thecorrupt99

[thecorrupt99]

Been waiting for this moment 🥰🥰🥰

[thecorrupt99]

The Coach

I was getting dressed when I heard Leo groan behind me.

"Babe, come on. Let’s just stay in bed and be lazy today. It’s my only day off," he pleaded, stretching out dramatically.

I smiled but kept getting ready.

"I know we haven’t had much one-on-one time lately, but I can��t cancel. I made these lunch plans with Coach Anderson a month ago."

Leo shifted under the covers, grumbling playfully.

"Should I be worried about this coach now, huh? I’ve seen his insta dude is ripped."

I laughed, grabbing my keys.

"Nah. You know he was my basketball coach back in high school. He really helped me level up — it’s just a catch-up lunch, that’s all."

Leo raised an eyebrow, teasing.

"Or maybe you just think he’s ridiculously hot and you’re planning to leave me."

I smirked over my shoulder.

"I mean, yeah — back in high school, I thought he was hot. But now? I’ve got a cutie in my bed. You’ve got nothing to worry about."

Leo made a face, flopping onto his side.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. If I’m stuck here alone, I’m just gonna pick up a shift. You’ll see me tonight."

I was already halfway out the door.

"Alright, ugly. See you later."

Leo threw a pillow at me as I disappeared down the hall.

+++

We had a little time to kill before lunch, so we decided to hit up a nearby outdoor court.

The place was pretty run-down — cracked concrete, rusted hoops, chain nets clanging with every shot — but it would do.

Mr. Anderson was already there, casually dribbling near half-court, the ball echoing off the pavement in the warm afternoon air.

Andrew, my old teammate, showed up a few minutes later, grinning like he owned the place.

"Still think you can beat me, old man?" Andrew called out, tossing his hoodie onto the bleachers.

Mr. Anderson chuckled, spinning the ball in his hands.

"You two barely survived my drills back then. I’m not worried."

We laughed, stretched, and shot around for a bit — nothing serious, just catching up. The easy rhythm of the game made it feel like no time had passed.

After a while, Mr. Anderson clapped his hands.

"Alright, let's run a quick pickup game. First to eleven. You two against me. I’m feeling generous."

Andrew and I exchanged a look, grinning.

Even solo, we knew Coach had skills — but we were younger now, stronger. We'd run circles around him.

At first, it was just fun.

Light trash talk. Lazy defense. The familiar back-and-forth we always had.

But then... Mr. Anderson started getting a little too competitive.

He boxed out hard, jostled Andrew under the rim, drove into the paint with the kind of intensity he used to reserve for championship games.

When he faked a pass and stepped back for a jump shot, I caught the edge of his sneaker slipping on the dusty floor.

"Careful, Coach!" Andrew called out, half-laughing.

But it was too late — Mr. Anderson stumbled mid-shot, his body jerking slightly as he tried to catch his balance.

Except... it wasn’t a normal fall.

He staggered, hands clenching briefly at his sides, his eyes blinking like he was trying to fight off a dizzy spell. For a moment, his whole posture shifted — his chest rising like he was gasping for air he couldn't quite find.

Andrew jogged over, concerned.

"You good, man?"

Mr. Anderson’s head dipped forward, and then — just as suddenly — he straightened up.

When he lifted his gaze, something was... off.

His expression, usually sharp and commanding, was softer somehow. His mouth tugged into a slow, almost mischievous smirk that didn’t look like it belonged to him. There was a flicker of something familiar — familiar in a way that made my stomach tighten without knowing why.

"Yeah," Mr. Anderson said finally, voice a little raspier than before. He blinked slowly at me, like he was seeing me differently. "I’m good. Let’s... keep playing."

Andrew hesitated, glancing at me. I shrugged, trying to shake off the weird feeling crawling up the back of my neck.

We tossed the ball back into play, but the energy was different now. Coach — or whatever part of him was awake now — played closer, more physical. He cut me off aggressively when I dribbled, brushed against my side on rebounds a little longer than necessary.

And then there was the way he looked at me — not the familiar, mentorly pride I remembered — but something heavier. Something possessive.

Every so often, I'd catch Mr. Anderson’s mouth twitching — like he was fighting back a grin that didn’t fit his face.

Andrew, oblivious, was too busy trash-talking and laughing.

+++

The restaurant buzzed with low conversation and clinking silverware. We grabbed a booth near the windows — Andrew sliding in first, then me, and Coach across from us. Coach leaned back casually, arm stretching along the top of the seat, like he owned the place already.

I caught him looking at me as I shrugged off my jacket — not the casual glance of an old mentor catching up, but something steadier. Sharper. It made my skin prickle without knowing why.

"You ever been here before, Coach?" Andrew asked, flipping open a menu.

Coach shook his head, smiling a little. "First time," he said, voice smooth. His eyes flicked to me. "Good choice."

I gave a quick, easy smile, trying to shake off the weird feeling. "Yeah, Andrew thinks he’s a food expert," I said, nudging Andrew with my foot under the table. "You’ll have to forgive him if he oversells it."

Andrew smirked. "I don’t miss."

Coach chuckled low — not the barking laugh I remembered from practices, but something quieter. Warmer. The sound wrapped around me in a way I didn’t expect.

His gaze dropped briefly, running over me in a way that made the back of my neck heat up.

"Still in shape, I see," Coach said, voice low and almost approving.

I blinked, thrown for a second.

Andrew just grinned, elbowing me. "Eric’s still got it," he said. "Don’t challenge him to one-on-one unless you’re ready to lose."

Coach’s mouth tugged into a private smile, the kind you’d almost miss if you weren’t looking. "I wouldn’t mind losing," he said, tone easy — but something underneath it curled around the words. "Especially if it meant getting up close."

I let out a laugh — a little stiff, a little unsure. "You're not exactly the guy I remember trash-talking in the gym," I said lightly, glancing at Andrew like he’d back me up.

Andrew was too busy studying the menu. "Coach is just getting sentimental," he said, waving a hand. "Ignore him."

Coach hummed, still watching me. "Or maybe you just never paid close enough attention," he said.

Something in the air shifted — not enough to call it out, but enough to feel it in my chest. I dropped my gaze to my menu, flipping it open like I needed a distraction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Coach lean in slightly, elbows resting on the table, eyes never leaving me.

Andrew finally flagged down the server to order drinks, joking about needing something strong after the day we'd had.

Coach didn’t joke.

 He just watched me — a slow, knowing look — and smiled.

+++

I watched Andrew head toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with Coach.

The booth felt ten degrees hotter.

Coach shifted slightly, turning more toward me, elbow resting on the table. His smile looked easy — but something in it was different.

Something hungry. Something seeing me.

"You really gonna pretend you didn’t notice?" he said, voice low, almost teasing.

I blinked, caught off guard.

"Notice what?"

Coach leaned in a little, the overhead light catching the sharp line of his jaw. There was an edge to his smile now — a private kind of smile.

"The way you kept looking at me," he said. "Like you were thinking about something you shouldn’t."

My mouth went dry.

I tried to play it off, shrugging a little too stiffly.

"You’re my old coach. I’m allowed to be surprised you still got a decent jumper."

Coach laughed under his breath — not the barked laugh I remembered from practice, but something softer, darker.

"That's not it." "You weren't watching my shot."

He said it like he knew things I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet.

I leaned back slightly, studying him. Trying to get my heart to slow the hell down.

"You’re not acting like yourself, Coach," I said carefully.

Coach chuckled low, the sound curling around me.

"Maybe you just never paid close enough attention back then."

He took a slow sip of his drink, setting the glass down deliberately, never breaking eye contact.

The air between us crackled — electric, dangerous.

"You know," he said after a moment, voice dipping, "I used to catch you staring. Even back in practice."

I froze. A hot flush crawled up the back of my neck.

"You were young," he added, almost musing. "Focused. Easy to rattle."

I cleared my throat, forcing out a laugh.

"I think you’re imagining things."

Coach leaned in closer, voice almost a whisper now.

"You used to blush when I corrected your form."

My fingers curled against the edge of the table.

Was this happening? Was my old coach — my mentor, the guy I'd low-key crushed on when I was seventeen — seriously flirting with me across a diner table right now?

Coach smiled, slow and dangerous.

"Couldn’t figure out if you hated the attention... or loved it."

I stared at him, heart hammering, completely thrown.

Part of me wanted to pull away — the other part wanted to lean in, just to see what would happen.

He sat back, watching me, letting the silence thicken.

"Maybe," he said, softer now, "you still don’t know."

My throat worked around words I didn’t have.

This wasn’t just nostalgia. This wasn’t just catching up.

This was something else — a thread being pulled, a door opening.

And standing in front of it — was Leo.

I don’t know how I knew. I just did.

I leaned in, voice dropping instinctively, cutting through the dizzy heat in my chest.

"Leo?"

Coach’s mouth twitched — and then, that familiar, cocky, mischievous grin spread across his face. Leo's grin.

"Took you long enough, baby."

He said it low, playful, like it was just between us.

I stared at him, stunned.

Leo — inside Coach — sat back like he had all the time in the world.

"Slipped in sometime after you broke Coach's ankles on that weak-ass crossover." "Figured I'd stick around. You seemed like you were having fun."

I shook my head, half laughing now.

"You're insane."

Leo smirked.

"You love it."

He tapped the rim of his glass with one finger, still smiling lazily.

"And admit it — a tiny part of you always wondered what it’d be like if Coach really looked at you like this."

I flushed, knowing he was right and hating that he knew it so easily.

Leo chuckled, low and smug.

"Guess I’m just giving teenage you a little wish fulfillment."

I dropped my head into my hand, laughing despite myself.

"You're the worst."

"I’m the best," he corrected, the grin widening. "And now I know you still get all flustered when someone calls you out."

He reached out casually, brushing his knuckles along my forearm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Just then, Andrew's footsteps echoed as he came back toward the table.

Leo sat up straighter instantly, slipping back into Coach's easy posture — but I could still see it.

The glint in his eye. The curve of his mouth that didn’t belong to Coach Anderson.

"Hey, Eric," he said — the words polite, but the tone unmistakably smug underneath. "If you’ve got time later, maybe we can get some extra work in. Improve that shot of yours."

His hand brushed my shoulder — a little firmer, a little more claiming — as Andrew slid back into the booth, none the wiser.

I fought the urge to kick him under the table again.

+++

Lunch wound down, plates pushed aside, the check paid. Andrew stretched, glancing at his phone.

"Shit. My girl’s been blowing me up. I’m gonna dip before she actually kills me."

He clapped my shoulder in a rough, familiar way, gave Coach a polite nod, and headed for the door — leaving just me and Coach sitting across from each other in the suddenly quieter booth.

Leo didn’t even pretend to stay in full character anymore. The second the door swung closed behind Andrew, he shifted — relaxing into the booth, smirking at me with open mischief.

"Finally," he said under his breath. "I thought he was gonna tell another story about getting benched. I was gonna possess the waiter next just to escape."

I snorted, fighting a smile.

"You’re such an ass," I muttered.

Leo — still wearing Coach Anderson’s face and body — gave me a mock-wounded look.

"Rude. After everything I’ve done for you today? Fulfilling your high school fantasy and everything?"

He winked, and it hit me like a punch to the gut — because even though it was Leo inside, it was still Coach's voice, Coach's body, and it was all aimed at me.

Leo sat forward, elbows on the table, the playful glint in his eye turning a little softer.

"So," he said, tone low, coaxing, "what are we doing now, baby? Your coach is feeling... energetic."

He made it sound like a promise. Made it sound like he could undo me with one wrong look if I let him.

I swallowed, my mouth dry.

"I thought we were working on my shot," I said, playing along, arching an eyebrow.

Leo grinned wider, slow and lazy.

"Mmm. Changed my mind."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table, like weighing the options.

"Could go to the beach," he mused, tilting his head. "Could rent bikes. Could find some shitty little carnival and win you a stuffed animal."

He said it half-teasing, but there was a surprising tenderness underneath it — like part of him meant it.

"Or," he leaned in, his voice dropping again, almost conspiratorial, "I could just keep you all to myself for a few more hours."

My stomach flipped.

The way he was looking at me — through Coach’s eyes but with Leo’s soul — made my skin burn.

"You’re so dramatic," I said, trying to sound casual.

Leo gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense.

"Excuse me? I am romantic. There’s a difference."

I laughed, shaking my head.

"Sure, Coach. Very romantic. Nothing says love like kidnapping your boyfriend inside a mentor’s body."

Leo beamed proudly.

"Innovation, baby. You should be thanking me. Making memories."

He leaned back, arm sliding across the top of the booth again, casual — but his fingers brushed the back of my neck deliberately this time, slow and warm.

I shivered.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

"C’mon," Leo said, voice coaxing, almost boyish now. "Let’s go wander. No plan. Just me and you."

I hesitated.

He saw it — the warring mix of excitement and uncertainty — and he softened, real affection breaking through the teasing.

"You don’t have to be so tense, Eric," he said gently. "I know it’s weird. But it’s still me. Still the idiot you let share your bed. Just... in a taller, scarier package right now."

He smiled — not the cocky grin — a real, slightly dorky smile. The one he usually pulled when he made stupid jokes at 2AM or tried to teach me TikTok dances he was bad at.

And just like that — the tension in my chest cracked. Melted.

I shook my head, grinning despite myself.

"Fine. But if you get Coach Anderson’s body arrested doing something dumb, I’m not bailing you out."

Leo stood up, stretching his arms overhead, the hem of his t-shirt riding up slightly to reveal a flash of skin — Coach Anderson's skin, Leo's soul — and every part of me buzzed at the sight.

"Deal," he said, flashing me a bright, toothy smile that didn’t belong on Coach’s face but somehow fit perfectly now.

He held out his hand.

"Let’s go make some bad decisions, baby."

And for once — I didn’t hesitate.

I slid my hand into his, letting him pull me out of the booth and into the sun-drenched afternoon — wherever the hell he wanted to take me.

+++

The afternoon turned golden around us as we wandered — no real plan, no destination.

Leo — still wearing Coach Anderson’s frame — kept the act up just enough to pass for normal to strangers. But with me, he was relentless.

At a tourist trap of a boardwalk, he insisted on winning me a stuffed basketball from a ring toss game.

"For my MVP," he said, puffing his chest out dramatically as he handed it to me.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the grin from breaking across my face.

Later, we grabbed ice cream cones from a street cart. Leo kept sneaking bites of mine when he thought I wasn’t looking — except he was terrible at being sneaky, and he knew it.

"Coach stealing food now?" I teased.

Leo licked a smudge of ice cream from the corner of his mouth, shooting me a look so shamelessly playful I almost dropped my cone.

"Character development, baby."

We meandered through little souvenir shops, Leo tossing dumb keychains at me and pretending to critique my "form" when I caught them.

It was stupid. It was easy. It was... perfect.

For a few hours, I forgot about the weirdness of him wearing someone else’s face. It was still him. Always him.

And somehow, it felt even more raw — like we were outside time, outside rules.

Eventually, the sun started sinking lower, burning the sky into shades of pink and orange.

We ended up back at the car, breathless from laughing, Leo draping himself over me with the full weight of Coach’s larger frame.

"Home?" he murmured, voice warm against my ear.

"Home," I agreed.

The drive was quiet — comfortable.

Leo kept stealing glances at me at red lights, like he couldn’t believe he pulled this off.

I shook my head at him every time, but the truth was, I couldn’t stop smiling either.

When we finally got back to the apartment, the door barely swung shut before Leo kicked off his shoes, stretching with a long, satisfied groan.

"Long day of seducing my boyfriend," he said dramatically. "Someone should give me a medal."

I snorted, tossing the keys onto the counter.

"You’re lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch."

Leo grinned — that wild, boyish grin — and in one smooth motion, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled it over his head, tossing it onto the back of the couch.

For a second, I just stood there, blinking.

Coach Anderson’s body — cut, solid, tanned — but Leo’s energy radiating from every inch of him.

He caught me staring and smirked.

"Like what you see, baby?"

I rolled my eyes — hard — but my ears were burning.

Leo sauntered closer, slow and deliberate, playful cockiness in every step.

He stopped just inches from me, eyes gleaming with mischief.

I tilted my head, trying to hold onto a shred of composure.

"So," I said, voice a little rough, "when exactly are you planning to get out of him?"

Leo smirked, hands slipping to the hem of his shirt.

"Tomorrow morning," he said casually, peeling the fabric up and over his head in one slow, fluid motion.

The shirt hit the floor with a soft thud, and I barely registered it — too busy staring at the solid, tanned chest, the cut lines of muscle, the way the overhead light caught on skin.

Still Leo.

 till Coach Anderson. Still completely undoing me.

Leo grinned wider, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me — then, with a sharp glint in his eye, he shifted.

Like flipping a switch, he rolled his shoulders back, straightened his posture, and slipped back into Coach Anderson’s familiar authority — so fast it almost gave me whiplash.

His voice dropped — deeper, steadier, pure Coach now.

"You’ve been slacking on your drills, Eric," he said, tone low and commanding. "We’ve got a lot of work to catch up on."

I swallowed hard, heat blooming low in my gut.

He stepped in closer, gaze sharp, assessing — like he was about to run me through a brutal workout. Like I was his.

My brain screamed at me to remember this was Leo — that it was play, that it was ridiculous — but my body was already answering without hesitation.

I didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Didn’t want to.

I just stood there, soaking in the heat rolling off him, the electric pull between us crackling louder than any thought in my head.

And when he reached for me — I let him.

+++

[The Morning After, Leo’s POV]

The light slipping through the window was pale and soft, the kind of morning that made you want to stay tangled up in bed all day.

I stretched slowly, feeling the strength packed into this body — the broad chest, the thick arms — and grinned lazily at my reflection in the mirror across the room.

Still Coach Anderson. Still thick, still powerful, still hot as hell.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, snapped a quick, casual mirror selfie — messy hair, bare chest, cocky morning smirk — and tucked the phone away before anyone could catch me.

Behind me, the sheets rustled. Eric shifted, blinking awake, squinting at me from the bed.

"Morning," I said, voice still rough with sleep.

He groaned softly, dragging the pillow over his face.

"You’re way too awake for this hour."

I laughed under my breath, crossing the room and flopping down onto the mattress beside him.

He peeked at me from under the pillow — eyes a little puffy from sleep, hair sticking up wildly — and my heart kicked up in that stupid way it always did with him.

I tugged the pillow away and leaned down, brushing a slow kiss to his forehead.

"C’mon, baby. Let’s get breakfast before you have to run off to work."

Eric grumbled but smiled, reaching up to ruffle my hair half-heartedly.

"Fine. But you're paying."

"In this body?" I grinned, flexing dramatically. "They’ll probably pay me just for walking in."

[thecorrupt99]

"Argh, where did you get?" said the naked man irritated while checking the cook drawers. He was looking for a ghost that had been teasing him, so the man decided to end this. He had been trying to capture him all day, but the ghost was very elusive.

"Do you think you can catch me? Hehehehe" The man heard some noises from the drawers under the sink.

"I got you!" He assured the man by opening the drawers, however, he did not see him.

"No, I got you" the ghost replied, who took advantage of the exposed ass of man to enter "I'm going in" he said standing in the ass hole.

"Wh-What the ...?" The man felt a cold substance touch his ass, causing him to fall to the floor of surprise. He knew then that it was the ghost. "How do you dare?! Get out of my body!" He shouted trying to pull the ghost, but his hands only passed him.

"Do you think that with that you will get me out?" He asked mockingly, starting to introduce himself. "F-fuck... Stop it please... Oh Fuck! " he tried to say, but the ghost passing through his butt as if he were being fucked felt very pleasant.

"Oh, so you like to be possessed, huh? Hehehe" the ghost was introducing slowly, making his body massaging his prostate well. Due to pleasure, the man was letting him fight, until he gave his body to the control of the ghost. The man got up with a smile as he touched his abdomen with his hands.

"I did not know what you would love to be used as a suit," said the ghost with the voice of the man "well, that was just the beginning, what else can I do with you?" He saw his erect cock, and went to his room to finish what he had started.

[thecorrupt99]

Enough Credits

The first time I found Metamorph, I thought it was a prank—some elaborate role-playing scam or a dark web trap for the desperate. But the testimonials were too raw, the credit system too brutally efficient, the rules too meticulously structured to be fake.

Metamorph was a body-swapping marketplace.

The setup was simple, almost deceptively so. You signed up, submitted to a biometric scan to register your "profile," and got a handful of starter credits. Then—if you had the points—you could slip into someone else’s skin. Every swap you initiated cost credits. But if someone else chose your body, you’d be paid in theirs.

There were two kinds of swaps: temporary and permanent.

Temporary swaps were the most common—brief trades lasting anywhere from an hour to ten days. The catch? You couldn’t refuse them. If someone had the credits and wanted your body, they took it. No warning, no consent. Just a sudden, violent lurch—your consciousness torn from your flesh and dumped into theirs, no matter how unfamiliar or unwelcome. Some users described it like blacking out mid-breath: one second you’re yourself, the next you’re choking awake in a stranger’s life, their pulse hammering in your throat.

Permanent swaps were rarer, more deliberate. Unlike temporary trades, they didn’t cost the initiator credits. Instead, they could offer to take your body outright. If you accepted—and this time, you did have a choice—Metamorph would deposit enough credits into your account for three years of temporary swaps. Three years of bouncing between models, athletes, even the occasional washed-up celebrity. Three years of borrowed lives, no regrets. That’s because once you agreed, your old body was no longer your home—and the person who took it was locked out of Metamorph forever.

As I scrolled through the catalog of profiles—each tagged with vitals, photos, even user ratings—my pulse spiked. Damn. So many hotties. Sharp jawlines, gym-sculpted arms, guys who looked like they’d walked straight off a billboard. And I knew my own worth. My body was lean, angular, the kind that turned heads in a club. Some of these high-credit users would absolutely burn points to step into me for a night. I mean look at me:

At first, I was right. It was electric. I woke up in lawyers, musicians, a guy who owned a yacht in Miami. I racked up credits fast, riding the thrill of each new swap. Sure, none were keepers—one guy had a nicotine habit that left me wheezing, another had a wife who side-eyed "his" sudden indifference—but it was fun. Until it wasn’t.

Max was easily the worst body I’d been dumped into yet.

Not some wealthy muscle god, not even a guy with decent charm. He was soft around the middle, patchy stubble, the kind of face that made waitresses forget to refill his water. I groaned, rolling off the sagging mattress and stumbling into his dingy bathroom. The mirror confirmed it: dull brown eyes, thinning hair, a nose that had clearly lost a fight with a door frame.

What the hell?

I grabbed his phone, swiping to the Metamorph widget. 10 days. The max lockout period. My stomach dropped. Ten days in this?

Then I saw his credit balance.

My breath stalled.

87,430 credits.

An obscene amount. More than I’d ever seen—enough to live in other bodies nonstop for decades.

A note sat on the counter, scrawled in messy handwriting:

Hey, If you’re reading this, congrats—you’re my first pleasure swap in 10 years. I’ve been playing the long game. Take an ugly body, train it up, swap it permanently for another ugly one, stack credits. Rinse and repeat. Twelve times. This body (Max) is my home now. But I saved all these credits for one reason: to finally have fun. Yours was the first body that tempted me in years. Enjoy the credits! —M

I stared at the note, then back at the phone.

A weird mix of flattery and dread coiled in my chest.

Ten days later, I snapped back into my own body like a rubber band. My skin hummed with familiarity—the lean muscles, the sharp jaw, the way my shirt draped just right. I exhaled, running my hands over my face like I was checking for damage.

Home.

Another note waited on my desk.

Thank you. —M

I thought that was the end of it. And hey, now I had credits to burn, right? Wrong.

Two days later, I was brushing my teeth when the world tilted sideways.

I was back in Max’s bathroom, staring into his tired eyes, my hands gripping his chipped sink.

“What the—?!”

His phone buzzed. This time a DM:

Max: Hey, gorgeous. Miss me? Sorry for the surprise. Cut my Rio trip short—some Brazilian adonis is gonna wake up very confuse (and probably very relieved). You’re just… different.

I hurled the phone onto his unmade bed.

The next ten days crawled. Max’s body was a wreck—aching knees, a back that popped when he stretched, a fridge full of microwave meals. I barely left his apartment, counting down the hours like a prisoner.

When I finally snapped back into my own skin, I collapsed onto my floor, kissing the familiar creaks of my hardwood.

Four days of freedom. Then—wrench. Back to Max’s sagging couch and doughy love handles.

Another DM:

Max: Okay, hear me out. I tried to resist taking you again. But then I took over some hedge-fund bro’s body (6’2”, abs, yawn) and all I could think about was your biceps and the curve of your hips. Pathetic, right? Anyway. Ten more days. Try not to hate me. (Or do. That’s kinda hot now that I think about it.)

“You creep,” I muttered.

Enough. I opened a support ticket, fingers jittering:

"How do I block a user from repeatedly swapping into my body?"

The reply came fast:

Metamorph Support: "User blocking is not currently supported. If a participant has sufficient credits and respects the 48-hour cooldown, swaps are permitted. Adjust profile visibility or spend credits to remain in other bodies longer to avoid unwanted exchanges."*

I stared at the screen. Adjust visibility? Useless—he already knew my ID. Spend credits to hide? A temporary fix.

I was trapped.

I waited out the ten days in Max’s body, scrambling for a solution. Nothing. Maybe he’d get bored. Finally, I was back in my own skin—my hands, my apartment, my reflection—when the app chimed.

A notification:

PERMANENT SWAP REQUEST User ID#4492-LL would like to swap bodies with you. Max: I feel so right as you.

My stomach lurched. I smashed REJECT so fast.

“Fuck no.”

The app blinked. Request denied.

He wanted to be me?

Another DM popped up:

Max: Worth a shot. ;)

[thecorrupt99]

Let's Get Goony Gringo

Ai generated!

Tyler should've known better than to nap with the door unlocked.

Sun filtering in through the blinds lit up the dusty frat room — cheap beer banners on the walls, a couple of red solo cups abandoned on the desk, a crumpled tank top tossed on the chair. Tyler, Phi Delta Chi’s golden boy, lounged in his tiny bed wearing just a charcoal-gray tank and navy boxer briefs so tight they showed off every ridge of his thick thighs and the fat outline of his cock, half-hard in his sleep.

He looked like every college fantasy — tan, ripped, that messy blond hair that always seemed artfully tousled, like he just came back from the beach.

Perfect.

Mateo — a cocky-ass Mexican ghost who’d once been the life of another frat house before his body gave out during one particularly legendary goon bender — had been watching this blond gringo for days, just waiting for his shot.

"Mira nomás..." Mateo purred as he materialized at the foot of the bed, invisible to the sleeping Tyler. "Pinche güerito looks too good not to steal..."

Without another second of hesitation, Mateo launched himself forward — a swirling rush of energy — and poured straight into Tyler’s slack, snoring mouth.

Tyler’s body spasmed hard. His muscles tensed, feet kicking against the mattress, eyes rolling back till only the whites showed. His mouth hung open in a perfect "O" as Mateo sank deep, merging, hijacking, taking the driver's seat.

Then… stillness.

Slowly, Tyler’s eyelids fluttered, and a cocky grin spread across his pretty-boy face.

"Ay cabrón, this feels fuckin’ good..." Mateo slurred, now fully in control, rolling his new thick white boy shoulders, flexing his thick arms. His voice came out rough, sexy — dripping with a deep Mexican accent that didn’t belong to this clean-cut gringo body at all.

He sat up, running his hands greedily down his own chest, over the firm slope of pecs, teasing his nipples through the thin tanktop.

"Mmm, tan apretadito..." he moaned, squeezing his own biceps, flexing for no one but himself. He raked his fingers through Tyler’s blond locks, flashing a shit-eating grin in the mirror across the room.

"Damn, güey...I'm a whole fuckin’ snack, bro."

His cock throbbed painfully inside his briefs — a fat, leaking bulge that demanded attention. He tugged the waistband down just enough to free it, thick and angry red, already drooling precum over his tan stomach.

"Shiiiit, let's fuckin' gooo..." Mateo laughed, slipping deep into full-on goon mode. He sprawled out wide on the bed, legs open, one hand wrapped tight around his fat cock, the other groping his own pecs greedily.

The first sloppy pumps made his toes curl, made his lips part in a dumb moan.

"Ooohhh fuck yeah, gringo body so fuckin’ perfect for goonin'..." he babbled, accent thick and syrupy. His hips started jerking up into his fist, sheets creaking under him.

He stared at his own reflection in the mirror — blond, ripped, beautiful — but the way he drooled down his own chest, the way his eyes crossed and his tongue lolled out stupidly, he looked nothing like the golden boy he used to be.

And he fucking loved it.

"Stupid little güerito... gonna make you a full-time fuckin’ goon slut, ese..." he chuckled breathlessly, slapping his cock against his abs, strings of precum snapping across his chest.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yo, Tyler, you up, bro?!" called a voice — his frat brother Ryan, from down the hall.

Mateo stiffened — but only for a second. Smirking wickedly, he snapped back into Tyler’s white boy voice effortlessly, putting on that clean-cut, easygoing drawl.

"Yeah dude! All good! Just, uh, chillin' man!" he called out, voice bright, friendly, masking the fact that he was still stroking his cock furiously under the sheets.

"Alright, sick, party later!" Ryan said, footsteps retreating.

As soon as the coast was clear, Mateo collapsed back onto the bed, erupting into filthy laughter, his accent roaring back.

"Hahahaha, pinche güerito voice sounds so dumb, bro," he sneered, mocking Tyler’s clean white accent in a stupid valley-boy tone: "Yeah dude! Like, totally chillin’, bro! Haha!"

He tossed his head back, laughing so hard he drooled all over his chin, then dived right back into gooning without missing a beat.

"Ay, vamos cabrón...goon out for me, stupid gringo..." he moaned, hand working his cock faster, hips thrusting desperately into the air. His face twisted into a full-blown goontard expression — eyes crossed, tongue out, forehead wrinkled dumbly, saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth.

"Unnnngh, fuck yeah...I'm a dumb horny güero slut..." he whined in that thick, sexy Mexican voice, hips pistoning frantically now, sheets a tangled mess under his sweaty, twitching body.

He teetered on the edge for what felt like forever, whimpering like a brain-dead puppy, until—

BAM.

His whole body seized as he blasted fat, sticky ropes of cum all over himself — chest, stomach, even hitting his chin. He writhed in the mess, hands spasming, thighs flexing hard, feet kicking like a helpless little bitch.

But Mateo wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Still breathing like a pornstar, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table, one hand still milking his cock lazily. He flipped open Snapchat, flicked it to the front camera.

The sight was fucking obscene — Tyler’s pretty frat face ruined into a sweaty, cross-eyed, drool-dripping goonface. His blond hair was matted, his chest glazed in cum, his tongue sloppily hanging out.

Perfect.

He snapped the pic without hesitation and grinned as he typed the caption in messy, horny fingers:

"let’s get goony gringo 🇲🇽👅🍆"

And he sent it to his entire story, not giving a single fuck.

Laying back, still leaking cum, still rock-hard and twitching, Mateo licked his lips lazily.

"Hehehe...ain’t no turning back now, cabrón," he whispered, stroking himself back to full mast. "Time to make this dumb pretty güero a fuckin’ legend..."

And with that, he slid back into another mindless, drooling, cock-hungry goon spiral, destroying Tyler’s perfect frat boy body from the inside out.

Forever.

[thecorrupt99]

[thecorrupt99]

“Not too shabby, not too shabby.” Agent Myles studied his reflection in the mirror and took a few self-shots for the record. And maybe for his own personal enjoyment later. But the Agency didn’t need to know about that.

The Agency had most recently transferred him into the body of billionaire Max Masters’ teenage son. His official mission was to help uncover any insider secrets about Masters’ recent dealings with a foreign government…

“But I’ll get to all that later,” Agent Myles thought, sliding his hands down underneath the elastic waistband of the tight black briefs he was wearing… “First I want to get to know this young stud’s body just a little bit better…”

[thecorrupt99]

Test Of Skills

Short stoty- Game for Fun

I'm Richard. I look like a police detective. And if you guess that you're wrong.

I'm a member of the local mafia. I work for the boss. Im one of his goons

We wouldn't get where we are today without our skills.

Unfortunately, it's been a slow day. Even the boss is bored.

He came up with an idea saying. We haven't tested our skills for some time. He's looking right at me when he said it.

Richard, I pick you.

Two of the guys will take you out and drop you off somewhere. They will prepare you. And I'll leave you some information.

But you must manage to get back here in one piece.

No use of knives or real guns on each other. It's a test of skills. No punches to the face. This is a game of skill.

The guy's blindfold of me and put me in the back of the boss's limo. I don't know how long we were on the road.We could have been just going around the block a couple of times. But the idea it was not to let me know where I really was.

Then we all got out. We are in a wooded area. But still in a residential area. It seems like a quiet neighborhood.I didn't really see any people.

As I was looking around seeing things, I didn't see one of the guys get behind me.

A quick blow to the back of the head knocked me out.

The game is begun.

When I?

When I woke up , I was completely naked.

They took my suit.They took my socks and took my underwear. No phone. I don't have my watch. I have nothing.

Where am I?

The boss has his plan. My goal is to find clothing and get back to headquarters.

The boss is not cold-hearted. He has a guy who I may not know. He is here for me to get his clothes. But I see no one.

I'm naked. Time for my skills to be used.

You have to be kidding me.

I never wear that. But he looks my size. I am looking for a guy in a suit. And he is my only choice. The boss, I'm sure, he is laughing right now. And he is in the open. Adds to the trouble.

I keep looking. No one else is around. I have to go for it. Running up to the bus stop. And not be seen.

Trees, bushes. Keeping low and moving slow.

I keep looking around. As I am moving in. I see no one else. He has to be the one.

I jumped him from behind and knocked him out. It's in the rules, yes to that. The guys did it to me.

He is down. And I see bushes not too far off. And drag him off.

Within no time, he was naked. And I was dressed as him. I can't believe I'm dressed like this. This is not my style. But his clothes fit me.

The boss would be laughing right now.

Just intime. The bus just pulling in. He he. Right back to headquarters. Easy win.

I walk in, and the boss takes one look.

You got back fast. But what are you wearing.

Wearing. There was only one person around I saw. He was my size, and this is what he was wearing.

Boss is laughing. You got the wrong guy.

The wrong guy. He was the only person I saw. I even waited before I made my move to make sure.

Boss: Get me Anthony.

Anthony, where are you at?

The park. Right where the guys dropped me off at. I can't find Richard.

Here here!

How he get there?

First. How long have you been there?

Well I went for a coffee. It cold out here.

Idiot. That explains everything.

He left for a cup of coffee. So you jump an innocent man for his clothes.

Richard grabs the phone.

Anthony. Look behind the rest stop. In a large group of bushes?

Yea.

Is there a naked mam on the ground.

Yea. There is, and he looks like he come too.

Get out out there. Im wearing his clothes. Where I should be wearing yours.

How you mess that up.

Because... You went for coffee. You didn't stay in the area.

My bad.

Get back here fast. Before he sees you.

Well, boss explains how I ended up dressed like this. Now where my suit?

All your stuff in the back. Go change.

New rule. During the test. Don't change any part of it. Don't leave the area.

Nice to be back in my own clothes.

Just proved. You can really knock a man out for his clothes and get back. My skill fir that are still good.

[thecorrupt99]

Revolving Door

When Tate McRae said that "I keep comin' back like a revolving door" in her hit song, I guess that aptly described my relationship with my ex-boyfriend, Kentaro, or Ken for short.

He's a toxic, manipulative, trustfund gym junkie that is completely a red flag through and through, but how can I resist him when he always fashioned himself in an entirely different manner after every single time he fucked up? What I'm about to tell you is absurd but it really is the truth, but aside from being crazy rich due to his parents work, that work done by his parents also enabled him to shapeshift into any human being on Earth as long as he physically touched them. So, imagine my frustration (and obviously massive surprise that almost sent me to cardiac arrest) that after my first breakup with him, the person I have a big fat crush on because of his interest to me that came out of nowhere as I noticed him from ages before but not receiving any signal in return until after my breakup turned out to be Kentaro in disguise!

How did I found out about it? Well, he revealed himself by shifting right in front of my eyes after he fucked me. He explained that the people he decided to shift into would fall asleep as soon as he shifted into their form and so all the flirting I received from Grant was actually his. I obviously called him a fucking creep right then and there and started to throw any stuff I could find at him, until he shifted into my own fucking boss back then and styled that man in his posing brief as we knew him to be a bodybuilder and even watched his shows as he invited all the employee to support him. He grabbed me with my boss fucking muscular arm and leaned closer to me with a smirk before ravenously kissed me, using his knowledge over my fantasies that I shared with him about my boss as a weapon to attack my defense, which of course unable to resist my own wildest fantasies that came to life at that time

And that's been the dynamic ever since. Every time after our breakup and even when I already dated steadily with my now-boyfriend Lin, or Linford based on his English nickname, Ken would tease me from time-to-time for a quick fling here and there. My younger sis jock boyfriend......

the fucking plumber that worked in my house......

and even a random jogger I bumped with became a string of his identity theft victim and also my passionate lust and no matter how disgusted or wracked with guilt I was, I always returned with fascination to his different kind of embraces and deep obsession with me

He seemed to keep track of me rather obsessively, or maybe I let him track me deep within my psyche as I desired his bold moves, like shifting into my favorite coffee shop barista and sent me a crude message through HIS PHONE offering a fucking during his shift break as a reward for my loyalty to the indie coffee shop!

Or when he shifted into the fucking priest that officiated the wedding of our mutual friend, his eyes probably noticed how long I kept my eyes shut and lulled to the priest's fatherly baritone that enchanted everyone and when I caught seeing for too goddamn long at the priest taking off his suit jacket to reveal an insanely tight shirt that hugged his splendid figure. Ken used all that knowing full-well how much a man that pious turned out to be corrupted and want to fuck another man really stirred my groin with excitement

He seemed to really understand me in a molecular level, at least when it comes to my lust and sexual desires, and he utilized it in ways not a single boyfriend of mine after him managed to do.

So, after one of my escapades with him just a few months ago, this time he was in the form of my CEO's asshole son, he asked me

"What are we, really? I won't keep doing this with you, Evan. I have a life I want to build too and as much as I enjoyed your company with all your ideas and kink, this needs to be put to a stop if you really don't want to end with me. You always returned to me no matter how far you go, why can't you just stay with me then if I'm that irressistible for you?"

I was stunned........but I have no answer back then so I ran right away and leaving him to dust. I ghosted him by blocking all contacts of his because I was surprised he took all of the flings deeper than it should when I treated it as something shallow.

Nowadays, I really enjoyed Linford's presence and I've not cheated from him ever since. He's quite the gym junkie too in the past few months, I told him to bulk up and be strong and he took the advice really well and even more devoted compared to my working out hours as he has the flexibility of remote work. Things are also more exciting as Linford also shown me his shapeshifting power that makes everything so much more exciting in our bedroom, but I love his original look as it is.

[thecorrupt99]

Swapping Research - Part 1

Starting to try and use AI for translations to English. I don't like it, but writing in English is exhausting.

Marcus Chen gripped the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the fluorescent-lit mirror. "Trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform…" The naming of hand bones did little to slow his racing heart. Organic chemistry in thirty minutes. Dr. Zhang's infamous molecular mechanisms exam.

The bathroom door banged open. Tyler Reeves filled the doorframe, six-foot-three of basketball glory in team outfit, a crumpled paper in his hand.

"Thought I'd find you in here." Tyler's voice echoed against the tiles. "Pre-exam ritual?"

"I was trying to make sure I remember everything for the exam," Marcus said, straightening and adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Some of us can't coast through life on jump shots."

Tyler's smile disappeared. He held out the paper: a formal notice from the university. "They said I'm on academic probation. One semester to get my GPA above a 2.0 or I lose my scholarship."

Marcus scanned the notice. "I told you to drop Evolutionary Biology. You needed to start with—"

"Not the point, Marcus." Tyler ran a hand through his too-long hair, his usual confidence replaced by a mild sense of desperation. "I need help. Not tutoring. Something… different."

"I have an exam in 30 minutes, and my med school interview next week. Whatever this is—"

"My cousin Alex," Tyler interrupted, lowering his voice as someone entered a bathroom stall behind them. "She's doing this neuroscience PhD thing. Consciousness… transfer. Temporarily."

Marcus stared at him. "You're describing science fiction."

"It's real. She's been mapping neural pathways, testing it on rats. They're… they're switching brains, Marcus. She needs human subjects." Tyler leaned closer, voice urgent. "Twenty-four hours. That's all. I just need to know what it feels like."

"What what feels like?"

"To have a brain that works right." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. Tyler glanced around, then continued quieter: "I don't really like to talk about it. I'm dyslexic. Bad. Words swim around, flip backwards. Dad refused to get me tested.

Marcus remembered high school, Tyler recording lectures instead of taking notes, always asking to study together but never reading aloud. The pieces clicked into place.

"Tyler, I'm sorry, but consciousness transfer? It's just not possible."

"It's real. She's proven it. Just twenty-four hours in your body. To read and prepare without feeling like drowning, so I can maybe actually get something into this thick skull" Tyler's eyes held a desperation Marcus had never seen. "Please. I'm out of options."

Marcus thought of his carefully planned week, his interview preparation, his parents' expectations. "This is insane."

"One day. Then everything goes back to normal. I promise.

---

Alex Nguyen's "lab" was a repurposed storage room in the neuroscience department basement, filled with humming equipment that looked cobbled together from different decades. Monitors displayed brain scans in pulsing colors..

"The procedure is non-invasive," Alex explained, her undercut hairstyle severe under the fluorescent lighting. She adjusted electrodes on a strange helmet apparatus. "Consciousness mapping uses quantum entanglement principles to create a temporary neural signature exchange."

Marcus eyed the setup skeptically. "This can't possibly have IRB approval."

Alex's eyes flicked to Tyler, then back to Marcus. "We're in the theoretical testing phase."

"She means 'no,'" Tyler translated.

"The risks are minimal," Alex continued, typing rapidly on a keyboard. "Temporary disorientation, mild synesthesia, possible dream disturbances. The transfer nullifies and reverses naturally after approximately twenty-four hours."

"Has anyone done this before? Human subjects?" Marcus asked.

Alex's slight hesitation told him everything. "You'd be the first complete transfer. But the animal studies are promising. Rats with trained maze behaviors maintained those memories in their new bodies."

"This is crazy," Marcus muttered, but didn't leave. Something in Tyler's desperation had touched him. The vulnerability beneath the confident facade.

"Please. I wouldn't ask if there was another way." Tyler said quietly.

Marcus thought of their childhood: Tyler defending him from bullies in elementary school, the effortless way he navigated social situations that left Marcus paralyzed with anxiety. Maybe he owed him this.

"Twenty-four hours," Marcus said firmly. "Then we switch back, no matter what. I have that interview next week."

Alex gestured them toward two reclined chairs. "You'll be unconscious for approximately thirty minutes during the transfer. When you wake, you'll be in each other's bodies."

As Alex attached electrodes to his temples, Marcus felt panic rising. "Wait. How will we prove this actually worked? That it's not suggestion or—"

"Tell me something only you would know," Alex suggested. "Something you can repeat back afterward."

Marcus thought for a moment, then leaned over to Alex and whispered, "I secretly watch 'RuPaul' when I'm stressed."

Alex grinned. "The drag show? Seriously?"

"Don't judge. Tyler, it's your turn."

Tyler hesitated, then whispered something that made Alex's eyebrows rise.

"Didn't expect that," Alex said. "Ok, now that that's done, are you Ready?" Alex asked, hovering by the switch.

"No," Marcus admitted.

"Do it anyway," Tyler said.

The electricity began as a gentle hum at the base of Marcus's skull, spreading outward. Panic fluttered in his chest as the room blurred. His last thought was a desperate recitation—trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, lunate—before darkness pulled him under.

---

Marcues' consciousness returning felt like being yanked from deep water. He gasped, his body feeling impossibly wrong: longer limbs, different center of gravity, a dull ache in the right knee. His stomach heaved, and he barely managed to turn before vomiting on the floor.

"Easy," came Alex's voice. "Disorientation is normal."

Marcus looked up, vision swimming, and felt a primal horror unlike anything he'd experienced. Across the room, his own body was sitting up, looking at its hands with wonder. His face, but not his expressions, not his movements.

"Holy shit," his voice said from his body, Tyler's inflections all wrong in Marcus's mouth. "It worked. It actually worked."

Marcus tried to stand and staggered, unfamiliar muscles responding differently than expected. He reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there, fingers touching unfamiliar features. Tyler's features. His new nose, his soft lips, his beard scruff…

The violation went deeper than he'd imagined. Not just wearing someone else's skin, but inhabiting their flesh completely, feeling their physical pain, seeing through their eyes.

"Twenty-four hours," he managed to say, Tyler's voice emerging from his throat. "Not a minute more."

His own face looked back at him, wearing Tyler's crooked smile. It was real. Marcus wasn't in his own body anymore. And the raw, visceral wrongness of that fact threatened to drown him completely.

[thecorrupt99]

Switch Up: Conclusions

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Switch Up: Conclusions (English Version)

Life had been perfect since Miles showed us the control and we ended up in these bodies.

We had become the kings of the school, it was no longer necessary to hide from bullies, or go unnoticed in the halls, no. Now at every step we took, at least one person would turn to look at us as if their life depended on it.

It was like having power in its purest expression. Attractive, muscular, who wouldn't want to have all that?

Some things had changed, maybe people noticed it or preferred to ignore it and take it as normal. The way Blake now dressed, the new interests in Caleb, the more noticeable flirtations of the new Ruben.

Or even Alan and Blake's relationship. Who now couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other for too long.

Everything was as it should be. Us in the lead, no longer being shadows.

There were strange and difficult parts to get used to, of course. Miles' control did not yet have the ability to endow the host with the memories and recollections of the shell body.

So getting used to a new house, hobbies and even a new social circle was a challenge. Not impossible, but something that cost at least the first few weeks.

Although, the base abilities of the bodies did seem to remain, as a kind of autopilot. I discovered in a short time that I quite liked theater, I didn't know if it was because of Ruben's "base style", but there was a strange satisfaction in standing on a stage with hundreds of people in front of me and having them eating out of the palm of my hand.

I must admit that I've become a bit self-centered (and although I don't like to say it in front of the new Caleb and Blake, that worries me). I know I'm not Ethan anymore, that's way behind me now, but what if my original personality is lost?

I wanted to take the place of a popular guy, but not become him body and soul. Much less a hyper-projected version of him.

- Did you call us? - I asked, just coming out of a theater rehearsal. As long as I had been inside this body, I still couldn't get used to it. I kept looking at my strong biceps out of the corner of my eye, or bouncing my pecs for mere play.

- Yeah, I've been thinking something lately - Blake nodded to himself, looking at me and Caleb in the other corner of the room.

- And what is it?

- Well, since this - he pulled the controller out of his pocket - I've noticed that we don't usually hang out together anymore, we used to go everywhere, now you're with the theater, you're with your prankster friends or those cosplay things.

- What about you? - Caleb spoke - You just hang out with your new boyfriend, your training or your experiments.

There was silence, Blake denied.

- That's not the point. I mean the three of us have neglected each other, we used to be close, now it seems we don't even have time to answer messages.

He understood what Miles was saying but in a way, he was also agreeing with Logan.

- You haven't made time for us either - I muttered, looking down.

Silence settled between us for a while, until Caleb dared to break it.

- I love you guys. But maybe it's also part of... this - he pointed at his body and then at us.

- Stop being friends? - I asked in a low tone.

- Maybe... Maybe.

He also lowered his gaze.

- I can't believe they're really saying that - Blake looked at us with some suspicion - To stop being friends just because... we changed bodies?

- We're not the same people anymore.

- We are on the inside, Logan!

- ... He didn't call me Logan anymore.

- But you know you fucking were!

Miles' breathing became ragged and ragged for a moment, he became thoughtful.

- And what do you propose? - I looked at him.

He didn't say or do anything for a while, it was extremely awkward until he started moving towards Caleb, serious, they stood face to face, I thought they were about to punch each other until Blake moved in to kiss him.

Caleb tried to push him away but ended up giving in, it was an intense series of kisses, the stinkier one took some authority as he squeezed the hairs on the back of the other's neck, pulling him tight to him.

There was a lot of tongue and saliva in between, they were loud in strange, little by little the atmosphere began to heat up more, Caleb grabbed Blake's waist to corner him against the wall, their backs collided with a thud, which made him let out a gasp but they still continued kissing.

It went on for a while until they seemed to remember I was there too.

- Are you going to stand there alone? - Miles asked, looking at me with a mixture of lust and impatience. Seeing no response, he looked up at Logan and motioned to him.

The other one broke away and advanced towards me. It wasn't even a second before he had his tongue inside me, his hands roaming and clinging to my skin.

- Ah... I-I don't understand w-why this will make us b-b-become united again

I stammered as best I could as Logan seemed to have turned into a beast thirsty for desire kissing my neck. I didn't know if it was him or traces of his new body, but jeez... He sure was territorial, aggressive and primal.

- We wanted to do this together, didn't we? - Miles said, caressing his chest and abs carelessly - We wanted to be sporty to be hot, popular, all together. But when did we give ourselves time to taste what we had now?

I couldn't think of anything. On the one hand, it seemed crazy and completely ridiculous what Miles was saying. What did this have to do with the fact that we were kissing now?

I wanted to think of it as some sort of couples therapy strategy, but we were friends. What was this?

Before I could say more, Miles came up behind me and started caressing Logan's body, which made him let out slight grunts.

- And that's your whole... your whole plan? - I mumbled heavily, focusing on Miles having control in his hands - Is it necessary for you to always bring... that with you?

He smiled.

- No, but I feel more comfortable this way... I don't quite know my new family, imagine leaving the control around and everyone starts switching bodies left and right - he explained with that nerdy aura that still seeped through from time to time, I couldn't explain why, but that made me smile - Plus now we can do this.

He pressed and pointed, and suddenly, I was no longer looking at him, I was staring at the wall, with my lips against a neck, settled between someone's legs... Now I was in Caleb's body.

- Uh... Why did you do that? - my old voice asked.

- They say the best way to understand another person is to put yourself in their shoes, right? Well surprise, we can do that.

Before I could even respond, I found myself in someone else's body again, control in my hands. Caleb broke away, looking down at his huge hands.

- Why him? He's a brainless gorilla - he mumbled stroking and sniffing himself, to which he made a strange gesture - Shit, what's that smell?

And it was like he lost his mind, suddenly glued to his armpit with need, inhaling hard and rubbing his armpit to fill his nose with sweat over and over again.

- Because I wanted to get back at him - It was strange to see Ruben talking without me in charge - Besides... He's sexy, a brainless himbo, it's easier to socialize with some people, I don't have to worry about being... interesting. I can say anything stupid and people will laugh, though... The smell is still a problem.

He grimaced, but Miles was still lost in this new experience.

- Scent? What the hell are you talking about? If it smells delicious...

- That's because Caleb has hyperosmia, that's why he always wanted to smell this strong. He liked his own stench

The new Caleb kept sniffing himself. Until all of a sudden he was back against Ruben's neck, sniffing and kissing him.

- Shit, you smell good.

Ruben gasped but his legs clung against Caleb's waist, starting to rub against him.

It was chaos between kisses, Caleb sniffing Ruben's skin, the Latino panting and clinging to the boy's armpit. I couldn't hold back and tightened my grip, ending up with Caleb on top of me.

- No fair! - Blake's body cried out.

- S-sorry f-friend.

I stammered with a smile.

Blake came over and pressed himself against Caleb, starting to caress his body, rubbing and kissing him.

In less time than we thought, there were no clothes left, we were panting in unison, awkward kisses and eager hands everywhere. Logan on Blake's body, me on Ruben's, Miles on Caleb's. Though the order didn't matter much since every so often. Someone would take over to end up in another body.

- Woah! Why did you decide on a Latino? - Miles asked caressing his chest and face.

- Because he's hot, I liked him from the first moment I saw him - I whispered distributing kisses on his thighs - He's interesting, handsome, and has something unique about him over the others.

- Lots of romantic shit - Logan said caressing Ruben's chest from behind - Why did you choose Blake?

Miles let out a laugh.

- Do I need to explain?

- Nah... - they both kissed madly.

- Won't your boyfriend be mad about this? - I asked.

- I'm just re-bonding with my best friends. What's the big deal?

A short time later, Ruben's body was in the middle of me in Caleb's, Logan in front with Blake's. I was shoving the rod from my new body straight into Miles' new one. Which made him gasp.

- Ah, it's big! - he complained.

- Another thing I picked him for - Logan smiled back Logan before they kissed.

I was lost in the feeling I didn't realize when Miles took control to switch us back and forth, back into our original bodies.

- Shit, let me know you'll do that, mfh! - I couldn't help but gasp, my eyes rolled to white for a while. I felt Caleb fill everything with me, Blake settled with a smile in front of me to take my face in his hands, caressing my cheeks.

- Do you remember what you did with me when I was inside Alan?

I swallowed nervously.

— D-dude, I-I don't know what you're talking about. — Nah, don’t be a coward, Ethan - He grabbed one of my pecs and squeezed it, making me let out a little yelp - Say it. — Ah, shit! I used you! — Great. And don’t you think you should pay for that?

A glint flashed in his eyes. He signaled to Logan, who began thrusting harder. My eyes rolled back from the sheer pleasure, and I panted like crazy. A bit of drool escaped my lips as Logan slammed his hips into me with even more force. Miles grabbed my chin, firm and confident.

— You love how he feels inside you, don’t you? — I love having him inside me... - I murmured, breathless.

He grabbed my neck a little tightly, squeezing it.

— And does it feel good? — It feels so good - I moaned in pleasure.

Miles smiled again, cocky as ever, then guided my hand to his length. With his other hand, he pulled me in and kissed me with need and hunger.

Everything turned into a sticky, sweaty, slightly smelly mess after that. I don’t even want to imagine what the janitor walked into. Or the class that came in after us.

Strangely enough, Miles had been right. It felt like reconnecting with the real bond the three of us once had, like it always used to be. It was nice having my best friends back. I knew it would be weird—again—for others to see Caleb, Ruben, and Blake hanging out like old buddies, considering none of them even spoke to each other before the swap.

But what mattered was having my friends by my side again. — Wanna do something Friday? - I typed into the group chat. — Yes! There's a new superhero movie coming out. Can we go see it? - Logan replied. — Don’t you ever get tired of being such a nerd? - I joked. Logan just sent a photo.

— A nerd who had your legs shaking.

I smiled, though weirdly... Miles had been quiet for a while. — SHIT! - he suddenly typed in the chat. — What’s wrong? Everything okay? — FUCK, NO! I CAN’T FIND THE REMOTE! — What?! — We must’ve left it in the classroom! That was the last place we used it! — Dude, what the hell?! — I don’t know, I completely forgot! — Can’t you make another one? — Of course I can! That was just the beta model! But now it’s lost, who knows where it is!

We tried to find the remote after that—even snuck into the school at night. But nothing. No trace of it.

Miles eventually figured out how to install a kind of ‘lock’ on our new bodies to prevent interference from the original remote. So yeah, everything worked out for us again. But... What about the remote?

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This was the fifth and final part of "Switch Up". I really hope you enjoyed it—writing it has been an absolute blast for me. It’s the biggest project I’ve done within this community and genre so far. For now, Ethan, Miles, and Logan’s story has come to an end… but having the remote control has opened the door to brand new stories.

So, I’ve decided to launch a spin-off called: The Switch Club. A collection of short stories—some standalone, some interconnected—to expand the high school body swap fantasy even further. I hope you’ll enjoy everything I have planned for you!

See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[thecorrupt99]

The Boss

The sun was brutal, hitting everything in its path as I lugged buckets of paint through the entryway with my friend and coworker Julian.

We’d been grinding on this restoration project for what felt like months. Today it was just me, him, and the boss who was inspecting our work on his off day — the worst kind of trio for a Friday.

"Caesar, get your ass in here!" David’s voice ripped through the house like a shotgun blast.

"Oh God, what now," I muttered under my breath. Julian just shot me a helpless shrug.

I wiped my palms on my jeans and trudged toward the master bedroom, where David was already pacing, red-faced, arms flailing like an air traffic controller.

"What the fuck is up with your finishing, man? Do you see what I'm seeing?!"

I blinked, caught off guard by the volume, my throat drying out.

"Uhh, no sir, what—" I barely got the words out before he cut me off, jabbing a thick finger at the door frame.

"Look at this! You see this dust trapped in the paint? It’s rougher than sandpaper. Jesus Christ, Caesar — this ain't a goddamn DIY show! We’re restoring history, not flipping a rental property!"

David paced in tight, angry circles, rubbing his jaw like he was holding back from saying worse. “Come outside with me, let's have a private chat shall we?” 

We sat outside as David looked across from me, not in his work gear which felt odd to see. 

"This ain't a weekend project, you hear me? We don’t get second chances on jobs like this. You want to play contractor? Go mess up your own house. You fuck up here, you cost me."

"One more slip-up, one more rookie-ass mistake like this... and you’re out. Do you understand me? OUT."

I nodded, heart hammering so hard it rattled my ribs.

David’s face softened just enough to be unsettling.

He leaned in, voice dropping:

"I don't hire boys who play dress-up with a paintbrush. I hire men who finish what they start."

He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little too hard — like he could shape me into something tougher if he just pressed hard enough.

"Now fix it. Before I have Julian wipe your name off the schedule. I’m staying the rest of the day now to make sure you don’t fuck anything else up."

–

While Julian and I were taping off the window frames, I heard a series of curses echo down from the attic hatch.

"Son of a bitch," David barked from above. "Goddamn deathtrap."

I stuck my head up through the hatch, catching a glimpse of him crouched in the low, dusty space — the beams creaking under his shoes. In front of him: a stack of rotted boxes and splintered wood shoved against the far wall.

David kicked one open, scattering moldy papers and chunks of plaster across the floorboards.

Among the wreckage, he grabbed something — a book, bound in cracked, dark leather. It looked old. Real old. The kind of old that smells like earth and secrets.

"Look at this crap," he said, flipping it open one-handed. “Bunch of voodoo bullshit, I bet.” He thumbed through a few brittle pages, the yellowed paper crumbling slightly under his rough fingers.

He stopped on a page halfway through — tilted it toward the light leaking through a broken vent.

His lips moved as he read something under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I couldn’t hear the words.

Just the tone — mocking, careless.

He slammed the book shut with a sharp slap, sending a puff of dust into the stale air.

"Dumbass ghost stories," he muttered, tossing the book onto the attic floor like it was nothing.

And then he stomped back toward the hatch, waving a hand at me.

"Let's go, Caesar! This place ain't gonna fix itself!"

I hesitated just a second longer, glancing at the book lying open where it had fallen — its cracked spine twisted at a strange angle, the pages fluttering weakly in the draft.

Something about the way the words shimmered just out of sight—

But David was already halfway down the ladder, barking orders, and the moment passed.

—

The afternoon dragged long after the confrontation.  

David barked at us for another two hours, then vanished — said he had to finish some things in the attic and would go get supplies and stormed off without another word.

Julian stuck around a little longer, mostly quiet, knocking out what he could before he packed up for the day. He threw me a quick grin.

"Catch you Monday, man."

I gave him a small nod, feeling the weight of the house settle deeper on my shoulders now that it was just me inside it.

Julian’s truck pulled away with a soft crunch of gravel, fading down the block.

The sun was sliding low in the sky, painting the house in golds and bruised purples.

 The edges of the walls and windows looked almost too sharp in the dying light, like the whole place was holding its breath.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and wandered outside, locking the front door behind me.

That’s when I noticed it.

David’s old battered truck — still parked across the lot, rust gleaming under the last strips of sun.

Did he ever leave? I thought to myself. 

I pulled out my phone, already tapping for an Uber. But my thumb hovered over the screen.

I glanced back at the house. I pocketed my phone, hesitation gnawing at me.

I stepped back up to the porch, heart thudding harder now, and pushed the door open.

The inside was dim, the air thick and stale. I moved slowly, feeling the boards groan under my boots. Past the entryway. Past the master bedroom. Toward the attic hatch.

The ladder was still down, swaying slightly, like it had been used not long ago.

My hand gripped the rung tighter than necessary as I climbed.

The attic was steeped in shadow now, barely lit by the last scraps of day filtering through the broken vent.

And there — against the far wall where David had been earlier — something slumped in the shadows.

At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a heap of clothes, tossed carelessly and forgotten.

But my gut clenched before my brain could name why.

I stepped closer.

It wasn't just clothing.

It was David — or what was left of him. The shape still held him. The shoulders, the slouch, the curve of the spine — all there, but hollow. Like his body had melted out from the inside, leaving the skin behind to remember how to sit. The sleeves hung open, limp and waiting. Not lifeless — just... unfinished. Like they were waiting for someone to step in.

Beside him, splayed in the dust, lay the book. Its cracked spine strained open, its pages fluttering weakly in the attic draft. I knelt beside it, breathing shallow, reading the faint ink sprawled across the exposed page: ​​“Take without respect, and the body will remain behind. Wear it, and you become it. To release the one trapped, speak the words again in full.”

I stared at the book.

The attic was dead quiet except for the sound of its pages rustling in the draft — like breath. Like it was waiting.

“Speak the words again in full…”

They were right there. I could do it. Say the incantation. Undo whatever this was. Free David — if that’s what this meant. I glanced back at the slumped shell beside me.

I could end it. Be the better man.

My eyes flicked back to the book one last time.

To release the one trapped…

I shut the cover.

Soft. Final.

Somewhere deeper than fear or guilt, something tugged at me. Not with force. Just want. I reached for the suit. The sleeves sagged a little less when I touched them. Like they were adjusting to my hands already. Maybe David was still in there. Maybe I was doing the wrong thing. But as the first weight of him slid up my arm, warm and solid like a promise, I didn’t feel regret. Only becoming.

The inside was warm. Supple. Not wet or rubbery like I expected, but soft — almost... breathing.

I shivered. Not from the cold. From how right it felt.

I worked my other arm inside, slower this time, feeling the weight of David's shoulders settle onto mine.  The fabric flexed and shifted as if adjusting, aligning itself to my shape, learning me as I moved.

I pulled the suit up , dragging it higher, feeling the heavy torso of the suit close around my own. The chest sealed with a sigh, like two puzzle pieces snapping into place. Like the body was recognizing me, welcoming me inside.

The thick hands of the suit folded over mine, the fingers aligning perfectly, flexing when I flexed — no resistance, no hesitation.

I eased my legs next, the fabric stretching to match me, sliding up my thighs, hugging tighter at the calves.

Every inch the suit wrapped around me, I felt heavier.

As I tugged David's face over mine, the last scrap of Caesar slipped quiet and easy beneath the surface.

I stood slowly, adjusting the weight of my new body.

In the bathroom mirror downstairs, David stared back at me.

I stood there for a moment, breathing or maybe I just took up more space.

I turned my arm, watching the thick forearm muscle roll under the skin, the dusting of hair catching the last light. Flexed my hand, felt the tendons stretch strong and sure.

Slowly, I flexed in the mirror just enough to watch the bicep bulge — dense, knotted muscle shifting under tanned skin.

The movement sent a deep, unexpected thrill through me.

I pressed a hand to my new chest, feeling the heavier rise and fall of breath, the warmth sealed deep into this borrowed skin.

The beard scratched against my neck when I tilted my head, studying myself with a slow, growing hunger.

I could get used to this.

I scrubbed off the dust and the attic smell, water streaming down the new lines of my body — over the broad chest, down thick forearms, across the muscles of a man built for work, not for show.

When I toweled off, the mirror over the sink caught me again.

No hesitation now.

David’s face — my face — stared back, flushed from the heat, eyes glinting with something that hadn't been there before.

Something mine.

The rush was intoxicating. I slid my hand down my underwear and gave David's dick a quick squeeze as I could feel it start to get hard. Letting out a slight moan. Teasing it for what was to come. 

I put on David's leftover clothes when I heard a knock at the back door.

I froze.

Julian.

The mirror caught the flicker of a smirk tugging at my new mouth.

I grabbed the towel, draped it casually around my neck, and moved toward the door — footsteps slow, deliberate.

Every step a reminder:

I wasn't slipping into David.

I was wearing him on purpose.

Julian pushed through the doorway, wiping his hands on his jeans, a little out of breath.

"Yo, David," he said, eyes darting past me toward the rest of the house. "You seen Caesar? Came back because I left my drill set, thought I’d catch him before he took off."

My tongue felt thick in my mouth. For a heartbeat, I just stared at him, stunned at how small he looked from inside this broader, heavier frame.

I cleared my throat — rougher, raspier than my own — and shrugged.

"Nah. Haven’t seen him," I said, letting the gravel roll naturally off my voice.

Julian sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Figures. Dude’s always moving quick. Good guy though, y'know? Reliable. He gives a shit, even when you’re chewing him out."

He laughed under his breath, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

I tilted my head, studying him — the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his mouth twisted slightly when he smiled. From this angle, from this body, Julian looked different. Softer. More touchable.

A reckless idea slipped into my mind before I could shove it away.

I leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossing lazily over my borrowed chest, giving Julian a slow once-over.

"You think he's cute or somethin'?" I asked, letting a smirk curl my lips, voice dipping just enough to toe the line between teasing and serious.

Julian’s head snapped up, the tips of his ears flushing deep red.

"What? No— I mean, nah, man, I'm just sayin'—" He laughed it off, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he did when he was caught off guard.

He ducked past me toward the worktable, grabbing his drill kit.

But I caught it — the way his hand lingered on the table a second longer than it needed to, fingertips tapping the wood, slow and deliberate. A little nervous fidget — but a little performance too.  Fingers drumming out a rhythm he didn't think anyone would notice.  

Except I did.

I knew Julian and how hot he found David to be when we worked together.  

I also knew the way he got when he wanted attention but didn't want to ask for it.

He straightened up, slinging the drill bag over his shoulder.

"Guess I’ll catch you Monday," he said, giving me a quick smile — too quick, too casual.

I stepped into his space, slow and easy, watching the way his eyes flicked up, then down again.

"You sure you don't wanna stick around?" I asked, voice low.

Julian chuckled, starting to step back — but not moving fast enough.

"Gotta get going. Got plans."

He said it lightly, but his fingers tightened just slightly on the drill strap — a little tells that betrayed the tension under his words.

I smirked.

"Shame," I said, voice dropping into a growl as rich as the sunset bleeding through the dusty windows.  "Julian, you know I only hire men who finish what they start."

The words slid out so naturally it made my own skin hum.

Julian froze for half a beat — just a hitch in his breath, a flicker in his eyes.

And then he grinned — not wide, not cocky — but knowing. A secret grin, like he heard me loud and clear but wasn't ready to say it out loud yet.

"Catch you later, boss," he said, voice a little rougher, a little warmer, before slipping out the door.

The screen slapped shut behind him, leaving me standing in the heavy, humming dark.

The heat he'd left behind was still in the air, coiled tight and waiting.

+++

It’s been two weeks. The book still sits on my nightstand, untouched. I haven’t read the incantation.

Honestly? I’m not in any rush.

I figured I deserved a vacation — on David’s dime, of course.

A salty breeze cuts across the beach as I snap a quick selfie. Sunlight catches on the rough angles of my jaw, the thick beard, across a chest built by years of labor I never had to live through.

I tilt my head, smirk at the screen. Damn, I look good.

If — when — I go back, it’s time for some changes.

I’m giving myself a raise. And Julian too. He’s earned it — and between the way he's been blowing up my phone all week, he’s more than ready for me to get back.

Of course, I told everyone Caesar’s just on a little break. Needed some time off. Needed to "reassess his future."

They bought it without any hassle. It helps when you’re the boss telling the story.

[thecorrupt99]

The Hookup

"Room 612. Come on up. I'm ready now," the text read on my phone as I sat parked outside the hotel.

I swallowed a mouthful of water, feeling it catch in my dry throat. My heart was hammering, not just from nerves — but from the raw newness of this. Hooking up like this, with a stranger, on their turf. No take-backs. No filters.

Stepping out of the car, the humid air clung to my skin, goosebumps racing across my arms despite the heat. I made my way into the lobby, feeling the fluorescent lights exposing every uncertainty etched on my face.

Shit, man. What the hell are you doing? I muttered internally, stabbing the elevator button with shaky fingers.

When the elevator doors slid open, I hesitated — just a beat too long — before stepping inside. Floor six. Room 612.

The door to the room was slightly cracked open, a sliver of darkness inviting me in. I knocked softly, then a little louder.

"Hey... coming in," I called out, my voice dry, cracking with uncertainty.

No response.

The room was empty, the bed made, but a red envelope sat conspicuously on the desk.

I picked it up, reading:

"Sorry to leave you hanging, man. I had a flight to catch. The room’s yours for the night. Left you a surprise in the bathroom. Put it on soon — you’ll have company in an hour. His name’s Anthony. Enjoy."

I re-read it twice. A surprise? Anxiety twisted my gut. Cash? Drugs? Cameras?

Reluctantly, I peeked into the bathroom.

Everything looked normal — until I saw the duffle bag on the floor. Heavy. Slouching strangely like something organic was inside.

Please don't let it be a body.

Trembling, I unzipped it.

A man's face stared back at me.

I stumbled back, nearly gagging. The face was too still — too waxy — and yet... too perfect to be fake. Strong jawline. Full beard. Thick brows. I could almost imagine him blinking at me.

Another red note:

"Relax. Not a corpse. A bodysuit. Your chance to live a night through different eyes. If you're too scared, walk away now. But remember — company is on the way."

My breathing was shallow. My mind racing with every possible outcome — police, blackmail, worse.

But underneath the fear was something more dangerous: excitement.

I hesitated for one more heartbeat.

And then I picked up the suit.

It was heavier than I thought — warm against my palms, like it had been alive once and was still remembering how.

I peeled off my clothes and stepped into it, feeling the latex-smooth interior cling to my bare skin.

First my legs — thickening, growing hairier. Then my chest — broadening, covered in a coarse mat of dark hair.

I pulled the torso over my head. The pressure was dizzying, like being birthed backwards through someone else's body. My throat tightened. My voice cracked, shifted, deepened.

Snap. The final seal slid into place at the base of my neck.

Looking in the mirror, I gasped.

Anthony stared back.

Bearded. Rugged. Thick neck. Weathered eyes. A face that told stories — of bars, brawls, and broken hearts.

I looked older, stronger, sexier in a way that made my gut twist with something dangerously close to envy. And a flutter of pride.

"Goddamn, I'm hot."

I laughed, surprised by my deeper voice reverberating in the tiled bathroom as I snapped some quick pictures of myself. 

I pulled on the black jeans and fitted t-shirt from the duffle — clothes that somehow felt heavy with someone else's scent, someone else's life.

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

He's here.

I yanked the door open. Standing there was a man—

Late twenties, caramel brown skin kissed by a lifetime of sun. Sharp cheekbones, soft full lips, a jawline that could wound. His body was lean but athletic, the way dancers are built — tight muscle hidden under a faded hoodie and black joggers.

He grinned lazily, tilting his head like he was already undressing me with his eyes.

"Oh hey, man. Thanks for waiting — can I come in?"

His voice was low, unbothered, tinged with Southern drawl.

"Yeah — of course, come on in," I said, stepping aside.

He brushed past me, and for a second his hand lightly touched my waist.

Play it cool. Play it hot.

"You're Anthony, right?" he asked, tossing his bag on the chair and pulling off his hoodie, revealing a tight black tank top that hugged his chest.

I nodded, giving a slight smirk like it was obvious.

"That's me," I said, trying to sound casual. "And you’re...?"

"Jordan," he said, kicking off his sneakers. "Been looking forward to this all week."

He flashed a smile that was all teeth and heat.

My heart pounded — not with fear this time, but something messier.

---

The room was dim now, just the amber glow from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. I pulled the sheets up to my waist and let the silence settle around me, not heavy, not hollow—just full. Full of something I couldn’t name yet.

The scent of skin, cologne, sweat, and something primal still lingered in the air. I could feel it on me. Not just the trace of him—but the way this body held it. Like it had absorbed everything and wasn’t done yet.

I shifted in bed. My thighs pressed together, heavier than I remembered. My chest rose and fell, steady and slow, and I could still feel the beat of him under my fingertips. My hand dragged across the hair that dusted my torso, pausing at the center like it needed to remember this shape.

The hum inside me wasn’t fear anymore.

It was a low, simmering electricity. A pull deeper than arousal. The kind of buzz you feel after something irreversible, something you don’t quite understand but already crave again.

I tilted my head toward the mirror across the room. Anthony looked good in soft light. His eyes, still mine. His mouth, a little swollen from kissing. His shoulders slack but strong. Relaxed in the kind of way only someone who knows they’re desired can be.

I smirked.

This wasn’t just playing dress-up. It wasn’t costume or kink anymore. It was... something else. Something still opening.

I adjusted the pillow behind me and let my hand rest on my chest, feeling the weight of it, the unfamiliarity slowly becoming comfort.

No need to rush.

There was time to enjoy this.

[thecorrupt99]

Party Night by Sean M

The room shook; the dull thud, thud, thud of the bass rumbled around the room and Steve's head.

It was a Saturday night and Ryan Doolan, was upstairs having a party – AGAIN! "Fucking college jocks" Steve groaned under his breath. Looking out the window it was no surprise to see fifteen or so cars parked down the street and on the grass outside.

Of course Ryan had told him this morning that he'd be having a party tonight. He stood there in his long shorts and vest; he was a big tall guy, built as well, perfect for the basketball team. He filled most of the door frame ad he looked down at Steve.

"Yeah, it will be kicking off about nine tonight. You're welcome to come of course and I promise to keep the noise down, I know it got a little out of hand last time." He yawned.

"Thanks." Steve replied in a tone wasted on the towering jock.

-----

It was now 1am and the noise hadn't dropped in fact it had gotten worse.

It's true he could have called the police again as he did before but it was pointless, he thought he'd sorted out the late night parties but Ryan had made him pay for snitching, for the following three weeks he'd made Steve's life a misery.

But tonight Steve had a plan to undermine and humiliate Ryan.

Steve only had to wait knowing that the addictive qualities of the drink would mean that they would be reluctant to share, and they needed to drink a lot for it to work.

The party was still going on at three, but Steve was waiting patiently by the window, waiting and watching.

Finally there was a commotion outside, and Steve watched as the two jocks he'd spoken to earlier stumbled out onto the grass outside and collapsed.

He walked outside and rolled one of the jocks over, he was still holding onto one of bottles, over half of the milky blue liquid was gone. Resting his foot on the guys stomach he pushed gently, the jock made no sound but a milky blue liquid escaped from his mouth and nose, running down his face. The other guy was much the same although he'd almost finished the whole bottle.

Grabbing a foot from each of the jocks Steve let out a grunt as he pulled them into his apartment. Dragging them into the bathroom he flopped each of them over the rim of the bath, and leaned on their backs as more and more of the liquid spewed out of their mouths. It wasn't long before the two of the them were completely empty lifeless skins.

Steve lifted up one of the heads of the jocks looking in the lifeless empty eyes, "Fuck the formula had worked perfectly, two down and many more to go."

With little effort Steve stripped the guys of their clothes, finding their ID's in their pockets, he mused for a moment "Ok, Todd Mickle, Jonah Hall who's going to be the lucky guy?" Todd was 21 whereas Jonah was 19, a good ten years younger than Steve but he reminded himself that these guys were just tools to connect with other more influential jocks.

Biting his lip a little, Steve looked at each of the deformed, drooping faces as he held them by the scruffs of the neck. A grin appeared on Steve's face as he dropped Todd, "It's your lucky day Jonah." Steve brushed back the thick black hair of the young jock and left the bathroom dragging Jonah behind him.

There was a lot of snapping noises like elastic and cussing coming from the bedroom, only a couple of minutes later a restored Jonah returned to the bathroom scratching the thick mop of hair on his head. Limping and hopping a bit he pulled on his dick, "Chafes a bit." He groaned. Jonah, admittedly with Steve on the inside threw Todd into the bathtub, and started pulling on Jonah's jeans and polo, Steve wriggled a bit pulling Jonah's jeans down to a familiar sag. Grabbing a bottle, Jonah filled it up with the milky blue fluid topping it up with vodka. Performing a final check in the mirror, he returned to the party.

Jonah worked his way around the jocks who were making most of the noise, getting them to try this new drink, they all loved it of course. They even used it in their game of beer-pong, and it wasn't long before they were looking for a quiet spot to rest.

Finding Ryan wasn't a big problem either, just had to look for the cocky jerk mouthing off about how great he was and how the team would most certainly fail without him.

Jonah filled up Ryan's plastic cup with the liquid and he sniffed it looking at Jonah suspiciously, but without hesitation Jonah took a big gulp knowing that he'd be safe with low quantities. Grinning Ryan chugged the lot down and held out his cup for more, of course Jonah kept filling it up.

It was only 20 minutes later when Ryan stumbled falling to the floor, his eyes were glazing over; Jonah put his arm around the heavy jock and like a good friend took him somewhere quiet, his bedroom. He reassured all his friends that he'd be back very soon, like a new man!

Strangely enough Ryan returned a while later and of course all his friends were pleased to see him, Jonah? nobody saw him for the rest of the party.

You know, with these new suits, I could have my friends have some fun in them. Hmm ...

[thecorrupt99]

"Mmmm.....I don't know man. You have to see it from her perspective. I think, when I choke her from the back with this massive biceps and then whispered her that she's a good girl and about to make his boyfriend feeling even more good if she can just loosen up her cunt more so she can take more of my massive uncut meat, that will be the nail in the coffin as that means that even the girl you fucked senselessly for the past 2 years and know every single ridges, curves, sensitive spots and even all the scars in your body is not aware that I'm not really you and she's in it for the whole ride with me. After all, let's do the recap.

I aced the workout as you this morning since none of the clients complained and all your muscle bros talked to me like normal.

Then, you heard how I talked to your lil bro right when he came by earlier, he didn't notice anything amiss, right? So I'm pretty confident your girlfriend won't notice either.

If I can give you any consolation, Isaiah noticed, but of course that creepy nerd noticed, he's really into you after all and after I'm done with Julie, he'll knock on the door around 3 AM when she's fast asleep due to getting pounded mercilessly and that pills I slipped into her kombucha and I'll fuck him silly right next to her as a way to thank him for orchestrating all this swap. He really outdid himself, don't you think? That fucking obsessive occult nerd, he really pulled this swap off, you really should've been more careful with your insult, bro. Look what it leads you to, and fucking look how being nice to him serves me really well

One question though, what do you think if I tell Isaiah to try his power and put himself inside your bro? Just imagine how crazy the sex will be between me and him, like.....can you imagine me pulling my own little brother's hair while sliding my schlong inside of his tight straight asshole as if he's Julie or some of the other bitches you fucked? Damn only thinking about it already makes my fucking 7 incher weapon hard as FUCK!"

[thecorrupt99]

I tried to explain to him about our school's effort to combat homophobia and other form of discrimination towards sexual minorities, and how important parents involvement in teaching about this values, but the way the smoke from his cigars wafted right to my face and how both of his pits assaulted my sight and senses really caused me to struggle as I found myself easily losing focus and my mouth just simply salivating like crazy out of nowhere

"What did you say again, Mr. O'Hara? I really cannot hear your gibberish,"

"To summarize, I basically wanted to sniff and lick your pits, Sir---" I realized how ludicrous and out of line my latest sentence was as my eyes went wide, but to my surprise, he just grabbed my head and shoved it right at his left pits

"Atta boy, no resistance whatsoever. You see Mr O'Hara, I'm in need of a lending hand around here to help me out while my boys live their life enjoying their highschool glory days. So maybe a bigger, more calloused hands that definitely seen and experienced manual labor with equally strong beefy arms to help around here will suit you better, don't you think? After all, you're just a simple-minded, obedient farmhand of mine, right Oscar?"

[thecorrupt99]

Rites: The Beginning of Ramadhan

People that called Islam as their religion said by the time Ramadhan starts, the supernaturals no longer can roam free for 30 days as they are chained to their resting place until the end of that holy month. Well, as a newly-deceased person who died in a predominantly Muslim country after a crazy drunk-fueled night collision, I took the liberty to rest for the time being inside Ahmed here, and boy he's one funny guy

The moment I took him over, his mind instantly flashed to the countless parties he attended and he thought that his inability to be in the driving seat of his own body is him practically being punished by his God for raving all night long a couple times ever since he graduated college, wearing gold jewellery beyond rings and silk clothings like he's a cross-dresser or prideful greed Roman people and chugging alcohol or smoking LSD several times across these years.

That made it so much easier for me to manipulate him as I found out in my previous possession that I could make myself appear as horrendous or as domineering as possible when I already infiltrated his mind. So, utilizing his ultimate fear, I appear as his own grandpa, this authoritative, muscle man that despised anything that goes against the scripture with a little demonic spice of toothy, wide grin and cruelty sparkling from my eyes.

Boy when I tell you he shrunk, that man literally reverted back into the little boy that he was when this grandfather figure was alive. He tilted his head to look up to me with fear clearly painted in his face as he probably pictured me as this imposingly authoritative tyrant that beat his ass for every violation he dared to do in the past and ready to inflict similar pain once more

"Yeah, stay still, boy, a real man is in charge now," I said with delight using his own voice as I purposefully amplified my thoughts to the outside world as if I'm talking and self-worshipping my own set of twitchy muscle pecs that now remained still, no longer resistings its new controller

I walk into the bathroom inside this apartment that I can practically call as mine to fully inspect the goods under my care. As the shorts pooled on the bathroom floor, I'm left with only a rather classic underwear that cupped his ass and slightly hardening cock. Mmmmm.......not only I can tell that there's a delicious meat hidden inside this pouch, it also smelled hella intoxicating, or this underwear at least smelled intoxicating.

I happily grab the thick waistband of this underwear to reveal the package he shielded with this cotton pouch and I cannot help but smirk when I look at the fat mushroom head with no foreskin and the thick veins that powered this meaty monstrosity to reach such length. Memories of the way he inserted this weapon inside so many pussies instantly drive it to its full-length and I'm literally leaking from thinking about the prospect to bury this monster into a lot more varied, tighter hole, especially cute young jocks several years this bod's junior or even some submissive, easy-to-control bottom daddies.

Biting my lips knowing I want to edge myself further, I resisted the temptation to jack the thick meat right away and continued my exploration to check on my newest body a bit more detailed by looking at it with microscopic attention and also several moments of glancing to the mirror. The way his biceps bulged, the pits that he unfortunately just shaved because this nagging whore he currently involved with told him to keep himself dapper, neat and not too musky....pffftt....as if there's such category of anything getting too musky when it comes to men's BO. All in all, the way the rest of his muscle responded to each of my command to flex, curl up, stretch, and everything else really caused me to reach my tipping point. If only I let go and did not hold it, my fucking underwear would be soiled with my own thick, tasty cum literally one day before Ramadhan as if I'm still the horny, younger Ahmed in need of my sweet release before blueballing myself for 30 days for fear of getting caught by my baba.......FUCK this whole schtick really sounded more and more natural the longer I stayed inside of him

Okay, I don't think I can hold it much longer and it's been 35 minutes anyway of me self-worshipping my new physique, so it's time to drive this whole thing to the finish line. I started making silly faces and also doing some bodybuilder poses he practiced to push myself to the limit but a much more recent memory of his surfaced much to my delight, Onlyfans

Well well well, these straight porn contents he made with the chicks he slept with from Thanksgiving last year all the way to just last week. Damn......just look at him....look at me, piledriving that thick monster, guiding those pussies to bounce up and down, licking their nipples, I am a pro at knowing just what people want to see and how much I can keep the whole thing looking natural and not too poseyyyaaahhhh.....mmmmmmhh.......I can fuckkinggg....hnmMMMmggHHh....hell yeah.....imagine how delicious it will be if....mmmMmhaaHHHhh.....that is some wrestlers ass I....FFUUUCCKKKKINGGG GHHHHH.....pound.....huh.....fuck.....huh.....goddammit, look at that sticky fucking mess......mmm, slightly in the sweeter side, well his diet is well-balanced, so no surprise on that. Fuck, I'm so tired, I think I just need to take off this underwear and call it a day, I can just shower before my morning prayer *smirk*

Grabbing random underwear spread on the floor, I simply dry my slick cock with the drier part of the underwear before throwing it away after stealing a quick final sniff and put on the other one – this time it's black – of course with yet another quick sniff before putting the snug briefs circling my waist.

Flopping myself to bed, I open the stashed laptop to check on whether or not there's upcoming demand from my loyal subscriber, only to be reminded that tomorrow is the first day of Ramadhan. Well, trying to be cheeky and on theme, I grab the thobe from the drawer and put that garment on with ease as the material is smooth and it's a loose attire anyway. Time to say hi to some of my loyal fans and see whether or not they're interested if I can do a full-on Lebanese Arabic OF sesh while wearing these types of clothing. Guess Ahmed won't have a blissful Ramadhan this year with me "chained" to the driving seat of his body