomas’s shoulders once, then again. A laugh escaped him. Thomas’s laugh.

Nate froze. He placed a hand against his throat. “Hello,” he said. The voice was clear, warm and younger than the one he had used for forty-four years.

“Hello,” he repeated, lowering the pitch. He stood. The body rose with effortless balance. Strong legs. Firm stomach. Weight distributed in ways Nate had studied through photographs and clothing but could never tottally imagine.

He pulled off his grey shirt and underwear and crossed the bedroom naked, leaving his old body discarded asleep beneath the sheets. At the bathroom door, he stopped. His heart was racing. Thomas’s heart. Nate stepped inside and switched on the lights. The mirror gave him exactly what he had wanted.

Thomas stared back. For several seconds Nate did nothing. He simply absorbed the face. Thick dark-brown hair, slightly disordered from lying in bed. Strong brows. Clear hazel-brown eyes. Straight nose. Firm jaw darkened with short stubble. Smooth forehead without the permanent horizontal lines Nate had begun noticing in photographs of himself.

He moved closer. Thomas moved closer. Nate touched the glass with two fingers. Then he touched his face.

The skin beneath his eyes was firm. He pulled gently at one lower lid, examining the unlined surface. Turned his head left. Right. Lifted his chin. Pressed his tongue behind his perfect teeth.

He opened his mouth and inspected the even white smile. “Thomas,” he said. The name sounded natural in the stolen voice. He said it again. “My name is Thomas.”

A smile spread across the reflection. It was Nate’s smile at first—small, private and cold. He erased it. Thomas smiled differently. More openly. One corner of the mouth lifted first. His eyebrows softened. His eyes narrowed slightly when the expression was genuine. Nate had catalogued it from dozens of photographs. He tried again. This time Thomas smiled back. “There you are,” Nate whispered.

He ran both hands through the thick hair, pushing it away from the forehead, then allowing it to fall naturally. He tested different parts, remembering how Thomas wore it at work, at the gym, on weekends.

He turned sideways. Thomas’s jaw was even better in profile. Nate traced it from the ear to the chin, feeling the rough stubble beneath his fingertips. He examined the ears, the hairline, the shape of the neck. He lifted each eyebrow separately. Frowned. Looked surprised. Concerned. Amused. He practiced Thomas’s skeptical head tilt. Perfect.

Nate stepped back from the sink. His eyes moved downward to take in the entirety of himself. Thomas’s body was everything he had hoped for and more. Athletic without being exaggerated. Wide shoulders. Defined arms. A flat stomach softened just enough to look natural. Dark hair spread thickly across the chest, densest between the pecs, narrowing into a line down the abdomen.

Nate pressed both palms against his chest. The muscle beneath the hair was warm and firm. He inhaled deeply and watched it rise. Once. Twice. He curled his fingers into the dense hair, then smoothed it back into place with almost ceremonial care.

“Don’t change it,” he murmured, repeating what he had told Thomas weeks earlier. Now it belonged to him.

He lifted one arm, studying the hair beneath it and along the forearm. Flexed the biceps. Rotated the wrist. Spread the fingers. He bent forward and touched his toes. Another laugh escaped him.

On the way down he got a good look at his new dick. He and Thomas had already had sex, but the lights were dim and Thomas a little modest. He stood up and wrapped a hairy young hand around his new dick. Lifting it up to feel its weight. Cupping a hand around his new testicles - noting their sensitivity. He reached a hand around to his asshole and fingered the outside before pushing two fingers in a bit deeper - the sensation making plain to him why Thomas had enjoyed bottoming so much. Why he would enjoy bottoming.

Nate began to rub his new shaft slowly. It responded with the enthusiasm of youth - the head sliding out of the foreskin. Nate continued to slide his foreskin over the head while looking at his new face in the mirror. He practiced his new smile, mimicked the seductive faces he’d seen Thomas make when they fucked, he touched his stubble and ran his hand through his chest hair, tweaking his sensitive nipples.

Before long Nate could feel the heat begin to rise in his body as Thomas’s dick stiffened and his testicles pulled up close and tight as a rush of heat passed through his new younger body. He climaxed shooting ropes of thick white cum onto the sink and vanity mirror. “I guess we’re a shooter now, aren’t we Thomas?” He muttered in Thomas’s lighter voice.

Nate straightened his back and studied the reflection again. Thirty. Not pretending to be younger. Not flattering lighting. Not an app smoothing away age. Thirty. Fourteen years returned in a single night.

He thought of every room he would enter in this body. Every man who would look twice. Every opportunity that would no longer feel belated. He imagined Thomas’s coworkers greeting him by name, Thomas’s mother hearing this voice on the phone, Thomas’s friends leaning in for hugs.

All of them would see what the mirror saw. None of them would see Nate. He reached for Thomas’s phone. Facial recognition opened it immediately. The lock symbol disappeared.

Nate stared at the screen, then at the mirror. The world had already accepted him. He opened the photo library. Thousands of images. Thomas at work. Thomas running beside the river. Thomas shirtless at a lake. Thomas with his sister. Thomas laughing beside a birthday cake, head tilted back.

Nate selected the photograph from the university dorm, the one he had studied during their third date.

He held the phone beside the mirror. The younger Thomas had been leaner, almost boyish. The current face was better. More complete.

Nate swiped forward. He found a recent selfie and mimicked it: chin slightly down, mouth relaxed, eyes warm but confident. He adjusted. Again. Again. The third attempt was exact.

Next came the voice messages. Thomas’s cadence. The slight upward inflection at the end of a teasing question. The relaxed rhythm when talking about work. The laugh that began in the throat and ended breathlessly.

Nate played one. Then repeated it. “Anyway, you get the idea.” Too slow. Again. “Anyway, you get the idea.” Better.

He replayed another message. “That’s a future problem.” Nate watched his stolen mouth form the stolen phrase. “That’s a future problem.” Perfect.

He left the bathroom and dressed with equal care. Dark boxer briefs from the second drawer. Gray trousers. White undershirt. The navy shirt Thomas wore when he wanted to look polished without appearing formal.

Nate buttoned it, then stopped. He opened the top two buttons again, exposing a deliberate triangle of chest hair. Thomas often wore it that way. Nate remembered watching him adjust the collar on their first date. He copied the gesture in the closet mirror.

Then he tried Thomas’s posture: shoulders relaxed, weight resting slightly more on the right leg, one hand casually in a pocket.

The handsome engineer in the mirror looked friendly, outgoing and entirely at ease with himself.

Then Nate practiced a mild expression of concern.

“What if Nate contacts anyone?” he asked the reflection.

A crease appeared between Thomas’s brows. “He’s been acting strangely. I think he may be having some kind of breakdown.”

Too clinical. Too prepared. Nate relaxed Thomas’s shoulders and softened the stolen face. He imagined his old body arriving at Thomas’s office, wild-eyed and desperate, insisting that the handsome man standing before them was an impostor. Telling them about the ring. Demanding that Thomas’s friends believe an impossible story.

“Nate became fixated on me,” he tried. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until last night.”

Better, but not enough. He let uncertainty enter Thomas’s hazel eyes, followed by reluctant fear.

“He thinks he’s me,” Nate whispered. “I know how crazy that sounds, but that’s what he keeps saying. He knows things about my life because I trusted him. Now he’s using them to convince people.”

The reflection looked frightened rather than defensive. Sympathetic. Believable. Nate held the expression for several seconds, memorizing it. Then he smiled.

He packed methodically - knowing he would need to vanish for a few days until the real Thomas cleared out of the apartment and the dust settled. He took everything that could be tied to his new identity. Thomas’s wallet. Driver’s license. Credit cards. Work identification. Passport from the locked desk drawer. Social Security card from the small fireproof box in the closet. Birth certificate. Laptop. Backup phone. Keys - so when Thomas left he couldn’t return. The folder containing tax documents and employment records. Thomas’s life fit neatly into two bags.

Before leaving, Nate returned to the bedroom. His old body remained unconscious on the bed. The mustached face looked older from this height. Smaller. Less formidable.

Thomas had desired that face. The thought almost made Nate laugh. He leaned over and removed the silver ring from his old body’s clenched hand. Nate slipped it into his pocket. He studied his former self one last time. The chest hair. The broad shoulders. The graying hair and thick mustache Thomas had found so mature, so masculine, so dangerous. Discarded packaging.

Before he turned away Nate leaned into his old face and whispered into his ear “Don’t worry, Thomas, no one will notice the difference.”

With that Nate walked into the bathroom and placed a folded note beneath the bathroom mirror. Then he left the apartment carrying everything that proved he was Thomas.

⸻

Pain returned first. A dull pressure behind the eyes. A bitter coating on the tongue. A heavy pulse beating inside the skull.

Thomas opened his eyes. The room was too bright. He closed them again and tried to remember how much he had drunk. Wine at the restaurant. Whiskey at the bar. Something at home maybe?

Water. Nate had given him water. Thomas shifted beneath the sheets. His body felt wrong. Not painful exactly. Misaligned.

His legs seemed heavier. His stomach rested against the mattress in an unfamiliar way. There was stiffness in his lower back and a faint ache in one knee.

He lifted a hand to his face. Hair brushed his fingertips. Not stubble. A mustache. Thomas opened his eyes fully in a state of panic.

The hand before him was broader and rougher than his own. Pale hairs crossed the knuckles. A small dark spot marked the back near the thumb. He stared at it without comprehension.

“Nate are you here?” The voice that emerged was deep. Older. Nate’s voice. Thomas jerked upright.

The sudden motion made the room tilt violently. He gripped the mattress and waited for it to settle.

“Nate!?” The same voice answered him from his own throat.

He touched his face again. Heavy mustache. Deeper lines beside the mouth. Short hair at the temples.

Thomas threw back the sheets.

A broad, mature chest greeted him, covered in dark hair flecked faintly with gray. The stomach beneath it was solid but heavier than his own. His hands moved over the unfamiliar torso in frantic disbelief.

“No.” Thomas stumbled from the bed. “Nate!”

Empty apartment. The living room had been disturbed so subtly that he did not understand at first. The laptop was gone from the desk. The charging cable remained, curled uselessly beside an empty space.

His phone was not on the kitchen counter. His wallet was gone. The wooden box stood open. No spare keys.

Thomas pulled at drawers with shaking hands. Documents missing. Passport missing. Work badge missing. The fireproof box open and empty. Every object that connected his name to his life had vanished.

He rushed back toward the bedroom, catching one shoulder against the doorway because the body was wider than he expected.

The bathroom light was still on. Thomas entered. He looked up. Nate stared back at him from the mirror.

Pale blue eyes widened beneath a lined forehead. Short gray-brown hair stood unevenly from sleep. The heavy mustache shifted as Thomas’s mouth fell open.

The face he had admired across candlelit tables. The face he had watched behind curling pipe smoke. The face he had believed was dangerous only in the ways he wanted.

Thomas raised one hand. Nate raised his. The reflection touched its mustache, then its cheeks, then the creases beside its eyes. Thomas tried to find himself somewhere inside it. There was nothing.

A folded piece of paper rested beneath the mirror. He opened it. Four lines had been written in his own familiar handwriting:

[alimpbanana]

Connecting with my Son (2)

(https://x.com/Maximus7871/status/1972699471910674648)

Around 2 am last night, I suddenly felt the urge to get a drink of water. I carefully got out of bed so as not to wake up my wife and made my way to the kitchen silently. But as I was heading back, I noticed the light in my son's room was still on. 

I was planning to barge in and tell him off for staying up so late, but then I noticed that inside his room was myself??? Or what seems to be myself aggressively pumping his cock with a fleshlight. 

I can't believe my eyes as I watch the scene before me. The doppelganger is kneeling on a towel, loudly masturbating to a gay porno on my son's desktop. Around him is many spent condoms filled with what could only be presumably my cum.

Then the most surprising sentence comes out of "my" mouth.

"Mmmmm fuckkkk Dad, your body is just too good."

Wait... Dad?

Then a realization dawns upon me. My son must be a shapeshifter just like his father. I didn't even consider the possibility that my power could be hereditary! Just how long has he been able to do this?

My son and I have really never been close. I may be able to become anyone I wish, but that doesn't mean that I'm able to understand them. Little did I know that he was going through the same thing as his old man did so many years ago. Maybe it's time for some father-son bonding.

I take another look at the 40-year-old man fapping with the pocket pussy. I suppose it's about that age when he gets that urge. I feel something akin to pride? for my son. Y'know, maybe he can use some advice from his old man around this time. Like, for one, not assuming that just because it's late at night doesn't mean that nobody's awake. 

I sneak back to the bedroom so as not to interrupt his "fun." I guess I can overlook him staying up late for now...

[mjc88blr]

“Okay Dad I finished mowing the lawn and cleaning out the shed can I go inside now Eric wanted me to logon and play some video games with him” I glared at my son through my sunglasses “No Jason what part of this punishment don’t you understand you don’t get to crash the car and still hangout with your friends. Go put some more sunscreen on. I don't need you giving my body skin cancer and then get the ladder and start cleaning out the gutters. You’re lucky I’m only thinking of having this last another week now get going!”

Ted had been at his wits end with his twenty one year old son Jason who spent most of his days not looking for a job but working out, drinking and partying. Then a couple of days ago he took Ted’s car and rear-ended another car because he’d been texting. All of the yelling and ranting never seemed to get through to him and he was out of ideas until his friend Rick had told him about these new infinity rings that allowed two people to switch bodies. It had really improved Rick and his stepson’s bond. Being a major cheapskate, Ted went to a pawn shop on the sketchy side of town to buy a pair at a huge discount. What Ted didn’t know is that used rings were only supposed to be sold in store or the previous wearers sexual desires could be transferred if used again without being correctly restored to factory defaults. Ted’s ring had previously been used by a body builder who was so in love with himself he paid other guys to switch with him so he could worship his own body. Maybe Ted should have known something was off when the first night of the swap he stood in front of the mirror flexing for two hours he never suspected that the ring had caused him to fall in love with his new body.

Ted took the opportunity of Jason going to the garage for the ladder to reapply his sunscreen to his new body, his fingers tracing along the ridge of each ab muscle and spending extra time rubbing each of his pecs a body this hot deserved attention all the time he thought to himself never once thinking how wrong it was that his own son's body appealed to him so much he’d already decided after the first night he was never giving it back. His dick began to grow in his shorts and he lifted up the waistband at his new dick which even though it was a little smaller than his old one thanks to the ring it was perfect in every way. He traced his finger along the vein that ran along the length of it, smiling and tossing his head back at the sight of his dick and balls that he now loved so much. Ted had hoped to make it longer in the day before he had to run up to his bedroom like he had to multiple times a day now and blow off some steam. Fully naked he placed himself on his knees so he could fit his whole body in the full length bedroom mirror and snapped a few pictures for his various dating apps looking to set up multiple men . Then he turned his attention back to the mirror adjusting his position by scooting forward and raising his legs in the air his entire reason for living now laid out before him from his beautiful face to perfect pecs down to his chiseled abs his hands roamed until they reached his plump new ass which he now gazed at in the mirror. The view drove his new dick to its full length and he began to stroke it while spanking his rear and remembering back to yesterday when he took so many photos of it his phone ran out of storage. Spreading his ass cheeks revealed a tight pink entrance he believed had probably never been explored was enough to throw him over the edge as he blew a load for the second time today. His mirror now coated in another layer he breathed heavily further appreciating the sheer power and youth his new body possessed. Just then his phone began to vibrate his various posts attracting several messages for hookups he messaged back to everyone of them. He sprung up from the floor doing a handstand and landing back on his feet and crammed his lower half into only some jeans adjusting his already stiff dick. He thought about putting on a shirt but just smirked and flexed his abs thinking it would only get in the way of whichever dude was about to worship his body in a few minutes. He ran to Jason’s motorcycle yelling he’d be at the gym and not waiting for a response as he drove away memories of a twink running his tongue up and down his body and moaning about how perfect his body was while he fucked him last night replayed in his mind. He had to remind himself to look at the road and not in his mirrors at his own body as he raced down the road.

What Jason’s father didn’t know is that his swapping ring from the pawn shop wasn’t the only one that hadn’t been reset. Jason watched his father ride away on his motorcycle he sure loved going to the gym he thought as he rushed down the ladder and into the house. It turns out the previous owner of Jason’s ring had been a gay exhibitionist who loved showing off to strangers online or really anywhere as Jason had discovered the first time he went to the grocery store and got the uncontrollable urge to pull down his shorts in the aisle. Instead of risking another incident at the store he gained a following doing live shows online. He ran into his room and fired up his camera, draping his body in his bed sheets and welcoming all his fans and showing off his sweaty body and hairy pits explaining how he had just got done doing chores around the house. He then turned around and began groping his ass and exploring his tight asshole making sure to be extremely vocal with moans that rivaled his previous girlfriend as that always made the chat light up with hearts and fire emojis.He loved the messages he got when exploring his now much older body like:

“Damn how does such a slut have the tightest hole I’ve ever seen” or “God his moaning makes me so horny”

Knowing his dad would be working out for a few hours was exactly what he wanted to hear. Jason’s phone pinged a message from his dad “ Hanging out at Rick's house don’t wait up and clean the entire downstairs it better be spotless when I get home” Jason moaned again his deep voice reverberating around the upstairs hallway and reached for his dick already hard as stone. Looks like he would be able to stay online all night he flung his head back smiling to himself as he accelerated his pace on his glistening shaft much larger and more sensitive than his old one which was already a respectable and hefty six inches. He began to pant, whimper and squirming making sure to thank all the tippers between his gasps for breath and the sound of his hefty balls smacking against his thighs. Jesus he was close he was seeing stars in his eyes and drool was escaping his mouth when he finally felt his balls churn and erupted with such force his face and even the wall behind him got covered. The viewer count and comments kept going up , it was his most viewed stream ever! He made sure to look directly into the camera and smile, wiping the white substance from his beard and sampling it, his tongue greedily cleaning each finger. He laid there panting a new layer of sweat covering his chest and stomach when the doorbell rang “UPS!” he heard yelled by the driver and he sprang up from the bed and said to his fans watching “ Yes! They're here! Stay tuned bros your not going to want to miss this”. He ordered these last night rush shipping. He bent down and opened the box. Various dildos of all shapes and sizes greeted him and made his knees shake a little. His fingers weren’t cutting it anymore; his new impossibly tight hole demanded more attention. He waved at the delivery driver who waved back before doing a double take in his mirror at the man standing naked on his porch with a hardon and something dripping from his chin before he quickly drove off in disbelief.

Soon enough the rings lay forgotten in a drawer somewhere neither man cared to ever switch back. Jason moved out and he made more than enough money working for every major porn studio. Nothing gave him more joy than knowing his hefty dick and balls were accessible to millions to watch on demand. Ted put his newfound love for his new body to work and became a male model. The only thing that loved his new body more than him was the camera. They both couldn’t be happier with how things went after they switched, never knowing Ted’s frugal nature had changed them forever.

[hairy-bothered]

A Future Problem

Thomas liked Nate almost immediately, which embarrassed him a little. He was usually more measured. At thirty, Thomas had accumulated enough bad dates to know that immediate chemistry often meant nothing more than two people being good at first impressions - and sometimes good in bed for one night. He knew not to confuse charm with compatibility or intensity with intimacy. He had repeated those lessons to friends often enough that they had become part of his public identity: Thomas, the sensible one. Thomas, the engineer. Thomas, who could turn almost anything—including his own romantic disappointments—into a problem with measurable causes and manageable outcomes.

Then Nate arrived at the restaurant five minutes late, carrying the faint scent of tobacco and rain, and Thomas forgot to be sensible.

Nate was forty-four. His hair was cropped short and touched with gray, particularly around the temples. A heavy brown mustache covered his upper lip, giving his face an old-fashioned severity that softened whenever he smiled. He was broad through the chest, in good shape without looking sculpted, and wore a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows.

Thomas had always had a weakness for older men who looked as though they belonged beside a fireplace with a whiskey glass in one hand and a pipe in the other. Nate looked precisely like that. Exactly what Thomas found appealing.

“You’re even better-looking than your pictures online,” Nate said.

It was not an unusual first-date compliment, but he delivered it without the nervous laughter or exaggerated enthusiasm Thomas was accustomed to. Nate looked directly at him as he said it, his pale blue eyes moving once over Thomas’s face before settling on his.

Thomas smiled. “That’s a dangerous way to start a first date.”

“I'm nothing if not a little dangerous.”

That should have sounded rehearsed. Instead, it worked.

Their date lasted three hours. Nate asked good questions and listened carefully to the answers. He wanted to know what kind of engineering Thomas did, not merely whether he liked his job. He remembered the name of Thomas’s sister after hearing it once. When Thomas mentioned that he had moved twice as a child because of his father’s work, Nate asked which house still appeared in his dreams. No one had ever asked him that.

Thomas told him about the narrow brick house in Ohio, the maple tree beyond his bedroom window, the hollow knocking sound the furnace made at night.

Nate leaned forward, one hand resting beneath his mustache. “What color was your room?”

“Blue.”

“Dark blue?”

“No. Almost gray.”

“And the curtains?”

Thomas laughed. “Why?”

“I’m picturing it.”

There was something flattering about the concentration on Nate’s face. Thomas answered.

After dinner, they walked beneath a row of wet sycamores. Nate produced a narrow leather cigar case from inside his coat.

“Do you mind?”

Thomas shook his head. “Actually, I kind of like it.”

Nate looked pleased. He cut the end of the cigar with deliberate care, turning it between thick fingers before lighting it. The ember briefly illuminated the underside of his mustache. Thomas watched smoke drift around Nate’s face and felt a small, adolescent thrill you only get when in the company of an older man.

“You really do have a type,” Nate said.

Thomas looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only because you’ve been staring at me for most of the evening.”

“You’ve been staring too.”

“Yes,” Nate said. “But I have a better excuse.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m trying to remember everything about you.”

At the time, Thomas thought it was romantic.

⸻

They did not see each other again for almost three weeks. Nate traveled for work, though he remained vague about exactly what the work involved and where he was going. Consulting, he said. Private clients. Short contracts. He sent Thomas a photograph from an airport lounge, his mustache visible above a cup of coffee, and another from a hotel balcony overlooking a city Thomas could not identify.

Most of their courtship happened through messages. Nate did not text constantly. He appeared at deliberate intervals, often just as Thomas was beginning to wonder whether the connection had faded.

What are you wearing to your big presentation tomorrow?

Thomas sent him a photograph in the bathroom mirror: navy suit, pale shirt, no tie.

Nate replied almost instantly.

Blue suits you. Turn sideways. I want to see the fit.

Thomas did, laughing at himself as he took the second photograph.

Perfect - Nate wrote.

Later that afternoon:

Oh, btw did you get the promotion?

Thomas had forgotten telling him about that opportunity.

He sent voice messages while driving home, describing the presentation and imitating his manager’s habit of pausing too long before delivering good news. Nate responded with a voice message of his own, his tone low and amused.

Do that laugh again. The one at the end.

Thomas listened to the request twice before recording another.

Nate remembered everything. Thomas’s coffee order. His gym schedule. The name of the project coordinator he disliked. The brand of shirts that fit his shoulders without billowing around the waist. Thomas mentioned once that his mother called him Tommy only when she was worried, and Nate never forgot it.

Sometimes, Nate repeated Thomas’s own phrases back to him.

Thomas wrote: That’s a future problem whenever he did not want to make a decision. A week later, Nate used it.

Thomas often ended voice messages with Anyway, you get the idea. Soon Nate did too. It felt intimate, like the development of a private dialect.

Once, after Thomas sent a photograph from the gym, Nate replied:

You take very good care of yourself.

Thomas wrote back:

Trying to. Thirty isn’t ancient, but the warranty is definitely expiring.

There was a long pause before Nate answered.

Thirty is the perfect age. Old enough to know who you are. Young enough to do something with it.

Then, after another minute:

You have no idea what some men would give to look like you.

Thomas read the message while standing beneath the locker-room lights, his hair still damp from the shower. He felt heat rise beneath the dark hair covering his chest.

You seem to like how you look - Thomas replied.

I know how I look. That’s different.

Thomas assumed he was being modest.

⸻

Their second date was at a small Italian restaurant Nate had chosen because Thomas once mentioned liking quiet intimate places where the tables were spaced far apart.

When Thomas arrived, Nate stood to greet him. His hand settled briefly at Thomas’s waist, firm and warm. “You changed your hair.”

Thomas touched it self-consciously. “Just a trim.”

“Shorter at the sides.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice everything about you.”

Nate smiled after saying it, transforming the words into flirtation. During dinner, he asked Thomas about his apartment.

Not whether he liked the neighborhood or how much he paid—questions Thomas expected—but which floor he lived on, whether the windows faced east or west, whether the building used keys or electronic access.

“Electronic downstairs,” Thomas said. “Regular lock on the apartment.”

“Facial recognition?”

“For the building app? No. Just a code.”

Nate swirled wine in his glass. “And your phone?”

“Face ID.”

“Of course.”

“What does that mean?” Thomas inquired.

Nate looked at him over the rim of the glass. “It would be criminal not to put that face to work.”

Thomas laughed. Later, after joking about taking bad photos, Nate asked to see Thomas’s driver’s-license photograph.

“No one looks good in those,” Thomas said.

“I want proof.”

Thomas took out his wallet and handed over the license. Nate studied it longer than the joke required.

“You were twenty-six here?” Nate asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“Same address?”

“No. That was my old place.”

Nate’s thumb passed lightly over the date of birth, then across the small holographic image.

“You always photograph well, I see” he said with a smile, returning it.

After dinner they went to a cigar bar. Nate chose a leather chair in the darkest corner, cut a cigar, and showed Thomas how to toast the end without setting it fully alight.

Thomas did not really enjoy smoking, but he liked watching Nate do it. There was something ceremonial about the way the older man handled tobacco. Mature. Controlled. Slightly erotic.

“You’d look good with a pipe,” Thomas said.

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Would I?”

“Very distinguished.”

“Older, you mean?” Nate replied.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” There was no smile on Nate’s face.

Thomas hesitated. “I like that you’re older.”

The severity disappeared. Nate reached across the small table and touched Thomas’s wrist. “I know you do. Someday soon, before you know it, you’ll be my exact age too and maybe you’ll look good with a pipe.”

His fingers remained there while Thomas’s pulse beat against them.

⸻

The third date took place at Thomas’s apartment. He cooked. Nate watched from a stool at the kitchen island, asking questions about every object within reach. The framed photograph of Thomas and his sister at a lake. The ceramic bowl his mother had made. The narrow wooden box where Thomas kept his spare keys.

“Organized,” Nate said.

“I’m an engineer, after all.”

“You always say that like it explains everything.”

“It explains a lot.”

Nate opened the wooden box and looked inside. Thomas glanced over from the stove. “Planning to rob me?”

“Only taking inventory.”

He closed the lid and smiled.

After dinner, Nate wandered through the living room while Thomas cleared the plates. He paused before a shelf of old photographs, lifting them one at a time.

In one, Thomas was twenty-two and standing outside his university dorm, thinner in the face but unmistakably himself.

“You had more hair,” Nate said.

“I have plenty of hair now.”

“I meant on your head” Nate said with a laugh.

Thomas threw a dish towel at him. Nate caught it. “I’m kidding.”

He returned to the photograph.

“You were beautiful.”

“Were?” Thomas retorted.

“You are. But differently.”

Thomas leaned against the bookcase beside him. “You analyze people this much for work?”

“Sometimes.”

“What exactly do you consult about?”

Nate set the photograph down. “Transitions.”

“That clears it up.”

“I help people become who they need to become.”

The answer sounded manufactured, but Nate kissed him before Thomas could ask another question.

Later, in bed, Nate rested his hand against Thomas’s chest. His fingers moved slowly through the dense hair between Thomas’s pecs, tracing the path down his stomach.

“You ever think about shaving this?” Nate asked.

“I did actually. Once in college.”

“And?”

“Hated it.”

“Good.”

Thomas laughed softly. “Strong opinion.”

Nate’s hand stopped. “I wouldn’t change it if I were you.”

Something in his voice made Thomas look at him. Nate was staring at Thomas’s chest, his expression distant and strangely tense. Then he seemed to notice Thomas watching and smiled.

“It suits you,” he said.

Nate’s hand remained against Thomas’s chest, his fingertips moving slowly through the dark hair as if memorizing its texture. For a moment the intensity in his face made Thomas uneasy, but then Nate smiled and leaned in, and the unease dissolved beneath the warmth of his mouth. Thomas drew him closer, attracted all over again to the contrast between them—the roughness of Nate’s mustache, the mature weight of his body, the quiet confidence with which he had guided Thomas back toward the bed. Nate took his time, watching Thomas’s reactions with an attentiveness that felt flattering, almost reverent. Each touch seemed to ask permission, and Thomas answered by pulling him nearer.

It wasn’t long before Nate was fucking Thomas from behind observing how Thomas reacted - the younger man on all fours with his back arched as Nate’s mature dick tickled his prostate.

“Let me see how you move while being fucked” Nate said. “I think I know your body better every time I touch it.”

Thomas turned his head around with a grin, wrapped in the pleasure of being filled by the sexy older man. “You like what you see?”

Nate gave a deep seductive smirk and replied, “One day you’ll understand exactly what I see when I look at you.”

A couple of minutes later, Thomas - overstimulated from penetration, sweat, and the feeling of Nate’s testicles slapping against his ass - replied with soft moans and an “I’m getting close.”

“Turn around I want to see the face you make when you cum” Nate responded.

Thomas turned around, lying on his back while Nate reinserted his dick hard and quick into Thomas. Thomas grimaced then grabbed his own perky uncut dick and began vigorously jerking off while staring deeply at Nate’s handsome older face. Within a few seconds Thomas began to loudly moan as cum splattered on his abs and chest. Nate followed suit by ejaculating deep into Thomas then collapsing on his chest - leaving his dick inside.

Nate looked deeply into Thomas’s eyes and began to lick up Thomas’s cum. “I knew you’d taste sweet. Sometimes I look at you and think you were made for me.”

Thomas blushed at the kinky behavior and comments made by a man he was both enamored with and enchanted by. The attention to detail and the way Nate worshipped him made him feel seen, important, in a way no man had ever made him feel.

Later, the room had gone quiet except for their breathing. Thomas lay against the pillows while Nate rested beside him, one hand still spread over his chest. Thomas assumed the older man was savoring the closeness, but Nate’s gaze kept traveling: across Thomas’s face, down the shape of his shoulders, along the body he had already begun to covet. When Thomas caught him staring again, Nate softened his expression and brushed a kiss beneath his jaw. Thomas smiled, mistaking possession for affection, and closed his eyes while Nate continued studying him in the dark.

In the morning, Thomas found Nate in the bathroom wearing only his undershirt and trousers.

He stood close to the mirror, one hand resting on the sink. For a moment Thomas assumed he was washing his face, but then he realized Nate was not looking at himself. He was holding his phone. On the screen was a photograph Thomas had sent from the gym weeks earlier.

Nate raised his eyes to the mirror and saw Thomas in the doorway.

“You caught me,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Admiring you.”

He turned the phone around. The photograph showed Thomas shirtless, smiling.

Nate looked from the image to the living man.

“You make being you look very easy.”

Thomas smiled. “I’ve had thirty years of practice.”

“Lucky you.”

Nate slipped the phone onto the counter and kissed him.

⸻

Two more weeks passed before their fourth date.

By then Thomas had grown accustomed to Nate appearing in his days. A morning message. A photograph. A voice note late at night. Sometimes Nate asked questions Thomas found oddly specific.

What did his signature look like when he was rushing? Did his coworkers call him Thomas or Tom? Which side of the bed did he always sleep on? What was the first car he owned? Which knee had he injured playing soccer in college?

Nate remembered the answers better than Thomas did. Once, during a video call, Nate imitated the way Thomas tilted his head when skeptical.

“Do I really do that?” Thomas asked.

“Constantly.”

“Show me again.”

Nate repeated the gesture perfectly. Thomas laughed. Nate repeated the laugh and for one disorienting second, it sounded almost identical.

“You’ve been studying me,” Thomas said.

Nate’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. “Yes.” Then he smiled. “You’re interesting to study.”

The fourth date was the best one. Nate planned everything around small details Thomas had mentioned in passing: dinner at a restaurant with a rooftop greenhouse, a walk through a neighborhood of old brick homes, then drinks at a hotel bar with dark wood walls and brass lamps.

Nate prepared for the night of a lifetime. He wore charcoal trousers and a cream shirt beneath a brown jacket. His mustache had been freshly trimmed. A silver band gleamed on his right hand.

Thomas noticed it while Nate ordered two whiskeys from the bartender. “That’s new” he said while playfully tapping a finger on Nate’s ring.

Nate looked down. The ring was broad and old, made from two metals twisted together—one dark and new looking , one older and pale. “It belonged to someone important.”

Thomas waited. Nate rarely discussed his past. Whenever he did, the stories had soft edges: a former boyfriend without a name, a family he no longer spoke to, a mentor who had taught him to smoke a pipe. Thomas had decided not to press. At forty-four, people were allowed to contain rooms they kept locked.

“My uncle gave it to me,” Nate said finally. “Though he wasn’t really my uncle. More like a father, for a while.”

“That sounds complicated. What happened to him?”

“He started over.”

Nate rotated the ring around his finger. “He believed people spent too much of their lives trapped inside themselves. Their fears. Their bodies. The stories everyone else told about them.”

Thomas smiled faintly. “He sounds… cheerful.”

“He said two people could never truly understand one another until they had seen the world through the other person’s eyes.”

Nate slid the ring free. The skin beneath it was pale.“He gave me this when I was younger. Told me I’d know when I met someone capable of understanding.”

He placed the band in Thomas’s palm. It was heavier than expected and warm from Nate’s hand.

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Only for tonight.”

Thomas looked up. For the first time since meeting him, Nate appeared genuinely uncertain. His confidence had dropped away, leaving something naked behind it.

“I want you to wear it,” Nate said.

Nate pushed the ring onto Thomas’s right index finger. It fit snugly, though not uncomfortably.

Nate inhaled. His eyes followed the band as it passed over Thomas’s knuckle and settled against the base of the finger. “There,” he whispered.

Thomas raised his hand. “How do I look?”

Nate looked at the ring. Then at Thomas’s face. “Exactly right.”

⸻

After their final round of drinks they returned to Thomas’s apartment shortly before midnight. Rain tapped lightly against the windows. Nate opened one of the balcony doors and stood beside it smoking a pipe he had brought in a leather case since Thomas said it would suit him.

Thomas watched him from the couch. The older man’s face appeared carved in the low light: gray at the temples, heavy mustache, blue eyes reflecting the ember in the pipe bowl. Thomas thought again that Nate looked like someone from another time.

“You’re staring,” Nate said.

“I’m allowed.”

Nate smiled around the pipe stem. “Come here.”

Thomas joined him beside the open door. Nate rested one hand at the back of his neck and kissed his forehead.

For a moment, neither man spoke. “What are you thinking about?” Thomas asked.

“That I’m going to miss this.”

Thomas leaned back. “Miss what?”

Nate removed the pipe. “This night.”

“We could have another one.”

“Yes,” Nate said. “I suppose we could.”

He turned away and emptied the pipe into a small ceramic dish. Thomas felt suddenly tired. It had arrived as a pleasant heaviness, the consequence of two much alcohol and a long week. He sat on the edge of the couch.

Nate closed the balcony door. “You all right?”

“Just hit a wall.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

Nate went into the kitchen. Thomas heard a cabinet open, then the tap. He looked down at the antique ring. The two metals seemed almost to move against each other in the dim light. Nate returned with a glass. “Drink.”

Thomas took it. The water had a faint bitter taste beneath the lemon slice floating at the surface.

“You put something in this?”

“Just something to help with a hangover.”

“You carry anti-hangover medicine on dates?”

“At forty-four you’ll always travel prepared.”

Thomas laughed, though the sound came out sluggish. By the time he reached the bedroom, the carpet seemed unusually soft beneath his feet. Nate helped him remove his outer shirt and slacks. “You don’t have to baby me,” Thomas said.

“I know, but I’ve made a considerable investment in you and I want to ensure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Nate’s hand rested against Thomas’s chest. His fingers spread across a grey t-shirt, pressing lightly over Thomas’s heartbeat.

“You really are remarkable,” Nate said.

Thomas’s eyes were closing. “That’s a strange thing to say to someone passing out at the end of a date.”

“You’re not passing out. You’re falling asleep. Don't worry, when you wake up you'll feel like a new man.”

Thomas tried to focus on Nate’s face, but the features blurred. The pale eyes. The mustache. The thin gray at the temples.

Nate lifted Thomas’s right hand. The ring seemed to tighten around his finger. “Does this hurt?” Nate asked.

“No.”

His thumb stroked the band. “Good…”

Thomas’s body felt distant now, as though the bed were lowering him slowly into deep water. “Nate?”

“I’m here.”

“What was your uncle’s name?”

Nate smiled. “That’s a future problem.”

Thomas recognized the phrase. He wanted to laugh. Instead, darkness moved quietly across the room and covered him. The last sensation he felt before drifting to sleep was Nate removing his own button up and laying beside him on the bed.

⸻

The ring grew cold. Not cool, but impossibly cold, a small circle of winter clamped around Thomas’s finger.

Nate watched the unconscious man’s face. The sleeping expression was softer than the one Thomas wore in photographs. His mouth rested slightly open. A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. Beneath the collar of his undershirt, dense chest hair curled against his throat.

Nate had imagined this moment so many times that the reality of it seemed strangely subdued. No thunder. No flash of light. Only the cold tightening of the ring and a sensation like his body dropping through the floor.

For an instant he could not breathe. Then he inhaled. The breath came easily. Too easily. The lungs drawing it were younger and deeper than his own had been. Nate opened his eyes. The ceiling looked different. Closer, somehow, though he knew that was impossible.

He raised one hand. Thomas’s hand. Broad palm. Long fingers. A faint white scar across the knuckle from the childhood bicycle accident Nate had heard about on their second date. Dark hair dusted the wrist and forearm. The ring was gone.

Across the bed lay Nate’s old body, unconscious and slack. Nate stared at it as if he were looking into a mirror. The gray hair at the temples. The heavy mustache. The chest that required more effort each year to keep firm. The softening around the waist that Thomas had never seemed to mind but he had grown to resent.

He felt no affection for it. Only relief. Nate sat up. The motion was startlingly fluid. No stiffness in the lower back. No familiar pressure in the neck from an old weightlifting injury. He rolled Thomas’s shoulders once, then again. A laugh escaped him. Thomas’s laugh.

Nate froze. He placed a hand against his throat. “Hello,” he said. The voice was clear, warm and younger than the one he had used for forty-four years.

“Hello,” he repeated, lowering the pitch. He stood. The body rose with effortless balance. Strong legs. Firm stomach. Weight distributed in ways Nate had studied through photographs and clothing but could never tottally imagine.

He pulled off his grey shirt and underwear and crossed the bedroom naked, leaving his old body discarded asleep beneath the sheets. At the bathroom door, he stopped. His heart was racing. Thomas’s heart. Nate stepped inside and switched on the lights. The mirror gave him exactly what he had wanted.

Thomas stared back. For several seconds Nate did nothing. He simply absorbed the face. Thick dark-brown hair, slightly disordered from lying in bed. Strong brows. Clear hazel-brown eyes. Straight nose. Firm jaw darkened with short stubble. Smooth forehead without the permanent horizontal lines Nate had begun noticing in photographs of himself.

He moved closer. Thomas moved closer. Nate touched the glass with two fingers. Then he touched his face.

The skin beneath his eyes was firm. He pulled gently at one lower lid, examining the unlined surface. Turned his head left. Right. Lifted his chin. Pressed his tongue behind his perfect teeth.

He opened his mouth and inspected the even white smile. “Thomas,” he said. The name sounded natural in the stolen voice. He said it again. “My name is Thomas.”

A smile spread across the reflection. It was Nate’s smile at first—small, private and cold. He erased it. Thomas smiled differently. More openly. One corner of the mouth lifted first. His eyebrows softened. His eyes narrowed slightly when the expression was genuine. Nate had catalogued it from dozens of photographs. He tried again. This time Thomas smiled back. “There you are,” Nate whispered.

He ran both hands through the thick hair, pushing it away from the forehead, then allowing it to fall naturally. He tested different parts, remembering how Thomas wore it at work, at the gym, on weekends.

He turned sideways. Thomas’s jaw was even better in profile. Nate traced it from the ear to the chin, feeling the rough stubble beneath his fingertips. He examined the ears, the hairline, the shape of the neck. He lifted each eyebrow separately. Frowned. Looked surprised. Concerned. Amused. He practiced Thomas’s skeptical head tilt. Perfect.

Nate stepped back from the sink. His eyes moved downward to take in the entirety of himself. Thomas’s body was everything he had hoped for and more. Athletic without being exaggerated. Wide shoulders. Defined arms. A flat stomach softened just enough to look natural. Dark hair spread thickly across the chest, densest between the pecs, narrowing into a line down the abdomen.

Nate pressed both palms against his chest. The muscle beneath the hair was warm and firm. He inhaled deeply and watched it rise. Once. Twice. He curled his fingers into the dense hair, then smoothed it back into place with almost ceremonial care.

“Don’t change it,” he murmured, repeating what he had told Thomas weeks earlier. Now it belonged to him.

He lifted one arm, studying the hair beneath it and along the forearm. Flexed the biceps. Rotated the wrist. Spread the fingers. He bent forward and touched his toes. Another laugh escaped him.

On the way down he got a good look at his new dick. He and Thomas had already had sex, but the lights were dim and Thomas a little modest. He stood up and wrapped a hairy young hand around his new dick. Lifting it up to feel its weight. Cupping a hand around his new testicles - noting their sensitivity. He reached a hand around to his asshole and fingered the outside before pushing two fingers in a bit deeper - the sensation making plain to him why Thomas had enjoyed bottoming so much. Why he would enjoy bottoming.

Nate began to rub his new shaft slowly. It responded with the enthusiasm of youth - the head sliding out of the foreskin. Nate continued to slide his foreskin over the head while looking at his new face in the mirror. He practiced his new smile, mimicked the seductive faces he’d seen Thomas make when they fucked, he touched his stubble and ran his hand through his chest hair, tweaking his sensitive nipples.

Before long Nate could feel the heat begin to rise in his body as Thomas’s dick stiffened and his testicles pulled up close and tight as a rush of heat passed through his new younger body. He climaxed shooting ropes of thick white cum onto the sink and vanity mirror. “I guess we’re a shooter now, aren’t we Thomas?” He muttered in Thomas’s lighter voice.

Nate straightened his back and studied the reflection again. Thirty. Not pretending to be younger. Not flattering lighting. Not an app smoothing away age. Thirty. Fourteen years returned in a single night.

He thought of every room he would enter in this body. Every man who would look twice. Every opportunity that would no longer feel belated. He imagined Thomas’s coworkers greeting him by name, Thomas’s mother hearing this voice on the phone, Thomas’s friends leaning in for hugs.

All of them would see what the mirror saw. None of them would see Nate. He reached for Thomas’s phone. Facial recognition opened it immediately. The lock symbol disappeared.

Nate stared at the screen, then at the mirror. The world had already accepted him. He opened the photo library. Thousands of images. Thomas at work. Thomas running beside the river. Thomas shirtless at a lake. Thomas with his sister. Thomas laughing beside a birthday cake, head tilted back.

Nate selected the photograph from the university dorm, the one he had studied during their third date.

He held the phone beside the mirror. The younger Thomas had been leaner, almost boyish. The current face was better. More complete.

Nate swiped forward. He found a recent selfie and mimicked it: chin slightly down, mouth relaxed, eyes warm but confident. He adjusted. Again. Again. The third attempt was exact.

Next came the voice messages. Thomas’s cadence. The slight upward inflection at the end of a teasing question. The relaxed rhythm when talking about work. The laugh that began in the throat and ended breathlessly.

Nate played one. Then repeated it. “Anyway, you get the idea.” Too slow. Again. “Anyway, you get the idea.” Better.

He replayed another message. “That’s a future problem.” Nate watched his stolen mouth form the stolen phrase. “That’s a future problem.” Perfect.

He left the bathroom and dressed with equal care. Dark boxer briefs from the second drawer. Gray trousers. White undershirt. The navy shirt Thomas wore when he wanted to look polished without appearing formal.

Nate buttoned it, then stopped. He opened the top two buttons again, exposing a deliberate triangle of chest hair. Thomas often wore it that way. Nate remembered watching him adjust the collar on their first date. He copied the gesture in the closet mirror.

Then he tried Thomas’s posture: shoulders relaxed, weight resting slightly more on the right leg, one hand casually in a pocket.

The handsome engineer in the mirror looked friendly, outgoing and entirely at ease with himself.

Then Nate practiced a mild expression of concern.

“What if Nate contacts anyone?” he asked the reflection.

A crease appeared between Thomas’s brows. “He’s been acting strangely. I think he may be having some kind of breakdown.”

Too clinical. Too prepared. Nate relaxed Thomas’s shoulders and softened the stolen face. He imagined his old body arriving at Thomas’s office, wild-eyed and desperate, insisting that the handsome man standing before them was an impostor. Telling them about the ring. Demanding that Thomas’s friends believe an impossible story.

“Nate became fixated on me,” he tried. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until last night.”

Better, but not enough. He let uncertainty enter Thomas’s hazel eyes, followed by reluctant fear.

“He thinks he’s me,” Nate whispered. “I know how crazy that sounds, but that’s what he keeps saying. He knows things about my life because I trusted him. Now he’s using them to convince people.”

The reflection looked frightened rather than defensive. Sympathetic. Believable. Nate held the expression for several seconds, memorizing it. Then he smiled.

He packed methodically - knowing he would need to vanish for a few days until the real Thomas cleared out of the apartment and the dust settled. He took everything that could be tied to his new identity. Thomas’s wallet. Driver’s license. Credit cards. Work identification. Passport from the locked desk drawer. Social Security card from the small fireproof box in the closet. Birth certificate. Laptop. Backup phone. Keys - so when Thomas left he couldn’t return. The folder containing tax documents and employment records. Thomas’s life fit neatly into two bags.

Before leaving, Nate returned to the bedroom. His old body remained unconscious on the bed. The mustached face looked older from this height. Smaller. Less formidable.

Thomas had desired that face. The thought almost made Nate laugh. He leaned over and removed the silver ring from his old body’s clenched hand. Nate slipped it into his pocket. He studied his former self one last time. The chest hair. The broad shoulders. The graying hair and thick mustache Thomas had found so mature, so masculine, so dangerous. Discarded packaging.

Before he turned away Nate leaned into his old face and whispered into his ear “Don’t worry, Thomas, no one will notice the difference.”

With that Nate walked into the bathroom and placed a folded note beneath the bathroom mirror. Then he left the apartment carrying everything that proved he was Thomas.

⸻

Pain returned first. A dull pressure behind the eyes. A bitter coating on the tongue. A heavy pulse beating inside the skull.

Thomas opened his eyes. The room was too bright. He closed them again and tried to remember how much he had drunk. Wine at the restaurant. Whiskey at the bar. Something at home maybe?

Water. Nate had given him water. Thomas shifted beneath the sheets. His body felt wrong. Not painful exactly. Misaligned.

His legs seemed heavier. His stomach rested against the mattress in an unfamiliar way. There was stiffness in his lower back and a faint ache in one knee.

He lifted a hand to his face. Hair brushed his fingertips. Not stubble. A mustache. Thomas opened his eyes fully in a state of panic.

The hand before him was broader and rougher than his own. Pale hairs crossed the knuckles. A small dark spot marked the back near the thumb. He stared at it without comprehension.

“Nate are you here?” The voice that emerged was deep. Older. Nate’s voice. Thomas jerked upright.

The sudden motion made the room tilt violently. He gripped the mattress and waited for it to settle.

“Nate!?” The same voice answered him from his own throat.

He touched his face again. Heavy mustache. Deeper lines beside the mouth. Short hair at the temples.

Thomas threw back the sheets.

A broad, mature chest greeted him, covered in dark hair flecked faintly with gray. The stomach beneath it was solid but heavier than his own. His hands moved over the unfamiliar torso in frantic disbelief.

“No.” Thomas stumbled from the bed. “Nate!”

Empty apartment. The living room had been disturbed so subtly that he did not understand at first. The laptop was gone from the desk. The charging cable remained, curled uselessly beside an empty space.

His phone was not on the kitchen counter. His wallet was gone. The wooden box stood open. No spare keys.

Thomas pulled at drawers with shaking hands. Documents missing. Passport missing. Work badge missing. The fireproof box open and empty. Every object that connected his name to his life had vanished.

He rushed back toward the bedroom, catching one shoulder against the doorway because the body was wider than he expected.

The bathroom light was still on. Thomas entered. He looked up. Nate stared back at him from the mirror.

Pale blue eyes widened beneath a lined forehead. Short gray-brown hair stood unevenly from sleep. The heavy mustache shifted as Thomas’s mouth fell open.

The face he had admired across candlelit tables. The face he had watched behind curling pipe smoke. The face he had believed was dangerous only in the ways he wanted.

Thomas raised one hand. Nate raised his. The reflection touched its mustache, then its cheeks, then the creases beside its eyes. Thomas tried to find himself somewhere inside it. There was nothing.

A folded piece of paper rested beneath the mirror. He opened it. Four lines had been written in his own familiar handwriting:

[jockbender]

Playing With Cody’s Dad

‘Dude! Your dad’s cock is thick as fuck!’ I moaned as Cody plunged his old man’s tool as far it would go into my ass and bucked his hips gently back and forth.

'Tell me about it bro!’ Cody replied in his dad’s rumbling bass as his own unmistakable smile beamed back at me from his father’s face.  He leant back, loosening his tie and pulling open his shirt to expose his beefy, thick chest as he let me ride him to yet another mind blowing orgasm, filling my ass with his hot creamy Daddy load.

I leaned in for a long, lingering kiss and couldn’t help throwing another boner as the thick, silver goatee and mustache scratched my face and my cock rubbed against his soft hairy belly.

As he flipped me over and went down on my rock hard pole, Cody made me promise that we could use the magic zipper on my uncle tomorrow.

It would be a shame not to spend the day fucking around with Cody’s dad but on the other hand, my uncle James is a totally ripped muscle daddy.  Slipping into his body for the day and pounding Cody would be all the compensation I’d need!

[jockbender]

Playing With Cody’s Dad

‘Dude! Your dad’s cock is thick as fuck!’ I moaned as Cody plunged his old man’s tool as far it would go into my ass and bucked his hips gently back and forth.

‘Tell me about it bro!’ Cody replied in his dad’s rumbling bass as his own unmistakable smile beamed back at me from his father’s face.  He leant back, loosening his tie and pulling open his shirt to expose his beefy, thick chest as he let me ride him to yet another mind blowing orgasm, filling my ass with his hot creamy Daddy load.

I leaned in for a long, lingering kiss and couldn’t help throwing another boner as the thick, silver goatee and mustache scratched my face and my cock rubbed against his soft hairy belly.

As he flipped me over and went down on my rock hard pole, Cody made me promise that we could use the magic zipper on my uncle tomorrow.

It would be a shame not to spend the day fucking around with Cody’s dad but on the other hand, my uncle James is a totally ripped muscle daddy.  Slipping into his body for the day and pounding Cody would be all the compensation I’d need!

[fankkmen]

Amigo espacial

Mi amigo Trevor y yo somos fanáticos del espacio, creemos en la existencia de otras formas de vida fuera de nuestro planeta.

Cada noche los dos subimos al cerro más elevado de nuestro pueblo para acampar y tomar las frecuencias del entorno. Uno nunca sabe cuando vas detectar una presencia desconocida.

Muchos nos consideraban locos por ser dos jóvenes que desperdiciaban su tiempo en esta actividad, pero nunca perdimos la fé. Hasta que llegó ese día.

Los dos habíamos tomado demasiada cerveza celebrando otro año de indagación juntos, estábamos tan borrachos que nos quedamos bien dormidos. Fue esa noche que la radio de frecuencias se puso loca y despertó a Trevor, quien desesperadamente salió sin avisarme y ahí lo vió, ¡UN PUTO OVNI GIGANTE!!!

No parecía ser un sueño o una alucinación por el alcohol. Trevor pensaba regresar rápido a nuestro campamento para avisarme, sin embargo, sucedió algo...

-Al día siguiente-

Desperte con una gran migraña y sin percatarme del suceso de anoche. Al levantarme note al inmediato la ausencia de Trevor por lo que fui a buscarlo. No tarde mucho en encontrarlo, desde lejos se veía a Trevor caminando en los alrededores, me iba a acercar para llamarlo, pero ví como se detuvo y procedió a retirarse su camisa para solamente ¿acariciar su cuerpo?...

Eso era algo raro y poco común en Trevor, el parecía como si tratarla de conocer su propio cuerpo, me quedé observando en silencio para ver qué más sucedía, fue hasta que ví que Trevor empezó a tocarse el bulto entre sus pantalones y casi querer quitarse los pantalones cuando interrumpí y le pregunté si se encontraba bien.

Trevor reaccionó a mi llamado y me miró muy seriamente, esa no era una expresión normal en él.

Ya al estar cerca de Trevor le repetí la pregunta sobre cómo el se sentía. El me respondió que era grato ver que ya había despertado, que así lo podía ayudar a integrarse a este estilo de vida humano.

Me quedé confundido, no sabía a qué se refería, le comenté si esto se trataba de un raro juego de roles del espacio. Trevor soltó una carcajada comentando que el hablaba en serio y para demostrarlo, el abrió su boca y de ahí de manera impactante salió un alien de su boca.

¡MIERDA, ERA VERDAD! No podía ni creerlo...

El alien desde la boca de mi amigo empezó a hablarme de manera telepática explicando toda la situación. El venía de un lejano planeta que fue destruido porque su solo explotó, el escapó justo a tiempo siendo el único sobreviviente, el alien voló por años luz buscando a empezar una nueva vida.

El alien terminó de compartirme su historia y expreso su gratitud al encontrar al huésped indicado, de la emoción hizo que el cuerpo de Trevor posara y unas manos alienígenas emergieron de su espalda para acariciar y apreciar su cuerpo, para mí esto era muy incómodo.

Le pregunté al alien si había alguna forma de poder liberar a mi amigo e irse con otro huésped, lamentablemente el alien me dijo que eso era imposible, ahora él estaba injertado dentro del cerebro de Trevor y alterado su composición molecular, si el alien dejaba su cuerpo Trevor moriría.

Esa revelación era difícil de digerir, entonces mi amigo Trevor desapareció por siempre... El alien notó mi tristeza y trato de consolarme diciéndome que de alguna forma Trevor sigue entre nosotros, que Trevor y el alien están fusionado en un solo ser y aún conserva ese aprecio hacia a mi como amigo.

Al escuchar eso, sentí que hablaba con Trevor una vez más No estaba seguro que tanto creer sobre eso, pero le pedí al alien que mejor ya se volviera a introducir dentro de Trevor, era aún raro verlo por afuera. El alien me hizo caso y desapareció dentro de él.

El alien me comentó que una parte de la conciencia de Trevor está muy contenta porque finalmente ambos lograron su cometido en conocer vida alienígena y que seguirían siendo amigos.

El alien me dijo que ahora quería que me dirigiera a él como Trevor, entonces Trevor camino hacia adelante y volteó a verme de espaldas preguntándome si yo estaba listo para una nueva aventura.

-1 mes después-

Pasó algo de tiempo desde ese encuentro, fue sorprendente ver como las cosas seguían casi igual, parecía que Trevor nunca se fue. Aunque el alien tenía ya todas las memorias de Trevor, el quería seguir experimentando todas las emociones de los seres humanos, justo ahora recibí un mensaje de Trevor con una foto de él muy a gusto en una fiesta nocturna.

Me preguntó que le prepara el futuro a Trevor.

[celebtf]

François' Gym Routine

The gym was nearly empty when Alex spotted his idol walking in. François looked exactly like he did in Heated Riverly...tall, lean, dark-haired, with that confident stride. The fan’s heart pounded as he watched François head straight for the free weights.

François grabbed a heavy barbell and started curling. With each rep, something strange happened. His skin took on a strange sheen, his muscles flattening, his body shrinking. By the tenth curl his arms had thinned into sleeves, his torso compressed into smooth white fabric. Another rep and his head disappeared completely, leaving only a crisp white compression shirt draped over the bench.

Alex stared, stunned, then stepped forward. He picked up the same barbell. The first lift sent heat through his chest. His shoulders broadened. His face shifted, cheekbones sharpening, stubble darkening his jaw. With every rep the change accelerated—his hair lengthened and darkened, his voice dropped an octave, his body filled out exactly like François’s. By the final set he was no longer himself; he was François Arnaud, standing shirtless in the gym, the real François now reduced to a limp white compression shirt on the bench.

Grinning, the new François snatched the shirt and pulled it over his head. The fabric stretched tight across his new chest and abs. He flexed, feeling the trapped actor’s consciousness pressed against his skin.

"Look at you," he said, voice rich with mockery. "Big movie star, reduced to gym wear. You feel that? That’s my sweat soaking into you. Every rep I do, every breath I take—you’re just along for the ride now." He ran his hands over the shirt, pressing it flat against his muscles. "Bet you never thought you’d end up clinging to a fan’s body, huh?"

He struck a pose in the mirror, admiring how perfectly the shirt hugged his transformed physique. "You’re mine now, François. My favorite new compression shirt. And I’m going to wear you every single workout."

[transformhim]

Lucky Find

“Dude, you’re not gonna believe what I found at Elise’s” Julio came rushing out of his room, his skinny yet chubby frame wrapped in a towel, his body shining with sweat.

Malik looked up from his guitar with amused confusion. He’d been practicing for a show he and his group had coming up at the hole in the wall music venue in their small college town. But Julio had been locked up in his room since Malik had come back from practice with his band, and he’d wondered what his roommate had been up to in the last several hours.

“Someone’s excited,” Malik chuckled taking a sip from his tea, noticing from Julio’s towel that his excitement was displayed in other ways.

“You have no idea,” Julio laughed, finding his way in front of Malik and panting.

Elise’s was a curio shop located on the edge of their charming New England college town, full of all kinds of weird trinkets and vaguely occult collectibles. There wasn’t a single freshman at their university that didn’t have a story about the strange this they saw the other day or the odd that they purchased to show off to their friends—always secretly hoping the object’s vague enigmatic promises would somehow come true. To most, it was a quirky junk store; to some, it was a mysterious Mecca. And why not? If the stories and whispers around town linked to Elise’s were true, one couldn’t help but believe.

“What did Elise sucker you into buying this time?” Malik asked smugly, leaning over to set his guitar down.

Julio dropped his jaw in a feigned offended grin and scoffed, “You’re gonna eat your words in a minute.”

Julio hooked his towel outward with one thumb and let it fall to the floor with a soft thud. “Dude!” Malik started, still bent over at eye level but shooting back up into the couch. Julio’s 5 incher swung out bobbing with stiffness and he stood nude before Malik, nothing on his body except a piece of jewelry resting against his recently shaved groin. His balls and boner were fed through an ornate ring of rounded gold, with what looked to be smoothed rubies embedded into its face.

A cock ring! That gullible motherfucker bought a cock ring! At Elise’s of all places! Malik couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thought you’d like it!” Julio giggled dumbly.

“Dude, you’re a mess,” Malik continued laughing and ran his hands down his face. “So what’s the tale that pairs with this one?”

“Well…” Julio started to explain but smiled and sighed. “I think that’s better seen that told.”

He stepped in closer to Malik on the couch, straddling his legs in his standing position until he was only about a foot away from Malik. He reached down wrapped his left hand around his package.

“Here’s what I want you to do… You’re gonna hold onto me like this, and whenever you’re ready, I want you to tug, real hard and real quickly,” he gestured forcefully with his hands, miming exactly like he wanted Malik to do it. “Just like that. Act like you’re pulling the cord of a lawnmower or something.”

Malik furrowed his brow with an amused smile, “Uhhh, won’t that hurt? Like a lot?” 

“Trust me, I know this sounds—“

“Fucking weird?”

“Sure, but just trust me. I promise you’ll love it.”

Malik looked up in exasperated amusement and then back down at Julio’s package and shrugged. He gingerly put a hand out and wrapped it around Julio’s stiff member and balls, feeling their warmth and looking back up at Julio with a cocked eyebrow.

“Do it,” Julio nodded down to him, panting excitedly. “Remember: really quick, really hard.” He took a deep breath and folded his hands behind his head.

Malik looked down and tightened his lips together. His grip on Julio’s package tightened and he did exactly as he was told. He yanked hard downwards and was surprised to see for the flash second that he yanked that Julio’s package streeeetched with the yank, startling Malik as it snapped back with a fleshy smack against Julio’s pelvis. Malik could swear that the rubies embedded in the cock ring pulsed with a fiery, deep luminescence, making the jewelry appear to writhe. Julio sucked in a sharp gust of air and the unbelievable happened in front of Malik in the span of a second, two max.

Julio’s body jolted upright and stretched taller, his body making all kinds of popping and stretching sounds as he grew several inches in height. Simultaneously, his body purely exploded with new, bulging musculature that seemed to crowd Malik as he shrank back onto the couch with a dropped jaw. With a single grunt, Julio’s body let out a final pulsing jolt, his size, weight, shape, and skin no longer his own, his hands still locked behind his head as he shook and twitched with the new musculature. His head shook once, but rapidly, and once it had stilled, his hair, jaw, cheeks, and whole face for that matter looked completely different, replaced by the model-like mug the body he now rocked deserved. Finally, Malik noticed his package, still bobbing from when he’d yanked it not a second ago, throbbed intensely as it seemed to shed itself into a larger, thicker size, his head peeking red and dripping out of his foreskin and his balls plumping larger and sagging his sack a little more.

Julio released the gust of air he’d sucked in a second ago with a grumbling moan, his voice deeper and different from what it was. His sweaty body glistened with a little more moisture as he dropped his now thick and powerful arms from behind his head in a flex.

“Pretty sick, right?” Julio asked in a rich, deep Southern accent, completely not his own, dropping his hand down again to rub his meaty fist down all 11 inches of his pre-slick meat, as Malik pawed at his own stiffening dick.

“Wh-who..? What the fuck happened to you?” Malik panted excitedly.

“Fucked if I know, dude,” he chuckled, rubbing his other hand hard across his pecs, up and down his abs, smearing his sweat into his bushy pit hair. “Don’t even know who I am. Don’t know who any of them have been.”

“Any? Them?”

Julio just nodded with a grin, reaching behind himself to squeeze his ass and popping his pecs proudly, “It’s a different guy every time.”

Malik just wheezed excited breaths, standing up to feel Julio’s new firm ridges and mounds, worshiping and squeezing every inch he could get his hands on. Julio laughed along and did several poses and let Malik smell under his pits. His odor was intoxicating now, Malik was pretty sure he’d never smelled something that musky or magnetic before and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to leave the apartment. And it radiated off him like heat.

“You fucking reek, bro,” Malik mumbled, scooping Julio’s hefty dick and balls into his hands and tugged their impressive size, eliciting a shuddering groan from Julio. He could feel the pre-tinged sweatiness wafting up from Julio’s taint and now in his own hands. His cock head was peeking out from within its foreskin and dripped a thick dollop of pre onto Malik’s wrist. They looked up at each other with a grin.

“Kiss it,” Julio slurred and bucked his hips into Malik, his impressive length rubbing up against Malik’s torso.

Malik knelt and did as his was told, looking up at Julio as he kissed the wet head of Julio’s meat. Julio chuckled and swayed, slapping Malik’s face with his club. Malik caught it with his tongue and served it into his mouth, playing around with it with his tongue and sucking eagerly.

“FF-Ffuucckk,” Julio groaned, leaning his head back as he thrusted his hips against his roommate, feeling his length side in further, then out, then in. “Ju-ust be c-care-careful, man, it—“

Malik ignored him, attacking Julio’s cock with more greedy vigor, licking and sucking his length to the root and colliding with the elegant cock ring. As he loudly blew his friend, he tugged playfully yet forcefully on his overgrown balls.

“Dude-fuuuckk-dude, careful, you’ll-UUGGHHNN…”

Malik just looked up at his panting hunk, his sculpted face contorted in ecstatic throes, and kept working Julio’s meat. He could feel Julio’s pace picking up as his throat opened up, letting Julio buck harder and harder into his face. He focused on his tongue, working the underside of his shaft and putting pressure on Julio’s pistoning slit.

“Dude, I’m gonna—!!!” Julio arched his back in a jolt as Malik felt his mushroom head give its telltale swell and vibrate in the back of his throat.

Malik could only tell that his mouth and throat were filled to the brim almost instantly. He coughed hot jizz violently out of his mouth, some squirting out of his nose as Julio spazzed forcefully over and over again, his massive cock shooting thick, piss-like ropes out of its slit in a seemingly never-ending pulsating succession. As Malik continued panting fresh air, Julio shook through orgasmic grunts and moans as he drenched Malik’s face and hair with what was now about a liter of cum. As he continued bucking, his new enormous size began to dissipate. His muscles looked like they were sinking lower with each consecutive spurt as his features and skin tone slowly morphed back to his own features, slowly becoming more and more recognizable. Sweat continued dripping down him as he sank shorter, lighter, back to himself, and Malik could see that his packaged dwindled back to its average size with the last creamy spurts. Finally, Julio was back to himself, the only evidence of his earlier form now soaking into Malik’s clothes, dripping off his skin and hair, and splattered on the leather couch. Miraculously, none had gotten on Malik’s guitar.

Malik looked up at Julio wordlessly, panting and swallowing residual droplets still in and around his mouth. Julio just wiped his face with both hands, clearing it of sweat, and then lowered them to work his package out of the cock rink, carefully sliding one testicle out at a time and then sliding it down his still-deflating shaft. He held it up between his thumb and index finger and looked down at Malik.

“So… yeah,” he panted nonchalantly and then wheezed out laughter.

‘So, yeah,’ Malik agreed as he laughed too and wiped more of Julio’s seed off his face. He looked up with fascination at the cock ring in Julio’s hand and sighed. What a goddamn lucky find! Did Elise even know the value of what she’d sold?! The possibilities drove him mad. And now he and his best friend had it, free to do as they wished.

Malik swallowed excitedly, “Can I try it on?”

Should I keep this going? Would love to hear ideas!

[ppssession]

Short Story: An Interesting Tidbit on a Mystic Forum

Title: An Interesting Tidbit on a Mystic Forum

For those of us who enjoy stealing other people's identities—whether through possession, body swapping, or other means—most usually prefer doing it out of sight. But let me tell you, that’s not always the case. If you're skilled enough, you can pull it off right in the middle of a crowd

Take my own case, for instance. Naturally, my method of choice is possession. And to keep things interesting—and not make it too easy—I don't turn myself into a ghost or a slime to possess someone. Instead, I use a method that involves physical touch, merging, and then taking over

The setup was simple: first, you need a target. Today, my eyes were set on a young police officer who was busy directing traffic and helping out the public...

Let’s get the plan started. I blended into the crowd and finally got close enough to reach him. In the blink of an eye, I stepped up right behind him. A split second later, I thrust my hand forward, sinking it straight into his body. Before he could even cry out, I lunged forward, forcing my entire form into his

The critical moment here is gaining control as fast as possible. Usually, when entering someone else’s body, the host tends to groan or resist, drawing unwanted attention. But for an expert like me, I can take control instantly. The possessed body might stumble, its eyes might widen, or it might make a slight twitch—and in less than a second, I’m inside

Now that I’ve successfully possessed him, I spent a few seconds adjusting to this new body before acting like him and continuing the job

After possessing someone, most people immediately do whatever they want. Sure, I want to as well, but for me, I prefer to enjoy trying out the host’s daily routine first. Oh yeah, going to the gym is awesome when you're using someone else's body. And my absolute favorite part? Exploring just how good this possessed body looks. Wow, it’s such a rush taking off my shirt at the gym and snapping photos while inside someone else's body

It feels amazing. Now it’s time to have some real fun in this young cop’s body. I flash a sly, wickedly charming smirk before turning back around, switching my expression back to the host's usual gym face... End of post

.

I'll try to post more often, haha. (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

[returnofnonya]

From Thief To House Husband Part 1

Sometimes, life just deals you a shit hand. My parents both died when I was young, and I had been on my own since then.

I survived by being a petty thief. I’ve been caught a few times, but it’s all that I can do. I know the Holidays are times where stores step up their security, but I needed to steal some things to sell just so that I could make this month’s rent. I chose a high end mall where boring rich people shopped, knowing their security would be a bit more relaxed due to the usual clientele. I found a decent department store that sold a ton of knickknacks and chose the gems.

Everything was going well, until Mr. Suburbia found me…

He seemed to be some boring house husband shopping for his kids. He kept cracking jokes to the staff that seemingly knew him well and caught me stuffing my bag. He pointed it out to a security guard who quickly stopped stuffing his face with homemade candy and started to approach me. This would be my last strike, and they’d charge me for a felony!

I quickly dug through my bag and found a familiar black case. Inside of it were five vials filled with a dark blue liquid. One day, a guy traded me these for some stolen goods. Said that he was working for some shady company as a lowly janitor. Allegedly these would allow you to push your consciousness out of your body and into someone else’s, taking control of them. I tried pawning them off immediately and failed, so I kept them around for emergencies. In a panic I took a vial and tossed the case aside so they couldn’t take it with me. I locked eyes with the stupid dad who ratted me out, deciding that becoming my body would be a fitting punishment for making me abandon this one. I popped the lid open and drank it in a hurry before I collapsed…

…then woke up seconds later, watching security swarm around my old, now empty body. I looked down and saw the tacky penguin button-up and knew that it worked. They knew this guy well though, which meant that I had to get out of here before they noticed I wasn’t acting like him. I scurried over to where the case dropped, sliding it in my pocket and quickly rushing out the store, leaving his cart behind.

When I was in the parking lot I pulled out his wallet, finding a picture of him alongside his wife and college aged kids. “Rick Smith…what a boring name for a boring man. But it’s mine now I guess.” I sighed and pulled his phone out, using Face ID to unlock it. I checked his planner and sure enough, it was filled out with his agenda for the day. In fact, it has the entire family’s!

His wife was out of the country for business, and his sons away with friends for the day. He was getting his shopping done apparently, but I didn’t really care since I didn’t feel the love for these people he did. After finding a pic of his car I searched for it and got in, driving to the address on his phone.

I gasped in shock at the mansion I drove up to. Just yesterday I was trying to get my landlord to fix the lock on my shitty door, and now I had a house that looked like it could be worth billions!

I parked the car and rushed inside, heading to his bathroom first and stripping down to take a look at my new body. “Kind of basic, but there’s a certain fatherly charm you’ve got going…” I said and grinned as I looked at myself.

I was about to get to know my new body when the doorbell rang. I sighed and rolled my eyes, not bothering to get the rest of his clothes on and walking down to the door to open it.

I was greeted by a good-looking young man around the age of my body’s youngest son.

“Hey Mr. Smith, I’m glad you remembered-“ he cut himself off as he saw me standing in my underwear. “Remembered what?” I smirked a bit, looking him up and down. “T-that we were going to discuss Blake’s Christmas gift…are you sure you remembered? You told me you’d put a bunch of fake things in the family planner so he wouldn’t know I was coming…” Well, what a lucky coincidence.

“Of course I remembered, come on in, stud.” I winked at him, earning a quick blush. I sauntered towards the living room, making sure he got a good look at my body’s likely virgin ass. He followed slowly, trying to collect himself. “So as I was saying earl-“ I cut him off, “You know what I think, cutie? I think my son just wants to see his Dad happy. He’s that good of a son to me. And do you know what would make me happy?” I asked, spreading my legs open. He gawked, tugging at his collar. “N-no, sir…I’m not sure…” he said bashfully. “A good pounding.” I said simply, but confidently.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“A good, honest-to-god pounding. Like I used to get in college back before I got tied up to the missus.”

“O-oh…”

“So come here, and give my son his gift by making his Dad happy.”

The boy slowly came over, placing a hesitant hand on my thigh. I just chuckled and pulled him in, kissing him passionately and hungrily. Within seconds he dropped the shy act, stripping all of his clothes off and pulling my underwear off. He got on his knees, placing my legs on his shoulder and dragging my hips towards the edge of the couch. “I’ve wanted this for so long sir! I just thought you would never want this, you seem so happy with Misses Smith!” I grinned from ear to ear, petting his hair. “Well, I put on a good act. Speaking of good, you better get to it. If you can eat my ass well enough I’ll let you skip the prep and start pounding right away!”

That was all he needed to hear. He leaned in and slid his tongue into my hole, starting to swirl and move it ravenously. He ate me like he was starving and needed this to survive. My new voice’s moans filled the room as I titled my head back, enjoying the sensations of my sorely neglected hole feeling a pleasurable touch for the first time. My cock stood rock hard at 11 inches, surprising me. “Good for you, old man…” I muttered under my breath, the boy too enveloped in fulfilling his fantasy to notice.

Soon I had gotten all I needed, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him up, making him lay over me. “Now give it to me, boy. No holding back!” He smiled from ear to ear, a dopey look in his eyes. “Yes sir! With pleasure!” I saw his cock fully hard now, standing at a girthy 10 inches. What was in the water here? He shoved himself in eagerly, earning a loud moan from me as he leaned down, starting to kiss over my neck and slide his hands all over my body.

As I enjoyed the pounding all I could think about was the fact that this son of a bitch would absolutely hate this if he could see what was happening. His body getting fucked by one of his son’s good friends, defiling his marriage right in the living room! And most of all, some dirty poor thief holding his life in his hands!

“Harder!” I commanded, enjoying the pounding immensely. The boy was already sweating and panting, practically a dog in heat as he pounded into me, defiling his friendship with my new son. Both of us were sinners, and both of us were getting lost in pleasure. Soon enough he found my prostate and earned a piercing cry of pleasure for me. Like a dog with a bone he continued to pound into it, determined to impress me with his performance.

We lasted for a half hour this way until I finally came without ever touching my new cock, all over my chest and even getting a few splashes on my face. He didn’t last much longer after that and tried to pull out, but I quickly moved my legs to his waist and forced him to stay inside, moaning in another wave of ecstasy as I felt him shoot a load into me. Once he was done cumming I released him and pushed him out of me, chuckling and panting. “Mm…good job boy, you’ve made his dad very happy. Now…don’t tell a soul about this, and get the fuck out of my house. Send me an Amazon link to whatever he wants and I’ll get it, money is not an object.” I smirked as I laid there, inside of Rick Smith, a loving house husband now painted in and dripping cum from a man half his age in the house he raised his children in.

The boy was shocked by the new side of his best friend’s father, but obliged and quickly got dressed, fumbling his way to the door. “W-will do sir! Thank you, I hope we can do that again!“ he said before rushing off, leaving me to lay in ecstasy.

“Ohhh…thank you for reporting me, Rick. I never knew using those vials could bring so much pleasure. I wonder what I’ll get into next with your body. Or should I say who…”

[bigboysfalldeep]

mass cop conversion

After a successful field test, Officers Bradley, Johnson, Miller, and Phillips were sitting inside their vehicle. It was a pretty exhausting day, doing multiple fitness tests, shooting exercises, and reviewing tactical guidelines.

They are on their way back to the station on a vacant road through the forest, a little outside of town. Bradley has been sitting in the passenger seat right next to his partner for 3 years, Johnson, who's sitting behind the steering wheel. The other two officers are sitting in the back, both of them browsing their phones. He exchanged a knowing look with his partner before shaking their heads and smiling.

As two senior officers, they had to teach the greener cops how to act, what to do, and what to say without causing too much trouble. It was working quite well, but at times, the rookies, especially Phillips, were a bit too enthusiastic.

After a long day at work, Bradley was barely able to keep his eyes open; luckily, he wasn't the one driving. Yet, as he rests his head against the seat behind him, he spots a little bright light shining through the woods.

"That's odd." He growled, drawing Johnson's attention.

"What?" His partner asked before turning his head as well.

Both of them watch the light shine brighter, illuminating more and more of the forest ground.

Now, even the rookies turned their heads, and all four men watched the light approach them, bewildered, before Johnson stopped the car.

"What are you doing?" Miller asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"It could be something worth investigating." Bradley said, looking at his partner.

But then, before any of the officers could react, the light widened even more, engulfing their entire vehicle in a bright, white light.

"What the fuck?" Bradley said, covering his eyes with the back of his hands, as all the others did the same.

Through his fingers, he was able to see a big, shadowy figure approach their car from the front, clearly the source of this bright light.

"Fuck this." Johnson grunted, hitting the horn of the car in frustration.

"Who is this motherfucker?" Phillips groaned, trying to get a better look at the source of light as well.

Shaking his head, Bradley reached for the door, but before he could open it, a weird feeling spread through him.

The air all around them grew thicker, so heavy that it got so much harder to breathe properly. A burning sensation spread across Bradley's skin and eyes; clearly, it wasn't some ordinary light.

"Fuck." Miller groaned as well, and Bradley turned his head to the other officer's. Just by their expression alone, he knew they were feeling the same thing.

With his hands shaking, he reached for the door again, but the pressure on his body just got way worse. Something was pushing him back—some invisible force causing their bodies to stay in place.

"We need....to get out." Bradley's body was pressed against the seat, and he couldn't move a muscle; instead, his body tensed more and more due to the pressure put upon it.

"I can't.." Johnson said breathlessly, obviously feeling the same. "What is this?" His face grimaced in pain, and his voice broke, ending in a silent moan.

Bradley turned his head to find his partner leaning back against the seat, breathing very quickly. Both of his hands are on his chest, clawing at his clothes. He could tell that he was barely able to breathe.

At this time, his breath quickened rapidly as well. As Bradley tried to regain his composure, he looked at the rookies through the rear view mirror, just to see them in a similar state. Phillips looked even worse, sweating and panting heavily while also clawing at his tight uniform. The temperature inside the car rose as well, causing their predicament to feel even worse.

Both rookies looked at him, seemingly asking for help, but there was nothing he could do.

"It's going to be fine." He growled, trying to make the rookies feel at ease, even though he didn't even know what was happening to them.

Bradley shook his head but was unable to avoid the light. His face flushed with color as his skin heated up even more.

Subconsciously, he started to tug at his clothes and his vest, and he somehow managed to remove his helmet, making it a little easier to breathe, just for a second. It dropped to the floor, but the pressure on his chest intensified again.

The light was shining ever so brightly right inside their eyes, but there was something else, something much more dangerous, inmidst those beams of light—another, invisible beam, a force echoing through the entire vehicle.

Just then, Bradley noticed some sort of sound—music or a speech—echoing through the entire car as well. He couldn't understand a word; he just felt a rhythm invading his mind.

"What is that?" He growled, still breathing so fast.

In response, Phillips let out a low moan, with his voice so rough.

The car was rocking slightly, something neither officer had experienced before.

Bradley closed his eyes, all of him focusing, trying so hard to get control, to move, to get out of this car, yet something was stopping him—something now crawling into his mind.

Images appeared—so many different, weird images: men on their knees, men made to serve, men made to obey.

It struck something deep inside him: the sound, the rhythm, that blinding light—all of it was putting so much pressure on his body and mind.

As waves of electricity pulsated through every fiber and every bone of his body, his muscles were the first to react.

Bradley's body grew hard; his muscles bulged against the fabric of his uniform, causing his vest to act as more of a restraint than actual protection.

Unaware, he was now stroking himself, running a hand across his chest firmly through his vest and uniform shirt while trying to calm himself down and steady his breaths.

"Fuck." He shook his head, opened his eyes, and looked through the rear-view mirror once more.

Shocked, he saw both rookies doing the same, but even more: Phillips and Miller were leaning back against the seats, stroking their own chests with both of their hands. Their faces were plagued by pain and pleasure, with their expressions shifting rapidly. 

Both officers let out low moans as their bodies slowly reacted to their strokes. Their bodies moved in sync with the strokes and sensual movements.

Bradley himself intensified his strokes, feeling all of his muscles tense more and more.

As much as it was terrifying, something deep inside him found this alluring, but that wasn't him. It was a thought planted in him by that invisible, indoctrinating force.

"What is happening?" He cried out before a low groan escaped his lips. Barely able to move, he turned his head to see Johnson already one step ahead.

His partner's face looked pain-ridden, looking right into the bright light. He was stroking himself firmly beneath his vest, feeling himself, and touching himself so lovingly.

Bradley didn't understand what was happening to them, but his body was oddly into it. He could tell his member was hard already. Either due to the sight of the other officers or the pressure put on his body, he couldn't tell.

Just then, when he turned his face back into the light, his head grew so heavy. It was burning his eyes and, at the same time, invading his mind.

Panting, he struggled to keep his eyes open while his mind was flooded with more images and more thoughts of simple obedience.

This time, however, he saw himself as the obedient one. He was down on his knees, right next to this man he only knew as "sir". 

He was wearing a similar uniform, but his hands were cuffed behind his back. It was tight—it hurt a little—but he didn't mind. The man touched him lovingly—his cheeks, neck, and down to his thick chest—and it felt so good.

At the same time, one of his hands ran down his chest, right to his thighs, and between his legs. Bradley was growing so hard and so fast, and a sudden warmth began to engulf his chest.

Like a flower, it bloomed inside his chest and spread rapidly. His whole upper body tingled, and his breathing got out of control. Bradley moaned in ecstacy, leaning his head back once more.

His eyes rolled back into his head, turning white, while the tingling sensation flowed through him—into his arms, hands, and even into his fingertips. They felt numb, yet he experienced so much pressure and pleasure—his clothes were restraining him, however.

He tried to tear his clothes apart as all of his muscles grew bigger and harder, straining the fabric of his now-tight uniform.

Bradley was struggling to keep a sane mind; it was surreal. He managed to steady his head, but his eyes were so heavy.

Unable to speak, more moans escaped his lips, and when his eyes fell on those two rookies again, he groaned.

The young officers were experiencing the exact same thing. Both of them were touching themselves firmly through their uniforms. Their dicks were tenting visibly, with Phillips already staining his clothes either with his sweat or his cum.

They moaned and thrusted a few times, experiencing pure pleasure. Their eyes too rolled back a few times as their rough and husky voices filled the air all around them.

This encouraged Bradley to touch himself through his pants as well. His cock was larger than ever before—it was pressing against his pants, visibly even through his underwear and uniform—and he felt all of him growing even harder by the second.

Bradley was sweating heavily now as the air all around him grew even thicker, filled with the moans and groans of the other officers. The smell was even worse; all men were sweaty already, yet this was different. As some were leaking, it's smell mixed with the other bodily fluids.

Bradley closed his eyes, trying his best to block these thoughts, smells, and noises, but all he saw were more images of him being a mere plaything.

The man was demanding more, so his body flexed hard. He did everything to please him. And the same command entered his mind over and over again.

"Obey."

Part of him wanted to obey, to give in, yet he had to push it back to regain control over himself again.

Fighting back, shaking his head, and trying to thrash around, Bradley turned to Johnson, who was looking at him as well. Both men were touching themselves and their cocks firmly, but they tried hard to stay focused.

Johnson was looking for help—a release—but neither of them could move even an inch. They were struggling so hard but failed. Whatever was happening shouldn't be happening, was all they could think.

But the now-comforting warmth kept spreading into every corner of their bodies, making it so much harder to not just give in. Their minds were invaded once again—even more images of simple, blissful obedience.

Bradley steadied himself against the seat, one hand firmly grabbing his own cock, the other on his chest, stroking himself lovingly.

The warmth entered his thighs and legs and flowed into his toes, causing the numbing, tingling sensation to become more intense. His body moved on its own, spreading his legs to make more space for his large member and his hands running along its ever-growing shaft.

For one last time, he looked into the rear-view mirror.

In horror, he saw both officers giving in to this phenomenal feeling; Phillips and Miller were touching each other, stroking each other's chests firmly. Their gazes were empty, just looking straight ahead, while their expressions kept shifting—pain and pleasure—again and again.

He watched their hands encompass each other's bodies: chests, thighs, necks, biceps, and pecs. All while they growled, moaned, and groaned in unison.

Holding back a painful moan, he suddenly felt a hand on his chest—his partner's hand. Johnson started to stroke him gently.

"What are you?" Bradley turned his face to look at the other officer, who was looking into the bright light, his face red yet unbothered.

He tried to fight back, but something deep inside him was enjoying this. "Don't," he begged, but Johnson didn't reply; however, he moaned instead, still looking right into the light.

This sparked something inside Bradley's chest: the urge to be touched and be fondled with by another man. He saw the images again—how good it felt to be touched like that, to be obedient.

"Fuuck." He moaned deeply, loving the firm hand touching him, stroking him, and playing with his nipples through the thin fabric of his uniform.

Instinctively, he reached out as well, and once his fingertips touched Johnson's chest, his dick grew even harder.

He never thought of touching a man like that before, especially his partner or any other officer, but it just felt so good.

Bradley loved how this man's body reacted to the simplest touch—how hard his muscles and tight his clothes were.

He turned his face into the light and acted simply on command.

Both officers were touching each other, feeling each other, and enjoying each other's bodies.

It felt like the tingling sensation was following their every move as their bodies shifted slightly.

The officers eyes were unfocused; now vacant, all of them stared into the light when a single thought flooded their minds.

"Obey. Cum and obey. Cum and obey."

Simultaneously, the four men reached down for each other's rock-hard cocks, stroking them through their pants at first.

Sweating, they started to drool heavily as more and more moans escaped their lips.

One by one, they struggled to unbutton their uniform pants, but after a few failed attempts, they succeeded.

As Johnson pulled out Bradley's wet, hard cock, he instantly started to play with it. All the others did the same, wrapping their hands around each other's dicks and moving their hands up and down their lengths.

It just felt so good to be touched like that, causing them to let out satisfied groans.

Bradley bit his lower lip, holding back, yet his low guttural growl echoed through the car, followed by similar noises from the others.

While their cocks were being fondled with, they stroked their own chests again, and the tingling feeling entered their necks and minds.

All of them grew weaker, yet their strokes became firmer.

Their hands moved to an unseen and unheard rhythm, and all four cops were edging already.

It wouldn't take long for them to fulfill their duty.

"Serve. Cum and obey."

Miller's cock was the first to give in to the pressure. He shot load after load, covering not only Phillip's hands but their clothes with his precious, hot cum.

His moans filled the air, followed by Johnson, then Phillips. All of them were cumming simultaneously, and the smell of cum and sweat was undeniable.

With one final stroke, Bradley gave in to that tingling as well. As his cock erupted, his mind was drained of everything.

He couldn't think or speak; he just moaned again and again.

Bradley's beautiful eyes were vacant, unfocused, and dull, just like the others'.

With every load and every ounce of cum leaving their bodies, more and more of their will, their resilience, and their minds were drained. Replaced with only one thought.

Obedience.

They sat there for what felt like hours, but it was mere minutes.

The light turned off, and several shadowy figures approached the vehicle. They watched through the windows and found four cops—mere empty husks, empty and ready for further programming.

Their clothes were stained with sweat, cum, as they kept drooling as well.

The doors opened, and a young man, seemingly enjoying this sight very much, smirked.

"The first stage is complete." He said that and reached for Officer Bradley's chest, touching him and stroking him firmly, but the cop didn't react.

"Good boys." The man patted his chest and looked at four other men doing the same.

"Take them for further experiments." The man took a step back.

"Yes, sir." 

He watched four bulky men dressed in black leather pull those four cops out of the car—a sight to behold.

Their dicks were hanging out of their pants; all of them were covered in sweat and cum—a debilitating smell. Their eyes were empty, and even though they were thick, muscular men, they didn't fight back.

The officers were carried toward the other vehicle and out into the back.

With one last smile, the young man looked at them before closing the back doors.

[helloblobbyblobfish]

Prom king 1

You aren't sure about what your dad said when he saw you unhappy about not having a date for prom.

Really? The secret of his lady-killer's way is that he stole a magic necklace that makes everyone you want helplessly in love and submissive to you? You still took it. It looks pretty.

You suddenly notice your hot teacher, Mr. Holmes. It would be so hot if he fell in love with you… Not that you would admit it. And he has a killer outfit tonight.

Suddenly, he gets a faraway look in his eyes and shambles towards you like a zombie. As you worry about him losing his emotions, his steps become more assured and he starts tidying his look. You look around. You're the only ones here. Is he showing off for you?

Suddenly, he stops a foot away from you and starts flexing. No way. You think about him doing a stripe-tease and he sensually moves his body and throws his denim jacket at you.

You stop thinking. You want him now!

He jumps on your mouth and you suck the air out of each other's throat like there is no tomorrow.

Oh yeah! Oh oh oh, you're going to go to the prom with a sexy date, alright! Bet you're going to steal all the boy's attention and make so many girls jealous!

[unseenbenefactor]

Assimilation

I love human males so much. They’re the easiest thing to capture and the sensations that they give off during the process is exquisite. You see my species is a parasitic one in nature that evolves by assimilating organic material into our formless bodies. We’re gelatinous in nature, easily camouflaging ourselves to mimic small bodies of water. Our touch can paralyze our prey, and numb them via hormones we inject into them. 

This jogger found out about the that the hard way. He was doing what I assume is his daily jogging routine, when he stepped into my idle form. The impact of the movement, caused my body to splash onto him. This little bit of contact was enough to freeze him into place. I am young, so I believe I have only been alive for a few days, slowly searching for food and look at my first course. I slowly enveloped his legs, working my way up. I was still translucent so he looked liked he froze in place, covered in sweat. The first hole I discovered was on a limb that was elongated, between his legs. I began to enter it. As I entered his body, I could feel his shudder, and his breathing patterns change. I began to spread throughout him, slowly, his body expanding slightly as I expanded into him. When I reached his brain, I began to experience his memories. At this point I realized that I was assimilating him into me. With my new eyes, I looked around, with my ears I heard things, I could smell the sweat on my body. Everything was so different that it was exhilarating, intoxicating. I wanted more. Thankfully this guy had a friend nearby, and I am positively famished.

I jogged over to my next prey’s house, the jog was phenomenal, legs are amazing. From my new memories I grabbed the spare house key and let myself in. Once inside, I listened for any movement inside. I could hear someone moving upstairs, so I silently went up to investigate. Looking through a slightly opened door, I saw the younger brother of my intended prey. 

Look at him, flexing in that speedo, taking pictures. With him being so engrossed in that, I crept up on him. He didn’t notice my approach, he was too focused on his phone. That proved to be his greatest mistake. I grabbed him from behind, and I forcibly locked our lips together. He attempted to struggle, but my saliva had taken on the paralysis toxin that my original form had, so he froze up. I smiled, and I traced the outline of his ear. I slowly traced his pecs and abs, working down his torso. When my hand found the waistline of his speedo, I tilted my head and my smile grew wicked as I tore it off him. I dropped my shorts, and threw off my shoes and socks. Both of us standing naked together, and I could see the fear, as well as pleasure, well up in his eyes as I moved behind him. I pressed my chest against his back and ran my arms across his. I inserted my dick into his and began to gyrate. I could feel his heart rate increase as I sped up.I could feel it become harder to separate myself from his body as we were slowing fusing together. A few minutes later, there was no longer two individuals in the room, but just me. I loved that my strength had increased, I grabbed some compression pants from a drawer and grabbed my phone from my discarded shorts to take a selfie.

I smiled, I had become stronger, more fed than before, but I am still starving. Then I heard door open, and a grunt as someone threw a heavy bag.

“Yo bro, bring shit down here so I can start the wash!” called up a new voice, the older brother of my recent prey had shown up. 

I could only smile, my intended prey had finally arrived. I grabbed some clothes lying around, as well as the other phone and went downstairs. I saw that my “brother” had removed his shirt and was taking pictures of himself in the mirror. 

He was a skater, and not as strong as his bodybuilder of a younger brother, but I wanted him regardless. He didn’t notice anything different about me as I approached. I had assimilated his brother, but he was just as oblivious to me as he was. I dropped the clothes I was holding and grabbed his arms. I caused him to drop his phone, and the confused look he had on his face was the last expression he have. I kissed him and he froze in place. Not wanting to waste any time, I tore off his shorts, knocked off his hat, and stripped myself as well. I pulled him over the washing machine, and repeated the same process I had just got done doing to his brother. Since I had assimilated his brother already, he was quicker to assimilate. The DNA similarities allowed for a rather disappointing finish and process, for it was just too quick. 

I collected his phone and went upstairs to the boys’s shared bathroom. I grabbed some clean underwear and shorts and put them on. As I stared at my new reflection looking at  how my form now showed traits from all three of my victims, I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. I admired how my muscles flexed in response to my subtle movements.

Then the older brother’s phone buzzed. I looked at the new message.

“Bro, you comin to the pool? Bring my shorts too"

I smiled and looked down. I was currently wearing the shorts in question and after sifting through the memories, I knew who I was dealing with. I wasn’t nearly as hungry as earlier, but I wanted to spoil myself. I sent a reply and grabbed the older brothers skateboard, the three phones, and left to meet my dessert.

To be continue?