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the-daily-body · 3 days ago

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(Wet) Dream Come True (Frank's POV) Part 2

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

The bar seemed to fade into the background as his words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. My mind raced, torn between disbelief and a growing, undeniable attraction. This was Max—or Frank, as he now insisted—but it was also me. Or at least, it used to be. The lines were so blurred I couldn’t even begin to untangle them. And yet, here I was, my pulse quickening under his touch, my body betraying me in ways I hadn’t expected.

“You’re serious,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back slightly, his smirk never wavering, but his hand stayed firmly on my thigh. “Dead serious,” he replied, his tone dripping with confidence.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “This is… insane,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. But even as I said it, I couldn’t deny the heat pooling in my stomach, the way my body was responding to his proximity. It was like some twisted version of self-love, and I hated how much I was into it.

Frank chuckled, low and deep, and finally released his grip on my thigh. “Relax,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m not gonna jump you in the middle of a dive bar. But if you’re interested…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh it off, to pretend this was all some bizarre joke. But another part—a louder, more insistent part—was already imagining what it would be like to give in. To let him take control, to feel what it was like to be with someone who knew my body better than I did. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

We stayed at the bar for another hour, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. Frank told me more about his life, his work, and the online persona he’d built. He was surprisingly open, and I found myself genuinely enjoying his company. There was a charisma to him, a magnetic confidence that made it impossible not to be drawn in. And the more we talked, the more I realized how much he’d changed. This wasn’t the awkward, unsure Max I’d left behind five years ago. This was someone entirely new—someone who had taken my old life and made it his own in ways I never could have imagined.

By the time we left the bar, the tension between us was palpable. We walked side by side down the dimly lit street, the silence heavy with unspoken words. I could feel his eyes on me, and every time I glanced his way, I caught that same knowing smirk. It was maddening, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.

When we reached his apartment building, he stopped and turned to me. “You coming up?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes intense.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it—the moment of no return. If I said yes, there was no going back. If I said no… well, I wasn’t sure I could.

“I…” I started, but the words caught in my throat.

Frank stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Look,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I get it. This is weird. Hell, it’s probably the weirdest thing either of us has ever done. But life’s too short to overthink everything, don’t you think?”

I stared at him, my mind racing. He was right—this was insane, ridiculous, completely absurd. And yet… it also felt inevitable, like we’d been heading toward this moment from the second I walked out that door five years ago.

“Okay,” I finally said, my voice barely audible. “I’ll come up.”

His smirk widened, and he reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “Good choice.”

The elevator ride up to his apartment was agonizingly slow. I could feel the heat radiating off him, his body so close to mine that it was impossible not to be hyper-aware of every movement. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and my palms were slick with sweat. I kept telling myself this was a mistake, that I should turn around and leave before things went too far. But every time I glanced at him, that same magnetic pull drew me back in.

When we finally reached his apartment, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for me. I followed him in, my nerves on edge as I took in the space. It was surprisingly tidy, with a minimalist aesthetic that felt both familiar and foreign. There were a few personal touches—a framed photo of him at the gym, a shelf filled with books on fitness and mechanics—but otherwise, it was clean and uncluttered.

Frank closed the door behind us and turned to face me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, we just stood there, the air between us crackling with tension. Then, without a word, he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t be.”

I swallowed hard, my breath hitching as his thumb brushed against my skin. “This is… a lot,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “I know. But you don’t have to overthink it. Just… let go.”

And then, before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was slow at first, tentative, as if he was giving me the chance to pull away. But I didn’t. Instead, I found myself leaning into him, my hands gripping his shoulders as the kiss deepened. His lips were warm and insistent, and the taste of him was intoxicating. It was like kissing a stranger and an old friend all at once, and the contradiction only made it more thrilling.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, my head spinning. Frank’s smirk was back, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“See?” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Not so bad, right?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded, my heart still racing. He chuckled and took my hand, leading me further into the apartment.

“Come on,” he said, his tone light but his grip firm.

The tension between us was electric as Frank led me to his bedroom, his grip on my hand firm but not unkind. My heart was pounding, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward him. When we reached the bed, he turned to face me, his smirk widening as he took in my nervous expression. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I’ll take care of you.”

Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us, his hands sliding up my chest to push my shirt off my shoulders. I shivered as the cool air hit my skin, but his touch was warm, grounding. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “You’re gonna love this.”

I didn’t have time to process his words before he was kissing me again, his hands roaming over my body with a practiced ease that left me breathless. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to make me melt under his fingers, and it was both thrilling and unnerving. This was my body, after all—or at least, it used to be—and yet he seemed to know it better than I ever had.

When he finally pulled away, I was panting, my head spinning. He stepped back, his eyes dark with desire as he began to undress, his movements slow and deliberate. I couldn’t look away as he revealed himself, his body a masterpiece of muscle and power. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, his cock already hard and straining against his stomach.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his tone cocky but his eyes soft.

I nodded, unable to form words. He chuckled and closed the distance between us, his hands sliding down to my waist to undo my pants. I stepped out of them clumsily, my legs trembling as he pushed me back onto the bed.

“Good,” he said, his smirk returning as he climbed over me. “Now let’s see how much you can take.”

Frank’s hands were firm on my hips, his body pressed against mine as he guided himself into position. I could feel the heat of him, the hardness of his cock against my ass, and my breath hitched as he began to move.

He rubbed himself against me, back and forth, the friction sending shivers up my spine. His movements were slow, deliberate, teasing. I could feel the pressure building, the anticipation making my heart race. His hands tightened on my hips, and I could hear the faintest hitch in his breath as he pressed closer.

“Frank,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”

He paused, his body stilling for a moment. Then, in a voice that was low and reassuring, he said, “Okay. Just the tip, then. Just to see how it feels.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. He shifted slightly, and I felt the blunt pressure of him against me. My body tensed, but he was patient, his hands gentle as he guided himself in. Just the tip, just enough to make me gasp at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Just the tip,” I repeated, more to myself than to him. “Right?”

“Right,” he murmured, his voice smooth and calm. “Just the tip.”

But then he moved, a slow, deliberate thrust that pushed him deeper than I expected. I stiffened, my hands gripping the sheets beneath me. “Frank—” I started, but he cut me off with a soft shush.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you.”

I wanted to protest, to tell him to stop, but the words caught in my throat. His hands were warm on my hips, his body solid and unyielding behind me. He moved again, another slow thrust that sent a jolt of sensation through me. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was overwhelming, the stretch and the pressure unlike anything I’d felt before.

“Frank,” I said again, my voice shaky. “You said just the tip.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone calm but firm. “But you feel so good. Just a little more, okay?”

I didn’t answer, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop, to pull away and put an end to this. But another part—a deeper, more primal part—was curious, eager to see where this would lead. My body was betraying me, responding to his touch in ways I couldn’t control.

He thrust again, deeper this time, and I gasped, my fingers clutching the sheets tighter. He was inside me now, fully, and the sensation was overwhelming. I could feel every inch of him, the heat and the weight of him filling me in a way that was both foreign and intoxicating.

“Frank,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You lied.”

He chuckled, low and dark, his hands tightening on my hips. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But you’re doing so well. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

He moved again, a slow, deliberate thrust that sent a wave of pleasure through me. My breath hitched, and I felt myself opening up to him, my body adjusting to his size.

He leaned over me, his chest pressing against my back as he whispered in my ear. “You feel amazing,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “So tight, so perfect. Let me make you feel good.”

“Frank,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I—”

But he cut me off with another thrust, deeper this time, and I moaned, the sound escaping before I could stop it. He chuckled, low and dark, and I could feel the smirk on his lips as he pressed them to my neck.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And then, without warning, he began to move, his hips driving forward with a hunger that took my breath away. His cock slid in and out of me with a rhythm that was both relentless and greedy, each thrust deeper than the last. I could feel the intensity of his focus, the way he was lost in his own pleasure, and yet his hands never stopped moving.

With one arm, he pinned my wrist above my head, his grip firm but not painful. The other hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. It was clear, though, that his focus was on his own pleasure. His movements were selfish, almost frantic, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. The sound of his breathing—heavy and ragged—filled the room, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of our bodies moving together.

I tried to hold on, to keep some semblance of control, but it was impossible. The way he touched me, the way he moved inside me, it was too much. My body responded on its own, arching into his touch, my moans escaping in broken gasps. He was relentless, driving into me with a pace that left no room for thought, only sensation.

When I came, it was sudden and intense, my body shuddering as I spilled into his hand. He didn’t stop, though. If anything, he seemed to grow even more focused, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. I was still trembling from my own climax when he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He tasted me, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he licked my cum from his fingers.

“It tastes better than I remember, kid,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Glad to see you’re taking better care of that body than I did.”

The words sent a strange shiver through me, a mix of pride and something else I couldn’t quite name. Before I could respond, he groaned, his body tensing as he finally reached his own climax. He buried himself deep inside me, his release hot and overwhelming. I could feel every pulse, every shudder of his body as he came, his hands roaming over my skin as if memorizing every inch of me.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he stayed close, his breath warm against my neck as he slowly softened inside me. His hands continued to move over my body, gentle now, almost soothing. He ran his fingers along my sides, up my chest, down my arms, as if trying to calm me, to ground me after the storm.

Eventually, he pulled out, but he didn’t go far. He shifted beside me, pulling me into his arms and holding me close. His body was so much larger than mine, his muscles solid and unyielding, his chest broad and warm. I could feel the roughness of his body hair against my skin, the scratch of his beard as he nuzzled into my neck. It was strange, how safe I felt in that moment, wrapped in his strength, surrounded by his presence.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft now, almost tender. “You’re okay.”

I didn’t argue. My body felt heavy, my mind blissfully empty. The tension that had been coiled inside me for so long was gone, replaced by a deep, almost overwhelming sense of calm. I let myself sink into him, my eyes drifting shut as his hands continued to move over me, slow and steady.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but it was the deepest, most restful sleep I’d had in years.

---

When I woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows, I was alone in the bed. For a moment, I wondered if it had all been a dream, but the ache in my body told me otherwise. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and that’s when I heard him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Frank called from the kitchen, his voice cheerful. “Coffee?”

I blinked, still trying to process everything that had happened, and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

I grabbed my clothes from the floor and dressed quickly before joining him in the kitchen. He was shirtless, his muscles on full display as he poured two cups of coffee. He handed one to me with a smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“So,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee, “last night was… something.”

He chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, it was. You’re not bad, kid.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. “Look, Frank… if you ever want to swap back, just say the word. I mean, I know this wasn’t exactly… planned.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Swap back? What are you talking about? We just met last night, remember?” His tone was serious but also playful. A glint in his eye told me he knew exactly what I was talking about.

He laughed, flexing his biceps as he took a sip of his coffee. “Besides, why would I ever want to give this up? I mean, look at me.” He gestured to his body, his confidence radiating off him.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, you’re one hot dude.”

He set his coffee down and stepped closer, his expression softening. “But seriously… you’re cute. I like you. And I’m here in San Diego for the long haul. So we should do this again… maybe even go on a date sometime.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest, and I nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He grinned, his cocky smirk returning. “Good.”

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the-daily-body · 3 days ago

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Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?”

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.”

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-”

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.”

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater.

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle.

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair.

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts.

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

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the-daily-body · 3 days ago

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Exchange Student: Brooklyn (NY)

Chuck was a simple country boy. He had graduated top of his class in agricultural mechanics—of course, he had. Giving your best was just the way things were. That’s what his parents had expected of him. And now, that’s what he expected of himself. He was giving his best. And now he had to give his best at the New York City College of Technology. Because he had a scholarship there.

His hometown had 684 people. More people lived on the block where his dorm was. Shit. He wasn’t built for the big city. Not at all.

His dorm room looked like the room of a guy who had never had to clean up after himself. Back home, his mom did the laundry. His mom cleaned. His mom picked up after him. And when she didn’t, his sister did. It wasn’t about patriarchy or anything (not that Chuck even knew that word)—that’s just how things were. Men didn’t clean, just like men took cold showers without body wash.

Chuck picked up a tank top from the floor and sniffed it. He’d worn it to the gym yesterday. Probably not for the first time. Good enough for today’s lectures.

By Friday, even his gym buddies had started complaining about how bad his clothes smelled. That meant there was no way around it—he had to do laundry. Somewhere between his dorm and Washington Hall Park, where he sometimes played ball with some guys, there was a laundromat on Myrtle Avenue that looked decent enough. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.

So, he threw on the least smelly basketball jersey he could find, grabbed his gym bag stuffed with dirty laundry, and headed out. He stopped in front of the laundromat, took a deep breath. He was nervous. Rightfully so. The place was packed. Dozens of washers and dryers spinning. He had no idea what to do. And apparently, it showed.

“First time?” A guy asked him. Slim, buzz cut, tattoos, colorful outfit. Chuck knew guys like him. Art school types from across the street. Normally, Chuck would at best spit at their feet. But now? He needed help. And this guy seemed willing to give it.

“Dude, you’re a lifesaver, bro!” Chuck said, giving the guy a fist bump. The guy returned it, amused, and told him his machine would be done soon—Chuck could take it after.

Martin, as he introduced himself, walked Chuck through everything—how to separate his mess of gray-beige towels, bedsheets, socks, jockstraps, tank tops, tees, shorts, and jeans, where to get detergent, how to use the dryer afterward, and so on. Chuck’s head was spinning.

“Relax, big guy, it’s all on the wall,” Martin said, pointing to a board covered in instructions.

Damn. Maybe it would’ve been easier to just drive home and have his mom do it.

Once his machine was running, he thanked Martin, who was neatly folding his own laundry fresh from the dryer. Chuck had to get out of here. He needed to sweat, to prove he was a bro—not some laundry-doing wimp. According to Martin, he had 90 minutes.

When he got back, sweaty from shooting hoops, his washer was already beeping like crazy. He stuffed everything into a big dryer and let out a sigh of relief when the drum started spinning. Drying only took 25 minutes—just enough time to grab something quick to eat at the Chinese spot next door.

Back in his dorm, Chuck realized laundry wasn’t over yet. He had to make his bed, shove his clothes into his locker… Damn, getting the duvet cover on was torture. Definitely women’s work. Even the pillowcase was fighting back. Maybe because Martin’s tie-dye shirt was stuck inside. Not that Chuck noticed.

He didn’t care how the bed looked. He was wiped. He crashed onto the fresh sheets and was out almost instantly. And Martin’s shirt did its thing.

That night, Chuck dreamed in wild colors. If you could paint his dreams, they’d look like some psychedelic trip. He saw places he’d never been—Paris, Berlin, San Francisco—everything spinning in a massive vortex.

He woke up drenched in sweat. Half-asleep, he reached for his sketchbook. He had to capture this. He had to paint it tomorrow—big, bold, powerful. He stumbled into the bathroom, chugged a glass of water, and caught his reflection in the mirror.

Shit. He looked awful. He needed more sleep.

If you wanted to piss him off, you called him “Chuck.” There was nothing Charles hated more than hillbillies butchering the beautiful name Charles. He was Charles—pronounced the French way, please. Yeah, maybe that was a bit ridiculous for a guy born and raised in Chicago, but ever since his semester abroad in Paris, he stuck with it.

According to his professors, Charles was an insanely talented young man. He had proved his artistic skill on his own body—most of his tattoos were his own work. A bunch of his classmates were walking around with his ink, too. That alone had made him a bit of a legend at Pratt Institute. But what really stirred things up was his latest series of large-scale, vibrant paintings—whirlpools of color with subtle critiques of toxic masculinity, as he put it.

Not that Charles had much of that in him. Unless you saw him playing basketball in the little park around the corner. There, he took no prisoners.

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the-daily-body · 3 days ago

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Surfin' The Years Away

Wade reluctantly follows his boyfriend into a new thrift shop. After trying on some old surf shorts he is blasted into the past. With each passing moment and stray thought he's body and mind molded into the King of this mid-century beach.

What better time for a surfer TF than Winter huh? In season for any Aussie/Southern Hemisphere readers I might have haha! At any rate, Hope you enjoy this little time travel TF, got a cowboy TF coming next ;) Best ! -Occam

Wade and Dylan don’t know how they’ve somehow overlooked the vintage shop on Main Street until now. Wade’s more than happy to make a note of it and come back later, quite eager to get out of the cold. But when Dylan pulls on his sleeve and begs they check it out, “We’ll just be in and out babe-” the driver acquiesces with a grumble and turns into the small parking lot.

Before the engine’s off, Dylan hops out of the small car and sprints inside in search of some theoretical hidden gem. Wade sees his sigh in the icy air before he knew he released it. Longing for the end of the winter he trudges carefully along the icy sidewalk behind his happy-go-lucky boyfriend.

The woman at the counter pages through some old magazine of vintage clothing while Dylan raids the racks. Wade eyes the cluttered store as he fights back a sneeze from the dusty shelves. Quite the eclectic shop, certainly not a store with a specific market in mind. What can only be leather fetish gear hangs on the walls next to some army surplus gear and in between are rack after rack of pastel skirts and oversized vintage suits.

He hears his boyfriend squeak in excitement as he pulls two things off their coat hangers. “Wade! Look~ Bell Bottoms!” He holds a pair of something more akin to boho pants up to his waist and poses, “Aren’t they just 60’s chic babe?” Queen that he is, Wade opens his mouth to question or debate when exactly they became vogue, but before he has a chance there’s a glimmer in Dylan’s eyes as he pulls out a piece for Wade to judge.

“And I found these for you babe!” Stretching the string waistband with a wink, Dylan produces a pair of surf shorts that are surely a few sizes too large for Wade, who remains ready to leave. Responding to a complaint not yet uttered Dylan raises a finger to silence him and continues, “C’mon just try ‘em on Wadey! You can tighten them all the way up, this way if you keep up on your gym plans they’ll be perfect for your beach bod!”

Wade grumbles and reaches out to grab the shorts. Though he’s loath to admit it, he’s surprised at how right they feel now that they’re in his hands. Pursing his lips he doesn’t acknowledge the strange sensation. Wade shakes his head in shock as after a moment holding them, he’s filled with an urge to strip then and there to throw them on. Blushing at the strange thought he keeps silent and allows himself be dragged towards the two shabby dressing rooms in the back of the store.

Dylan, holding his bell bottoms and a vest Wade didn’t see him pick up, does a little pose before dipping into the changing room on the left. Ready to be done and slightly on edge from his intrusive thought, Wade enters the curtained space opposite. Like any other of the millions of dressing rooms throughout the country there’s a mirror, a small mounted bench, and spot to hang up your clothes. What is less expected is the bizarre silence that overtakes him as he steps past the curtain, as if he were in a recording booth.

Holding his shorts he forcefully assumes it’s just his ears popping and he’ll be right as rain any moment now. It’s anyone’s guess as to why the sound of Dylan’s humming as he changes into his little outfit is totally muted by two hanging sheets of fabric. As far as Wade is concerned his boyfriend has simply decided to go quiet, willfully ignoring how out of character that is for a man as uncomfortable with silence as Dylan is. Faced with this strange supernatural quiet Wade feels himself begin to understand the discomfort.

The man’s two feet away, Wade should hear the shuffling of clothing if nothing else. Hackles officially raised, Wade starts to investigate, though before his hands can reach the curtain he’s struck with a migraine and thought that’s not his own blaring in his head, It is of no concern, I should change into the surf shorts. Lip quivering the shorts are already in his hands as he turns back to the mirror.

His reflection flickers as his pants fall to the ground, goosebumps soaring up his legs from the shock of losing their cozy covering. Unwilling to acknowledge whatever horror must lie in the mirror he forces his eyes shut as his body moves of its own accord to pull the baggy shorts on. When he feels them cinched and tied on his thin waist he opens his eyes, holding fast to the idea that everything is fine, must be fine.

In the mirror he finds his reflection as it always is, tacky swim shorts notwithstanding. He looks exactly as he should. Wade sighs in relief before he notices that he’s not out of the impossible jungle yet. What is different is the room in which he finds himself, the curtain now striped, a harsh bulb hangs above him, the small bench replaced by a damaged wooden stool.

Taking time to rationalize how he’s gotten these details mixed up, as is the only explanation, he sees a shimmer in the bottom of the mirror. Looking closely he sees a spark slowly panning up. When it reaches his feet he sees them slowly begin to darken, tanned by a sun they’ve rarely seen before they begin to bulge and lengthen. Seeing feet more akin to swim fins than what he knows he has he yelps and jumps away, getting tangled in the rough curtain before spilling into the vintage store’s hallway.

Dumbfounded, Wade scrambles to the floor and sees the vintage store is no more. In its place is what appears to be a cabana. Large windows show a bright beachside summer day, a far cry from the frigid world he knew it should be. Before he can pinch himself awake he flinches as some surfer bro gestures to his shorts and shouts, “Eyy Wade! Lookin’ killer brah!”

Refusing to engage with the world he’s found himself in, Wade beelines to the tall, tanned, muscular man who addressed him by name and asks as his eyes start to tear up, “D- Dylan?” The surfer’s eyes focus in and his mouth closes into a look of shock before dropping into a slack jawed, “Whuh?” and settling on a smile as he laughs and ruffles Wade’s hair, “‘S Ray dude, you know that ahahah!”

Ray? Wade rubs his eyes as he tries to remember if he knows a Ray, though really he doesn’t think he knows any surfers. Ray. With each searching thought comes a creeping sensation. The name feels right? It feels more at home, more familiar in his head, as if he’s thought of the man thousands of times. Ray. Yeah, he knows Ray, how could he not. Looking at the man standing opposite him, blushing at the tan pecs at his eye level he is struck with countless memories of watching him on the waves. Cheering on his, brah? No that can’t be-

“Should take your shirt off too Wade, show off for the ladies eh?” Ray flexes and Wade narrows his eyes, okay well that’s enough of this dude. He then slaps his forehead, what’s he thinking he just needs to call Dylan, obviously. He quickly runs back to the changed-changing room and arrives just in time to find his pants shifting into vintage shorts, quite like the pair he now wears. Swallowing his fear he reaches into the pocket for his phone, though the only thing he produces is a beaten up wallet and his car keys, now missing their fob.

Putting forth great effort to steady his breathing he checks the wallet to find a similarly damaged driver’s license unlike any he’s ever seen. Gone is the plasticine card he’s carried for years, replaced by some water stained, taped together laminated bit of paper with a signature sloppier than he’d ever use scrawled under his name. His eyes refuse to look at the date of birth as he opts to sprint back and confront Ray.

His feet pound hard on the few steps back to the cabana’s lobby, heavier than they had any right to. With each careening step they widen and lengthen racing to match the wretched paddles he saw in his reflection. Their soles roughening from what must be years of walking along dingy beachside sidewalks, perfect for sticking to a waxed board. “Okay dude, Ray, whatever your name is I’d like my phone back. I don’t think this stupid little prank is funny.”

Ray pauses mouth hanging open, its default state apparently, as he processes whatever it is that Wade must be whining about. He tilts his head and smirks a stupid smile at the clerk that Wade only just noticed, “Hear that Mabes? Wader over here thinks you had a phone in the changing room! Hah!”

She rolls her eyes before turning to address the clearly apoplectic newcomer, “Wade I don’t know what your deal is today-” she pauses to look him up and down and groans, “God! How many times do I have to tell you guys, if you’re going to come in at least throw on shoes. No one wants to see your disgusting little feet.”

Ray performs indignance at this, throwing a heavy arm around Wade’s shoulder, though he shoots higher than he should as if he were expecting his bro to be taller than he is, “Now Mabe, babe. You won’t get me defindin’ the cleanliness of my brah here, but little! I’ll have you know he’s got the best board huggers this side of San Fran!” Wade narrows his eyes in confusion as whatever is going on is clearly beyond and beneath him. Though as Ray finishes speaking, the smaller man grunts as his feet cramp.

Looking down, Wade discovers that, alongside the world around him, he too has begun to change. His feet have clearly already grown, Dylan always poked fun at his small shoe size, but now they have grown beyond measure. Wade recoils in shock as they balloon once more, toes stretching further as his soles bulge wider.

They seem so large that he wonders where he’ll be able to even get shoes that big. Eyes flickering back and forth he figures he’ll just have to order them on Ama- uh? Wade’s eyes glaze over briefly as he loses his train of thought. His head pangs with pain as the idea of online shopping starts to fade. Surely they have catalogues for extra-large shoes or something, he’ll check with Ray later, yeah. Ray’ll know.

Speaking of, Ray and Mabel have continued arguing. Wade is unaware that as he was lost in his own mind, his new surfer bro has continued to defend him, and with each complimentary phrase Wade has begun to inch taller in height. Speaking of waves conquered and tubes bodied, Wade catches the tail end of one particularly exaggerated story as his mind begins to fill in the details. Back stretching and calves slowly bulking as he clearly recalls bailing from his board. He grunts again as he surges taller, thighs slowly bulking up as his new height exposes a pale midriff, attracting eyes from both of the spatting pair.

Finding he has their attention he clears his throat and begs, “Look, I don’t care about any of this-” Ray recoils in shock, “Can I borrow either of your cellphones so I can call my boyfriend?” Their eyes widen at the brazen use of boyfriend though the friends are well aware of Wade’s proclivities, what actually causes the strange stares is his asking for a cell phone. “Brah, did you hit your head or what? You know the cabana don’t have a phone.”

Wade shakes his head, he doesn’t know that he doesn’t care, “Sure! Whatever!” he reaches out, “Can I borrow your cell phone.” Mabel and Ray eye each other once more before breaking out into laughter, “Shell phone? What are you on about dude?” Wade stares back with absolute shock and derision before his vision goes spotty and his head burns with a rolling headache. His hippocampus physically pulses as his mind and memories are rewritten.

A cell phone is foolish? A dream. A phone you could just up and carry anywhere? Science fiction. And yet he can almost picture a small black mirror in his hand. Embarrassed from their laughter and determined to not let this fact of reality be erased he continues to stare at his hand as if he’s trying to will one into existence. Unfortunately the only change that he notices is his skin bulging as his hand flexes larger, a few scars blanch from years on the beach as his hands struggle to keep up with his advancing height. One could almost hear his bones cracking as his fingers lengthen and grow calloused while his fingernails lose their polish, grow dirty, and shorten

He pounds the cabana counter and Mabel clicks her tongue, “Okay let’s cool it buddy, you wanna make a call Ray’ll take ya down the street.” She motions to the door with her head and Ray escorts him out, “Come back when you’ve worked out whatever this is on the waves huh Wade?” she pouts as she watches the pair go, taking care to stare at Ray’s defined back with a smile, then she snickers and whispers to herself as she gets back to her magazine, “been watching too much Star Trek I bet.”

Ray’s chipper as ever as he leads Wade out of the cabana, unknowingly more comfortable now that his arm rests closer to where it should after Wade sprouted a few inches. For his part, Wade finds himself distracted by the wild blue sea. Waves rise and crash into foam and he’d swear he could feel the bubbles, the surge on his skin. Like a dog staring at a treat he fights desperately with the urge to sprint across the sand to enjoy it right now.

In fact, his thicker feet begin their plodding to a surf wagon nearby with a couple boards stowed before he’s stopped by a question from Ray, “You wanna take your shirt off so you can get some sun brah? Lookin’ a little pasty there.” Wade shakes his head and tries to disregard his words, though as his mind continues to be assailed by a hunger to surf he gives up the ghost on the shirt battle and reveals his pale weak chest to the world, “s- sounds radical. I’l uhh, catch some rays. hah”

Ray starts to laugh at the pun but instead grimaces as the sight of Wade’s small pasty torso is incongruent with the reality that he knows to be true. Though with a mind accustomed to shrugging off strange ideas and problems too big to worry about he quickly throws his arm around Wade’s shoulders slowly growing wider. “Well let’s getcha to a pay phone so you can call your buddy!”

Wade rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as the pair head down the boardwalk. He can scarcely focus on the increasingly rapid changes occurring to his body and mind as he’s still distracted by the sound of crashing waves. As the Summer Californian sun beats down on him, his skin starts to darken, closer to the shade Ray recognizes as Wade. Spreading forth in patches he tans to the customary surfer brown, ushering forth from surf shorts that aren’t quite filled and up past a core that is only now getting defined.

So too does his hair suddenly start to lighten. Lengthening into something sun bleached and salt stained. His usually clean-cut look begins to giveaway as the life he knows he should have is slowly eroded, just like the ebb and flow of the waves calling out for him. Pecs beginning to form darken and shine with sweat under the beating sun as he dreamily stares at the sea. Though despite it all, despite true real memories of life in the twenty-first century slowly fading like a mirage, he still remembers his time with Dylan clear as day. To this he holds fast as he stumbles forward from his heavier upper body.

As he continues to grow into this new form, molded by the alien world of the past around him, he begins to notice other surfers and beachgoers eyeing him with familiarity and nodding with respect. After his bicep bulges larger from returning a few shakas, he bumps his shirtless body into Ray to get his attention like he's done a million times. Finally tearing his eyes away from ogling scantily clad women, Ray tilts his head as Wade asks in a tone clearly affected by the thickening neck and shifting disposition, “Hey brah, er- Ray? Am I like, a big deal?”

Ray looks dumbly at Wade as his irises change to match the deep blue of his quarry before laughing, “Hah! Such a cut-up today brah! Course everyone knows you, you’re always ripping! If anyone needs any tips or tricks they come to you.” Wade clenches at his head as years of memories and knowledge rush into his mind. Equivalent to the sensation of bailing on his board into the choppy sea, he’s drowning in visions of showing off on the waves and taking care to help anyone who so desires to join him in enjoying the spray of a set. His chest puffs with pride and puffs larger with pecs as his jaw widens and now-blue eyes roll back. He’s the king of this beach. And just like that, as soon as the words, the idea, cross his mind he’s overwhelmed and pulled under.

He awakens laid out on a bench somewhere down the way, he hears the Beach Boys playing through some static nearby and opens his eyes to see Ray’s face painted with concern, though as soon as he hears Wade speak up he returns to his usual happy-go-lucky expression. “Gnaaarly dude- feel like I just woke up for the first time~” The new surfer then coughs up some sea water which he finds as strange, he wasn’t surfing was he?

This small quibble with reality acts as one final life preserver to the life he once knew. Just odd enough for him to question his situation, his reality. For a moment he stares at his tanned, veiny hands and questions is this who he is? Trailing up arms patterned with sun-bleached blonde hair and briefly hung up on the quarter-sized nipples poking off a thick chest. He scratches his stomach, for some reason expecting to find a bit of a belly, his fingers instead bump against tight abs.

Unfortunately his last grasp at the future is haplessly wasted as he’s almost immediately distracted by Surfin’ U.S.A, “Ugh-” he chokes out in his now perpetually fried, laid-back voice, “Why’s this dad rock playing?” Ray laughs and helps the man up, “Maan Wade you’re on a trip today, first goin’ on and on about selling phones and some enter-net! You know your dad hates the Beach Boys! Ahahah” With this paltry grasp his past self is evermore washed to sea, Ray’s recollections sound just as strange to Wade as they did to him and Mabel.

Even the explicit mentions of cell phones and the internet isn’t enough to prevent the rubber band from snapping as decades of lived experience with future technology is wiped from his mind. Memories of the modern world thoroughly displaced by life sprinting across the sands and mooring the foundations of surfing as a continental sport. Just as Ray has done countless times today alone, Wade smiles dumbly in brief reflection on his life lived.

Going forward on rare occasions some fragment of his other self washes up to his mind like jetsam. Sometimes when he sees a record he can’t help but wonder if they’ll be smaller one day or he’ll reach for something in his pants out of habit when he has a question to ask, before shaking it off like a strange tic. His crew often labels him some kind of prophet as he seems almost too keenly aware of how global events will shake out.

“I swear brah, gettin’ me worried that your new guy’s slipped ya somethin’” Ray says with a wink. Wade flinches with a start, that’s right! He needs to call Dylan immediately! Putting change in a pay-phone like he’s done all his life he dials a number he knows by heart and holds his breath, begging the universe that Dylan will answer the other line as the ringing tone vibrates the receiver, and then his miracle is answered.

Sounding as if he’s discovered cloud 9, somewhere across the town his love, Dylan, answers, “Heyyyyy, ‘s this Wadey?” The sound of his voice fills Wade’s thicker chest with comfort, “Dyl! God it’s so nice to hear you…” He stands there for a few seconds, only then does he notice how tight his swim shorts have become from his bulking thighs and building ass. Though of course, the most prominent issue at the moment is the rising dilemma in front. He blushes and bites his lip as he tries to speak with more discretion, “You uhhh, down to come over to ours later today?”

He can almost hear the smile of the man on the other line, “Uhhh yeahh, yeah… Me ‘n my uhhh freaks are on a trip righnow. But yeaaah, think I could swing by baby” Wade can almost see the man on the other line, delighting in the feeling of his fingers twirling the phone wire in his hands, certainly too high to work out a time but Wade doesn’t mind. The promise of a future fuck and time together after is more then enough, “Righteous brah, well I’ll see you then Dyl.” His lover just giggles and the pair hang up at the same time, bonded tighter than ever despite their strange unknown journeys apart. Sighing in delight and ignoring the pulse in his pants, Wade turns to face his brah.

For the first time Wade throws his arm around Ray’s shoulder as the pair wander off towards his wagon. Ray gestures for him to try and mask his clearer than anything erection though the surfer just shrugs, “Oh sure dude, as if anyone ever misses your goose eggs you little horndog.” The pair guffaw and continue to tease eachother as they start back towards Mabel’s cabana.

Glimmer in his eyes and too eager to not speed up, Wade hits his bro on the back and challenges him on a race to their boards. His new legs carry him faster than he’s ever managed before. Settled into his new life the feeling of his feet pounding into the hot sand fills him with contentment. There’s no place he’d rather be than soaring across the beach while his crew watches.

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the-daily-body · 3 days ago

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I really enjoyed creating this story!!!

Cop swap with gigolo

Officer Merrick Reed adjusted his belt, the weight of his holstered firearm pulling slightly at his hip as he cruised down the familiar streets of the city’s red-light district. The area was a hotbed of crime, filth, and “undesirables,” as he liked to call them. Merrick had been a cop for 15 years, and in his mind, he was a warrior on the front lines of morality.

A staunch believer in law and order, Merrick made no secret of his disdain for anyone he considered beneath him. He was a large man, standing at 6’3” with broad shoulders, a slight paunch, and an air of unearned superiority. His pale blue eyes scanned the street with a calculated mix of disdain and boredom, his square jaw clenched beneath the neatly combed blonde hair he considered his crowning glory. His uniform, pressed and pristine, hinted at his obsession with control and order.

Merrick slowed his patrol car as he spotted a figure leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. The man looked out of place among the shadows, his slender frame dressed in a simple, tight black T-shirt and ripped jeans. He wore a bomber jacket that hung loosely on his shoulders, and his dark hair curled naturally, falling just above his eyebrows. His caramel-brown skin seemed to glow under the flickering streetlamp, and his eyes were sharp and defiant, set above high cheekbones. He couldn’t have been more than 22, his build slight, standing at around 5’6” or 5’7”.

Merrick smirked as he parked the patrol car and stepped out. The man noticed him approaching and stiffened slightly but didn’t flee. His lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile as Merrick closed the distance between them.

“You look like trouble,” Merrick barked, his voice gravelly with practiced intimidation. “Got a name?”

“Rafael,” the young man replied, his voice smooth and laced with a faint Puerto Rican accent. His lips curled further into a smirk, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. “And you look like a cop who’s bored.”

Merrick narrowed his eyes, his hand hovering near his utility belt. “You think this is funny, kid? You out here selling something? Or are you just advertising?”

Rafael shrugged casually, unfazed by the officer’s towering presence. “I’m just standing here, officer. Waiting for a ride.”

Merrick stepped closer, his imposing bulk forcing Rafael to lean back slightly against the wall. “Turn around,” he ordered. “Hands against the wall.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow but complied, rolling his eyes as he placed his hands flat against the cold, cracked concrete. Merrick grabbed Rafael’s wrist and spun him roughly, patting down his arms and torso. His large hands moved methodically, searching for any hint of a weapon or contraband.

“Spread your legs,” Merrick barked, his tone sharp and commanding.

Rafael sighed and obeyed, shifting his feet apart as Merrick continued the search. The cop’s hands moved down his legs, pressing firmly against the fabric of his jeans. Merrick’s jaw clenched as he patted Rafael’s pockets and found nothing but a small, worn wallet.

“Empty your pockets,” Merrick demanded, stepping back slightly to watch.

Rafael turned around slowly, his movements deliberate as he pulled out his wallet and a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said, holding them out.

Merrick snatched the wallet and flipped it open, pulling out Rafael’s ID. He squinted at the card, reading the name aloud. “Rafael Rivera. Looks like you’ve got a record. Two priors for loitering and solicitation.”

Rafael leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched Merrick with an amused expression. “So? That’s not illegal unless you’ve got proof I’m doing something wrong tonight.”

Merrick stepped closer, his blue eyes glaring down at the smaller man. “Watch your mouth, Rivera. I don’t need proof. I’ve got probable cause.”

Rafael smirked again, his sharp eyes flicking over Merrick’s imposing frame. “Probable cause for what? Being brown in the wrong neighborhood?”

Merrick’s face darkened with anger. “Get in the car,” he growled, grabbing Rafael’s arm and dragging him toward the patrol car.

Rafael didn’t resist, though his lips twisted into a mocking grin as Merrick shoved him into the back seat. “You’re awfully handsy for someone who doesn’t like my kind,” Rafael muttered under his breath.

Merrick ignored him, slamming the door shut before climbing into the driver’s seat. He drove them to an isolated parking lot, the silence in the car heavy with unspoken tension. Merrick parked and turned to Rafael, his expression a mix of anger and superiority.

“You think this is a game?” Merrick snapped, his deep voice echoing in the confined space of the car. “I could ruin your life.”

Rafael leaned back against the seat, his legs crossed nonchalantly. “And yet here we are, parked in the middle of nowhere. You tell me who’s playing games, officer.”

Before Merrick could respond, a sudden, searing heat coursed through his body. He gasped, his hands flying to the dashboard as his muscles tensed involuntarily. Rafael jerked upright, his own body convulsing as the same heat overwhelmed him.

“What the hell is this?” Merrick growled, his voice trembling as his body began to shift. His broad shoulders seemed to cave inward, his muscular arms and chest shrinking before his eyes. His pale skin darkened rapidly, turning a deep caramel tone. His sharp nose softened and widened, and his blonde hair darkened to a rich black, curling tightly against his scalp.

Rafael, meanwhile, let out a strangled cry as his small frame expanded. His slender arms and chest thickened with muscle, his delicate features hardening into a rugged, angular jawline. His caramel skin lightened to a pale, freckled complexion, and his dark eyes turned a piercing blue. His jeans and T-shirt strained against his newly bulked-up body, the seams threatening to burst.

Merrick stared in horror at his reflection in the rearview mirror. His once-commanding frame was gone, replaced by Rafael’s smaller, wiry body. His lips were fuller, his teeth straighter, and his voice—when he tried to speak—was higher, with a distinct Puerto Rican accent.

“What… what’s happening to me?” Merrick stammered, his trembling hands flying to his face.

Rafael, now in Merrick’s body, flexed his larger hands experimentally, a look of disbelief mixed with amusement crossing his rugged features. “Holy shit,” he muttered, his new voice deep and commanding. “I’m you.”

They sat in stunned silence, the weight of the transformation sinking in. Merrick’s once-powerful body now felt small and fragile, while Rafael struggled to adjust to the sheer strength and size of his new form.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Merrick demanded, his voice cracking.

Rafael laughed, a deep, booming sound that felt alien even to him. “Me? I didn’t do anything. Maybe the universe just decided to give you a taste of your own medicine, cabrón.”

Merrick’s hands shook as he ran them over his new body, his slender fingers tracing the unfamiliar contours of his chest and arms. He shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his new testicles unfamiliar and heavy between his thighs.

Rafael smirked as he adjusted to his newfound strength, his larger hands flexing around the steering wheel. “Guess you’re gonna have to learn how to walk in my shoes, officer. Or, should I say, your own now?”

Merrick glared at him, his smaller body trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “This isn’t over,” he hissed, his accent thick with frustration.

Rafael chuckled, his deep voice resonating with newfound confidence. “Oh, it’s just beginning.”

I sat there, frozen in disbelief. My hands—**my hands**—were smaller, slimmer, and darker. They shook as I turned them over, examining the unfamiliar caramel-brown skin stretched tight over lean fingers. My breath caught in my throat. The deep, gravelly voice I was used to commanding respect with—it wasn’t there. When I gasped, what came out was high-pitched, accented, soft. It wasn’t me.

“What the hell is going on?” I stammered, but it wasn’t my voice. I clutched my throat, the words slipping out in a faint Puerto Rican lilt. My fingers brushed against my neck, which felt thinner, more delicate, even as my pulse pounded under my skin. The heat radiating through me was unbearable, like I was being cooked alive from the inside out. My body was shrinking— **no, changing** —before my very eyes.

“Is this a goddamn joke?” I shouted—more like squeaked—as my back hunched, my spine snapping in ways I couldn’t control. My legs burned, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking down. My thighs were thinner, the muscles more wiry, and my pants were loose, crumpling around hips that felt narrower. I could feel the fabric sagging down, revealing hip bones that weren’t there before.

I tried to adjust myself, but the moment my hands brushed my crotch, I froze. Something felt… wrong. Smaller. Lighter. It wasn’t just my body that had shrunk; my balls felt different—tighter, drawn up, and… **wrong**. The weight that had always been there, swinging low and steady between my legs, was gone. My breath hitched, my new lips—fuller, softer—quivering as panic set in.

“What the fuck is this? What’s happening to me?” I slapped the dashboard with all the force I could muster, but even my slap lacked weight. My arms felt too thin, too weak to convey my rage.

And then I caught sight of my reflection in the side mirror.

“No. No, no, no,” I whispered. A face I’d seen a thousand times in mugshots stared back at me. Dark hair curled against a forehead I didn’t recognize. The caramel skin glistened with sweat. The goatee I always sneered at now framed my new, plumper lips. This couldn’t be real.

I turned toward him—me—sitting in my goddamn seat. He was flexing my hands, **my hands**, turning them over as if they were his now. That bastard had my voice, my broad chest, my thick arms, my legs. Hell, even my gut was his now, tucked behind my uniform.

I felt like I was burning alive. My heart hammered in my chest, sending jolts of heat through every nerve in my body. It was unbearable at first, like being in a furnace I couldn’t escape. My skin itched as if it were being stretched and pulled over an unfamiliar frame. I closed my eyes, my breath coming in sharp gasps. I felt my arms bulging—yes, **bulging**—and when I opened my eyes, my slender brown arms were **huge**. The veins stood out against pale, freckled skin that wasn’t mine.

I reached for the dashboard to steady myself, but my hands looked massive, foreign. My fingers were thick and rough, calloused in ways mine never were. My voice—**God, my voice**—rumbled low and deep as I let out an involuntary groan. It startled me, that sound, like it was coming from someone else entirely.

“What’s happening?” I rasped, my voice alien but somehow familiar. It took me a moment to realize… it was **his** voice.

The heat surged again, and I arched back against the seat as my chest expanded, my ribs widening to accommodate a barrel of muscle I never had. I could feel my torso stretching, my spine clicking with every inch I gained. My thighs swelled, pushing against the tight jeans I wore, and I could feel them ripping at the seams.

“Dios mío,” I muttered instinctively, gripping the steering wheel. My hand looked ridiculous on it—too big, too strong. I wasn’t used to holding anything this way. My fingers flexed involuntarily, testing the strength that coursed through my body.

And then, below my belt, something **shifted**. It was like an ache, deep and primal, as if my entire manhood was reconfiguring itself. My balls… they were **huge**, heavy, resting low and warm between my thighs. I shifted uncomfortably, adjusting myself as the weight of them sent unfamiliar sensations coursing through me. My dick—**his dick**—felt bigger, thicker, alive in a way mine never had. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing down, my jeans tight against the bulge that now stretched them.

I looked over at him—at me—and I saw the panic in his eyes. Those pale blue eyes, my eyes now, glared back at me, wide with disbelief.

“This… this isn’t possible,” he stammered, his voice shaking in a way I’d never thought it could. He clutched at the loose uniform hanging off his wiry frame, the oversized sleeves flapping around his thinner arms.

I couldn’t help but smirk, even as the surreal weight of the situation settled over me. “Looks like you’re in my shoes now, officer,” I said, the deep rumble of my voice catching me off guard again. My lips curled, thinner now, less full, but more commanding. It felt good to smirk like this—his smirk.

“What did you do to me?” he snapped, his Puerto Rican accent cutting through the air.

“What **I** did?” I laughed, leaning back in the seat, feeling the heft of his body—the sheer **mass** of it—sink into me. “Seems like karma has a sense of humor.”

He grabbed my collar—or tried to—but his smaller hands barely had the strength to pull me forward. I grabbed his wrist—my wrist—and squeezed gently. He winced. I didn’t even have to try hard. This body was **strong**.

“You’re gonna learn what it’s like to be me,” I said, my voice laced with an unfamiliar authority. I leaned in close, my breath hot against his face. “And trust me, you’re not gonna like it.”

The car’s interior felt like it was shrinking around me. My legs pressed against the dashboard, too long and bulky for the space they once comfortably fit. The seams of the jeans I was wearing dug into my thighs, and the black T-shirt clung to my chest, emphasizing the sheer bulk of my new frame. I couldn’t ignore the weight between my legs either—the uniform’s crotch was snug, stretched tight over the intimidating presence of Merrick’s anatomy. I felt powerful, commanding, like I could take on the world, but the sight of my pale hands gripping the steering wheel brought a smirk to my lips.

“Alright, officer,” I said, turning my new sharp blue eyes on him—on myself. God, it was surreal to see my own face staring back at me. “Here’s how this is going to go.”

His—my—caramel-colored face was pale with panic. He squirmed in the oversized uniform that hung off his now wiry frame. His hands—my hands—trembled as they tugged at the loose fabric. The goatee that now sat on his face made him look sharp, almost dangerous, but his wide brown eyes betrayed his fear.

“You’re going to give me that uniform,” I said, my deep voice rumbling with authority. I could feel the power of it, the way it filled the space. “It doesn’t fit you anymore, and I think we both know who looks the part now.”

He froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to process what I’d just said. “You can’t be serious!” he finally spat, his voice high-pitched, trembling with a Puerto Rican accent that he clearly wasn’t used to. His new voice cracked mid-sentence, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m serious,” I said, leaning forward, letting my massive frame tower over him. I had to admit, it was satisfying to see him shrink back, his shoulders hunching in my old body. “You’re not the big man anymore, Merrick. So, take it off.”

“You’re out of your damn mind,” he growled, his smaller fists clenching, but the effort was laughable. He wasn’t used to this body, didn’t know how to hold himself with the confidence I’d built over a lifetime. His voice cracked again as he glared up at me, and I could see the panic in his eyes. “I’m the officer here.”

I laughed, a deep, booming sound that felt so right coming from this body. “Not anymore, cabrón. Now strip.”

“You—” His voice faltered as I reached for the collar of his shirt, my large hands effortlessly pulling at the oversized uniform.

“Do it now,” I ordered, letting the authority in my voice drop like a hammer. I wasn’t just saying it—I felt it. It was intoxicating, the power of commanding with a voice that people listened to, with a body that could back it up.

He stared at me, his lips trembling, but after a moment, he realized he didn’t have a choice. Slowly, reluctantly, he unbuttoned the uniform shirt. His hands shook as he peeled it off, revealing my slender, caramel-skinned arms beneath. I couldn’t help but smirk as I watched my own body struggle, the loose fabric slipping off his smaller frame.

“Pants too,” I said, crossing my arms. It felt good to feel the bulk of them, the way they filled out this uniform.

“You’re insane,” he hissed, but he obeyed. His cheeks flushed deep red as he slipped out of the oversized pants, leaving him standing in nothing but a pair of briefs that looked far too big for his smaller body.

I grabbed the uniform and started dressing. The fabric slid over my new body, snug and perfect. The shirt stretched across my broad chest, the sleeves fitting like they were tailored just for me. I buttoned it up, smoothing it down over my new torso, and slid the badge into place. The pants were next, and when I zipped them up, the feeling of this body’s weight—the heft between my legs—settled fully into place.

It was strange at first, the sheer bulk of everything. Every movement felt heavier, more deliberate, like I was stepping into a role I’d only watched from the sidelines. But as I adjusted the belt and strapped on the holster, something clicked. The uniform didn’t just fit—it felt like it was mine.

“Look at that,” I said, running a hand over the badge. “Fits like a glove.”

He stood there, trembling in nothing but his oversized briefs. His smaller frame looked vulnerable, exposed. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a frustrated sputter.

“You’ll need this,” I said, tossing him my old clothes. The black T-shirt and ripped jeans hit him in the chest, and he grabbed them reflexively. “Don’t worry—they’ll fit you now.”

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief as he looked down at my old clothes. He slipped the jeans on, wincing as he adjusted to his slimmer hips and smaller frame. The shirt hung loosely off his shoulders at first, but as he tugged it down, it became clear it was a much better fit than the uniform had been.

“You’re in my shoes now,” I said, adjusting the belt around my waist and feeling the holster settle comfortably against my hip. “Literally.”

He looked up at me, his face contorted with anger and humiliation. “This isn’t over,” he growled, his new voice shaking with unfamiliarity.

“Oh, it’s just getting started,” I said with a smirk, grabbing the patrol car keys and slipping into the driver’s seat. “Now let’s go see how the other half lives.”

I stood in the parking lot, adjusting the collar of my uniform, feeling the snug fit of the shirt across my broad chest and shoulders. The badge gleamed under the faint glow of the streetlights, and the weight of the holster on my hip felt so natural, so right, it was as if I’d been born for this. My new reflection in the car’s side mirror stared back at me: sharp blue eyes, freckled pale skin, a square jawline, and a frame that exuded authority. Every inch of me screamed power, and I liked it.

Behind me, he—Officer Merrick Reed—struggled to dress in my old clothes. The caramel-brown tone of his new skin glowed faintly under the streetlights, his wiry frame shrouded in the loose black T-shirt and ripped jeans I had thrown at him. He fumbled awkwardly, muttering curses under his breath, his voice trembling and foreign.

“¡Mierda!” he hissed, yanking the T-shirt over his head. The Spanish rolled off his tongue naturally, smooth and fluid, as though he had been speaking it his entire life. “Esto no puede estar pasando. This isn’t—this can’t—fuck!”

I leaned against the cruiser, adjusting my belt with a smirk. “Careful with that language, Rivera,” I said, letting his new name roll off my tongue. “You wouldn’t want to give your officer a reason to write you up, would you?”

He froze mid-motion, his brown eyes snapping to me with a mixture of disbelief and rage. “You’re enjoying this,” he spat, his lips trembling as his new accent thickened. “You think this is funny?”

“Oh, I think it’s poetic,” I replied, letting my deep, commanding voice fill the air. The sound of it was intoxicating, so natural that it didn’t feel borrowed at all. “Now, get in the back.”

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped as he processed my words. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain of disbelief. “You’re putting me in the back? I’m a goddamn cop!”

“Not anymore,” I said, straightening up and towering over him. The words carried weight, my new authority settling in with each syllable. “Now you’re Rafael Rivera. Civilian. And maybe… a suspect.” I gestured toward the cruiser with a nod. “Inside. Now.”

He looked at me like he wanted to fight, but his smaller frame and the loose, ill-fitting clothes clinging to his body told another story. His fists clenched and unclenched as he muttered something under his breath, but eventually, he obeyed. He climbed into the back seat, his movements stiff and awkward, his face burning with humiliation.

“Esto es una locura,” he muttered as he folded his wiry frame into the cramped seat. “This is insane.” The Spanish flowed out of him effortlessly, like it had been his first language all along. His brown eyes darted around the interior of the car as if searching for something familiar to anchor himself to, but there was nothing.

I shut the door behind him with a solid thunk, then made my way to the driver’s seat. My boots crunched against the gravel, each step deliberate and heavy, as if this body was grounding me in its strength. Sliding into the seat, I adjusted the steering wheel and let my hands rest on the leather, savoring the feel of control. I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror again, and my grin widened. This wasn’t just a good fit—it was perfect.

From the back seat, he glared at me through the metal grate, his hands gripping it tightly. “You’re seriously putting me back here?” he shouted, his voice trembling as his accent betrayed him further. “Esto no es justo. This isn’t fair!”

I chuckled, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. “Fair?” I repeated, glancing at him in the mirror. “You’re not in a position to talk about fair. Besides, you should be thanking me—I’m giving you a taste of the life you’ve been so eager to judge.”

“You’re insane,” he growled, his thin shoulders shaking as he tried to adjust to the new body he was trapped in. “Esto no es lo que soy. This isn’t me!” His voice cracked again, and he winced as if even he couldn’t believe how foreign it sounded.

“Oh, but it is now,” I said, my smirk widening as I turned onto the main road. “Might want to get used to it.”

He slumped back against the seat, his hands dropping into his lap as he muttered curses under his breath. His words came out in a messy mix of Spanish and English, and the longer he spoke, the more natural the Spanish sounded. He seemed to notice it too, his brown eyes narrowing with confusion and frustration.

“Estoy hablando español…” he whispered to himself, his fingers tugging at the loose T-shirt like it could somehow bring him comfort. “¿Por qué estoy pensando en español primero? What the fuck is happening to me?”

“Looks like your brain’s catching up to your new body,” I said, glancing at him through the mirror again. “Don’t fight it, Rivera. Just let it happen.”

His glare could have melted steel. “¡Cállate, cabrón!” he snapped, his fists clenching again. “You don’t understand. I’m not… I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“No, but you are now,” I replied, my voice calm, authoritative. “And you’ll adjust. You have no choice.”

The car fell into a tense silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional muttered curse from the back seat. Every so often, I glanced at him in the mirror, watching as his panic slowly gave way to a quiet, simmering acceptance. He was trying to process it, trying to figure out how to make sense of the man he’d become.

Meanwhile, I adjusted my posture, feeling the uniform settle against my broad shoulders. The badge gleamed, the holster rested perfectly on my hip, and the weight of this body—the sheer presence of it—felt exhilarating. As I drove down the quiet streets, I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in years, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The car ride had grown quieter over the last hour, the tension between us simmering but no longer boiling over. I glanced in the rearview mirror at him—the new Rafael Rivera—slumped against the seat, his wiry frame barely filling the space. His caramel skin glistened faintly with sweat, his jaw set tightly as he stared out the window. He wasn’t muttering curses anymore, though every so often I caught him clenching his fists or letting out a frustrated sigh.

I couldn’t blame him for the silence; he was doing what I had been doing all along—adjusting. It wasn’t just the body he was trying to get used to, though. It was everything that came with it: the way his hands moved, the weight of his voice, the rhythm of his thoughts. I’d been watching him as much as I’d been watching myself, and the way he moved now, the subtle shifts in his posture, the quiet, resigned breaths—it was as though he was starting to become Rafael.

For me, the change had been different. The uniform fit too perfectly, the weight of the badge and the holster too natural. Every time I adjusted my collar or flexed my fingers around the steering wheel, it felt like I had done it a thousand times before. But it was more than the physical. It was the power that came with this body, this role. It coursed through me like an unfamiliar but welcome drug, sharpening my instincts, making me feel alive. I didn’t question it anymore; I just let it be.

“Where are you taking me?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse, with an edge of defeat that hadn’t been there earlier.

I glanced back at him, smirking as I saw the way he fidgeted with the loose black T-shirt hanging off his wiry frame. “Home,” I said simply, though the word carried an edge of finality. “Or what counts as home for you now.”

His eyes narrowed. “My… street corner? You’re just dropping me off like this?”

I let the smirk linger. “It’s your life now, Rivera. Better start living it.”

“You son of a—” He stopped himself, his lips pressing into a thin line. I could see the conflict in his face, the war between rage and resignation. He glanced down at his slender hands, flexing his fingers as though testing their strength, and shook his head. “This isn’t me,” he muttered, though it sounded less convincing this time.

“It is now,” I replied, pulling the car to a slow stop at the corner where I’d found him—or rather, where he had been found, hours ago, in another life. “And you’re going to figure it out.”

He glared at me as I stepped out of the car, the sound of my boots hitting the pavement grounding me in this new reality. Walking to the back, I opened the door and gestured for him to get out. For a moment, he just stared at me, his brown eyes wide and defiant, but then he moved, sliding out of the seat with an awkwardness that betrayed his unfamiliarity with his new body.

Standing on the sidewalk, he looked smaller than ever, his shoulders hunched as he hugged the bomber jacket around himself. His sharp features—my old features—twisted with frustration as he glanced up and down the street.

“You’re just leaving me here?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Pretty much,” I said, adjusting the belt at my hip. The motion felt so instinctive, like second nature now, and the weight of the holster gave me a strange sense of reassurance. “But don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. You’ve got the instincts for it now. Trust me.”

He didn’t respond, just clenched his fists and stared at the ground. I let the silence linger for a moment before I climbed back into the cruiser, the door closing with a satisfying thud. As I pulled away, I glanced in the mirror one last time, watching as he stood there, his body stiff and his head hanging low.

The power that surged through me as I drove off was undeniable. It wasn’t just the badge or the uniform—it was the way people looked at me now, the way they moved out of my way, the way my voice carried authority that I never had before. It was addictive, and I didn’t want to stop feeling it.

By the time I pulled into a quiet side street and parked, I felt restless, like there was too much energy buzzing under my skin. I leaned back in the seat, my fingers brushing against the pack of cigars Merrick—the old Merrick—had kept in the glove compartment. Without even thinking, I pulled one out, rolling it between my fingers. The weight of it felt familiar, comforting, even though I couldn’t remember ever smoking one before.

Lighting it up, I took a long, slow drag, the rich, earthy taste filling my mouth and lungs. The first pull was harsh, but as I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders eased. The cigar sat perfectly between my fingers, like it belonged there, and the sensation of the smoke curling around my lips brought a strange sense of satisfaction.

I let my head rest against the seat, the cigar smoldering between my fingers as I stared out at the quiet street. The power, the authority, the control—it was all settling in now, like it had always been a part of me. And as the smoke curled lazily around me, I couldn’t help but smile. This was my life now, and I was already making it my own.

Part two:

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the-daily-body · 4 days ago

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Smokin’Hot

Darryl was a shy and awkward teenager. He had always found it difficult to socialize with other kids his own age. As an only child, his world revolved mostly around adults so high school was a hostile environment for him. Very soon he was relegated to the bottom of the high school social ladder, along with the nerds, the outcasts and the marginalized. It was sad because despite the fact that he looked cute, he just looked like a victim to the bullies. He was a “good boy”, but that kind of guy doesn’t do well among stupid and immature teenagers.

In a desperate attempt to make himself look cooler and become more popular, Darryl started to smoke on a daily basis. It was something quite common, a lot of high school students does that to imitate popular kids. He was terribly disappointed to realise that his strategy turned out to be a failure, as his classmates did not find it impressive that he had started smoking. He was just another sheep trying to keep up. It was all the more funny for hiw classmates to watch. And even worse, the teenager was beginning to feel the effects of tobacco addiction.

One day, our poor boy made a wish that will change everything because I was nearby to hear it, I’ll be the one answering his prayer : “I wish smoking would make me more confident and popular”.

I always like to take charge of these kind of wishes. Bad wording choice but must off all such liberty of interpretation.The words were vague and imprecise, giving me great freedom of action.I’ll have fun with this one…

Later in the day after making his wish, Darryl was chilling on his bed when he heard a message notification on his smartphone. It was a message from Jess, a senior in high school, inviting him to a party that night at her house. Darryl was surprised, how did this girl get his number? And most of all he was just a sophomore, and she was a senior. Normally students of these two levels never talked to each other, and never invited each other to parties. He typed on the keyboard a polite message of refusal and also to tell her that she must have got the wrong number but instead he wrote this : “I’ll be there love, see ya”

“What the fuck ??” He asked himself in thoughts. He couldn’t control his fingers writing and sending a wrond message ! Damn he was so dead in school now ! But to his surprise his whole conversation with Jess has changed, it was now all flirting and hot topics. She even send a pic of her boobs to him yesterday ! The girl was really hot… He couldn’t resist to jerk off his cock a bit while looking at the picture. Then he took another cigarette and light it. It was the first time smoking in his bedroom. Suddenly, a wave of self-confidence invaded his man. He didn’t give a shit of his mom would find out about the tobacco smell in his room. He felt so good to relax… His mind was foggy… Thinking about the coming party, Darryl didn’t see his legs growing longer, his shoulders expanding and growing broader. A perfect set of pecs and abs soon completed his teenage heartthrob package. Life was good.

“Time to get dressed for the ladies” Darryl told himself, a part of him finding that thought very weird for a guy like him. Getting out of his bed, he chose designer pants and a fitting black shirt and went to the party, a cigarette always in his mouth… The young man couldn’t tell how much cigarettes he smoked today. A lot. Smoking helped him relax and it was part of his laid back character. During the party, Darryl was amazed to feel much more confident and seductive. At one point, he forced himself to adopt a deeper voice to sound older. But the game was short, a pain in his neck led to his adam apple to grow bigger all of a sudden. The voice stayed that way, deep and husky. After that, the pain went to his jaw and the rest of his face… Worried, Darryl went to look at himself in the mirror, seeing his jaw turning square and broader, his whole face becoming handsome and a little bit older… But the smoke turned off his concerns… And a cocky grin grew on his face.

“Now where is that bitch ? I want to fuck her…” Darryl was such a horny bastard. His dick grew longer and larger in his pants, his balls dropped lower. His pubic hair exploded in his underwear and started smelling like the alpha man he was. Darryl was talking about Jess, the hot girl in his class. But he wasn’t a senior… Of course he was ! His only wish was to get out of his high school. He was a shitty student anyway… He was thinking about droping out. This thought set off an alarm signal in his mind. He never wished for that.

The bitch was nowhere to be find so Darryl decided to fuck off this shitty party. He got into his car and shot his cigarette again. The real Darryl was screaming in his mind, trying to defend himself but it was too late. He was becoming someone else. His muscles grew even more and he caught himself reeking of sweat. His mind fell into a dull state. His black shirt vanished, leaving him barechested. He was such a jock now ! His IQ started to decrease, and soon a dumb grin appear on his face.

“Let’s go maaan ! Fuck I need to bust a nut !” His new deep douchebag voice made Darryl cringe inside his mind. But he was not in control anymore. Even worse, a new internal voice was starting to corrupt him to suit the changes. He liked it. His right hand went into his underwear to scratch his fuller, hairier and bigger balls. Then he put his hand under his nose. Damn… The smell was strong with testosterone. Combined with the cigarette smoke it was pure masculinity odor. He fucking loves himself !

The sports car roared as it started and he drove to his next destination. Darren saw a bar that looked abandoned and parked his car in front of it. Fuck uni, he needed to work on his own with his little business. He opened the door using keys found in his pocket. This place will be his bar, his den.

A thick smoke suddenly filled his lungs and Darren realized that he now had a cigar in his mouth instead of his usual cigarette. New changes appeared on Darren’s body when the cigarette turned into a cigar. First his hair grew longer into a stylish mid long haircut. His face aged a bit, he looked more like a 25yo toung man now. His cheeks and chin began to itch and within seconds a thick beard stubble gave him a masculine charm and style.

Then a plaid shirt and a leather jacket appeared on his shoulders. The young man irradiates with confidence and sex appeal.

Darren was now the proud owner of the best gay bar in town. Only two hours later the place was full of people, only men. Only handsome men.

The cigar smoke was thick and bewitching. Derek simply decided to give in to his new desires. The closest guy’s ass cheeks were beautiful. He just wanted to fuck him deep. Right now.

In front of all the customers he pulled down the man’s trousers and underwear, and started to fuck the man on the bar counter. Derek felt his dick get bigger in the man’s hole. In his mouth, the cigar started to grow bigger too, cementing the latest changes. His clothes disappeared, leaving only a black leather jacket and cap. His muscles grew even larger and hair grew on his chest. His pecs inflated like balloons. Piercings appeared on his big nipples. Completely focused on his fucking, he didn’t feel his hair falling out. His hair, which had been his pride, vanished leaving him with a bald head. His face became even older and soon Derek started to look like a man in his forties. His dark beard stubble turned greyer. His moustache grew a bit more proeminent. Derek was now a strong man like promised, but I think his new leather fetishist persona suit him really well.

The bar soon filled up with the excited moaning of dozens of men who were undressing to let their homosexual pulsions express themselves. the air became filled with the smell of sweat and smoke. Every guy wore leather clothes and accessories now. Derek was now the owner of a new gay leather sex club. Darryl’s consciousness was slowly engulfed into Derek’s. The kid inside of this big leather master body soon gave up to the corruption and to the pleasure. His old memories were lost and replaced by Derek’s. When he filled the guy’s asshole with thick white cum it was too late. Derek loved his life.

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the-daily-body · 4 days ago

Text

New class

Albert was more than disgusted. The fact that his father's chauffeur had been involved in an accident somewhere was unforgivable. But the fact that his parents told him to take the bus home if he didn't want to stay at boarding school at the weekend was downright impertinent. His parents thought he was a spoiled brat. And of course they were right. But was that Albert's fault? After all, they had let him grow up with a golden spoon in his mouth. And my God, he hadn't turned out that badly. Star of the swimming team, always perfectly styled golden curls. Dressed as if he was a cover model for Men's Vogue. He brought home good grades, he was popular and the daughters from better families queued up to get laid by him. But now he was standing at the bus stop, his Hermès weekender between his legs, waiting for the bus to take him to the station.

The worst part was the mocking looks from his classmates as they passed him in the heavy limousines. In this respect, the arrival of the bus was sheer relief. Albert looked at the bus driver like a cockroach. Fortunately, Dad's black credit card was accepted to buy the ticket. Unfortunately, the bus was full. Almost to the last seat. And the only free seat that Albert could reach without any problems was next to a young man his age. But age was the only unifying factor. Otherwise, the two were separated by education, money and style. And a different attitude to personal hygiene. Not only did the young man in his shiny tracksuit smell of tobacco and sweat, he also had one of his obviously unmanicured hands in his trousers and was scratching his balls with complete abandon despite Albert's presence. Albert rolled his eyes, took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and started exchanging messages with his friends at home. The weekend needed to be planned. Tonight there would be a dinner party at his parents' house. A small circle, maybe 12 people. But apart from that, there were no plans yet.

Just as he had written a message to Vincent asking if they wanted to meet up at Annabell's after dinner, he felt sick. The Scally next to him held the hand that had just been working his scrotum under his nose. "Yo, like who do you even think you are, bro? But let's be real, deep down, the aroma of a straight-up Scally ball gets your juices flowin', am I right or what?" Albert almost gagged. "Yo dawg, you cool if I blaze up some dankity dank up in here?" Albert replied that of course it bothered him. And that it was forbidden to smoke on the bus. But somehow it made him feel dizzy. The smell of his neighbor's hands… Somehow… Hot! While he was still trying to collect himself, he felt the smelly and calloused hands of his seatmate on his chin. His face was turned gruffly in the Scally's direction. And he blew his tobacco smoke directly into Albert's handsome face. "Yo dude, my bad but I totally couldn't make it to the station. But like, I'm willing to bet no one gets that struggle quite like you, you hardcore chain-smoking addict!"

Albert had never smoked before… The scally handed him a packet of tobacco and cigarette paper. Albert hesitated for a moment. Just a moment. And then he started rolling a cigarette. Like a pro. With nicotine-stained fingers. He stuck the first cigarette behind his ear. And he rolled a second cigarette. He held the butt in his trembling hand. Shit, how long would it take before they arrived at this damn station? He hadn't got that far yet. But he couldn't hold out much longer. The man sitting next to him seemed to have read his thoughts. He pulled Albert's head towards him, turned his face towards his and gave Albert a deep French kiss. And exhaled the freshly inhaled tobacco smoke. Smoke flowed through Albert's lungs. Shit, that felt good. Almost as good as the tongue in his mouth. His cock got hard, even harder when the scally started to knead the bulge in Albert's trousers.

The bus came to an abrupt stop. The Scally suddenly spat in Albert's face and got out of his seat over Albert. He obviously had a hard-on too. Albert grabbed his Nike sports bag and followed the guy without thinking. He was met with one hand in his pants and one on a freshly lit cigarette. The scally pulled his hand out of his pants, took his lighter out of his pocket and gave Albert a light. “My name's Mason, by the way. And you, pal,” Albert took a deep drag. Damn, that felt good. He held out his hand to Mason. Mason turned it into a fist bump. “Nice to meet you, Berty! Shit, who beat you up like that?” Albert looked at Mason questioningly. Mason pulled out his cell phone, switched the camera to selfie mode and held the screen up to Albert. Bloody hell! His nose had obviously been broken not so long ago and there was a freshly stitched laceration over his right eye. And his left eye was bloodshot and swollen. “Mate, I straight up wrecked that fool in the third round. Like, it wasn't even me getting KO'd, it was the other dude. I was just too dank for him to handle.” What the hell?!?! Did he just say that?

Albert stroked his bald head. The stubble was itchy. He had last shaved the day before yesterday. It was about time he used the razor again. Mason sniffed and snotted on the sidewalk. Berty followed his example and stubbed out his fag. Shit, Mason's cock was clearly visible under his training pants. Berty's filthy jockstrap, which he probably hadn't changed for a week, held his own hard-on back to some extent. Mason lit a new cigarette and walked wordlessly in the direction of the bus station bathroom stalls. A quick glance in Berty's direction, a grab for his crotch and Berty followed him inconspicuously. The two were not men of many words. Berty had been on the road all week working as a plumber. They showed their joy at seeing each other again in a good hard fuck in the run-down toilet.

The two of them hung out at the bus stop. Maybe a few more of their pals came by. Both were already horny again and could already cum again. But above all, Berty didn't feel like going home. His father was probably drunk again and his mother had enough to do with his eight younger siblings. Drinking beer and smoking at the bus stop wasn't the worst thing to do. He knew worse fates!

Awesome pic by @aismoker

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the-daily-body · 4 days ago

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Sensius: A story of manliness

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, the fear coursing through him like ice in his veins. He had been separated from his twin Josh and his friends Nathan and Brad, only moments ago, and he had no idea where he was being led. The room he now stood in was stark, metallic, and unforgiving, a far cry from the comforting familiarity of their shared lives. The heavy door sealed shut behind him with a final, echoing thud, trapping him in this sterile, alien space. Ethan didn’t even want to be here, he only agreed because Josh forced him to come and Nathan and Brad insisted for him to join. He didn’t really enjoy video games, VR, or any surprises.

“Hello? What is this place?” Ethan’s voice cracked with a mixture of fear and frustration. He scanned the room, eyes darting over the sleek, unfamiliar machinery. In the center stood a pod—its dark, glossy surface gleaming under the harsh, clinical lights. It looked like a high-tech coffin, humming with a low, ominous vibration.

Before he could make another move, a voice filled the room. An engineer entered the room, wearing a white blouse and a big smile on his face. “Ethan, right?” he asked with joy in his voice as he approached him. “Great, well I’m Christian, I’ll make sure your test is going as planned. Now if you can climb into the pod on your left, your trial will begin real soon.” Ethan didn’t know if he could trust this men, but not wanting to back off in front of his friends, he started to walk to the pod with a shy path.

Ethan climbed into the pod and tilted his head to look how the machine looked like from the inside. It was slick and futuristic, and under his back was a soft mattress made of light blue silicone.

The interior was disturbingly soft, molding perfectly to the contours of his body and as Ethan relaxed a bit and lay back, the lid descended with a sharp hiss, sealing him in complete darkness. The sound of his own breath filled the small space, fast and shallow as he tried to calm himself.

Then, out of nowhere, restraints clamped down, metal arms snapping into place around his wrists and ankles, pinning him with unyielding force. Ethan gasped in surprise as his stress and anxiety raised back up.

“Let me out!” Ethan screamed, thrashing against the restraints. But the claws only tightened, digging painfully into his skin.

“Restraint sequence activated. Beginning clothing removal.”

A thin red laser beam appeared above him, scanning the length of his body. The beam left a tingling sensation in its wake, and then his clothes began to disintegrate into fine ash, leaving him completely naked and exposed. The cold air hit his bare skin, and he shivered, vulnerable and terrified. “Stop it please! I don’t even want to be here! Help me!” Ethan tied again as he took in the fact that he was now restrained and exposed.

“Clothing removed. Initiating physical modification protocol.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat, his body tensing with fear. “No, please! I don’t want this! What is happening? Who is even talking?! STOP”

“Beginning foot structure modification.”

A deep, bone-crunching pain lanced through Ethan’s feet. He screamed, his toes curling involuntarily as the bones inside them cracked and shifted. It felt like someone was snapping each bone in half, then forcing it into a new shape. His feet elongated, the arches lifting painfully as the structure of his bones realigned. He could feel the skin tightening over the new form, every nerve alight with agony.

“Foot sized increased. Adding athletic template.”

His soles burned as thin calluses formed, rough patches developing as though he’d spent years running around. It was as if his skin was being sandpapered from the inside out, layers building up to create a tough, hardened surface to preserve his feet.

Ethan’s breath came in ragged gasps, the pain relentless. He tried to kick out, but the restraints held him firm.

“Starting leg restructuring. Thigh and calf enhancement.”

The agony spread up his legs, a deep, tearing sensation as his muscles began to swell. His calves bulged, the sinews stretching and thickening beneath the skin. It felt like his muscles were being inflated, the pressure building until he thought they might burst. His thighs followed, ballooning outward as the tendons and ligaments pulled taut, adjusting to support his new, powerful form.

His pelvis snapped painfully, bones grinding together as his hips narrowed. He let out a strangled cry, the sound muffled by the pod’s interior.

“Pelvic adjustment complete. Now modifying genitalia and pubic region.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in terror. “No, no, no!” he pleaded, but the AI continued without pause.

A deep, throbbing pressure built between his legs, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if something was pulling at his very core, stretching and reshaping the most intimate parts of his body. His penis contracted and spasmed without him being able to control his muscle. It felt like someone was tugging on his dick and it was about to snap. He felt it lengthened, the skin tightening painfully as it grew thicker and heavier. Every nerve seemed to explode with hypersensitivity, a wave of raw, searing sensation that made him gasp.

His balls felt like they were being tugged downward, the weight increasing as his they swelled, doubling and then tripling in size. The skin grew coarser, darker, as thick, curly hair sprouted across his pubic region. The sensation was unbearable, like a thousand needles pricking his skin at once. He felt them grew more and more but to his shock, he saw them getting short, like if he had shaved a week or so ago. His new pubes were feeling sensitive and were about 1 inch long but very dense, starting to shape waves dancing around his new thick dick.

Ethan could feel the rough hair brushing against his thighs, the unfamiliar weight of his transformed anatomy pressing against his skin. His entire groin ached, a deep, pulsing throb that radiated through his pelvis.

“Please… make it stop,” he whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks. But the AI continued its cold, mechanical announcements.

“Genitalia modification process completed. Moving up to abdominal and chest expansion in 3,2,1…”

The muscles in his stomach clenched, then seemed to explode outward, stretching the skin painfully tight. He felt his abs forming, each individual muscle carving itself out into a sharp, defined shape. His chest followed, his pecs swelling outward, becoming thick and heavy. It felt like his ribs were being pried apart, the bones bending to accommodate his new size.

He tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat, the pain overwhelming every other sensation.

“Shoulder width increasing. Arm muscle enhancement in progress…” His shoulders cracked loudly, broadening as the bones shifted. The muscles in his arms ballooned, biceps and triceps thickening until they felt like they might burst through his skin. His forearms followed, the sinewy muscles bulging as veins snaked across the surface. His fingers elongated, the knuckles thickening, nails reshaping into black claws before retracting into a neat, masculine trim. His hands felt foreign, strong, capable, and unfamiliar.

“Neck and facial structure realignment. Initiation Voice modulation in 3,2,1…”

Ethan’s neck thickened, the muscles bulging against the restraints. His throat vibrated as his vocal cords stretched, his Adam’s apple becoming more pronounced. He could feel his face being pulled apart and reshaped, every bone shifting painfully beneath the skin. His jawline squared off and off settled a bit, his cheekbones sharpening, and his nose adjusted, becoming broader and more defined. Ethan’s eyes started to go bling as a new invasive sensation started in his iris. It felt like his eyes were burning from the inside and he couldn’t see anything anymore. But the second after, when he finally opened his eyes again, vision came back. It was perfect now, like a high-definition camera. Ethan saw a golden hue in his vision before he turned back to a normal natural one. Unbeknown to him, his eyes just went from golden orange back to a rich chocolaty brown.

His lips tingled as they grew fuller, curving into a confident and natural friendly smirk he wasn’t used to. He could feel his hair thickening, dark strands cascading down to form a tousled, messy styled look.

When he tried to speak, a deep, rich voice came out, one that wasn’t his own.

“Body hair enhancement and musk modification.”

A prickle spread across his chest and stomach as thin transparent hair sprouted, covering his new, muscular frame. The scent of his own body changed, becoming earthy and masculine, a raw, potent musk that filled the pod, overwhelming his senses. His pubes vibrated as they started to emit the same potent musk merged with a ball sweat odor. Then when he thought everything was done, his pits started to burn as thick dark and curly hair started to grow under them, far away from his natural almost hairless pits he used to have. “Please, make it stop… I can’t hold on anymore. I want… to go … home.” Ethan said in his new manly and rich voice as tears of pain and fear started to pearl in his new rich brown eyes. The AI didn’t care what he was saying and begging for as a new burning started on his legs where they started to grow dark hair all around and them climbing between his new muscled ass cheeks to recover in a dense forest of thick hair.

He could feel sweat dripping down his ribs from his pits, his heart racing as the final adjustments were made.

“Final height increase. Completing modification and assignation.”

His spine stretched, each vertebra popping as he grew taller. His entire body felt like it was being pulled apart, every joint cracking into place as the last pieces of his transformation locked in.

Ethan lay there, panting, tears streaming down his face. His naked body was no longer his own, it was something new, something powerful and alien.

“Conversion complete. You are ready for the next step. Digitization will start in 3,2,1…”

Ethan tried to scream in his new louder and manlier voice but no one answered. He was trapped inside this monstrous new body, feeling every sensation, every shift of muscle and bone. He had become something unrecognizable, and the pain had only solidified the terror that now consumed him.

All Ethan could do was lay in the pod, his body transformed beyond recognition, his mind reeling from the agony he had just endured. He could barely breathe, his chest heaving as he tried to process the changes, the unfamiliar weight of new muscles, the roughness of his new skin, the potent musk that filled the air, unmistakably masculine and raw.

“Phase two initiated: Digitization process commencing. Please stay still.”

Ethan’s eyes snapped open; pupils dilated with fear. “What now? What are you doing to me?”

But the AI ignored his panicked questions. He felt a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin, starting at his toes and quickly moving upward. It was as if every cell in his body was being scanned, analyzed, and recorded in microscopic detail.

The pod began to hum, vibrations growing stronger beneath him, resonating through every bone and nerve. He could feel his entire body buzzing, the sensation almost unbearable.

“Subject’s physical data captures. Initiating digitization.”

A bright flash of light engulfed him, blinding him for a moment. He screamed as his body seemed to dissolve into pure energy, every atom pulled apart and then compressed into a tight, confined space. His consciousness was squeezed into a single point, a spark of awareness floating in a void of nothingness.

He felt himself being transferred, data streaming through what felt like endless tunnels of code and light. The sensation was nauseating, like being stretched and twisted beyond his limits. He could feel the AI rewriting him, his essence being stripped away and stored in a vast, cold digital space.

“Digitization complete. Subject now online.”

Suddenly, he was slammed back into reality, his new body reconstituted piece by piece. Ethan gasped, blinking rapidly as his vision adjusted to his surroundings. He no longer was in the pod, he was standing in a dimly lit, cluttered bedroom. The walls were covered in posters, the floor scattered with clothes, sneakers, and Lacrosse gear.

Ethan stood up in a hurry from the bed as he turned his head around, trying to understand where he was now. Panic raised inside him as his sight landed on a wet dirty mirror standing on the wall in the bathroom. Ethan approached it, his body drenched in sweat as his new hands raised to touch his new hair. Ethan gasped when he saw his new reflection. That couldn’t be possible he was...

“Uploading Subject: Ethan Brown… Assigned File: Scott McCall” the AI voice resonated inside the room. Ethan turned around and walked out of the bathroom and took a look once again at the bedroom around him, the jerseys, the posters, the pictures and posters on the wall, the lacrosse equipment all around, the messy bedroom, the bathroom on the left side of the bed. This couldn’t be possible. Ethan couldn’t believe it, it was a nightmare. And why was he stuck inside this new body as Scott, he wasn’t even a big fan of Teen Wolf. What was all of that?!

He could feel the soft carpet beneath his bare feet, the air cool against his exposed skin. He looked down, and a shock of confusion washed over him. He was only wearing a pair of tight, gray boxer briefs that clung to his body, highlighting every curve and bulge of his transformed physique. His thick, muscular thighs were covered in dark hair, his abs hard and defined, with a thin trail of hair leading down to his groin where the prominent bulge strained against the fabric.

“Calculating the need of this game… Done. This game miss Alpha. Initiating behavioral enhancement protocol. Upgrading “Scott McCall” to “ALPHA” in 3,2,1…”

Ethan felt his body freeze on the spot. He tried to move, to take control of his own body, but he couldn’t. He felt like a passenger, trapped inside his own mind. His body moved on its own, a confident grin spreading across his lips as he flexed his biceps, feeling the thick, solid muscle.

“No… no, this isn’t me,” Ethan thought, but no voice came out of his mouth,

“Upgrading dominance traits. Increasing testosterone levels.”

A wave of heat surged through him, starting deep in his core and spreading outward. He could feel his muscles swelling slightly, his skin tightening over the expanded mass. The scent of his own sweat filled the room, mingling with the strong, musky odor that seemed to ooze from his pores, it was becoming more and more potent, filled with testosterone. His pecs and abs spasmed as his thin hair started to get a darker hue, getting more and more visible and emitting an earthy scent too.

His groin felt hot and heavy, his bulge growing larger, pressing insistently against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He couldn’t stop it, his cock twitched, hardening involuntarily, the outline of his erection visible through the thin material. A small wet spot formed at the tip, where pre-cum leaked through the fabric.

Ethan’s mind raced. He wanted to cover himself, to find clothes, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he stretched his arms over his head, his biceps bulging, and let out a low, satisfied groan. His eyes flashed the golden hue before starting to change into a deep crimson red. His nails flashed and turned into sharp, dark claws before retracting back into his normal nails. Ethan felt his palms and soles starting to burn as callouses started to appear in them, making sure his feet are safe when he runs bare feet in the forest and every time, he grabs his lacrosse stick to play on the field. His left biceps started to burn as two black thick lines appeared on it to mark him as the new enhanced version.

“Enhancement complete. Initiating behavioral sequence.”

Ethan felt his head tilt slightly, a cocky smirk forming on his lips. A wave of unfamiliar pride washed over him. He looked powerful, every inch of him screamed dominance, from the confident set of his jaw to the way his broad shoulders filled the space. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, admiring the way it fell perfectly into place.

Ethan’s mind screamed in protest. This wasn’t him. He was trapped inside this body, watching helplessly as it moved on its own, flexing and posing like it was enjoying its own reflection.

“Dominant behavior activated. Loading clothes and restrictions.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror. His body turned toward the pile of clothes on the floor, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a hoodie. He reached down, fingers brushing the fabric, but then he stopped. Ethan felt his hands grab his soaked underwear between his hands before tearing it apart, leaving him naked in his room. Then he grabbed a pair of dirty jeans on the floor and smiled as he raised his torn apart soaked underwear to his nose and smelt it. Ethan felt his face light with a smile as pheromones invaded his brain, the scent of an alpha he thought. He then threw the underwear in the corner of his room and jumped in the pair of jeans commando, making sure to adjust his sensitive leaking cock in the right leg. His bulge throbbed against his hairy leg, a bead of pre-cum leaking through the fabric and staining it darker. He couldn’t stop it; the pleasure radiated through his groin, making his breath hitch.

“Stop… please, this is not … me,” Ethan begged, but his voice was not to be heard. He couldn’t control the grin that spread across his lips, the way his hand ran down his chest, fingers brushing over his hardened nipples, then lower, tracing the line of hair that led to his waistband.

He flexed again, the thick muscles of his torso shifting under the skin. He looked like a god, unapologetically masculine, raw, and primal. Ethan wanted to cry but he couldn’t, he was frozen and forced to look at himself as he felt his new leaking dick coming closer and closer to orgasm.

“Welcome to the Sensius: Teen Wolf Gay Fantasy experience,” the AI announced, its tone disturbingly cheerful. “You are now an integral part of the interactive environment. Follow your programming and enjoy this experience.".”

Ethan felt his body tense as the orgasm was coming closer and closer, his dick spasming and restrained inside his pants, rubbing his sensitive leaking cock head against his hairy leg. The AI talked once again, this time echoing through the whole game like if it was a scream in an empty cave. “Player loaded. Rebooting behaviors in 3,2,1…” His head snapped up, eyes gleaming with a new, fierce confidence. He felt his heart rate slow, the fear draining away, replaced by a wave of calm, dominant energy. He didn’t feel like hiding anymore. He felt powerful, unstoppable. He came. Ethan felt the cum rushing out of his cock and soaking his jeans into wetness. “Scott McCall’s routines starting.” He heard his new voice talking inside his head and he realized he was trapped as Scott from now on until he found a way to free himself.

Ethan was trapped, screaming inside his own mind, but Scott’s body wasn’t listening. It adjusted itself, standing tall and relaxed, hands resting on the thick bulge in his jeans. He gave it a squeeze, the sensation shooting through him like a jolt of electricity. He then grabbed his lacrosse stick and helmet and threw them on his bed before sitting on it. He looked at them with awe in his eyes as he felt the pulsion to play and to fuck in the locker room. Yea, his beta bitch will take it tonight, that’s for sure!

He turned toward the door, taking a deep breath, savoring the scent of his own musk filling the room. He knew he had to leave, there was somewhere he needed to be. He could feel the pull of the programming, guiding his steps.

He grabbed a pair of boots and a tight well used black tanktop then walked confidently out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He was ready for whatever came next, his mind sharp, his body humming with newfound strength.

And inside, Ethan’s thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear and confusion, unable to break through the iron grip of Scott’s assertive, dominant programming. He was trapped in a body that wasn’t his, forced to feel every touch, every pulse of pleasure, as the new Scott took his first steps into the world.

And he wasn’t going to wear a single piece of clothing to hide what he had become.

______________________________________________________________ Hey everybody! Here is the second chapter about the Sensius project. Hope you guys enjoy it and I'll see you guys real soon for the next chapter! As always, feel free to send me messages if you want to talk about it or to talk about ideas. I love to read your messages and itneract with you all. See you soon and take care of yourself! Part 1

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the-daily-body · 4 days ago

Text

Misjudged Part II

Read Part I

Later in the evening, I was ready to go back home, hoping all of Jaden's friends had already left. I walked through the nearly empty mall and saw "Jaden" sitting there like a complete douchebag, just like the real Jaden used to. He was decked out in expensive designer clothes and had some LV bags at his feet. He had fully adopted Jaden's style, only now he was doubling the value of his outfit. He smirked while typing on his phone. I couldn't believe my eyes – what had gotten into my father? I walked directly toward him.

"What is this all about?" I demanded, needing an answer. He barely looked up, smirking as he clearly received a new message on his phone.

"Hello?! Dad?!" I hissed. Finally, I caught his attention, and he looked up at me.

"Hey, champ!" he smirked but instantly turned his gaze back to his phone.

"Champ? That’s all you have to say? What’s gotten into you? You’re acting completely out of character!"

"Why are you so sassy, son?" he said, still typing back to those messages on his phone.

"Sassy? You brought all those douchebags who’ve been making my life a living hell into our home. I was there that night, and you didn’t care."

"Yeah, I was a bit drunk, but hey, they’re my friends now, so what? Thanks, by the way, for not crashing the party. It could've ended ugly." He smiled while reading another message on his phone.

"Your friends? These are Jaden's friends. You’re acting just like the jerk you are possessing. That wasn’t our plan!"

"Our plan?" He stopped looking at his phone, finally meeting my eyes. "No, this was your plan. You wanted to get rid of your bully, Jaden. I just wanted to be young again. That was the deal we talked about." He hissed back, making sure the few people around wouldn’t notice our strange conversation. "Did you honestly think I’d start spoiling your ass just because Jaden is gone now?" He began to tap his foot impatiently, his leg moving up and down.

"No…" I responded while he nervously glanced around, his annoyance evident, clearly because of me.

"Son, look, I’m waiting for Jesse and Ann. We’re going on a trip. I don't want them to see us together. Besides, you’re getting on my nerves with your whining. So save us from an awkward encounter and leave. We can talk later." Then, he gave me another sharp gesture to leave. Shocked and still not believing the words my father had just thrown at me, I turned and walked away.

Since I hadn’t been able to contact my father, I turned to social media, hoping I was wrong about everything. I hardly ever used Instagram thinking it was pointless, and I’d been right all these years. But now, I understood its purpose – and so I tried to find any social media account the real Jaden must have used.

To my surprise, there were instant matches on Instagram and TikTok under @thejadendiaz. I hesitated, then checked both accounts, and was immediately shocked. There was a flood of pictures and reels - Jaden, or rather, my father, posting about partying, posing, flexing, and sharing what were basically "thirst traps." It was as if Jaden had never disappeared. There was no noticeable difference in the content. The dates on the posts confirmed it: he had been playing the role perfectly. Further I couldn't believe my eyes when I noticed that he must have gotten a fresh new tattoo in the last few days. It was ridiculous!

Even the captions sounded just like the original ones – "No gains without dedication", "Alpha on the ride", "Girls drooling over me", "Betas wished to be me". It was all there. The tone, the arrogance, the bravado – exactly like the old captions.

From then on, I followed all his accounts to stay updated on what my father was doing. I regularly checked all of his posts about the West Coast trip. It was devastating to see him having so much fun. But that wasn’t even the worst part. Each time I saw the flawless impression of an arrogant Jaden, played so perfectly by my father, my stomach twisted. I had to admit, as much as I hated it, his face, his body, his attitude and the self-absorption had an unsettling effect on me. Sometimes when I checked his latest postings, I even caught myself playing with my dick what I deeply disliked. I was so sick of this twisted situation.

When my father returned, he spent most of his time at Jaden’s place. Sometimes he’d stay at our house, probably enjoying the more luxurious space. During those times, we didn’t speak a word to each other. Most of the time, he completely ignored me, and I didn't know how to confront him about my disappointment in him. If he said something I hated the way he spoke to me. It was like the original douchebag Jaden never disappeared but now he lived in our house.

One day, I walked through the house, not expecting him to be around. "Impressive sight, isn’t it?" he smirked arrogantly while taking selfies. I rolled my eyes as I passed him in the hallway. Suddenly, I felt a strong grip around my neck, and the rest is history …

After that violent incident, I was so upset, and he didn’t even care how his ruthless behavior affected me. So we continued to avoid each other at home. To my dislike, he continued living Jaden's life to the fullest — playing football like the original one did and attending Jaden's classes. There were times when it was impossible to avoid him. I didn’t understand why he had to do it, but he was recklessly playing the part of Jaden. He mimicked all of Jaden’s mannerisms, habits, style, and speech patterns down to the smallest detail. On top of that, being the epitome of toxic masculinity wasn't obviously enough. He started to show off "his new wealth" like crazy and people loved it. Once, I was brave enough to tell him in public that his behavior was pathetic. But all I got was being laughed at by him and his new jock friends. Because of me talking up to me, he started to mock me every time he saw me — in public and even sometimes at home. He even started to encourage the jocks to also bully and threaten me. I was disgusted, and I did everything I could to avoid any encounters with "Jaden." It was all absurd.

One evening, he stayed at home for hours, and I became brave enough to confront him one last time. I noticed him video-calling a girl, talking dirty to her while I was in the kitchen. I could even hear faint moans. I couldn’t decide whether I should laugh or cry. When the call finally ended, I had to take the opportunity to talk to him. He was lounging in the living room, and, of course, he was on his phone again.

"Hey, Dad, can we talk? We can still talk to each other right?" I asked.

He sneered and, to my surprise, turned his phone off. "So, you’ve decided to stop acting like a whiny little girl, huh?"

"Why are you like this? Just calm down, okay? I want to sort things out because I don’t see how this can work otherwise," I said.

"What do you mean? Explain yourself," he replied provocatively, leaning forward and motioning for me to sit next to him.

I couldn’t stop myself from checking him out, desperate to see the perfect portrayal of Jaden Diaz, adorned in unnecessarily expensive jewelry and fine clothes, lounging on the sofa like he owned the place. It was twisted.

"I mean, you’ve inhabited the body of my former bully and you’re playing the part mercilessly, even though the whole point was for me to get rid of Jaden's brutal mocking and for you to get the chance to be young again. But it feels like you only care about your own interests now, especially making my life harder, particularly at college."

"You still don’t get it, do you?" he sighed in exasperation. "Gosh! Did I really teach you to be such a whiny little bitch?" I wasn’t prepared for him to start swearing again. This wasn’t how my real father would behave—it was a habit that belonged to Jaden.

"This was never our plan. It was yours. Your plan to replace Jaden Diaz. I never had a problem with this guy. It was you. I just saw an opportunity and took it," he said dismissively.

"But Dad, why do you have to bully me in public and even at home? Just live your new life and leave the mocking out of it. I mean, you’re my father!" I pleaded.

"You know, son, technically, I’m not your father anymore," he said flatly. In that moment, something broke inside me. "All of his thoughts, habits, and secrets are right here, and they're mine now," he said, tapping his head lightly and flashing a handsome smile. I couldn't help but notice his perfect teeth – had he gotten them bleached?

"Honestly, I think you just didn’t like Jaden. The past few days, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it." I tried to push aside the disgust and sadness that overwhelmed me, caused by my own father. He noticed the shift in me and sneered again. Then he stepped in closer, face-to-face, speaking directly into my ear. I had never been this close to Jaden before. I could smell the scent on him – it wasn’t my father’s perfume – and I could see the strength in his neck muscles.

"You couldn’t stand Jaden. You thought you could replace him to make your life easier. But I am not the simple-minded, spoiled thug you thought I was. Fine, I have history and wasn’t the nicest guy in town, but I am not the douchebag you had led your father to believe. I think your biggest issue, and always has been, is that I was self-confident – I mean, that I have the self-confidence, something you still lack," he stated proudly, tapping his chest with a fist, "and I had dreams, you know? I really had." He imitated Jaden, his expression one of betrayal. I freaked out when my father referred to himself as Jaden now. Had I really lost my father because I took the easy way out?

"And you simply took one life because of your whiny ass. Tell me who the real douchebag is?," he asked, leaning back and looking at me with disappointment.

"I like the way Jaden thinks – the way I think about certain things now. It all started after the days of the possession. You have no idea how hard I've had to suppress the urge to smash your whiny face or talk to you like the original Jaden would have. I was a good 'father' to you by not giving in to those instincts. I really did not. But then I started noticing how you treated me – how you treated your own father – with contempt, day after day, as if it was your fathers fault he possessed me. There came a moment when I decided I wouldn’t care about your unspoken blame anymore. That attitude wasn’t something your father taught you all these years, and you no longer deserve special treatment. So I took full advantage of the situation. And here we are now, aren’t we?"

I felt overwhelmed by desperation, guilt, and shame. So many emotions crashing over me at once.

"Understand this," he continued, "I have limitless possibilities now, and I wouldn’t dare leave them out. Thanks to my former self’s savings and experiences, thanks to the support of Jaden’s father – I mean, my father – and of course, thanks to myself! I will make my dreams become reality." He laughed, clearly enjoying the bluntness of his words. "For example, I’ve always dreamed of modeling. In the past, I had my reasons not to, but fuck it! Now, I take every chance. And dude, I tell you, I’m fucking good at it. I mean just look at me. Who if not me! It also brings me a ton of bucks," he excitedly told me.

"You see, I’ve accepted my new life, and so should you. Because let’s be honest: who’s paying all the bills around here? Right! The new Jaden in town – I do. If you keep complaining and whining about all the things you get for free, I’ll have no problem kicking you out. It’s my place, after all. Due to the new circumstances, I wouldn’t even be sad to no longer have to share this house with someone like you. I have such great ideas for what I could do with my apartment and this place. Without a doubt, this place would be perfect for throwing the best parties with my new friends." He grinned again.

"So, are we good, fella?" He slapped a tight grip on my shoulder and flashed me a arrogant smile of the douchebag Jaden.

"Don't touch me, Dad! I have enough of your egoistical behavior." I was on the verge of tears, struggling to comprehend what he’d just said so casually.

Suddenly, his entire demeanor shifted, adopting the salty attitude of Jaden. His grip tightened painfully as he tossed me to the ground and launching into his tirade of scorn.

"I'm so sick of your attitude, do you understand that? I am not your Dad anymore. I really tried my best. So let me finally explain it to you, just like the former Jaden would have said it. Maybe you’ll only listen when your little dick is stiff. Did you really think that I didn't notice how you got turned on by this glory image of mine?" All his talking intensively turned me on - I couldn't deny it any longer. He stood up and towered over me.

"Obviously you are fucking jealous of the things I can offer," he removed his sweater and shirt and started to flex his upper body, "or your father raised a little fag who likes being dominated by his bully." He cracked his knuckles and looked at me with boredom in his eyes.

"You see that's the difference between us: I know my worth because I am an alpha. You think you stand above us all, don't you? But you get turned on by your bully, don't you beta? Huh, weak nerd!? I hate seeing your miserable face around me, but I could imagine you being of good use to me. You can worship this body when I allow it. Of course this body is reserved for pussies only. But I allow you to suck me off now. I will meet Eve in an hour and don't mind a good blow before that."

Finally I let go of all the reservations and self-doubt I had been holding back for days. I willingly started to remove his pants. He grabbed me by my hair and controlled my movement.

"By the way, Eve and I will come back to this place later. I will fuck her recklessly and I expect you to wait in your room when we will arrive. Am I clear to you, son?"

I moaned in agreement.

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