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Talismen V: World Peace

And so the world ends with a wish unless Alex and Nicky are able to abate men changing in every corner of the world. CEO's get their hands dirty, academics find their wild side, journalists go local, pianists get angry. And you, well who can say what happens to you.

Happy new year! Hope you enjoy the grand finale of my little 2.5k special :) As ever, Yours! -Occam

The air around the trio is almost vibrating from the energy emanating off Nicky’s Talisman. Simon’s eyes flicker around the cafe as reality almost begins to fracture. Some intern’s tray of drinks becomes a fifty pound free weight as his arms grow with grotesque haste to keep it balanced in the air, sleeves tattering before dissolving into the static mists. In the corner a struggling sci-fi author’s hands become inseparable from his keyboard and green binary scrolls across his pupils, skin shifting sicky metallic up his arms. Behind the bar a barista twitches as his face grows furry, sharper nails quickly tear through a cheap apron. 

Still struggling to reconcile the transformation witnessed at the gym, Simon shakes off his curiosity and turns his attention back to his love just as Alex reaches out a hand to steady his friend who is struggling to breathe under the weight of reality. Alex, more with it than either man and far more aware of what may, will, and cannot happen puts a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and tries to help the magus understand. Reassured by the simple human act. With the helping hand Nicky finds himself to see the metaphysical tendrils stretching from the Talisman on his neck.

Pulsing, stretching, growing. Alex and Nicky both watch as, bereft of any input from the man wearing the necklace, the power within is simply shooting indiscriminately to every mind and body it can reach. At once, both men realize that regardless of how little they know about the malevolent charm around his neck, Nicky needs to direct its power somewhere or it will work of its own volition. 

Realizing its bearer is about to issue ground orders, shockingly, all the disparate ribbons and strands of energy return at once. The cyborg gasps for breath with new half synthetic lungs, two men who had never met awkwardly stammer as they find themselves half-nude making out over their americanos, the barista apologizes for getting his hair(fur?) in a drink.

 None of the named characters get half a chance to notice the halted changes as Nicky is suddenly being suffocating outright, filled with power returned. Like a constrictor he is choked by the sheer presence of this energy flying back into the amulet, every vein is visible and pumping brighter with each passing moment, his skin feels tight and he almost seems about to burst with the eldritch potential within him. Tendrils squeeze his mind like a vice, eager to run with any haphazard half-baked wish that makes itself known.

Alex sees fear behind his friend’s eyes of red as Nicky chokes out, “I- I don’t know what t- to say” He turns to see his boyfriend, and reality fractures just a tad. Nicky sees him as the powerful man he is and always has been, but behind that there’s a wry bookish nerd who never hit the gym. He remembers a conversation long ago with this different, can’t be past, version of Simon. He’s clearly annoyed, they’ve been debating this for a while, “you can’t- you can’t just wish for anything, a genie’s whole thing is twisting your wish babe. Be-” In the memory Nicky interrupts, “I know. I know. It’s just- in my mind I can’t justify not trying. It- Three wishes, one of them has to be like, world peace. Or uh, solving hunger or something?”

And just like that, just as soon as it began, the vision fades, edges tinge red as the meek other Simon rolls his eyes before returning to the man Nicky knows him to be. The man with the world on his shoulders chokes out a sigh. The wish does need to be grand enough to dissipate all this energy after all. Scarlet tears thicker than blood drip down his face, maybe it’ll all be okay, “I wish, grgh- W- World Peace.” Time and reality stutter as the amulet processes the command input, red energy shoots from the Talisman like solar flares, venturing far enough to scrape patrons in the cafe, molding outfits sculpting new muscle before returning back to the now vibrating amulet. 

Nicky grasps it and closes his eyes. From the central gem of the Talisman red shoots like a beam, straight through Alex. The deliverer’s face is grim as it hits him, demanding he return to the harbinging work he finished moments ago. Steeling himself for the part he is to play he notices a glimmer behind the matte red eyes of his friend and an idea strikes both at once, perhaps there remains hope yet. Looking at his new callused hands he is potently aware that there is impossible power within this artefact, but can it truly affect the whole world? Alex grits his teeth and plans to embody the wish Nicky bestowed, distilled into him, Haste.

Alex feels himself being carried away by the beam, nodding at Simon and Nicky he shoots off, turning to try and race ahead of the storm of will as it tears through city blocks, and countryside, through cabins and campus libraries, morphing men into their wildest dreams and steamiest nightmares. No time for Alex to watch every one despite an itch at the back of his mind to do just that. He needs to get ahead of this, he needs to accelerate, he needs to overload it. Unstuck from time or space he finds himself in a New York City penthouse, standing beside some grimacing man looking out over the city. He did it, he beat it here, now he’s setting the pace. 

Fractals of the beam reflect in the polished windows of the skyscraper, surely shooting off to grace the lives of those sitting in suites across the city. But as it nears the top, as it nears Alex, it almost seems to slow. Giving him time to take in this office, and observe what is to become of the smug man, Mr. McCarthy, scowling as he looks out over the city, looking down both figuratively and literally upon the population he sees as beneath him. Clad in a pristine, tailored suit he almost laughs as he imagines the lives led by the pour sods he grinds underfoot.

Despite himself and his mission, Alex’s eyes glimmer with rage, perhaps there are indeed changes that ought to happen. Just as the thought occurs the manifestation of Nicky’s words shoot into the room like wind, rushing past Alex before slamming into the haughty businessman and curling around him. The witness can almost see on the rich man’s fabric where the tendrils squeeze in tight.

 Eyes widening with fear, he drops the glass of exorbitantly priced whiskey he was drinking to claw and something he cannot see. Every inch of exposed skin is filled with warmth that quickly races under his clothes as well. Muscle boils under his skin and he falls to the floor, cutting his cashmere trousers on the shards of glass. Only concerned with his own appearance, this shocks him out of his pain. McCarthy forgets whatever stroke or seizing just struck him and scoffs at what sloppy misfortune has sullied his wardrobe.  

Grumbling to himself he stands and finally does he see the man standing in the room watching him, “Ughh you must be the help. Clean up this mess, now.” He scowls and straightens his tie before realizing how weary he feels, his arms heavier than they should feel and brow covered in sweat. Is it this little degenerate’s fault, was I drugged? He grabs his handkerchief and wipes his sweaty face, ignoring as it scratches against stubble that he would never allow to grow. 

The thought’s almost laughable, sweaty and unshaven- like some common laborer! McCarthy indeed laughs once more at the image, his hand raised to hide any emotion on his face from Alex as the impudent lout seems to neglect the order given. He opens his mouth to chastise the shoddy employee, but then both men hear the sound of fabric tearing resounds through the room.

 McCarthy’s eyes look down and he falls to the floor once more as he sees his hand. Barely changed as of yet but clearly thicker, rougher, and still changing. Hairs begin to creep up his wrist and poke out of fingers that grow fat and unelegant. He grabs at his arm and finds his dress shirt has torn as his hidden bicep grows bulkier. 

Alex smiles as he sees the man scrambling on the floor grow frantic. His other arm soon enough bulges larger as well, this time tearing both his dress shirt and suit. “Shit!” The titan of industry tries to stand but falls forward as his chest bursts into existence. Weighty pecs begin to pop buttons off into the spilled whiskey. The 200 dollar bland haircut on his head begins to retract and shift messy as stubble stains his doctored jawline. “Help me you- you- Grah!”The sound of his suit ripping and tearing grows louder and more frequent as he tries to remove it as his back widens and his arms continue to bulk to a point that the garment’s survival is impossible. Alex’s expression matches the smug one of McCarthy not moments ago as he sees hair poking through the torn fabric and a thicker brow juts out to shade his eyes. His eyes grow a darker almost blood red as something in his stomach quivers at the sight, “I think I’m helping you just fine Mr. McCarthy. Or hm, I suppose you’d prefer to go by Duke now hm?”

The corporate fiend writhes and rather than attempt to salvage his luxury clothes, simply begins to tear them off his new sculpted form. Free of its silken trappings, the muscle begins to pack on at an explosive rate. Thick curls cover his harried pecs before racing over spherical shoulders and bulging traps to cover his sculpted back. Bursting free from matching pants his thighs pattern with bulging veins starkly similar to the same tendrils that launched him into this new life.

As a beard covers the financial officer’s face Alex sees the man’s eyes glaze over and he stands to a height a few heads taller than what he enjoyed in a life now gone. Scratching at his stomach Duke groans and squeezes at his head with his free hand. The witness averts his eyes from the thick new cock pointing directly at him as he instead looks past Duke to see his new life laid out like a book. No longer some rich asshole who prides himself on pushing others down to get ahead but a man whose hands are scarred by countless days of strenuous work for others.

Smiling as he pages through the story of Duke Carter’s new life he hungrily sees all that Nicky’s will has changed for the better in just this one case. Filled with contentment that perhaps this is not so bad an event after all. He finds himself drawn into the vision, seeing the young man grow into the hunk that stands before him now. Speaking of, Duke seems to be coming to his senses, “Hey there uh, young fella? Yew know what I’m doin’ all the way up here?” 

Alex tilts his head and only then realizes that only a faint trail of the Talisman’s magic remains here. It continues to work throughout the largest city in the states, but the head of the surge has shot on while Alex was distracted. Gritting his teeth he stumbles through a farewell to the confused, changed man and races out the window. Duke is of course concerned at the man jumping from the top floor of a skyscraper but once done, the sweaty laborer can scarcely remember meeting him at all. Looking around the suite as the whole building creaks and begins to change into the HQ of a nonprofit, his phone rings and he smiles as it seems the chance to lend a helping hand is on the horizon.

For his part Alex is soaring over the sea. Struggling to catch up he decidedly ignores his desire to stop at the few cruise ships and scattered Atlantic islands that the beam shoots through, surely fulfilling desires and morphing men along the way. Flashes of tourists losing their native tongues as they find themselves at home in the Azores and cruise ship pools becoming foam parties sear into his vision but he keeps pace with the racing wish. Looking forward, Alex sees the spell almost torn between two potentialities. To preserve itself it’s going to split in two to hit each continent they were rapidly approaching. 

In one world he sees the larger going to Africa and becoming unstoppable just from the sheer numbers game. Clenching his jaw he reaches out and tries to control the path as if it were lassoed. Keeping a grip on it he forces the split to occur early and steers the larger proportion North while trying to keep an eye on the latter speeding off towards West Africa. He almost splits his awareness in two as he tries to focus on both before realizing that he’s already being dragged through the capitals all across Europe. Dublin, London, Madrid, and Lisbon fly past, all to varying degrees overcome by the storm of change. 

Alex struggles to breath under the pressing weight, the existential need, to go observe what is becoming of dirtbag chavs as their little crews shed their jumpsuits and their haunts convert to gayborhoods. He fights the urge to see Spanish academics venture into the countryside and become burly bearded farmers. Ignoring bodybuilding Italians shredding their beards and built bodies to become twinks more than happy to bottom.  As Nicky’s will continues to affect more people it becomes harder for Alex to resist his compulsion to witness and spread the change himself. Feeling a need to nip it in the bud, he strains himself to pull ahead of the surge once more.

Maintaining his grip on the storm, he has an idea to stop it and steers it to a rural Bavarian peak where a lone tourist looks out over a lake. In an impossible stroke of luck the man wistfully utters a wish, “Man. I wish- I wish that I could spend more time in nature.” The tendril swiftly averts course to the man and Alex uses its momentum to steer it directly through him and into the center of the lake, far from any life besides the backpacker and himself. While the tourist, Finn, begins to change Alex allows himself indulge and witness. Using the gratification gained to hold the throbbing tendril in place. No idea if this would achieve anything nor time to wonder what even it would do. For now he must simply hold and watch.

Finnegan was probably less than prepared for this day trip. His roommate at uni was driving him up a wall enough to force him South on this uncharacteristic escapade into the Alps. He’d never really appreciated the wild but as soon as he began this trek he wondered how he could possibly overlook the serenity. The cold air stung his lungs as he wandered through the serene trails and stumbled upon this massive lake where he takes a load off. Hands scratch into dark earth as he adores the sight before him, an otherworldly force screams through the air above him as he speaks his humble wish and is filled with transmutative energy to become a man who will spend more time in nature. 

The coat which has been struggling to do anything against the elements is suddenly working overtime as steam begins to rise from the man now panting on the overlook. Hands numb from the cold burst the seams of mittens as he quickly disrobes and frees his thin upper body to the mountain air. Finnegan’s hips flex against his tight thermals as his package immediately understands what it means to become one with nature, quickly hardening into a cock that would be nigh impossible to hide. And a strange thought flickers through his changing mind, why would he ever need to hide his cock anyway?

His lithe arms begin to balloon with weight as his hands can't help but shove into his pants and explore a more sensitive dick and quivering balls that begin to send hormones coursing through him. Finn grimaces as he struggles to kick off hiking boots far too small for his new wide soles, rough from trending on dirt and stone. Never too much of an eater, the young man’s torso begins to bloat and strain his shirt as the rigors of the outdoors demand he get some more meat on his bones. 

Arms that have likely lifted nothing heavier than a textbook bulge larger as his stomach continues to put on mass, bloating into a strong, manly torso. Pre covered hands begin to scratch at his meatier chest and barrelling gut as a garden of body hair begins to grow. His sticky fingers pull at the curls lengthening on his bulkier stomach and he delights in the sensation, the scratch, the drag of darker hair now patterning his heavier form. 

His neat hair pulls shorter, darkening and growing greasy as it shoots down his cheeks, creating a stubbled chin strap before it becomes an outright beard. Finn grunts as he feels his newly hairy back on the earth behind him. His hands find his cock once more as his nose finds his tangled pits and the trove of musk within. Bucking into the cold air he languishes in his first load spilled on his journey to be a man of the wild. Hearing similar grunting in the nearby lake he looks to find Alex struggling barely above the water. Sniffing and finding the floating man alluring, he furrows his brow and hops in a canoe to go meet him.

Running the numbers Alex is sure that countless men and women have already been irrevocably sculpted by wishes haywire. As Finn approaches he too continues to change. Beard thickening and sticking out from his face as body hair spreads like wildfire. At the same time, the energy Alex is wrestling with almost begins to crystallize. Finn grows burlier and bulkier, every disparate patch of hair from his meaty fingers to his longer toes races to meat in one mighty jungle of fur as he continues to pack on muscle. The watcher’s hands burn with effort as he forces the storm of energy to stay still, to forfeit being an aspect of metamorphosis and lock it in this state, in this locale. 

Near enough to shout out, Finn opens to speak to Alex, as he does a grunt falls from his mouth. What need has he of complex thought or language, why is he out on the lake anyway, fishing? Finn scratches his pit and smells his hand as Alex strains for just a moment longer and then there’s a flash as the strange beam solidifies outright. Manifesting as a spire in the center of the lake, surely still holding the transformative power of the talisman but, for now, immobile. In the back of the once delivery man’s mind he can sense the other half shooting through Oman, preparing to launch itself towards the Indian subcontinent. He needs to go now. 

Finn doesn’t really listen as the man shadowed in crimson asks something important of him. Memories of his architecture lectures and school projects begin to fade and he doesn’t quite mind, seems better to get his hands dirty and protect this little smidge of paradise anyway. Protect, pursing his lips and looking at the spire he floats near to, protect? His eyes narrow at the malevolent spike, not of the world. He scratches his still lengthening beard, he’ll watch this too, make sure nothing funny happens.

Alex once more shoots across continents, soaring over slavic streamers finding themselves doing a little more than gay-baiting and Maghrebi men finding new ways to appreciate the male ideal. He’s not quite sure how long this has been going on, but as he catches up to what remains of Nicky’s will that at least some parts of the world have become aware of what’s going on. The Indian military is mobilizing to some degree to prepare an emergency response and while hemorrhaging tendrils continue to create shooting stars of transformation down towards metropolises and hamlets, when it sees such lofty forces gathered it has no recourse but to beeline right towards them.

When he signed up to be a foreign correspondent Logan Hopsworth never wanted to end up in India, let alone doing military coverage. And yet here he was. The team back home has been radio silent for a few hours but when his unfortunate host nation declares a national emergency he hits the field to report on- ? Logan doesn't quite know, he’s refused to learn the language and plans his time here to be a stepping stone soon forgotten.

He forces a fake at the cameraman as he’s sure the local hire is always trying to film his bad angle. Suddenly there’s a red flash and Logan scoffs as the camera operator gasps and turns his lens on the crowd of uniformed men behind him, “Uhmm!? Hello? Your marks right here Nikhil?” When he keeps his lens focused on something other than himself, the ‘reporter’ crosses arms and turns to see what’s so important. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The performatively macho men of the nation that has time and time again declared themselves the most powerful in the world are suddenly stripping and finding their nearest platoon mate to fuck.

“Jesus Christ! It’s like a fucking pornographic flashmob!” Logan drops his microphone and tries to make sense of what’s happening, “Nikhil are you getting this shit!?” Turning back he sees the flash of red soar past again, this time hitting his assigned cameraman who drops his equipment and begins groaning. Clutching at his headset the cam operator pulls at his clothes as to Logan’s less than discerning eye he seems to suddenly be wearing something a few sizes too small. 

Never concerned for anything more than his own hide Logan screams his usual sign off and turns to run, “THIS HAS BEEN HOBSWORTH REPORTI-” Though before he can finish Alex’s wrangling of the wish does one more round, going squarely through the reporter before the harbinger shouts in success and the force veers off towards China. 

Logan coughs and clutches at his chest as he feels like he was just hit by a train filled with glimpses of everything he could have been. Presenting at the NYE drop, doing court reporting in Australia, recording slice of life stories in Tokyo. Instead he’s here. His spirits deflate as he smells spice on the air and his chest fills with warmth, and then his chest fills his shirt. 

Well of course he’s here? Where would he rather be? Ignoring the sounds of rapturous lustful disregard a few dozen feet away he gasps at the thought. Lakhan’s hands shake as he looks down to the dark hair that begins cresting across his forearms. Like countless men across the world, and the army behind him, the reporter quickly takes off his shirt to see what is becoming of him. Ever thin and hairless he is aghast as his thin shaved pubes begin racing up his torso and darkening into a black treasure trail he would never be rid of.

He tries to tear at his growing hair before noticing that its growth is not the only change occurring. Across his exposed torso splotches of his skin begin to darken, turning a shade of brown just like the cameraman still growing behind him. He begins to hyperventilate and hold to the identity he knows he should have before realizing he can’t even tell if he’s turning into Lakshan or if Lakshan’s turning into some pasty white asshole.

With each frantic breath the changes continue to race, he clenches his eyes shut as the irises shift to a brown and his coiffed blonde locks darken and shift into a look he’s seen on countless Bollywood stars throughout the years. While his skin continues to tan he realizes that he’s also beginning to grow, blanketed under a healthy coat of chest hair, pecs begin to fill out his upper body while powerful biceps flex. He’s always been quite a bit more inclined to work on vanity muscles after all. 

His pits fill out with dark black curls enough for deodorant to never quite reach the skin beneath, not that he cares of course. All that time at the gym is to make sure he never escapes a man’s notice, his musk is simply another way to make sure everyone knows he’s the boss. “Fuck!” He shouts with a deep Pradesh accent, it’s where he grew up and went to university after all, “मैं बहुत सेक्सी हूँ! (I’m so hot!)”

Starting to turn himself on just from thinking about his own tightly packed muscle, Lakshan pulls at his pubes and moans as the movement makes his far larger, veiny cock bounce in the air. His eyes turn to the cameraman who similarly has finished changing into a powerful bharati man of stature. The two men approach each other and just like the horde to the west find more pleasure in a good fuck than they’ve experienced in some time, perhaps ever. 

Above China, Alex wrestles to keep the wily manifestation of Nicky’s wish under control, also does he realize that he hasn’t had a second to plan what exactly he is to do after keeping it on course through China. Thinking it safe enough to take a breather for half a second, he loosens the reins to come to the conclusion that he should just steer it back to Nicky. With even the slightest deviation however the wish forcefully bolts downward towards Shanghai.

En route, the tendril discards as many strands as it can across another cradle of civilization, perhaps making it easier for Alex to manhandle but what does it care, it’s not sentient. It is power manifest, it simply must do. Why should it mind as it is taken through a concert hall at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. It is not out of malice as it passes through Shen Hao that he flubs a key press and fails to recover. Though would that it had the awareness to know it brought about more than an auditorium of change it would certainly feel delight. 

Hao’s face burns as red as the static that shoots through him. His eyes stare at his keys knowing how many long hours have been spent perfecting this etude. It was a mistake he’s never made, not one out of juvenile haste or shoddy hand placement, one that simply should not have happened. If he were trying to make the mistake again he would surely be unable to, such a flagrant err is anathema to the virtuoso.

And yet, he’s a professional, he takes a deep breath and returns to the piece. He will do it right this time. But then, his hands cramp. He shoots long and bites his tongue enough to draw blood as his pinky plays an E rather than an F. That- That shouldn't be possible. Hao looks down in shock to find that it is indeed impossible, or it would have been, had his fingers not stretched longer. His palms wider, his fingers fatter. This must be a nightmare.

The pianist shifts back and the bench creaks under his weight, he turns to nod an apology at his audience and is unable to see how many are watching him stumble through this should-be cake walk. Pulling at his collar as he sweats under the spotlights, Hao finds himself unable to get a finger under the tight neckpiece. God he can barely breathe. He clears his throat and pulls hard, the sound of him tearing through the buttons echoes through the auditorium just like his misplayed notes resound through his own head.

He feels his chest growing, straining his tuxedo, but refuses to look. His arms sting as meaty biceps begin to fill the sleeves and make it difficult for him to even ambulate enough to play the piano. It’s no matter, he’s a professional. He’s suffered for his art before and he will force himself to do this. He stretches his fingers and even this movement sends a few tears down his arms. Good, that will only help his range of motion. 

Getting in position to play, he finds his hands thrown off as his wrists stretch further out from strained sleeves hugging his new forearms and biceps like a second skin. He just needs to be aware, that’s all. His arms are longer, that’s fine. Just do it right. Sweat trickles down his thicker neck and joins the litany of wet patches clearly visible on his white button up. He just needs to get through this. He just needs to be perfect.

Hao takes another deep breath and buttons burst from the sheer width of his pecs. Grimacing, he ignores them plinking against the piano and resolves to begin and- Uhh. He doesn’t remember the notes. That can’t be. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is overwhelming, his suit too tight, his mind too slow- 

 His meaty fists slam into the keyboard, sending a dissonant cacophony throughout the hall. Silent despite the impossible horror of the man clearly growing into some steroid filled monster on stage, this act of rage elicits gasps. Hao tears off his tuxedo revealing a tattoo covered chest and a body that would make anyone drool. Turning to the audience he sees nothing but red. They saw his mistake, they saw him grow into this oafish form. He- he knows what he must do. A new song fills his mind.

Turning to the keyboard the ivories stain crimson as he begins to play a new song, one that demands the attention of every student and professor present for his recital. One that echoes through the lobbies and halls of the building. With every mellifluous note the tune fills them and begs they continue to mindlessly adore him, and as it continues they too begin to change. An erhu musician snaps his bow as Hao’s melody creeps into his practice room, staring confused at sheet music he’s barely able to read. Behind the curtains his assistant professor finds  her himself wanting, needing more of his artistry as a problem he’s never had before begins to strain and lift his skirt. His judge in the audience forgets the notion that he should ever critique the stud’s work as it’s simply so clear there is nothing more to life than enjoying Hao’s presence and performance.

Flying above the Pacific Alex is already soaring past Hawaii by the time Hao takes his bow and bathes in the adoration of an audience truly handcrafted to laud him. Nearing the cafe that Nicky has hopefully not left, Alex finds himself with more than enough will to ignore the presumably final waves of transformation he flies above. An older man on Oahu dons a stetson and years just fall away as he becomes the white hat he always dreamed to be, some squirrely student in Baja California lights a syllabus ablaze as his uniform stretches to become tight leather gear as he begins a bear club where the university co-op once stood.

And then he’s flying over countryside he knows all too well, shooting past the city he circles back and spirals back down to earth for the final time. In his mind he sees the cafe as it sits now, mostly empty, Simon having dealt with whatever cyborgs, werewolves, and overly horny stock traders in the vague time passed. So too has he barred entry from any of the wandering patrons of Jirou Heroes and any of the other clearly wanting hordes lost to their lusts. 

This of course does nothing to stop Alex as he pilots the energy back to the Talisman that cast it out. Ramming it straight through the chest of a catatonic Nicky, the glimmering Talisman clatters to the floor across the cafe, leaving a sound of laughter echoing through the heads of the three men present. World Peace. Foolish. Foolish. You think this over? Your will will continue to be enacted whether you change your sad little mind or not! You demand the world have peace and so it will! When every soul sings praise and plays fool to their most basal lusts and primal urges then, then there will be peace you whelps-

Nicky stirs, groaning. While Alex will certainly have words for sending him upon an odyssey across the world however this shakes out, the caster has clearly had his work cut out for him here. Simon looks at his boyfriend and nods, helping Nicky to wobbly feet as the so far unchanged man stumbles over to grab the talisman yet again. The blazing voice in their minds is muted as his hand covers the gem and Nicky ushers forth one more wish, a demand. “Give me the strength to destroy this.”

Until this moment his previous work has continued almost unabated despite the efforts of Alex and Nicky chasing and controlling from afar. Men and once women have continued to have their senses heightened and minds dulled to the end that they all may end up puppets of what or whomever pushed this artefact, this power unto Nicky. That they all might become Talismen themselves.

In fact perhaps even you were in the process of changing. Your mind numbing as you typed away at a spreadsheet, as you scrolled through social media, as you waited in line for lunch. Like a buzz the alien hunger began within you, slowly displacing your priorities, cancelling meetings, skipping class, hitting up clubs despite having work the next day. All the while your form begins to corrupt.

Perhaps you as you sat in a park noticed a strange itch under your collar as hair began to inch above your neckline and up the small of your back. Shorts straining as thighs bloat and a cock that isn’t even erect fills the crotch of your pants enough to burst then and there. Anxiety fills you, or it would, were shame a preoccupation of your lust filled mind. The same story goes for every person around as they too struggle to control the new beasts hanging from their waists.

You who midgame shivers as your screen flashes red before moments later tossing your setup across the room in a rage as your clothes no longer fit and your interests realign to fighting and fucking. As your shredded outfit reforms to the trademarked uniform of your favorite character, becoming a second skin to yourself just as much as them. 

You students racing to complete last minute assignments in the library as books on shelves melt into liquor bottles and carpets stained with decades of spilled beer. Sidling up as you grow larger to get in with jocks who dizzily stumble as their muscular bodies compress to become those of hairless twinks, hungry to sample your new rod.

 Is there something wrong with giving people what they so desire, turning them into something greater than what they are, what they could be? So what if they lose their minds, their genders, species, sentience? Are not some people made to be used already? What difference does it make if they do so as a person or object, plasticine skin is sure to last longer.

Nicky struggles to hold this all in his mind and ignore it, returning to the point of it all. He needs to stop this. He sees the world changing and stays the course. Changing himself into something, someone powerful enough to destroy the Talisman. His hand widens to completely hide the amulet in his palm, red beams of light struggling to pour through the cracks in his fingers.

Almost muted to even his own mind the Talisman cries out Nownownownow let’s just wait a minute! Surely you don’t want to give all this up, I mean c’mon now kid! There’s a flash as the first crack appears in the talisman’s gem, not strong enough yet Nicky grits his teeth and continues to grow, forcing all his might and attention towards silencing this voice that sounds increasingly like the shoddy wizard that foisted this accessory upon him. Dontcha wanna make the world better what happennnnd to thaaAAt!?

He grimaces and shoots up almost a foot in height as he forces his two fists together, he vibrates with the dispelling of this seemingly all-powerful object. NONONO! You don’t know what your doing just one more wiiiiIIII- And red dust falls from Nicky’s now brutish hands. He looks down with a sigh and takes in his new form, torn clothes scattered at feet bursted from his favorite shoes. Though even as he notices they begin to knit themselves back together and he realizes this clearly isn’t over.

Though not consciously his fault, as the man who began this impossible new world order, and one who clearly still exercises some limited control on reality he has quite the mess to clean up. There remain other, newly created artefacts scattered throughout the world that less than scrupulous people will be drooling to get their hands on, and no one knows how to fix this better than the two people who saw the world change. Simon’s moral support will also be gravely needed.

It takes quite some time for the world to even try to begin rebuilding. Though freed from the imposed shackles of lust thrust upon them by the Talisman, many who changed simply find themselves truly taken with the hedonistic lifestyles their new forms encourage. Despite whatever mustache twirling plot the amulet had in the end, many were indeed changed for the better after all. For now the trio simply travel the city, nation, and world to help clean up the most pressing loose ends and prevent another outbreak of transformative disaster. As to how successful they are to this end? Well, that is simply a story for another day.

[tobecontinueth]

A Body Stealer Tale: A Walk At The Park

Me and my boyfriend were strolling through the desertic park at night while holding hands when a straight couple walked past us. Both of us immediately turned our heads, drawn to the sight of the hot man holding his girlfriend's hand. He was gorgeous—muscular, tall, and effortlessly charming in that way that made you stop and stare. My boyfriend stopped walking and gave me a knowing look. I grinned and nodded at him, giving him permission to do his thing. We didn’t have to say anything.

He gave me a quick peck on the lips before casually trailing behind the couple. I found a bench nearby and sat down, waiting for him to work his magic. The park was quiet and dark, kinda scary. But I tried not to think about that. After all, I didn’t have the kind of power my boyfriend had—the power to turn people into wearable bodysuits—to protect myself.

About fifteen minutes later I saw the hot muscular boyfriend striding confidently toward me. My heart skipped a beat as I took in the sight of him. His shirt was unbuttoned now, exposing his massive muscular pecs. His nipples were big and pink, practically begging for attention, and his smug smirk told me he knew exactly the effect he was having on me.

He sat besides me on the bench.

"Well, well," he drawled with his baritone voice. "I heard you're a hungry boy for Daddy's tits. Don’t worry, Daddy’s got the milkers. Go on, suck on my nipples."

I didn’t need to be told twice. I leaned forward like I was starving, my lips latching onto one of his thick nipples with primal hunger. I flickered his nipple with my tongue and he groaned low in his throat, closing his fingers through my hair to press me closer.

"Yeah, that’s it," he rumbled as he held me on his muscular arms. "Worship these pecs like a good boy."

I switched to his other nipple, flicking my tongue against it before sucking hard, and his reaction was immediate. I ran my hands over his pecs and squeezed them hard.

"What did you do with his girlfriend?" I asked between licks.

He chuckled darkly, pulling me away from his chest to look me in the eyes. "Don’t worry about her," he said, his tone teasing. "Let’s just say she’s out of the picture. Now, focus on what’s important: enjoying our new bodysuit." He then pulled me for a passionate kiss.

I glanced up at him, my boyfriend now fully in control of the hot guy’s body. This never gets boring no matter how many times he does it.

He started flexing his pecs in front of me, making them bounce hypnotically. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. "This one is going to look amazing in our collection. His pecs are so huge that we could just fold him and use them as pillows. Do you want to cum on his pecs before we go home?"

I didn’t respond with words. Instead, I told him to kneel in front of me and he obeyed. I pulled down my pants and started to furiously jerk off right there in the open, aiming my cock at his chest. It didn't took long and I came on his massive pecs, coating them with my seed, some even landed on his handsome face. I pressed the tip of the head on his nipple and we both laughed.

We walked out of the park hand in hand. His shirt was still open, proudly displaying his cum covered pecs.

[tobecontinueth]

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

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

You might be wondering why I decided to take Max’s body from him. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times since it happened. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Well… not as much as you’d think.

When Max’s mom and I first got together, being a father figure wasn’t exactly in my plans. Sure, I cared for Max, but I was stepping into some big shoes. A stepdad is supposed to guide, support, and be there when things get tough, right? Well, how the hell do you guide someone through something like losing their mom? I wasn’t prepared for that. And Max—he may have been old enough to fend for himself at 20, but he wasn’t ready to face the world alone. I did my best, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I could keep holding everything together.

As the months went on, my mind started wandering to the past. What would it be like to be in my twenties again? To have that energy, that freedom? To feel like the world was yours for the taking? At first, it was just a fantasy I’d entertain when life got too heavy. A little daydream to escape reality. But then… something changed.

I came across this weird little magic shop while I was running errands. The kind of place you’d almost walk past without noticing, tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. I don’t even know what drew me in, but once I stepped inside, I found something I couldn’t ignore: a remedy that could swap bodies. The old man behind the counter explained it to me in hushed tones, like he was letting me in on some ancient secret. There was one catch, though—it had to be a mutual swap. Both parties had to, at least on some level, want to know what it’d be like to live in the other’s shoes. After that, all bets were off.

Now, let’s be real—what 20-something would actually agree to give up their youth, even for a little while? Sure, I was attractive and muscular. I’ve kept myself in good shape over the years, but still, I was in my mid-thirties. Most young guys wouldn’t see that as a fair trade. That’s when I started thinking about Max.

I’d caught the way he looked at me, those lingering glances when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his cheeks would flush when I caught him staring, the awkward way he’d quickly change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had a thing for me. I mean, hell, I’m flattered. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use that. Max wouldn’t just agree to the idea; he’d probably jump at the chance.

So, I decided to test the waters. One morning, over breakfast, I threw the idea out there casually, like it was just some funny hypothetical.

“This is gonna sound like a funny question,” I said, piercing a sausage with my fork, “but if you could choose to switch lives with me and have my body for however long, would you wanna do it?”

I kept my tone light, but I was watching him closely. The way he fidgeted in his seat, the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his reaction—it was all the confirmation I needed. His sheepish response, something about how it’d be “weird but interesting,” sealed the deal. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just curious; he wanted it. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, he wanted to know what it’d be like to be me.

That was all I needed to make it happen.

When the time came, I added the remedy to our coffee, making sure Max drank every last drop. Watching his body slump as the effects kicked in was surreal, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting across from me, I knew it had worked. My plan had actually worked.

I wasted no time. I’d already packed a bag with everything I’d need to start fresh—clothes, cash, important documents, a few personal items. I didn’t even wait for Max to wake up. I just grabbed my stuff and walked out the door, not looking back.

---

That was five years ago. Five years since I walked out the door, leaving my old life—and my old body—behind.

Now, this sexy body I’m in, Max’s body—no, my body—is 26. And let me tell you, I’ve made the absolute most of it. It wasn’t always easy; the first few months were an adjustment. I had to figure out how to carry myself as a younger man, and I won’t lie, it took some time to get used to seeing my reflection. But as the years went on, I really leaned into it. I started growing out my hair, experimenting with different looks. These days, I like to dress a little more feminine now and then—just enough to turn a few heads. And honestly? I love spending as much time shirtless as possible. This body deserves to be shown off, and I’ve been having an all-around good time doing just that.

Of course, that means my old body—the one I left Max in—would now be about 41. I never bothered to reach out to him after the swap, and, frankly, I hadn’t heard anything from him either. Part of me assumed he was mad, which would make sense. I mean, I did steal his youth, his twenties—arguably some of the best years of his life. Maybe he couldn’t confront me because of that. Not that I spent much time thinking about him these days. My life was too good, and honestly, I didn’t have any regrets. I had the life I wanted.

At least, that was the case until today.

I was at the gym, doing my usual workout. It’s a gym known for its gay clientele—big, muscular guys who weren’t shy about flaunting what they had. My kind of place. I’d just finished a grueling set at the squat rack, sweat dripping down my chest as I racked the barbell. I grabbed a towel and started wiping myself down when this super muscular, hot guy walked up to me.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, “mind if I work in with you?” He had this knowing smirk on his face.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy eyeing him up. Thick, powerful arms, a wide chest, and legs that could probably crush a watermelon. He was older, but he had this ageless energy about him. Then, it clicked.

It was Max. In my old body.

My jaw practically hit the floor as I stared at him. “Max?” I said, disbelief dripping from my voice. “Is that you? You look… amazing.”

And he did. My old body hadn’t aged a day. In fact, it looked better than ever. He’d clearly been putting in work at the gym. My old body was practically glowing.

Max—or rather, my old body—grinned and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “It’s Frank,” he corrected, his tone smooth and confident. Then he flexed one of those massive biceps, his smirk growing. “But you’re damn right I look amazing.”

I stared at him, still a little stunned by how… okay he looked. Actually, not just okay—thriving. “I thought you’d be mad,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I kind of stole your youth. I figured you’d hate me for it.”

He let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back. Then, with that same cocky smirk, he raised one of those thick, muscular arms and took an exaggerated whiff of his armpit. “I was mad,” he admitted, “for maybe the first hour. But this…” He sniffed again, clearly enjoying his own musk. “…this helped me get over it.”

Before I could say anything, he casually ran a hand down to his crotch, grabbing his impressive bulge. “And this doesn’t hurt either,” he added with a wink, his tone dripping with smugness.

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over me. “So, uh,” I began, trying to steer the conversation before I got too distracted, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you in San Diego. Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

Frank shrugged, his body language as relaxed and confident as ever. “Just moved to town, actually. Needed a change of scenery. Figured this would be a good place to start.” He looked me up and down, clearly taking in how much I’d changed. “And now I know why this gym has such a reputation,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, well, I’ve been here a while. It’s a good spot.”

“Seems like it,” he said, his tone a little too casual, like he knew exactly how good he looked. “Anyway,” he continued, “we should grab a drink later, catch up. It’s been too long.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

As he walked away to start his set, I couldn’t help but watch him. There was something about his casual cockiness, the way he carried himself with this slight earned arrogance, that was undeniably attractive. He wasn’t just comfortable in my old body—he loved it. And honestly? That made him even more appealing.

---

Later that night, we met up at a dive bar just a block away from his apartment. It wasn’t much—a little run-down, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer—but it had character, and it was quiet enough for a real conversation. When I walked in, I spotted him immediately. He was leaning casually against the bar, a beer already in hand, wearing my old Texas Tech T-shirt like it was made for him. It looked snug on his broad frame, the sleeves straining against his biceps, and for a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Jealousy? Lust? Maybe all three.

“Nice shirt,” I said, sliding into the stool next to him.

He smirked, giving me a once-over. “Figured it’d be a nice touch. Thought it might bring back memories.”

I laughed, feeling oddly sheepish. “Yeah, well, it looks better on you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. Was I… flirting? With my own body? I mean, technically, yeah, but how could I be this flustered? This was me, or at least it used to be. Yet here I was, stumbling over my words, feeling like a nervous wreck. Meanwhile, he—Frank, Max, whatever—was cool as a cucumber, his confidence practically radiating off him.

We ordered drinks, and he started asking me about my life. He was surprisingly attentive, hanging on to every word like he genuinely cared. It threw me off a little. “You’ve been busy,” he said after I told him about some of the things I’d been up to. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Was it weird that he almost sounded… proud?

Then he started telling me about his life—what he’d been doing in my old body. Turns out he’d made good money over the past few years working as a fitness instructor part-time, balancing that with his job as a mechanic. And apparently, he’d built up an online following, which had blown up enough that he was now financially set.

“It’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I’d hate it at first, but I kinda love this life. It suits me.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and confident posture. “It really does.”

As the drinks flowed, I found myself relaxing a little too much. I didn’t even realize I was flirting until it was too late. My hand kept finding excuses to touch his arm or brush against his thigh. At first, it was just playful, but one of those touches lingered a little too long. My hand stayed on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t move away, and I didn’t either.

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, that damn smirk spreading across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My face went red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. But before I could pull my hand back, he grabbed my thigh, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Usually,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, “I don’t go for twinks. But I think I can make an exception for you.” His hand slid just slightly higher, his smirk turning into something hungrier. “I mean, I know how fantastic that ass is. And I’d love to try it out for myself.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could do was stare at him, my heart pounding as his grip tightened slightly, his confidence swallowing the room whole.

Stay Tuned For Part 2

[tobecontinueth]

Bodyguard

I work hard and slowly climbed the corporate ladder. I am proud of what I was able to achieve. You know, after all those long nights, after all those sacrifices, I have finally become CEO of this company. Now, I know that I have the power. My life has certainly changed. I now meet with politicians, go to important events, and, in my hand, I hold the future of hundreds of people. Given my position, my friends told me that I needed to hire a bodyguard. I was reluctant to do so… but as money was not a problem, I decided to go for it. His name was Ryan. He has a serious demeanor. As an ex-military, I would say that he was a tough cookie to crack. However, we share the same passion for diving, football and beers. It didn’t take too much time for us to become very close friends.  

I never thought that I would require Ryan services. For me, having a bodyguard was like insurance. Something you have but hope to never use. I really don’t remember what happened. One day I was at a restaurant, the next one I was waking up at the hospital. Knowing that someone tried to kill me changed my perspective. I became paranoic, I didn’t want to go outside. I stopped enjoying being alive. Ryan, the man who saved my life, knew that I needed help in order to build some confidence. He was the one that brought up the idea of using a possession spell. I couldn’t believe his words when he confessed that he loves being controlled by someone else, to be treated like a puppet. So, he was going to allow me to use his skin as he thought that this would be something that would help with my rehabilitation. To be honest, this was the most surreal experience in my life, but I am glad that I followed his counsel.

Ryan gave me a weird necklace. The instructions were clear, once I put it on, I would become ethereal allowing me to posses his body. The necklace would not go with me, it would just fall to the ground. To undo the spell, I just needed to put again that artifact. Being in his skin was so surreal. Ryan was young, strong and extremely muscular. The weirdest thing was that I could hear Ryan’s thoughts, and he was clearly enjoying every bit of it. He enjoyed it when I went to the gym, he loved it when I took a shower in his body, and he pushed me to use his tinder and have a one-off with some random girl. He was a bit of a creep for liking someone controlling him. But there is no denying that I was also enjoying the experience too much.  There is no denying, being in his flesh was therapeutic, all my fears disappeared. I felt awesome and didn’t want this experience to end.

Ryan was clearly not happy with my decision. He yelled a lot when he realized that I didn’t get out of his skin. It was very annoying to hear him complaining all day long. Gladly, with time his voice started to phase away. After one month, I just hear him just a couple of times per day. After a year, I cannot longer hear him. I am not sure what happened with the real Ryan. Maybe he is still here, regretting the decisions that he had made. Maybe he just faded away and he is no longer with us. In reality, I couldn’t care less. Betraying his trust is the best thing that I could ever do. I love his flesh; I love his life. Honestly, now I cannot imagine my life in any other way. Ryan was supposed to protect me… well, by giving me his flesh, in a weird way, he is doing what I paid him to do. But I learned my lesson. No more corporate bullshit for me, I will not do anything that will put again my life in the line. No, from now on, I will only make money on Only Fans or similar sites. You know, by showing the world the beautiful flesh that I have stolen.

[tobecontinueth]

Fatso's Ghostly Escapade!

It has been a while since Fatso the big blue ghost has enjoyed himself with a delicious hunky fleshie to inhabit, and he has been itching to get back out there and have the time of his afterlife.

Usually, Fatso possesses a fleshie alongside his two brothers, Stinky and Stretch, however, this time Fatso went on his own outing so he could have some more privacy in whatever activities he had planned.

Fatso decided to fly out to the busy street of Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, a place that is packed with fleshies all eager to see the sights of the city of angels and stars.

Fatso flies over the herds of fleshies invisible to not cause a scene, the big guy is looking for a certain kind of fleshie, a fleshie who is beefy, hunky, and would make any man stare.”Let’s see what I get today. This time I do NOT want the fat guy!” Fatso intends to take over the sexiest fleshie he can find so that he can become the talk of the town.

Fatso keeps on his search when he sees something that almost makes him reveal himself out of excitement, Fatso sees his next victim. The man is tall, dark, and handsome with bulging muscles and a face that can get anything he wants.

Fatso’s eyes pop out of his head as he ogles the fleshie up and down.”Ooh! Look what we have here… the man of my dreams! Hubba Hubba!” The man walks across the street wearing all gray and black with a leather jacket as he seems to be in a rush. The fleshie jumps into a cab as Fatso decides to join in on the ride.

Fatso sits next to his soon-to-be body in the backseat of the car as his fleshie gets comfortable and opens up his phone. Fatso thinks to himself, “Now why were you in a rush, you sexy slab of meat…”

Fatso peaks at the man’s phone as he opens up an app that is quite familiar with Fatso, the yellow app known as Grindr. Fatso scoffs, “Hahaha now THIS is what I am talking about! Fleshie you are PERFECT! I cannot wait to get my hands on you big guy!” Fatso is getting hornier and hornier as he thinks about squeezing inside this hunk of a man.

Fatso wants to see what his fleshie has in mind as he sees the fleshie messaging someone. The messages read; “Hey r u on ur way Brandon?” “Yup just got in the cab, can't wait till you see you” “Can't wait I'm waiting in bed”.

Fatso sees these messages, “Ohh I see fleshie… ‘Brandon’ is on his way to a hookup, well I hope there is room for a THIRD! Bahahaha” Fatso laughs to himself as the car shakes slightly from his large vibrating form.

Brandon gets to his destination as Fatso trails him, Brandon enters the apartment complex and gets rings to get inside. As Brandon walks in he seems to have to use the restroom so he runs over to the bathroom to relieve himself before he makes his way to his hookup’s room. “It's time to get this show on the road fleshie! Haha!” Fatso knows it's time to take over his fleshie as he prepares to take possession of Brandon. 

Brandon gets into the bathroom and quickly takes a piss as he lets out a sigh and zips up, before he leaves the bathroom he makes sure he looks in the mirror. Brandon is checking himself out when he hears some noises coming from a closed stall. “What was that?” Brandon questions as he turns his head to a stall he knows was left open when he first walked in. The stall looks like it's shaking and rumbling causing Brandon to want to take a closer look. “Is someone there?” Brandon walks up to the stall and opens the door to see no one. “What the heck is going on?” All Brandon sees is an empty stall as he notices the toilet is vibrating, Brandon steps forward until he is standing above the toilet looking down into the bowl.

“Hey fleshie… turn around…”

Brandon whips his head up and quickly turns around with a confused look on his face as he sees a large pudgy ghost with piercing orange eyes looking directly at him almost completely blocking the stall door.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! What are you?!” Brandon shrieks

Fatso laughs and grins, “The name’s Fatso, and you caught my eye you sexy fleshie!” Brandon tries to run out of the stall but Fatso bounces Brandon back like a giant balloon which causes Brandon to stumble onto the toilet behind him.

“Oh Fleshie, why leave so soon, it's only the beginning of our fun escapade together, or should I say… MY fun escapade INSIDE you!” Fatso starts to move closer to Brandon.

Brandon looks up at Fatso while he scoots back as much as he can, “What do you want from me?! This can't be happening!” Brandon looks terrified as Fatso gets up close and personal with him, rubbing his ghostly belly against his knees as the chubby ghost gets eye-level with his prey. Fatso looks Brandon in the eyes, “Hehe Possession is 9/10s the law and you are ALL MINE!” Fatso charges back as Brandon goes wide-eyed. “NOW OPEN UP FOR FATSO!” Fatso flings forward towards Brandon as Fatso slams into Brandon’s crotch looking for his way in.

Brandon tries to get up but the immense force of Fatso keeps Brandon stuck on the toilet seat. Fatso phases through Brandon’s jeans and finds Brandon’s flaccid rod, “Ooooh! Why hello there big guy! Hehe, don't mind if I do!” Fatso begins to press against Brandon’s rod as his head slurps in. Brandon moans and chills from the sudden cold and rubbery feeling of Fatso entering into him. Brandon immediately freaks out and pulls down his pants to see Fatso slurping inside him, “AHHH GET OUT!” Fatso continues to laugh as he slowly sinks into Brandon’s rod which causes Brandon to go hard and feels Fatso enter into his stomach. 

Brandon watches in horror as Fatso’s bulbous stomach slams into him, Brandon begins to push against against Fatso with his hands, “Get off of me!” Fatso starts to come back out of Brandon as Fatso groans slowly, “Awww come on Fleshie, let me in, I promise I will take great care of you!”

Fatso pops out of Brandon’s crotch as Fatso has a scolding look on his face, “You think are can keep me out fleshie, I’ll show you what it means to be taken over!” Brandon quickly gets up and makes a run out of the bathroom as Fatso flies forward and bodyslams into Brandon’s back causing Brandon to hit his head against the door and fall backward on his back. Brandon is in a daze as he opens his eyes and sees Fatso above him.

Fatso grins, “Thanks for making this easier for me fleshie, now open wide 'cause I’M COMING THROUGH!!!” Fatso dives down into Brandon’s mouth and he slams all his ghostly weight onto Brandon as his head and arms immediately go down into Brandon’s throat, “Now this is what I am TALKING ABOUT! Hahaha!”

Brandon cannot speak a word as he feels Fatso wiggle down his throat and feels Fatso begin to once again fill up his stomach. Fatso continues to flow into Brandon as his belly wiggles and squeezes slowly getting more and more of his ectoplasm down into his victim’s muscular body.

“GET READY FOR FATSO! BAHAHAHA!” Fatso laughs as Brandon groans in discomfort as he feels more and more of Fatso squeeze and rub against his insides. Fatso continues to squeeze and wiggle for a while until what is left is Fatso’s tail, “There we GO!” Fatso’s tail slurps into Brandon’s mouth and wiggles down his through with a popping sound.

Brandon’s eyes go wide as he immediately gets up off the floor now feeling extremely heavy and full since he is now carrying all of Fatso inside him. Brandon groans, “Ughhh I feel weird, please get out…” Fatso giggles in response, “Sorry fleshie but I am already getting VERY comfortable in my new home! You won’t mind if I stay for a while right?”

Brandon wobbles as he stands up and feels Fatso wiggling and moving in his body, he suddenly hears Fatso moan as he feels a lurch in his stomach and his body begins to move on its own. “Time for Fatso to take the reigns fleshie!” Fatso blurts out as Brandon’s body flails around the bathroom while both Fatso and Brandon groan and moan.

Brandon flings to his left and hits his stomach against the sink, “HEYYY there's precious cargo in here!” Brandon continues to shake uncontrollably as he feels Fatso move and expand in his body, almost like he is being put on like a suit. Brandon feels Fatso’s head squeeze into his own as he sighs, “Please don’t do this…” Fatso exclaims, “Don’t worry fleshie, Fatso is going to take GREAT care of you! Now let me take the driver’s seat for a while.” Fatso moans and lurches over as Brandon is gone and fatso is in control now.

Fatso walks up to the mirror in his new body examining himself and his sexy muscles and chiseled face, “Wow… never been in a fleshie this sexy before! This is going to be an amazing night!” Fatso gets a notification from the phone in his pocket and it reads, “Hey man what is taking so long, I'm ready to be fucked!” Fatso gets excited, “Ooh this is going to be fun!” Fatso walks out of the bathroom ready for his escapades.

[tobecontinueth]

Theo The Womanizer

The door opened, and Theo stepped out. His face was slack, his eyes glazed over with a vacant stare, and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Upon seeing me, he flexed his bicep.

"I’m inside him, Master..." Theo murmured, his deep voice slightly slurred, as though forming words was now a difficult task. "I ate a part of his brain like you ordered me to. He's now just a husk."

Theo was my next-door neighbor, the guy was the epitome of a jock stereotype—handsome, athletic, and insufferably arrogant. But especially, he was a notorious womanizer. He would bring home a new girl practically every week, and the thin walls of our apartment building ensured I was subjected to every squeak of his bed and every crescendo of moans and gasps. It was maddening, infuriating... and, if I’m honest, a little jealousy-inducing.

I’d fantasized about him for months, despite his obnoxious behavior.

Did I go too far by asking my alien companion to crawl into his ear while he was sleeping and turn his jock brain into mush? Probably. But as I stared at him now, standing in the doorway with that empty, obedient expression, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. He was mine now—a blank slate, a beautiful, mindless plaything.

I took a deep sniff of his hairy armpit while he stood mindless.

"Let’s head inside," I said, stepping into his apartment as if I owned the place. "I’m done listening to him screw those girls. Now, it’s my turn. Make sure you dig into his memories of those past hookups so you can recreate every move he made with them."

"Yes, Master." Theo closed the door.

A few minutes later, my loud moans were the ones echoing outside the apartment walls. Suddenly, it all made sense why his dates were always so vocal.

[tobecontinueth]

Something Fishy

Burt and his son-in-law, Mark, had gone fishing at a secluded lake, the water calm under the bright sun. But something extraordinary was about to unfold on their small boat.

Burt, under the influence of an alien entity, set his trap in motion to invade the body of his son-in-law. "Fuck, Mark, come here," Burt called out with a voice that echoed strangely. "Got something you gotta see."

Mark, unsuspecting, moved closer, his expression one of confusion. Before he could react, Burt pulled him into a deep, unexpected kiss, the alien split itself in two and transferring its severed part from Burt to Mark through their locked lips.

Mark's body convulsed, his eyes wide open as the alien entered his mouth, spreading through him like a warm, invasive force. "WHAT THE F-?" Mark gasped, his body trembling before it suddenly calmed, the alien now in control.

Burt watched as Mark stood up with a wicked smirk. "Damn, Daddy, thanks for the bod, I needed this piece of hunk" Mark said, his voice dripping with newfound seduction.

Burt grinned back. "Oh, I bet you have, son. Been eyeing me while you were pretending to be the good boy, huh?"

Mark laughed, pushing Burt back against the boat's seat, his body pressing close. "Fuck yeah, you think I don't notice how you look at me when no one's around? Now, let's see if you can handle what you've been wanting."

He kissed Burt fiercely, his tongue exploring with a hunger that was alien-induced, his hands moving down to grab Burt's ass, pulling him closer. "You like that, don't you, Daddy? Feeling your son-in-law all over you?"

"Shit, Mark," Burt grunted, his hands mirroring Mark's actions, gripping him tightly. "You're gonna make me forget I'm supposed to be the one in charge here."

"That's the point," Mark growled, his voice thick with desire, leaning in to whisper in Burt's ear. "I want to make you lose control, see how far we can push this."

"Fuck, you're impressive," Mark commented, his hand reaching out to wrap around Burt's cock, giving it a thoughtful tug.

"You're not so bad yourself, son," Burt said, his voice rough with arousal as they studied each other's cocks, hands moving in slow, deliberate strokes, learning the feel of each other.

Their movements created a rhythm, the boat bobbing with each thrust and suck as they positioned for a 69, their cocks now within reach of each other's mouths. "Time to see how good you are at this, Daddy," Mark taunted, taking Burt into his mouth with an eager, wet warmth.

Burt, not to be outdone, reciprocated, his mouth enveloping Mark's cock, the taste and feel of it driving him wild under the alien's control. Their moans were muffled, the sounds of wet, eager mouths working on each other filling the small space.

The alien within Mark reveled in this play, now fully in control, making him grind against Burt, their clothes becoming a nuisance rather than a barrier. "Bet you never thought your son-in-law would be this fucking eager for you, huh?"

"Never thought I'd want it this bad," Burt admitted, his hands now working to free Mark from his jeans, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal.

Their desire was palpable, and Burt, with a mischievous glint in his alien-lit eyes, continued to dominate. He positioned Mark on all fours. Burt's kisses were commanding, his actions those of a dominator. He took Mark with confidence, their bodies moving in sync, the boat swaying more intensely.

"Ready to feel what it's like?" Burt asked, not waiting for an answer as he began to push into Mark, each movement calculated to drive them both wild. "You feel so good, Daddy," Mark growled, Burt’s pace quickening.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me—" Mark’s words were cut off by a loud moan as Burt hit that perfect spot.

"Come for me, son," Burt commanded.

With a cry, Mark climaxed, his body shuddering under Burt's, cum spilling between them. Burt, feeling Mark's body convulse under him, followed shortly, his own orgasm washing over him with a force that left him breathless.

“We should get back, we’ve got more bodies to invade in this town and beyond,” said Burt after he kissed Mark.

[tobecontinueth]

A Body Swap Study

Author’s Note:

This is a long one but I hope you enjoy it. Had this story in mind for a while but I was looking for the perfect pair of men to use. The pics here are the SFW version. If you wanna see the full NSFW version, you can see them on my discord: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

There’s considerably less photos in the tumblr post than the one on discord

A Body Swap Study: Posters had begun appearing throughout the city, each one promising an opportunity too good to be true. The details were vague yet enticing: a groundbreaking psychological and neurological study seeking male participants between the ages of 18 and 60. The commitment was significant—a full year in a secured facility—but so were the incentives. Housing, meals, and an eye-watering sum of money were offered in exchange for participation. A non-disclosure agreement was mandatory, hinting at the study’s highly confidential nature. Some dismissed it as a scam, but for those desperate enough, it was an irresistible lifeline.

Silas was one of those people. A twenty-year-old aspiring actor in Los Angeles, he had once been confident that success was just around the corner. Yet, after countless auditions and endless rejections, he found himself unable to pay rent, with no prospects in sight. Handsome, fit, and brimming with charisma, he carried himself with the bravado of someone who had the world at his feet. But behind that confidence lay a man aware of how precarious his situation had become. When he saw the poster, he barely hesitated before signing up. It was money, stability—just for a year. How bad could it be?

Rob, on the other hand, had just lost his job. It wasn’t the first time. Overweight since childhood, he had grown accustomed to the silent judgments and casual dismissals of others. He was highly intelligent, kind-hearted, but plagued with insecurities that made it difficult to navigate social situations. His appetite was insatiable, his body unaccustomed to exercise, and he often sweated excessively, making him self-conscious about his appearance. When he stumbled upon the poster, it felt like a godsend. He needed money, and if spending a year in a research facility was the price, so be it.

The research team was flooded with applications, but two names stood out: Silas and Rob. Their physical and psychological differences made them ideal candidates. When they arrived at the state-of-the-art facility, they were greeted by Dr. Hank, a middle-aged man with an air of quiet authority. He welcomed them into a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and a team of eager scientists. As Silas and Rob exchanged glances, their immediate impressions of each other were hard to ignore.

Silas couldn't tear his eyes away from Rob, his gaze flickering between disgust and disbelief. The sight of him—slouched and bloated—made something twist deep in Silas’ gut. How could someone let themselves reach this point? Rob's clothes hung loosely on his frame, but it was clear the fabric couldn’t fully conceal the rolls of flesh beneath. His face, once vaguely youthful, now sagged with an unflattering weight, his skin stretched tight around the folds like it was struggling to keep up with the overwhelming bulk.

The size difference between them was so stark it almost seemed like a cruel joke. Silas stood tall, lean, a picture of discipline and control. And then there was Rob, who looked as though he'd long given up on any semblance of self-respect. His greasy hair hung limply, a stark contrast to the neatly combed strands Silas took so much pride in. The small beads of sweat on Rob’s forehead seemed to reflect a deeper, unspoken struggle—one that Silas couldn’t quite place but that filled him with an uncomfortable mixture of superiority and contempt.

A huff of disbelief escaped Silas before he could stop it. How does someone let themselves go like that?

Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he scolded himself. He knew nothing of Rob’s life, his struggles, or how he had ended up this way. It wasn’t fair to judge him for his body alone. Still, it was difficult not to feel a sense of superiority.

Rob’s gaze lingered on Silas, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pang of envy twist in his chest. Silas exuded a kind of effortless confidence that Rob had always longed for, something he could never seem to grasp. His eyes traced Silas’ lean, sculpted form, the way his clothes fit him perfectly, as if every inch of him had been meticulously designed for maximum impact. There was a magnetic energy around him, a self-assuredness that Rob could never seem to summon, no matter how hard he tried.

It was frustrating—almost maddening—watching Silas move with that kind of ease, as if nothing in the world could faze him. Rob had dreamed of that confidence, had imagined walking into a room and commanding attention without even trying. He’d fantasized about being in shape, about going to the gym and chiseling his body into something that might make him proud, but the reality of his lazy habits, his poor diet, and his inability to break free from his patterns always held him back.

But standing next to Silas now, the gap between them felt painfully insurmountable. He couldn’t ignore the stark contrast: where Silas was sharp, defined, and disciplined, Rob felt sluggish, soft, and weak. A bitter jealousy simmered under his skin, but there was something else too—a strange, almost involuntary thrill at the sheer difference between them.

As his eyes briefly scanned Silas’ body, he felt a jolt, a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just envy. There was a certain pull to Silas—something more than just admiration. Rob didn’t quite know how to label it, but there was a raw, magnetic attraction in the way Silas stood, in the way his presence seemed to fill the room. It stirred something deep inside Rob, a hunger he’d never fully understood, an aching desire to somehow be that person, to embody that power, that control.

But, even as these thoughts circled in his mind, he pushed them down, focusing instead on the fleeting hope that this experiment, whatever it was, might be his chance to finally change. To escape his stagnant life and step into something new. The envy was still there, but now it was tinged with a desperate yearning, an almost primal desire to shed his old self and embrace whatever might be possible with Silas’ image, if only for a moment.

Dr. Hank soon gathered them for an explanation. The study, he revealed, was not just about the brain—it was about identity itself. The goal was to explore what happened when the mind was gradually reshaped to fit a new body. This wouldn’t be an instant switch. Instead, over the course of months, every aspect of their lives would be systematically exchanged. By the end of the experiment, their minds would fully adapt to their new identities.

Both men were horrified. The idea of losing themselves, even temporarily, was unnerving. But Dr. Hank calmly reminded them of the immense compensation they would receive. He assured them that the process would be entirely reversible and that Silas and Rob would return to the outside world when the study concluded. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. With some hesitation, they signed the NDA and the consent forms, sealing their fate.

After signing, they were introduced to the rest of the research team and given a tour of the facility. It was more luxurious than either of them had expected—a strange fusion of laboratory and resort. There was a buffet, a gym, an arcade, and even outdoor spaces like a pool and lush green parks. Each man was given a private room, equipped with all the comforts of home. For a moment, it almost felt like a vacation. Almost.

The first phase of the experiment was simple: a swap of personal objects. They were instructed to exchange clothes in front of each other, a task that made Silas uneasy from the start. As he pulled off his fitted designer t-shirt, he couldn’t help but glance over at Rob’s exposed body standing before him. The difference between them was almost jarring. Rob’s stomach protruded noticeably, his belly soft and rounded, the fabric of his shirt clinging tightly to the folds of flesh beneath. His arms were thick, but the weight wasn’t muscle; his skin, slick with residual sweat, reflected a life of neglect.

Silas’ gaze lingered briefly on the stretch marks crisscrossing Rob’s torso, a stark contrast to his own firm, meticulously cared-for body. It wasn’t a feeling of disgust, not exactly, but a deep sense of disbelief at the reality of the man in front of him—someone who lived in a completely different world, a world Silas had never been forced to acknowledge until now.

As Rob peeled off his jeans, Silas’ eyes flickered downward despite himself, taking in the full extent of the contrast between them. Rob’s thighs were thick, heavy, pressing against each other with every movement, the skin slightly chafed where they rubbed together. His calves, though large, lacked the definition Silas was used to seeing on his own body, and his knees seemed almost swallowed by the surrounding flesh. Silas couldn’t help but notice the way Rob’s stomach sagged slightly over the waistband of his underwear, the elastic digging into his skin, leaving faint red marks. His hips were wide, his lower body carrying the bulk of his weight, and even the way he stood—feet planted firmly apart for balance—was so different from Silas’ own natural stance. 

As he slid Rob’s oversized, sweat-dampened shirt over his head, Silas was hit with an immediate discomfort. The fabric, heavy and loose, hung off his own frame like a sack, draping over his well-defined muscles in an unfamiliar way. The scent of Rob’s body—a mixture of stale deodorant and the lingering musk of someone who didn’t care much for hygiene—clung to the fabric, making Silas wrinkle his nose. The jeans were even worse—baggy and stretched out in places that seemed unnatural. They hung off him awkwardly, as if he were a child playing dress-up in his father’s old clothes. His discomfort deepened, the weight of Rob’s existence—his habits, his choices—pressing down on him in a way that felt almost suffocating. Silas swallowed hard, fighting the unease rising in his chest. This wasn’t just an exchange of clothes; it was a glimpse into a life he had never truly understood, and the reality was far more unsettling than he had imagined.

Meanwhile, Rob’s hands trembled slightly as he peeled off his old, sweat-stained t-shirt and handed it to Silas. He had seen fit men before—on television, at the gym he had always been too intimidated to enter—but never had he stood so close to someone like Silas, let alone stripped down before them. His eyes traveled over Silas’ body, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Silas was everything he had ever wanted to be—lean, toned, effortlessly powerful. His chest was firm, each muscle subtly defined without being overly bulky, his stomach tight and sculpted, as if he had never known the struggle of excess weight. His shoulders were broad, his arms chiseled, his entire frame carrying a natural confidence that came from discipline, from a life of control.

As Silas removed his last layer, Rob felt a pang of something deeper than envy—an aching realization that they were built for entirely different worlds. When he stepped into Silas’ crisp, perfectly fitted clothes, the waistband snug against his stomach, he felt like an imposter. This wasn’t just an exchange of fabric—it was a fleeting, painful glimpse into the life he had always wished for but had never been able to reach.

Rob’s eyes traced Silas’ form with an almost analytical intensity, absorbing every detail of the body he had always longed for. His chest was firm and smooth, his pectoral muscles subtly defined, rising and falling with steady breaths. His collarbones jutted out ever so slightly, accentuating the lean, angular structure of his upper body. Silas’ arms, even at rest, carried an effortless strength—biceps and triceps taut beneath his skin, veins faintly visible along his forearms, a sign of low body fat and rigorous training. His stomach was a masterpiece of discipline, each muscle carved into a set of defined abs that tensed slightly with every shift of his posture. Lower down, his hips were narrow, his waist trim, leading to long, toned legs with thighs firm and proportionate, the muscles apparent even in stillness. His calves were sharply contoured, the kind Rob had always envied in runners or athletes, shaped by years of movement and effort. Even his stance was different—relaxed but assured, as though he had never once worried about how much space he took up. Rob swallowed hard, not out of embarrassment, but from the sheer weight of the comparison. Silas’ body wasn’t just different—it was proof of everything Rob wasn’t, everything he had always wished he could be.

Rob couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with awe. Was it really possible for a person to look this… perfect? He had always admired fit men from afar, but seeing Silas up close like this made his own body feel even heavier in comparison.  

Sliding into Silas’s clothes was an entirely different experience—one that filled Rob with a strange, exhilarating thrill. The shirt was snug, hugging his body in ways he wasn’t used to. It was strange, almost suffocating, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, he reveled in it. The fabric was soft, clean, and carried a faint scent of expensive cologne—nothing like the lingering musk that clung to his usual clothes. When he lifted his arms again, the motion brought a fresh wave of Silas' scent���an intoxicating mix of soap, skin, and something subtly masculine that Rob couldn't quite place. He inhaled before he could stop himself, a flicker of something heady and unfamiliar stirring inside him.

The jeans were impossibly tight, and he struggled to button them over his stomach, but he relished the sensation of wearing something meant for someone like Silas. He stood up straighter, tilting his chin slightly, imagining what it must feel like to actually *belong* in these clothes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe—just maybe—this experiment could give him more than just money.

Aside from that, they also exchanged wallets, IDs, and phones. The symbolism was clear—this was the first step in becoming each other. From that moment on, they were required to wear each other's clothes. It felt ridiculous, even surreal, but they reminded themselves that it was all temporary. Just a year, and then they would return to normal. Or so they thought. That afternoon, Silas and Rob sat across from each other in one of the facility’s sleek, minimalist lounge areas. A small recording device sat between them, its red light blinking steadily, a silent witness to the exchange that was about to take place. Dr. Hank had given them clear instructions—share everything. Every detail of their lives had to be known by the other, down to the smallest habits and personal quirks. If they were going to live as each other, they had to be each other. 

Rob cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Alright… I guess I’ll go first," he said. "My full name is Robert Daniel Whitmore. I was born in Chicago, Illinois. I’m twenty-six. Only child. My mom raised me on her own after my dad left when I was a baby. We didn’t have much growing up, but she worked hard to give me a good education. I was always the smart kid, the one with his nose in a book. I studied computer science at the University of Illinois, but I never really fit in. I… I always felt like an outsider, you know?" His voice softened, eyes darting away. "And yeah, I’ve always been… big. I tried to lose weight a few times, but food was kind of my escape. It still is." 

Silas listened, arms resting on the back of the couch. He forced himself to absorb everything. It wasn’t just words—it was supposed to be his new reality. "Alright," he said, exhaling. "I’m Silas Maddox. Full name Silas James Maddox. Born and raised in Los Angeles. I’m twenty. I have one sibling. It’s just my dad, sister, and I after my mom passed away when I was a kid. He’s a talent agent, got me into acting when I was little. Did a bunch of commercials, tried for bigger roles, but nothing really stuck. I work part-time as a waiter, but acting’s always been my dream. I hit the gym every morning, keep myself in shape—image is everything in my business. And, well…" He gave a dry chuckle. "Let’s just say I’m used to getting attention." 

Rob nodded, trying to picture himself in Silas’s world. The glitz, the constant pressure to be seen, to be perfect. It was so far from his own reality that it almost felt like fiction. Meanwhile, Silas tried to imagine Rob’s life—long nights behind a computer, the loneliness of always being the outsider, the struggle of trying to change and never quite succeeding.  

For the next few hours, they drilled each other on details. Favorite foods, childhood memories, allergies, daily routines. Silas now had a mother who sent long-winded texts about his health. Rob now had a father who expected him to make it big in Hollywood. The longer they spoke, the more their lives intertwined, and the more unsettling it became. By the end of it, they weren’t just learning—they were becoming.

Afterwards, Dr. Hank paced in front of them with a clipboard in hand. The sterile white walls of the facility seemed to press in on him, making him feel trapped in something far more intense than he had expected. He glanced at Rob, who looked equally uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, his thick fingers fidgeting with the hem of Silas’s former shirt. Dr. Hank finally stopped pacing and turned to them with a sharp, expectant smile.  

"Alright, let’s begin," Dr. Hank said, adjusting his glasses. "Silas—" He paused, then corrected himself with a smirk. "No, I should say… Rob. Let’s hear you introduce yourself."  

Silas hesitated. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke. "Uh… My name is Robert Daniel Whitmore, but you can call me Rob." The words felt foreign, wrong, like an ill-fitting costume.  

Dr. Hank nodded encouragingly. "Good. And how old are you, Rob?"  

Silas clenched his jaw. He wanted to say twenty, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer anymore. "I’m twenty-six," he muttered.  

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"  

Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. The words felt like acid on his tongue. 

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. "And you—Silas—let’s hear it."  

Rob sat up straighter, as if already stepping into his new role. "I’m Silas James Maddox, but you can call me Silas," he said, his voice steadier than Silas had expected. "I’m twenty years old." He paused, then smirked slightly. "And I’m the fit one." 

Silas narrowed his eyes at Rob’s confidence, while Dr. Hank merely chuckled. "Excellent. Now, let’s make sure this sticks."  

For the next hour, Dr. Hank continued his relentless questioning, drilling into their heads who they now were. Silas had to repeat again and again that he was Rob, that he was the older, overweight man. Rob, meanwhile, seemed to grow more comfortable each time he stated that he was Silas, that he was the younger, athletic one. By the end of the session, Silas felt mentally exhausted, as if his very identity was being pried from his grip.  

Dr. Hank set his clipboard down with a satisfied nod. "Good work, gentlemen. From now on, there are no mistakes. You will refer to each other, and yourselves, by your new identities. The more you embrace it, the easier it will be."  

Silas let out a slow breath, glancing at Rob. He had no idea just how deep this experiment was going to go. And worse—he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The weeks that followed the initial introductions were grueling, both mentally and physically. Dr. Hank made it clear that the next phase was about full immersion. But it wasn’t just their identities that were being exchanged. Their diets were next. "If you’re going to live as each other," Dr. Hank had said, "you’ll eat as each other. Starting now."

The new Silas—Rob, still in his own chubbier frame but tasked with assuming Silas’s habits—stared at the plate in front of him: grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and a side of quinoa. Across the table, the new Rob—Silas, with his muscular build but wearing Rob’s baggy clothes —eyed a towering burger, fries glistening with oil, and a milkshake dripping with whipped cream.

“You actually eat this stuff?” Silas muttered, poking at the burger with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Rob smirked, shoveling a forkful of quinoa into his mouth. “Better than rabbit food,” he shot back, though the dryness of the healthy meal made him wince.

What neither of them realized, however, was that the food had been tampered with. The meals, though appearing perfectly ordinary, had been subtly altered by the research team. The healthy dishes prepared for Rob were enhanced with compounds designed to make nutrient-dense foods more palatable, triggering cravings for lighter fare. Meanwhile, the indulgent meals given to Silas had been treated to mimic the addictive flavors of greasy, calorie-laden comfort food. Their bodies wouldn’t gain or lose a pound—Dr. Hank had ensured that—but their preferences were another matter entirely.

At first, the meals were torturous. Rob struggled to finish the modest portions, his stomach growling in defiance as he longed for something heavier. Silas, on the other hand, grimaced with every bite of greasy fries, his usual discipline warring with the newfound compulsion to clean his plate. But as the days turned into weeks, the changes began to take root. Rob found himself enjoying the lightness of a spinach salad, while Silas’s hand reached for a second helping of lasagna without hesitation. They didn’t notice the shift—not consciously, at least. But Dr. Hank did. From behind the mirrored glass of the observation room, he watched with quiet satisfaction as the experiment progressed exactly as planned. The transition wasn’t just about knowledge anymore. It was about instinct. The lines between Silas and Rob were beginning to blur, and neither of them could see it yet.

The gym was pristine, almost clinical in its design, with mirrored surfaces and gleaming equipment that looked barely touched. Silas and Rob stood in their respective rooms, separated only by the large glass wall between them. Everything had been designed to be identical—the machines, the placement of the dumbbells, even the lighting. It was as if they were inside a perfectly symmetrical illusion. The only thing breaking the reflection was the fact that the man staring back at them wasn’t their own.  

Silas adjusted the snug, moisture-wicking shirt he had been given, shifting uncomfortably. It clung to his torso, emphasizing his lean, muscular build.

Across from him, Rob wore the same outfit—except on him, it stretched awkwardly over his stomach and arms, highlighting every roll and bulge. Silas tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could already feel the discomfort creeping in.

Dr. Hank’s voice crackled over the intercom, instructing them to begin their workout, ensuring they mirrored each other’s movements perfectly.  

Rob exhaled and gripped the dumbbells, his fingers tightening around the cold metal as he pulled them upward in a slow, deliberate bicep curl. His eyes immediately darted to the glass wall, where “his” reflection—Silas—moved in perfect sync. The thick veins running down “his” forearms bulged with each rep, his biceps peaking, flexing, contracting like coiled steel beneath his skin. His shoulders, broad and sculpted, rolled with effortless precision.

Rob felt a thrill surge through him.  

The illusion was mesmerizing. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the soft, pudgy form he had known all his life, he saw strength. Definition. Perfection.  

He relished every second of it.  

He transitioned into shoulder presses, pushing the dumbbells overhead. His delts flared, the striations in “his” muscles appearing more defined with each movement. He admired how “his” pecs tightened, the sweat glistening over smooth, firm skin. It was intoxicating to see “his” body move with such effortless power. He had never looked so good—never *felt* so good. The glass wall was no longer just a tool for training; it was a portal into the life he had always craved. 

His favorite part of the session was squats. As he lowered his body, he savored the way his quads flexed and stretched, the way his hamstrings tightened with tension before he pushed back up with ease. The sheer athleticism reflected back at him made his pulse race. This was his body now. The reflection belonged to him. 

Silas, on the other hand, could barely stomach what he was seeing.  

Every movement felt wrong.  

Each rep, each squat, each contraction of his muscles only reinforced the horrifying illusion. He lifted his arms for a bicep curl, but instead of seeing his strong, defined arms moving in the reflection, he saw Rob—a version of himself that had become thick, heavy, and painfully out of shape. His once-chiseled forearms now looked soft. His chest, which had once been tight and strong, now appeared bloated, lacking any of the sharp contours he had worked so hard to maintain. 

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady as he moved through the motions. The glass wall was unrelenting, forcing him to watch every painful second. The worst was when they moved to planks—he held himself up on his forearms, trembling not from exertion, but from disgust as he saw “his” stomach sag slightly, a clear reminder that Rob’s body was nowhere near as taut or conditioned as his own.  

It was unbearable. 

Rob, however, was still entranced. He smirked, flexing his arm slightly in between sets, watching “his” bicep bulge and harden. He turned slightly to get a better view of “his” back in the reflection, grinning at the way “his” lats flared out, creating the V-taper he had always dreamed of having.  

Silas caught the expression on Rob’s face and felt something bitter rise in his throat.  

Rob was enjoying this.  

His hands clenched into fists. He had spent years crafting his body into peak condition, years sculpting every muscle, and now, here was Rob—lazy, overweight Rob—basking in the illusion that he had built this physique. That it belonged to him. 

Silas wanted to scream.  

But there was nothing he could do except continue the workout, moving in perfect sync, locked in this cruel, twisted reflection of reality.

Mid-workout, the gym was filled with the rhythmic sounds of exertion—dumbbells clanking onto the rubber flooring, controlled breaths exhaling between sets, the occasional grunt of effort. Sweat glistened on both men’s bodies, soaking through their clothes as they pushed themselves further.   

Then Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.  

"Now, switch gym clothes. All of it."

Silas stiffened. Rob’s breath hitched in excitement. That meant everything they were wearing. 

With no choice but to obey, Silas peeled off his tight, sweat-drenched compression shirt, grimacing as the cool air hit his damp skin. He looked down at his chiseled torso—his torso—before reluctantly reaching for Rob’s oversized, moisture-soaked tank top. The fabric was thick with sweat, carrying the unmistakable scent of Rob’s exertion. As he pulled it over his head, he shuddered at the way it clung uncomfortably to his body, the foreign musk invading his senses.  

Rob, on the other hand, grinned as he grabbed Silas’s sleek, fitted gym shirt. The material was thin, designed to hug every contour of Silas’s sculpted physique. As he slipped it on, he gasped—it fit. It actually fit. The snug compression wrapped perfectly around his man boobs, his flabby arms, emphasizing every ridge and valley of fat. He felt powerful. He also enjoyed smelling Silas’s musk on his own body.

Silas tugged at the loose tank top draped over his frame, feeling utterly disgusted. The fabric sagged at the chest, pooled slightly around his waist—*it didn’t belong on his body*. He tried to ignore the way it smelled, the way it reminded him with every inhale that this wasn’t *his* usual scent anymore.  

Then came Dr. Hank’s next command.  

"Silas, stand in front of the mirror and flex."

Rob’s pulse quickened.  

Silas hesitated, jaw tightening. Slowly, he stepped forward until he was directly in front of the glass. He knew what he would see. It never got easier. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t his own—it was Rob’s. His breath hitched slightly, the weight of the reality sinking in.   

Behind him, Rob watched with barely contained excitement.  

Silas lifted his arms, forcing his biceps to contract. The thick, rounded muscles peaked, veins pulsing beneath the surface. Rob mirrored the movement behind the glass wall, watching with hungry eyes as “his” body flexed in response. 

"Continue flexing through a full routine, Silas—keep mirroring Rob."  

Silas moved through each pose reluctantly, muscles rippling as he transitioned from a front double bicep to a side chest flex, his abs tightening with every motion.  

Rob, however, relished every second of it. He struck the same poses, mimicking the movements exactly, grinning as he watched his reflection respond. It was intoxicating, seeing himself like this. Strong. Dominant. Perfect. 

He hit a side tricep pose, watching the muscles coil and stretch, the lines crisp and well-defined. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto his chest, making his already toned body gleam under the gym lights.  

Silas, meanwhile, felt his stomach twist with resentment. He was being objectified—by Rob, of all people. He could feel the way Rob was drinking in the sight of “his” reflection, the way his eyes lingered on every flex, every contraction. 

"Now, continue your workout." said Dr. Hank

Silas turned away from the glass wall, thankful to be done, but Rob was still fixated on the illusion. He grabbed the barbell with renewed energy, eager to lift, to feel *his* muscles working.  

Silas did the same, but with every movement, he could feel Rob’s oversized tank top shifting awkwardly against his body, could smell the lingering musk of Rob’s sweat. His skin crawled.  

And yet, when he glanced up, Rob was staring at his reflection with utter admiration. The realization made his blood boil. Rob loved this. Loved the body that wasn’t even his.  

And worst of all—Silas couldn’t do anything about it.

After the grueling workout, their bodies were glistening with sweat, muscles sore yet warm from exertion. Dr. Hank’s voice crackled once again over the speaker.  

“Now, head to the showers. Same procedure applies—mirror each other’s actions.”  

Silas let out a slow, shaky breath. His body was screaming for relief, but the thought of yet another humiliating exercise made his stomach churn. Rob, however, practically vibrated with anticipation. He followed Silas out of the gym, every step feeling more natural—like he belonged in this role.   

When they arrived at the showers, Silas froze in the doorway. Just like the gym, it was designed to reinforce their mirrored roles. A false mirror stretched across the length of the shower stalls, but Silas knew better by now. It wasn’t a mirror at all—it was a transparent glass wall. On the other side, Rob stood in the exact same spot, his eager eyes locked onto Silas like a predator finally cornering its prey.  

“Similar in the gym, Silas leads. Rob follows.” 

The words rang in Silas’s ears like a death sentence.  

Rob moved himself forward, standing in front of the shower controls. Silas’s hands moved on autopilot as he turned the knob, warm water cascading down his body, rinsing away the sweat from the brutal training session. Every movement—every flex of muscle, every lift of his arms to wash his hair—was him copying Rob with unwavering precision. 

Rob’s eyes raked over Silas’s reflection—his reflection, in his mind—watching the way the water slid over his toned chest, down his sculpted abs, trailing lower and lower. He swallowed, enthralled by every defined muscle, the way Silas’s shoulders tensed, the sharp angles of his jawline when he tilted his head back into the stream. Even the way Silas ran his fingers through his wet hair looked effortlessly cool, effortlessly right. 

Rob mimicked every motion perfectly, but there was a difference. Silas was enduring this. Rob was savoring it.   

For Silas, this was another level of hell. Every time he opened his eyes, he wasn’t greeted by his own reflection, but by Rob’s body, doing exactly what he was doing. He scrubbed his arms, his chest, but every movement was mirrored by a body that wasn’t his—one that was softer, rounder, completely alien. His jaw clenched as he reached up to wash his armpits, his biceps flexing involuntarily—only to see Rob’s reflection doing the same. It almost felt hypnotic. 

His stomach twisted when he moved downward, washing his torso. The glass left nothing hidden. Every action was performed in sync, and even though he was looking at Rob, his mind hated how natural it felt—how his brain was beginning to accept that the body staring back at him was his own. 

Meanwhile, Rob was in heaven. He took his time, watching Silas’s every motion like it was a performance crafted just for him. His favorite part? Seeing the shifting expressions of frustration, anger, and helplessness on Silas’s face. It fueled him. It made him bask in the reality that he was winning—he was Silas now. 

When the shower ended, Dr. Hank’s voice returned.  

“Now, put on your clothes.”

Silas let out a slow breath, desperate to escape this psychological torture. But the torment wasn’t over yet. Their clothes had already been laid out for them—Rob’s outfit on Silas’s side. Silas’s outfit on Rob’s side.   

It was deliberate.  

With no choice, Silas grabbed the oversized shirt and loose sweatpants that reeked of Rob’s scent. The fabric felt wrong against his skin, swallowing his frame in a way that disgusted him. He tugged the shirt over his head, feeling like he was drowning in the unfamiliar cloth, the musk clinging to him. 

Rob, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He grabbed the fitted t-shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, marveling at how perfectly it contoured his chest, how snug it felt against his arms. He pulled on the athletic joggers, admiring the way they sat on his hips. 

When they stepped out of the showers, it was almost laughable how much they looked like each other. The real Silas, dressed in Rob’s oversized clothes, looked tired, burdened, out of place. The real Rob, dressed in Silas’s perfectly fitted outfit, looked energized, confident, as if he had never not been Silas.  

Without another word, they walked to their respective bedrooms. Or rather, each other’s bedrooms.   

Silas stepped into Rob’s room, the scent of junk food and unwashed clothes filling his nostrils, making him gag. Rob stepped into Silas’s room, inhaling the crisp, clean air with a satisfied smirk.   

This was exactly how it should be.

The psychological and the physical phases had started. Now it’s the social phase. At first, managing each other’s social media accounts had felt like a chore—a game of memorization, carefully choosing words and tones to match their new identities. But as weeks turned into months, it became second nature. Silas found himself scrolling through Rob’s old messages, responding to conversations about coding projects and online gaming as if he had always been part of that world. The new Rob was very hooked into gaming to escape his new reality.

Meanwhile, Rob was thriving, slipping effortlessly into the role of Silas Maddox. He flirted with confidence, set up dinner plans with strangers who had no idea they were speaking to someone completely different, and basked in the attention that came with being an attractive, fit young man. 

The dating profiles became a particular source of amusement for Rob. He had never experienced so many matches before—his inbox was flooded with eager messages, women (and even a few men) vying for his attention. But photos were crucial. Every potential match wanted proof that the man they were talking to was real, and that’s where Silas came in. Rob would direct him meticulously, instructing him to pose just right, flexing in ways that accentuated his muscles. "A little more light on your abs," Rob would say, adjusting the angle. "Turn your shoulders a bit—yeah, perfect." Sometimes Rob would do a picture for Silas to copy. Silas found the whole thing humiliating. His body had become a product for Rob to use, a tool to maintain the illusion. But the paycheck, the contract, the experiment—he reminded himself it was all temporary. 

Rob, however, had never felt more powerful. He scrolled through his matches, feeling giddy at the thought that people saw him—well, saw Silas—as desirable. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t invisible. He was the man others wanted. And with every post, every video, and every flexing picture he had Silas send, he felt himself sinking deeper into his new identity, wishing that maybe—just maybe—it didn’t have to end.

After a few more weeks, the next phase began. They were given necklaces that were simple, unassuming—thin chains with a small metallic pendant, cool to the touch as Dr. Hank placed them around their necks. Silas eyed his warily, rubbing the pendant between his fingers, but it felt ordinary. Rob, however, was eager. He had learned by now that every step of the experiment brought him closer to fully embodying Silas, and he welcomed it.  

Dr. Hank cleared his throat, beginning the usual round of questions. “Rob, what’s your name?” asking Silas.   

Silas exhaled sharply before answering, “Rob Whitmore.” But as soon as he spoke, his eyes widened. The voice that left his mouth wasn’t his own—it was deeper, heavier, unfamiliar. It was Rob’s voice. He pressed his fingers to his throat in shock.  

Dr. Hank smirked. “Good. And how old are you?”  

Silas hesitated. He knew the answer. He had rehearsed it for weeks. But now, with the strange weight of the voice coming out of his mouth, it felt disturbingly real. “I’m twenty-six.”  

Dr. Hank nodded and turned to Rob. “And you? What’s your name?”  

Rob swallowed hard. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. “Silas Maddox,” he said, and his heart nearly stopped. His voice—Silas’s voice—was smooth, confident, effortless. He let the words settle in his mouth, repeating them in his head.  

Dr. Hank continued. “How old are you?”  

“Twenty.”  

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”  

Rob almost smiled. “Muscular.”  

The words sent a thrill through him. He glanced at the glass wall, catching sight of Silas in his reflection, and for a moment, it was as if his mind filled in the gaps. The voice, the posture, the way he had been living—He was Silas.  

Silas, however, felt the opposite. Every answer he gave pulled him deeper into a reality he didn’t want to accept. His voice was wrong. His name was wrong. He had been forced to embrace so many parts of Rob’s life already, but this was different. This was intimate. It wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was starting to feel real.  

Later that day, Rob stood in front of the glass wall of the gym again, watching "himself" move in sync. He had loved these sessions before, but now, knowing his voice matched the man in the reflection, it felt perfect. He wasn’t just imagining being Silas anymore—his brain was solidifying it as truth. He grinned as he curled the weights, feeling stronger, more alive. 

But beneath that thrill, a fear lurked. What if, at the end of all this, they took it away? What if he had to go back to being Rob? The thought unsettled him, gnawed at the edges of his excitement. He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away. 

The next contraption was introduced a few weeks later. The contact lenses sat in two small cases, perfectly clear, almost indistinguishable from ordinary prescription lenses. Dr. Hank explained their purpose, though both men already had a feeling of what was coming.  

Rob picked up his set first, glancing at Silas one last time before carefully placing the lenses in his eyes.

A quick blink, then another—his breath caught. Silas was gone. In his place stood himself—or rather, how his old body looked like. Chubby and hairy.

Rob looked at the mirror and saw Silas’s toned arms, sharp jawline, and athletic stance. Rob’s eyes widened in astonishment. He turned his head slightly, watching “himself” do the same, but from a different angle. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised a hand, watching his "reflection" move in perfect sync. 

He quickly turned his gaze downward to confirm what he feared—and excitement exploded in his chest. His stomach—Silas’s stomach—was flat. No overhang, no soft flesh pressing against his shirt. He reached down and pressed his fingers into his belly and pecs, expecting firmness, expecting definition—  

—but all he felt was flab. 

The illusion wavered just for a second. He could see abs, but beneath his hands, he could feel the soft rolls of his true form. His breath hitched, but rather than disappointment, an intoxicating thrill ran through him. It was almost perfect. Just one more step. 

On the other side of the room, Silas hesitated before slipping in his own lenses. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to look straight at Rob. 

Except it wasn’t Rob anymore.  

It was him. His own face, his own body. Standing over there. Moving in real time.  

A cold wave of nausea hit him.  

He swallowed hard and turned his gaze downward. Panic swelled in his chest. The first thing he saw was Rob’s thick arms. His belly bulged under his shirt, round and unfamiliar. His body looked like Rob’s. But—instinctively—he pressed a hand into his gut. 

His own firm abs were still there.  

For a moment, relief flooded through him. He wasn’t actually trapped. It was all just a trick. His fingers dug in deeper, feeling the muscle underneath. He could feel his real body, even if his eyes told him otherwise. But the sight was suffocating.  

“Excellent,” Dr. Hank said, jotting something down. “Now that you both look the part, there's no need for shared workouts. You can train separately and continue your regimen alone.”  Rob grinned, unable to stop himself from turning back to the mirror. His hands glided over his "abs" again, despite the deception. His mind was already starting to believe it.  

That night, alone in his room, Rob stood before the full-length mirror, peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt. The fabric slid from his skin, revealing the defined lines of his chest and stomach—or rather, Silas’s chest and stomach. He ran his hands over his "chest," brushing over the sculpted pecs he saw. He looked perfect. The only flaw was that he could still feel his real body beneath the surface. 

Despite this, his fingers ghosted over his reflection in the mirror, tracing the sharp definition of his jawline, his broad shoulders. He flexed an arm, watching the muscle shift, tightening with strength that—just weeks ago—he could never have imagined.  

He tilted his head, drinking in the sight of himself. This was who he was now. The body of a man who belonged in the spotlight, on magazine covers, admired by everyone who laid eyes on him. His fingers dragged slowly down his stomach, stopping just above his waistband. His old body—his real body—had been soft, flabby, weak. But now? Now, he was powerful. Now, he could strut into any room and command attention. 

A knock on the door snapped him out of his trance.  

Dr. Hank entered, holding a small case of pills. “This should help reinforce the connection between your mind and body,” he explained. “Rob will feel heavier, as he should be, and you, Silas, will finally feel lighter and stronger.” 

Rob snatched up the pill eagerly, barely hearing the rest of the explanation before swallowing it down. . Silas, however, hesitated. He looked at the grotesque reflection in the mirror—his reflection, bloated and unfamiliar. A deep pit of unease settled in his gut before he finally shoved the pill in his mouth, swallowing hard. 

It didn’t take long for the effects to sink in.  

Rob let out a slow breath as warmth spread through his limbs. His fingers pressed into his stomach again—except this time, there was no flab, no resistance. His body felt tight, compact, efficient. He flexed his arms again, his grin widening as he felt the tension in his biceps, the solid weight of strength coursing through him.  

He turned back to the mirror, running his hands over his chest, over his stomach, up to his shoulders, reveling in every single inch of his sculpted frame.  

“Oh yeah,” he murmured to himself, tilting his head, shifting his stance just slightly to emphasize his best angles. He threw a few casual poses, watching the light dance across the definition of his abs. Every movement felt fluid, natural. He had become Silas in every way that mattered. 

Then he turned his gaze across the room.  

Silas sat hunched on his bed, staring down at himself with a look of absolute horror. 

His fingers gripped the flesh at his waist—except this time, it moved under his touch. It sagged, the weight pulling in ways that felt unbearable. His whole body felt sluggish, heavy, bloated. His stomach sat on his lap, the subtle bounce of soft fat foreign and horrifying. He clenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream.  

His breath turned shallow.  

This wasn’t a trick anymore. The lenses made him see it, but now? Now, he felt it. 

His gut clenched as he slowly raised his gaze toward the mirror.  

Across from him, Rob smirked, basking in the glory of his—Silas’s—body, flexing without a care in the world. Silas’s stomach twisted as he watched the man move, admire himself, preen like he had earned that body.  

Rob turned slightly to the side, taking in his reflection from another angle, running a hand through his hair before meeting Silas’s gaze in the mirror. He caught the flicker of envy in Silas’s expression—raw, unfiltered resentment. 

And he loved it.  

He let his smirk widen as he stretched his arms above his head, exaggerating the movement, rolling his shoulders just to feel the strength radiating from his muscles.  

"Man," he sighed, dragging his hands down his torso again, relishing every inch. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this."  

Silas gritted his teeth, his hands tightening into fists.  

Rob turned to him, eyes gleaming. “How’s it feel?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. 

Silas didn’t answer. He refused to give Rob the satisfaction.  

But that smirk—that knowing, arrogant smirk—never left Rob’s face.  

He stretched again, yawned, then gave one last glance at his reflection, dragging his fingers across his stomach one final time before heading to bed.  

Silas, however, had trouble sleeping that night. He sat in front of the mirror, trapped in the body he once mocked, his own physique stolen by the very man who didn’t deserve it. Eventually, he got tired and fell asleep. 

The facility was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Silas and Rob lay unconscious in their separate rooms, their breathing steady, their minds deep in drug-induced sleep. The sedation had been precise—calibrated to ensure that neither man would stir as they were carefully transported to the sterile, steel-lined chamber. The walls of the room were lined with machinery that pulsed with an eerie blue glow, their function known only to those who worked under Dr. Hank’s meticulous guidance.  

In the center of the room stood two massive pods, each one large enough to contain a full-grown man. Their curved glass surfaces were clouded with condensation, hiding the intricate network of wires, tubes, and electrodes that snaked along the interior. 

Dr. Hank observed as his team worked in practiced efficiency, preparing for the final phase of the experiment. He approached the control panel, his fingers dancing over the buttons before gripping the lever.  

“This is it,” he murmured, almost to himself.  

He pulled the lever.  

The hum of the machines deepened into a low, resonant vibration. The pods lit up from within, a blinding white light flooding the room as energy surged through the complex system. Inside, the bodies of Silas and Rob twitched involuntarily, muscles seizing as the technology did its work.  

The process took mere minutes.  

When the glow finally dimmed, the pods hissed as they depressurized. The lids slowly lifted, revealing the men inside.  

Where Silas had been placed, Rob’s body now lay still. 

Where Rob had been placed, Silas’ body now remained. 

It was seamless—perfect. Every detail, down to the finest fingerprint, had transferred flawlessly. The bodies had been switched completely.  

Dr. Hank leaned in, inspecting them closely.  

"Turn off the necklace and the lenses," he instructed.  

A technician complied, pressing a button on a nearby console. The faint energy signatures that had once manipulated their senses flickered out.  

Neither man would notice.  

When they woke up, they would feel exactly the same.  

And that was the true brilliance of it all.

The morning light filtered through the blinds as the new Silas stirred awake, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. Immediately, something felt different—better. He felt light. He felt strong. Ultimately, it felt right. 

He sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, and as he moved, his body responded with a sharpness he had never known before. There was no sluggishness, no resistance, no weight dragging him down. His muscles felt compact, efficient, ready to move. A slow smile spread across his lips as he ran his hands over his stomach, reveling in the tightness of his abs, the firmness of his chest. It felt real now—undeniably real. 

Standing up, he took a few steps toward the full-length mirror, his breath hitching as his reflection greeted him. Silas.  

He turned slightly, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms just to feel them move. A rush of warmth spread through his chest. This was his body now. He felt like he was really Silas. 

On the other side of the facility, the new Rob groaned as he woke up, the simple act of rolling over suddenly feeling off. His limbs felt heavy, his movements slower, less responsive. He furrowed his brows, shifting onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling. Something wasn't right. 

Sitting up took effort—too much effort.  

His breath caught as his stomach pooled in his lap, the weight of it unfamiliar, foreign. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at his sides, and a wave of unease rolled through him. The pill must still be working, he told himself. The effects will wear off soon.  

Dragging himself out of bed, he made his way to the mirror, bracing himself before glancing at his reflection. His breath hitched. He saw Rob. 

No. That’s himself, he told himself. 

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still getting used to seeing himself like this, but now, it felt real. The weight on his body, the sluggishness in his movements—it was all too much.  

Before either man could dwell on it further, Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.  

Gentlemen, report to the main room. They arrived at the usual session, sitting across from each other as Dr. Hank regarded them with a pleased expression.  

“We’ve made some advancements,” Dr. Hank began. “To further reinforce your new realities, we’ve integrated AI into your devices. From now on, when you look into a camera, the camera will see yourselves—as you should.” Though in reality, there was no AI added. The truth is, they just completely swapped bodies.  

Silas—the new Silas—felt a rush of excitement as he grabbed his phone and opened the selfie camera.  

There he was.  

The sharp jawline. The clear skin. The perfect physique.

He turned his head, testing the angles. His reflection followed flawlessly, every movement natural.  

He had no reason to doubt it. He didn’t need Silas to take photos and videos for him anymore. 

Rob—the new Rob—hesitated before doing the same. His stomach twisted as he raised his phone and stared at the image on the screen.  

His lips pressed into a thin line. The AI was too good. The way it moved, the way the light caught his features—it was as if he were really looking at himself in the mirror. 

His grip on the phone tightened.  

“Everything you see, everything you feel, is a result of our process working exactly as it should,” Dr. Hank said smoothly. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”  

Neither of them questioned it.  

The day continued as usual. Their meals were switched—Silas enjoying his healthy protein-heavy diet while Rob choked down the carb-heavy, high-calorie meals he had once despised.  

At the gym, Silas—the old Rob—felt the rush of strength surge through him as he lifted the weights effortlessly. His body responded with power, precision. Each curl, each press, each motion was a testament to the reality he had embraced.

Across from him, Rob—the old Silas—was struggling.  

The weights that used to feel light now burned in his arms. His breath came heavier, his movements slower. He watched as the new Silas worked out with ease, flexing in front of the mirror, admiring his own reflection.  

The new Rob gritted his teeth. He hated how it felt. How natural it was beginning to seem. Not only that, he can smell his own musk. The old musk of Rob which is now his own. 

He wanted to believe this was just a trick—just the pills, the lenses, the AI.  But with every movement, every step, every moment…  The truth settled deeper into his bones.  And neither of them knew.

The final phase had arrived.  

Dr. Hank stood before them, his expression unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Silas and Rob sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.  

“For the next six months,” Dr. Hank said smoothly, “you will be living as each other in the real world. No more controlled environments, no more structured drills. You will be immersed completely.”  

The old Silas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But… we haven’t actually swapped bodies.” His voice, now permanently sounding like Rob’s, was filled with doubt. “How the hell are we supposed to pull this off?”  

The old Rob, in contrast, leaned forward eagerly. “Yeah, I mean… I know we’ve got the AI, the lenses, the pills, and all that, but outside, how do we make sure people don’t see the truth?”  

Dr. Hank gave a slow, knowing smile. “That’s already been taken care of. All necessary arrangements have been made.”  

Silas frowned. “Arrangements?”  

Dr. Hank didn’t elaborate. Instead, he motioned to the assistant standing by the door. “Before you go, we have one last exercise.”  

The old Silas’s stomach churned as the familiar process began once again. The final drill.  

Dr. Hank turned to the new Rob first. “What’s your name?”  

The old Silas clenched his fists but forced himself to answer. “Rob Whitmore.”  

“How old are you?”  

“Twenty-six.”  

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"  

The new Rob exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. 

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. “And you?”  

Rob grinned. “I’m Silas Maddox.”  

“How old are you?”  

“Twenty”  

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”  

The new Silas smiled. “Muscular.”  

Dr. Hank’s gaze flickered between them, and then he continued, pressing deeper into their identities. Childhood memories. Family histories. Personal quirks. Every answer solidified the transformation, reinforcing who they had become.  

Silas relished every moment, answering with enthusiasm, loving the power of fully stepping into Silas’s life. He stole glances at the reflection of his body in the glass, flexing slightly when he thought no one was looking.  

Rob, on the other hand, responded reluctantly, hating every second of it. Each answer felt like another nail in the coffin of his old self, trapping him further in this deception.  

By the end of the session, Rob felt hollow. Silas, however, felt exhilarated.  

“Good,” Dr. Hank finally said, pleased. “You’re ready.”  

The men were escorted out of the facility and sent on their way.  

Silas stepped into the world, meeting his "friends" and "family." They greeted him warmly, embracing him, laughing with him as if he had always been Silas. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only acceptance. 

Rob arrived at his "home." Everything about it felt familiar even though it shouldn't be. Then everyone he met—his coworkers, his neighbors—treated him exactly as they would Rob. 

Both men felt a deep, unsettling shock.  

How was this possible?  The world saw them exactly as they saw themselves. And they had no idea that it wasn’t just perception anymore.

Six months passed.  

Silas thrived. He had embraced his new body, his new life, and everything that came with it. Every morning, he woke up feeling strong, powerful, and confident. The gym had become his second home, a place where he sculpted his already perfect physique and basked in the admiration of others. He had even landed a few acting gigs—something the old Silas had always struggled to achieve.  

It was as if fate had corrected a mistake.  

He wasn’t just living as Silas; he was excelling at it.  

Meanwhile, Rob endured each day with growing frustration. He hated the way his body felt—heavy, sluggish, uncooperative. The workouts that had once been second nature were now grueling, humiliating tasks, and soon, he gave up on them entirely. Instead, he found comfort in food and video games, settling into the life he had been given, biding his time until the swap was reversed.  

Because it would be reversed.  

…Wouldn’t it?  

The thought nagged at him more and more as the months passed. He had been counting down the days, waiting for Dr. Hank’s call, waiting for the experiment to end.  

Then, one evening, the call finally came.  

Both men were summoned back to the facility. Silas arrived in a crisp, well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular build, his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

Rob, in contrast, arrived in loose, comfortable clothes that did little to hide his weight gain, his expression filled with equal parts relief and desperation. 

Dr. Hank greeted them with his usual composed demeanor. “Gentlemen, congratulations. The study has concluded.”  

Rob exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. “Finally. So, we swap back now?”  

Dr. Hank smiled, tilting his head. “That was never part of the agreement.”  

A silence heavier than anything they had experienced before settled over the room.  

Rob’s stomach twisted. “What?”  

“The process was designed to be entirely reversible,” Dr. Hank clarified, his voice infuriatingly calm. “But I never promised that it would be reversed.”  

Silas said nothing. He simply stared at Dr. Hank, his expression unreadable.  

Rob shot Silas a pleading look. “You want to switch back… right?”  

Silas met his gaze, and for the first time in six months, Rob saw something in his eyes that made his stomach drop.  

“No.”  

Silas didn’t want to switch back.  

He had won.  

Panic surged through Rob. “No. No, no, no. You can’t just—”  

Rob removed his contacts and yanked his necklace but everything looked and sounded the same. When he looked at Silas, he still saw a muscular and handsome man there. 

“Dr. Hank already told me that the contacts and necklaces were off months ago.” Silas said. 

Dr. Hank simply gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.”  

Silas left without hesitation, stepping back into his perfect life without a single glance backward.  

Rob remained frozen, his world collapsing around him.  

And when he finally stumbled out of the facility, no one—not his coworkers, not his friends, not the world—would ever believe that he had once been someone else. Not that he could, given his non-disclosure agreement.

The End. 

[tobecontinueth]

GLEN AND THE MAGIC-TRICK

--

Zac had never been satisfied with his life. Mediocrity dripped from every corner of his existence like a slow poison. Yet, the moment he saw Glen Powell on the big screen, something inside him snapped.

Glen wasn’t just successful—he was everything. The perfect face, the perfect voice, the perfect life. Every magazine cover, every glowing interview, every post on social media felt like a personal insult to Zac. He wanted it all. No, he needed it.

And if Glen had to lose everything for Zac to take it? So be it.

Late one night, Zac called his only friend, Jordan, his voice a mix of desperation and rage.

“I can’t keep living like this, man. Every time I see that smug face, it’s like he’s mocking me. Like he knows he has everything I’ll never have.”

Jordan didn’t try to comfort him. He didn’t tell him to calm down or suggest therapy. Instead, he chuckled darkly. “So, take it from him.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take it. If you hate him so much, why not become him?”

Zac was silent. The idea slithered into his mind, coiling around his thoughts. “How?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Jordan said. “But you need to be all in. No second-guessing, no whining. This isn’t just some prank. We’re taking his life, Zac.”

Zac’s lips curled into a grin. “I’m all in.”

Jordan worked quickly, calling in favors and pulling strings. Within days, he had secured them a spot as “magicians” at the Twister premiere.

“Magicians?” Zac asked when Jordan explained the plan.

“It’s perfect,” Jordan said. “No one will suspect a thing. We’ll make Glen disappear, and you’ll take his place. Simple.”

The day of the premiere arrived, and Zac felt a twisted thrill coursing through him as he donned his magician’s costume. Jordan, ever the mastermind, went over the plan one last time.

“When Glen steps into the box, I’ll distract the crowd. You take care of him, and... well, let’s just say the box has a few special features.”

Zac smirked. “You’ve thought of everything.”

Jordan grinned. “Of course I have. Now let’s make some magic.”

The premiere was a dazzling spectacle of lights, cameras, and celebrities. Glen Powell was the star of the evening, his every move followed by adoring fans and flashing cameras.

When Jordan approached him with the invitation to participate in their act, Glen laughed and agreed without hesitation.

“Why not? Let’s give the people a show!”

Jordan led Glen onto the small stage, where the crowd eagerly gathered to watch. Zac, hidden inside the box, felt his heart race—not with fear, but with anticipation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jordan announced, “prepare to witness the impossible! The incredible Glen Powell is about to vanish before your very eyes!”

Glen stepped into the box, his trademark grin in place. Jordan closed the door with a flourish, and the crowd erupted in applause.

Inside the box, Zac moved quickly. A hidden panel slid open, and he lunged at Glen, pressing a cloth soaked in chloroform over his face.

Glen struggled, his eyes wide with shock, but the chloroform worked fast. As Glen’s body went limp, Zac lowered him to the floor and began the transformation.

He stripped Glen of his clothes, every piece feeling like a trophy. Once he was dressed, the real change began.

It started with his hands, his fingers elongating, the skin smoothing into Glen’s perfect complexion. His arms stretched, muscles rippling beneath his flesh. He felt his legs grow longer, his spine cracking as his posture shifted.

Then came his face.

It started as a searing heat, like his skin was melting. Zac bit down on a scream as his cheekbones sharpened, his jawline reshaped, and his nose slimmed. His hair lightened, strand by strand, until it matched Glen’s golden locks.

He stared at his hands, now Glen’s hands, and a laugh bubbled up from his throat. It wasn’t his laugh anymore—it was Glen’s.

The transformation was complete.

Jordan spun the box three times, then stopped, his voice booming. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, behold the incredible Glen Powell!”

The door swung open, and Zac stepped out, every inch of him now Glen Powell. The crowd erupted into cheers, none the wiser that the man before them was an imposter.

Zac bowed, his movements fluid and confident. “Thank you! Thank you!” he called, mimicking Glen’s voice perfectly.

Jordan grinned, knowing they had pulled it off.

As Zac walked off the stage and onto the red carpet, cameras flashed, and fans screamed his—no, Glen’s—name. He soaked it all in, relishing the adoration.

Backstage, Jordan packed up the props, including the box with the real Glen tied up inside. He whistled as he loaded it into a van and drove off to their prearranged hiding place.

Hours later, in a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of town, Zac and Jordan stood over Glen, who was tied to a chair, still groggy from the chloroform.

“Wakey, wakey,” Zac said, his voice dripping with mockery. His new voice—Glen’s voice—sent a chill down the actor’s spine.

Glen’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. He was looking at... himself.

“What... what is this?” Glen croaked.

Glen struggled against the ropes, but

Jordan stepped forward, his knife glinting in the dim light.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he said with a smirk.

Zac turned to Jordan. “You know, this feels... right. Like I was always meant to be him.” He paused, studying Jordan. “But you... you could use an upgrade too.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Why settle for being the guy behind the scenes?” Zac said, his voice silky. “Find someone. An actor, a musician, anyone. Take their life, just like I took Glen’s. We could rule Hollywood together.”

Jordan’s smirk widened. “You might be onto something.”

Zac leaned in close to Glen, his stolen face inches away. “This is just the beginning,” he whispered.

The warehouse echoed with their laughter as Glen sat helpless, his screams drowned out by the sound of their victory.

To be continued...

[tobecontinueth]

A Body Stealer Tale: Magic Hands

People looked at me oddly, questioning why I wore black gloves at the beach. I assure you there's a good reason for it. My hands are just too powerful, they can accomplish almost anything I desire. It was a gift I was born with. Wearing gloves would block the power so I wouldn't use it by accident.

Just like now, the weather was becoming cold and the sky grey. So I took off one of my gloves, and with a simple wave of my hand, the weather became sunny and perfect for a beach day.

After a while, the beach started to get more crowded, and that was when I noticed this group of guys playing soccer on the sand. One of them caught my attention the most. He was an absolute hunk in white speedos, his muscles glistened with sweat as he showed off his soccer skills by doing kick-ups. He was exactly my type of man.

I took off my right glove and snapped my fingers, and just like that, everything and everyone around me stopped in time. The distant sounds of conversations and the sounds of waves ceased.

Everything became dead silent.

I walked towards the frozen hunk, he was about to kick the ball, and the ball was frozen mid-air. I casually pushed the ball out of the way and stood in front of him to give the hunk a closer inspection. I just had to cup a feel of that body before wearing him. So I took off my left glove, and gently caressed his muscular sweaty chest. I pinched his nipples a little and even twisted them—I knew I would feel that later.

My hand slowly moved down towards his white speedos and found its way inside. I grabbed his shaft and pulled his huge dick out. He was very well hung, 8 Inches soft I would say. I kneeled right there on the sand and started to suck him off. His cock and balls were musky, which only added to the flavor. It was hot to suck this frozen hunk right in front of his friends. He became hard inside my mouth in less than a minute.

Though he wasn't aware, his body still responded to sexual stimulation. However, he couldn't climax in this state, so his body kept accumulating sexual energy. I continued sucking and pleasuring this frozen hunk's body until I was certain he had stored a lot of sexual energy, just waiting to be released."

I stood up and walked behind him. I then concentrated and pressed the tip of my index finger on his nape, a faint glow formed at the part I was touching his nape—a clear sign my power was working. I then slowly ran my finger down his spine, until I reached his coccyx. Leaving a glowing opening right where I ran my finger.

I then started pulling open his back like a suit. Inside him, you would expect to be dark and hollow, but there was only a bright light inside of him. I pulled open his back until there was enough space for me to step inside. First, I inserted my legs inside his, then I put on his upper body, and for last, I put his face on.

As soon as his face slid into place over mine, I felt the opening on his back sealing and that's when I suddenly was hit by a strong wave of sexual pleasure—All the pleasure I gave his body while he was frozen resumed as soon as the body-stealing process finished.

I let out a deep baritone moan as my knees weakened and my new huge hard cock started spurting cum at the sand. This was my favorite trick, nothing like experiencing orgasm in a different body.

I looked down at my huge cock still pulsating and shooting its last drops of cum. At last, I pulled his white speedos back up and snapped my fingers, resuming time. The soccer ball fell to the sand and his friends looked confused at me, expecting me to kick the ball to them.

"Sorry guys, I think I'm just going to relax a little. See you guys later." I put my sunglasses on and walked to the beach chair I was lying before. As I relaxed on the chair, I allowed my new tattooed hands to explore my new muscles. My nipples were aching but that didn't stop me from playing with them. This guy had sensitive nipples, so I couldn't help but moan.

People started to give me weird looks. I guess it was weird for a man to be moaning while playing with his nipples in public. So I made a gesture with my hand, making everyone at the beach ignore me and think I wasn't doing anything wrong.

Now that I had some privacy, I began exploring my new body in earnest. I pulled off the white speedos and stroked my huge shaft, moaning like a madman while no one batted an eye.

There was nothing like a relaxing day at the beach.

[tobecontinueth]

The Shell: The Landing Part 2

Part 1

"Come on dude, you've been helping us tremendously, at least grab a beer or something," insisted Colin as he tried to persuade the Forest Ranger to take a sip of the cold beer

"Heh, sure, not like my boss is around or something," said the Forest Ranger as he loosened himself up and grab the tempting cold beer from Colin's hands. Colin grinned with malice as the first sip of the beer instantly froze the ranger, the bottle shattered to the forest ground as venom already spread all over his system. Colin then easily opened the Ranger's mouth and then the alien starts to climb out from his throat and then traveled upwards to enter the ranger's nose. When it finished wrapping itself around the ranger's brain and then absorbed the memories, it oozes out from the ranger's ear and then flopped to the forest ground where it started to expand itself as the shell's creation process started. Minutes later, the perfect replica of the ranger, albeit naked, stand up with a smug grin next to the ranger.

"Guess I need to take what's mine, Ranger," said the replica with an eerie smile plastered on his face as he started to undress the real Ranger from his uniform. The boots with the lengthy, damp black socks, the pants that framed the ranger's hairy muscle ass so well alongside the sweaty white briefs, the wifebeater underneath the worn out uniform shirt and jacket and at last the musky hat that once adorned the Ranger head is now in the possession of the shell that wears it with pride and smugness that's never been seen before from the usually stoic and stern Ranger

"Ranger Stephen Henderson at your service. Ohhh......I love how knowledgeable he is about this forest. Lots of delicious bodies for our pack scattered in places I, as the Ranger, fully aware of if you want to explore the woods now. What do you think, Colin? Should we tell Ryle about this?"

"Oh we definitely should, Ranger Henderson. I know Ryle will be elated if you can show us where to find the next bodies,"

"Well, what if we bring one more body to him? There's this jogger watching us as we're speaking now looking all horrified right there," the Ranger pointed out to the person around 300 meters behind Colin that has witnessed everything

The jogger tried his best to outrun the youthful Colin and the street-smart (or forest-smart) Ranger Henderson, but he eventually succumbed to the same fate as the real Ranger and the real Colin when this alien replica of himself eventually snapped his neck in the final act of taking over his identity

"Let's head back to meet Ryle and strategize which folks we should convert before we head back to the city," advised the Ranger to both Colin and the recently-added Marco, the town's bartender that just wanted to get some fresh air but unfortunately took his final drag of fresh air witnessing an impostor stealing his identity and life

With the help of the Ranger's knowledge of the forest, the takeover turned out to be even much more efficient and rewarding as the Ranger directed them to the more fit and powerful human to be disposed of and cloned as shell into. As it stands, the pack led by Ryle Adams leave the forest in three differing cars, the first one filled by Ryle, Colin and the two local college jocks named Austin and Wes

Then, the second car, a huge pickup truck is filled by Ranger Henderson, Marco the bartender, Paulie the town cabin-builder and the owner of the truck alongside his buddy and recently turned in-law as their kids married each other, Sheriff Jeff Wilcox.

The final car, and quite an unexpected yet very much welcomed outcome, filled by 4 soldiers from the military base in the opposite town of the other 8 shells. The soldiers were on a quick unathourized trip out from the base to enjoy the pristine wildlife outside of their base. They managed to do so because the most senior one among them is the nephew of the Major and while the trip has been fun and stress-relieving for them, they certainly would never expect that it would be their last trip, ever. When the Ranger came out to the soldiers camping ground asking for help, they walked into a trap without knowing as they found themselves paralyzed from head to toe all in a sudden. They did not realize that they stepped on aliens on the forest ground that soon slithered themselves stealthily to numb their bodies to the point of paralysis. Then, the ranger wickedly shoved four slithering alien right to their ear canals and soon, they experienced what could only be described as progressive amnesia as their memories absorbed by the alien presence in their brain. As soon as they sucked the memories dry, the alien slithered out with pink-ish glow from the soldiers ear and flopped to the ground where it started to replicate the soldiers and that's when the soldiers also encountered their final fate soon after the replica reached its full state of replication, resembling perfectly the 4 unfortunate soldiers not only physically, but also mentally

So, while the 8 shells will get back to the town and inform the motherships of the town exact coordinate for a more precise landing of the next batches, it will also inform of another coordinates which is the military base that didn't even appear in the mothership detection. One reckless trip of the 4 soldiers will become a heavy price to pay by humanity as when the landing reached its full-scale, that entire base will be turned upside down and will become the base of the invading enemy without anyone knowing

[tobecontinueth]

The Shell: The Landing

The right landing should have delivered us right on the doorstep of the townhall of the small town, where we would quickly encounter all sort of human that probably gathered right away to observe us upon our landing.

We would then utilize that opportunity to paralyze them with our venom, gather their DNA, absorb it to our system and built our human shell that copied the townspeople for the perfect integration as we would then dispose their vegetative bodies. But, we instead landed off the town's border due to the rookie that probably put the wrong coordinate which resulted in us stranded in this forest and in human measurement, some 35 kilometres off from our supposed landing spot. That distance is a very miniscule one compared to the intergalactic journey we went through, but for human measurement, that's like a major miss and we ensured that we will relay this message once we are in contact with Mothership that stationed just outside Earth's orbit. The next batch should not experience this unfortunate circumstances

Yet, despite the isolation, we still managed to find a lot of traces of human existence among this wooded path. Sadly, it's not consistent enough to be extracted as a basis to build our shell as most of them tend to be sweat and urine instead of blood, saliva or sperm which has higher DNA consistency. But it's a huge wooded landscape and with that much human traces already, we kept our belief that we will find the necessary DNA source eventually.

After around 30 minutes, we finally found what we're looking for. It's near a structure we learned as a tent and there, we found copious amount of sperm and other things right next to a tree and basically spread around the area. As the one responsible for this pack, I decided to be the first one to initiate this whole thing so I absorbed all the DNA, hair, saliva and practically anything I could find in the perimeter and let the process kickstarted. I can feel my liquid form enlarged and started to harden as I emitted all the information I received from the sources to create the perfect human replica. The flashes of image I received about this human source sharpened the imitation to its finest details. I started from the head as we were taught in our academy to always form the brain and the head first because that's where we will control the shell from. This human has quite an angular facial feature peppered with shaved facial hair based on the genetic data. He has no inherited diseases whatsoever so I take the liberty to assume that this is a healthy person which means that he probably has decent built. The average height of the human in the area where we supposedly landed is around 6 feet tall so that's the height I set my shell to be. But everything becomes much more easier as this human all in a sudden walked out from his tent and started calling out another name

"Colin, is that you?" He faintly whispered. Did I and the pack make too much noise? Well, creating a shell is not necessarily a quiet process as we're practically building a skin but we believe we've been very quiet. Then, an animal we know called as deer appeared but the human seemed to not be that startled. Yet, just a glimpse of his look helped me to really fine-tune everything to perfection. I reshaped my shell's abdominal and pectoral muscle to be tighter and imprinted the ink I saw on the human. The taut legs and tight yet bubbly glutes followed suit alongside the hair on his legs and shaved pubic hair. I also notice the scars in his back and right above his ass crack and make his intricate web of veins that carried the blood to energized his body more visible in my shell to really match his. The final creation is the sexual appendage of the male human and despite not seeing it in full frontal form from the owner, I make an educated guess from the bulge he sported earlier and let the meat formed itself to become a 6.5 inches soft, uncut cock with a large grape-sized sperm glands or human usually called it as balls. It's modifiable after all, so no need to get it perfect on the first go

As I then take the time to create all the internal organs and placed myself to wrap this imitation brain of this shell like a cocoon, this shell is finally ready so I stand up and happily grinned looking at the rest of the pack

"Wait here, okay? All of you will have your turn coming,"

He's already back inside his tent when I stand up, so I slowly creep myself to ambush him before that Colin person comes back. He's sleeping naked with his ass on full display inside his tent, the fuzziness and arch of his ass inspired me to alter my shell right then and there for a perfect copy and before he's aware, I lunged right at him and started to circle my muscular forearm to choke him. We battled hard as he flailed around trying to get himself free, but I locked his neck and legs way too tight for him to get out from. When his body goes limp, I finalized the tiny details I failed to get by altering my shell before I enacted the final replication process. As my shell goes limp without me in control, I inserted myself to his brain to gather all information needed. It's a rather quick process as I simply wrap myself around his soon-to-be useless brain and absorbed all the information about.......Ryle Adams. Then, I slide out from his brain and entered my Ryle shell to then inject the memory to the mush of a brain of the shell so I can pass myself on as Ryle Adams with ease and also making this body able to function autopilot even when I'm not inside of him, a perfectly seamless integration

Now, time to clean up the old Ryle and prepare for Colin's arrival after his fishing duty. Maybe to make the replication easy, I should just stuff one member of the pack into Colin's brain, so once it gets out, it can simply replicate everything without making guesses or adjustment. Yeah, that sounds easier to be honest.....

[tobecontinueth]

Pits and Proteins

Jett and Mace, the epitome of straight, gym-obsessed bros, engaged in their daily ritual. Jett was blending a protein shake, his biceps bulging with each motion. The sound of the blender whirring mixed with the clatter of weights, filling the air with a sense of routine. Mace, was pouring the thick, creamy mixture into two large shakers, the scent of protein powder and fruit wafting out, a stark contrast to the musk of their sweat-drenched workout gear.

But tonight, Zane and Arlo, who live in the house next door, had plans for these two. The astral projection ritual was an intoxicating blend of shadows and incense, the chant vibrating through the air like a forbidden melody. Their spirits drifted, leaving their bodies, and floated across to Jett and Mace's place, where they were now sipping their shakes in the kitchen, discussing their latest conquests in the gym and at the bar.

The switch was a shock to the senses. Zane, now in Jett's body, felt the surge of raw power, his new muscles flexing with an eager pulse. His skin felt tighter, stronger, each movement more potent. He could taste the remnants of the protein shake, a sweet and chalky aftertaste on his tongue. Arlo, now inhabiting Mace's body, marveled at the hardness of his new form, his fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his new skin under his touch, the taste of the shake still fresh in his mouth.

The possessed gym bros immediately started exploring their new bodies and kissing. "Fuck, man, I’m not into this homo shit but, but this is insane." Zane said, his voice now deep and resonant, feigning confusion as his eyes, betraying his words, roamed over Arlo's new, chiseled body. The scent of Mace's body, now Arlo's, was a mix of deodorant, the sweet tang of the protein shake, and the salty tang of sweat.

"Bro, this is fucked up," Arlo responded, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, though his eyes were locked on Zane, now Jett, with an undeniable hunger. "We're not into this shit, right?"

"Right, dude, we like chicks," Zane said, his voice dropping to a growl as he caught the scent of his own new body, the musk of Jett's earlier workout still clinging to him, making his cock stir in his shorts amidst the lingering taste of protein.

But their pretense crumbled under the weight of curiosity. "You gotta smell this, bro," Arlo said, lifting his arm, revealing his pit, the scent hitting Zane like a wave. It was earthy, musky, and undeniably arousing, mixed with the subtle sweetness of the shake's residue. Zane, pretending to be hesitant, moved closer, his nose hovering before he took a deep, indulgent sniff, the scent filling his senses with a primal need.

"Fuck, that's... that's wild," Zane admitted, his voice thick with arousal, the bulge in his shorts now unmistakable, the taste of the shake still on his breath. "Your turn, faggot," he teased, the word playful rather than offensive, as he lifted his arm, exposing Jett's pit. The scent was intoxicating, a cocktail of sweat, the remnants of cologne, and the faint sweetness from the shake.

Arlo inhaled, his eyes closing as he savored the scent, his pretense of reluctance dissolving. "Shit, you smell like a fucking stud, bro," he retorted, the banter turning their denials into a seductive game, the taste of the shake mingling with the salt of their sweat on his lips.

Their hands, now trembling with a mix of anticipation and excitement, moved to unzip each other's shorts, the sound of the zippers loud in the quiet room. Zane's cock, now Jett's, was thick, veined, the head an angry red, already leaking pre-cum. Arlo's, in Mace's body, was long with a beautiful curve, the tip glistening with a bead of pre-cum that caught the light.

"Damn, look at that fucking monster," Arlo said, his voice thick with lust as he wrapped his hand around Zane's cock, feeling its heat, the pulse against his palm. The texture was smooth yet veiny.

"This one's not too shabby either," Zane replied, his fingers tracing the length of Arlo's cock, feeling the silky skin, the slight curve that promised deep pleasure. Their banter was crude, filled with slurs that now served as foreplay, pushing each other's boundaries.

They knelt, the pretense of their straightness fading as they worshipped each other's cocks. Zane took Arlo's into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness of pre-cum mixed with the faint sweetness of the shake, the warmth overwhelming him. The taste was new yet exciting, the texture under his tongue driving him wild.

"You sure you're not enjoying this, faggot?" Arlo gasped, his hands in Zane's hair, guiding him deeper, the sensation of his cock in another man's mouth sending shivers down his spine, the air filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the slight sweetness of the shake.

Zane pulled off with a smirk. "I could say the same about you, cocksucker," he teased, before diving back in, his mouth eager, his tongue exploring every inch, tasting the musk and salt of Arlo's arousal mixed with the shake's residue.

Arlo, not to be outdone, took Zane's cock into his mouth, the wet, sucking sounds filling the room, their banter now drowned by moans of pleasure. The taste, the feel, everything was more than they had anticipated, the scent of their pits close, adding to the sensory overload, the sweetness of the shake now a part of their sex.

They stood, their cocks bobbing before them, and Arlo turned around, presenting himself. The room was thick with the scent of sex, their skin slick with sweat, the air charged with their panting breaths, the sweet aftertaste of the shake still on their tongues.

"You sure you want this, bro?" Zane asked, his voice a mix of playfulness and hunger, as he lined his cock up with Arlo's entrance, the head teasing, the pre-cum making it slick, mingling with the shake's residue.

"Fuck me and find out, pussy," Arlo shot back, his voice ragged with need, the anticipation of penetration making him tremble.

Zane pushed in, both of them groaning at the tight, hot sensation. The sound of flesh against flesh, the warmth, the tightness, overwhelmed them. "Shit, you're tight," Zane grunted, his hands gripping Arlo's hips, the feel of Mace's muscles under his fingers adding to the sensory rush.

Their flip-fucking was a dance of dominance and submission, their banter still laced with playful slurs that only heightened their arousal. "You like that, huh? You like my cock in your ass, you little bitch?" Zane panted, his thrusts deep and claiming, their bodies slick with sweat, the scent of their pits mingling with the musky smell of sex and the fading sweetness of the shake.

"Fuck yeah, give it to me harder," Arlo moaned, his hand reaching back to grab Zane's thigh, pulling him in deeper, the pleasure overwhelming.

After switching, Arlo now took Zane from behind, the roles reversed but the intensity undiminished. The feel of Zane's new body, the sound of their skin slapping, the taste of sweat on their lips when they kissed, all blended into an overwhelming symphony of sensation, the sweetness of the shake still a faint taste on their tongues.

As they neared climax, their movements became more desperate, their breaths ragged. The moment arrived, their orgasms washing over them with a force that left them breathless. Zane, in Jett's body, felt the hot spurt of cum, and Arlo, in Mace's, mirrored the sensation. In the afterglow, they collected their cum, mixing it into the remnants of the protein shake, the taste now salty and musky, a potent mix of their essence and the shake's sweetness. “Now it has the right amount of protein!” said Zane with a chuckle.

[tobecontinueth]

Twisted Malice Final Part

Part IV

Jason grinned, his workout interrupted by a message from Dan. "How dare you fucker texting me!" Jason responded. "drop that shitty act," came the instant reply from Dan. "hahaha, why does that trigger you so much?" he teased. Amused, he paused, setting the weights down carefully before snapping a selfie to send to Dan.

"Or are you just jealous because I look way better than you now?"

"Did you finally manage to reach out to Ashton? I haven’t heard from you in days." Dan complained. "wtf, dude. I told you, leave it to me. I’m his cousin, not his manager. After all, he’s busy as hell." "Hurry up, for god’s sake. If this bitch of yours is too much of a distraction, I’ll make sure you remember who the fuck gave you this life, Tristan."

Dan’s impatience was clear, though Jason wasn’t lying. He was about to set up the meeting with Ashton—his cousin, now.

"Show some respect when talking to Jason fucking Conner, or you’ll regret threatening me or my girl." Tristan enjoyed pretending to be the real Jason, but quickly followed up with a friendlier message. "JK, mate! Believe me, I already did what it takes. As luck would have it, he’ll soon be in the South for a new deal. He’s invited me and my girl to spend a few days there since we haven’t seen each other in a while. I’ll call you when everything’s set up. But don’t you dare call me Tristan again!"

No new message followed. Clearly, Dan was satisfied with the progress Jason had reported.

————

The original plan had been for Dan to turn Ashton Conner into a skinsuit all by himself, keeping the operation secret. But thanks to Arthur, those plans were disrupted—or rather, reworked. Arthur's obsessive pursuit of strength, combined with Dan's cunning essence, formed a dangerous blend that elevated their plans to a whole new level of deception. Arthur discovered a way to wield the ancient book and the cursed dagger far more effectively than Dan could have ever imagined. Ashton Conner would be their first victim, but he was only the beginning—the key to whatever followed.

Though born into the powerful and influential Conner family, Ashton was no ordinary man. In his early 30s, he was perhaps the most promising and ascendant member of the family. Ashton stood at the helm of the Blackwood Group, a national conglomerate specializing in real estate development, property acquisitions, and national finance. The family's portfolio stretched across vast urban landscapes in major cities, with a hidden web of offshore accounts, private equity firms, and international investment schemes funneling money through countless markets.

Ashton had no qualms about the ethical gray areas in which his family’s fortune was built. He firmly believed that the wealthy deserved their position, regardless of how they achieved it. Corruption, exploitation, and legal loopholes were simply part of the game.

For Dan—as for Arthur—Ashton Conner was the perfect skin.

————

"I’ve prepared everything I need and I’m heading to the resort now," Dan spoke into the phone.

"Alright. Dude, it feels so weird to betray my cousin. Everything in my head is screaming that I have to protect him from you, Dan!" Jason replied, his voice conflicted.

"Jesus! I don’t care what you think, and neither should you, Jason!" Dan snapped, his patience thinning.

"I’m just glad we can finally get it over with, mate!" Jason exclaimed, the tension in his voice easing.

"So, as you told me, both of you won’t be in the suite for at least two hours, right? That’s enough time for me to proceed with the ritual. Make sure you come back with him on time, and not a minute earlier!" Dan’s voice was cold, all business.

"Dude, I don’t know if I ever want to know how you managed to transform Jason all by yourself. It’s ridiculous how complicated it actually is," Jason said, clearly still processing the strange events.

Dan fought the urge to smile. He would never tell Tristan—or Jason—the truth. He would never reveal the dagger, nor would he ever give away the source of his knowledge or power. That was a secret he’d guard carefully. Arthur's intentions would remain his own.

"Whatever. Just make sure you arrive on time. I’ll meet Ashton in half an hour. I’ll wait for you in the lobby," Jason finished, clearly focused on the task at hand.

"Good. See you then, mate!" Dan said, ending the conversation.

————

"Sorry, Sir, there’s a man causing some trouble, but he claims he’s supposed to meet you. He said his name is Dan Carter. Are you expecting him, Sir?" The staff member, clearly confused, asked Jason, who was waiting in the large lobby filled with other guests.

Jason nodded, visibly annoyed, and gestured for the staff to let Dan in immediately. With Ashton absent, the exclusive hotel lobby was the only decent place to meet, but he hadn’t expected Dan to cause such a scene.

When Jason saw Dan approaching with his usual tight sportswear and a large backpack, he couldn’t suppress an exasperated sigh.

"Jesus, their staff seriously has some issues," Dan said, giving Jason a friendly pat on the shoulder, clearly trying to assert some dominance.

Jason scanned him upside down judging his appearance.

"You talk all day about playing it safe, but you couldn’t at least try to blend in, could you? Think how it looks when I, Jason Conner, is talking to some maniac like you." Jason shot back, his annoyance rising.

"I don’t care, and you should know that by now. Besides, why hide these guns?" Dan grinned, striking a double bicep pose.

Jason rolled his eyes, noticing the stares from people around them. "Focus, Dan. Let’s just get this over with."

He handed Dan the key card. "Here’s the key to the King’s Suite. It’s on the top floor. Wait somewhere in here so you can see when Ashton and I leave the building."

————

Waiting patiently, Dan’s hunger and Arthur’s longing were put to the test as he watched Ashton approach Jason. Ashton wore a tight black shirt, half-buttoned, and khaki pants, each piece accentuating his perfectly sculpted physique. His shoes, wristwatch, and overall demeanor were silent markers of his position on the social ladder. Ashton’s handsomeness stood in stark contrast to everyone else in the room, making him clearly stand out—a beacon of success.

After a brief conversation, Ashton and Jason left the building.

That was the moment Dan had been waiting for. He quickly took the elevator and used the key card to enter the suite where Ashton and Jason had been. He paused for a moment, taking in the space—particularly Ashton’s room. Dan couldn’t help but marvel at the lavish lifestyle on display, knowing he would soon elevate it to new heights, making it his own.

Dan returned to the large living room, setting up all the necessary ingredients and items to summon the demon once again—the source of the insane power he had gained. He placed the book and dagger in front of him, then began to draw a circle and symbols with his own blood. As he mumbled words that would sound nothing short of disturbing to any other person, Dan slipped into a trance. Slowly, dark, grey smoke began to emerge from the circle, and Dan could feel the heavy weight settling onto his shoulders. The air grew thick, and all light seemed to vanish.

Then, the dark silhouette of a human-like figure appeared. It was nothing more than a shadow—thin, unnaturally tall. Dan could make out the shape of a slit chest. The summoning had been successful. Despite recalling the image of the demon, the new Dan was still struck by its presence.

Glowing eyes fixed on him, and a smile slowly crept across the demon’s face.

"I’ve awaited this moment, mortal," the demon’s deep, echoing voice rumbled, amusement evident in its tone.

"Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?" Dan asked, fully aware that this might provoke the demon.

Immediately, the demon’s thin claws snapped, and invisible chains seemed to bind Dan, paralyzing him completely.

"You try to challenge me, human. I saw you. Arthur!" The demon’s voice grew heavier with each word, each syllable pressing down on Dan like an oppressive weight, forcing him closer to the ground. "I enjoyed how the soul of the body you inhabit was caught by destiny. Even I didn’t expect this twist of fate."

"Although you, Arthur, deprived me of a soul, I let you get away with it. I was curious to see what you would do, instead of Dan. But to be honest, you bore me. Many souls before you have tried to stab me with my own weapon. Did you really think you could succeed where none ever have?" The demon’s calmness suddenly shifted. "But I must admit, I feel... aroused that even you, like many other souls, tried to use the dagger on me."

The demon’s tone dropped, his voice suddenly sharp and menacing. "It’s time. An eye for an eye."

Fear began to creep into Dan and Arthur’s minds. It felt as though something was separating them—Arthur’s and Dan’s consciousnesses splintered. Arthur couldn’t remember how it had felt before merging with Dan. Suddenly, all his old fears, desperate thoughts, and feelings of weakness surged to the surface once again.

"Only a few souls have discovered that I can only possess the empty skins of humans. Thanks to you, Arthur, you’ve finally provided me with an excellent shell. I agree with you—the skin of this Dan is a weapon I’ll put to good use."

Dan was pulled closer by the demon's force, compelling him to kneel before it. The circle that was meant to trap the demon proved useless.

Dan whimpered as the demon’s dark claws reached out, sinking into his mouth. Arthur was forced to gag, helplessly he experienced the cruel process of the demon creeping into his body. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his lungs—his voice was devoured by the sheer malice emanating from the demon.

Then, no trace of the demon remained. The light was still absent, and the room was cloaked in silence.

Dan’s body knelt on the ground. Suddenly, a smile spread across his face.

"I don’t know how long I’ve waited for a suitable skin," Dan’s voice left his mouth. He rose and admired his transformed body. "Finally, I walk this earth again. Thanks to this body—and his wicked mind—I have the power to torment these poor souls once more. Poor Arthur, erased from existence and forgotten in death as he was in life."

The demon reveled in his victory, but his triumph was interrupted when he saw the shell of the dagger crumble to dust. As soon as he noticed his artifact, which was linked to his existence, vanishing, Dan’s body contorted in pain.

Dan let out a scream, his voice a chilling, distorted version of the demon's deep growl.

His skin began to smoke, his clothes disintegrating into ash. Fiery, burning symbols appeared across his chest and stomach, searing into his flesh. Dan’s body tensed in agony, muscles growing and bulging unnaturally. The demon struggled, fighting against a power he couldn’t control.

Dan winced as his hands morphed into grotesque, unnatural claws, the pain unbearable.

His bones cracked, muscles expanded, and his legs lengthened. The body of Dan was shedding its humanity, leaving the form of a mortal behind. Another diabolical scream left his lungs. The burning symbols were extinguished, replaced by deep black scars that lingered. Dan’s eyes snapped open, now glowing a fiery red. He straightened, his towering form filling the room, now matching the immense height the demon had once held.

Without warning, the elevator doors opened, and Ashton and Jason entered the suite. Their laughter faltered and died the moment they saw the imposing, demon-like figure looming over the room.

"DAN?! Is that you?!" Jason screamed, his voice filled with desperation, hoping against hope that the monstrous figure before him was still his former friend.

"The heck…? You know this thing, Jason?" Ashton asked, his voice laced with confusion, still trying to process the horror in front of him.

The creature's head slowly turned toward Jason and Ashton, a chilling smile curling across its twisted face.

"Not Dan anymore," it rumbled in a deep, guttural voice. Its hand shot out, pointing at Ashton, who still couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. An invisible force yanked Ashton toward the creature.

Ashton struggled, but before he could react, the creature's hand formed a tight fist, and Ashton immediately passed out, his body going limp.

The being, which once resembled Dan, then shifted its gaze to Jason.

"Help me, out here!" The words rumbled from deep within its chest, a demonic growl escaping its mouth.

Jason stepped forward cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. "Is it really you, Dan?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He took another tentative step, bracing himself for something even darker.

"I’m more than just Dan now. I’m no longer a mortal being," the creature explained calmly, his voice laced with cold confidence.

"Dude, what the hell did you do?" Jason's voice cracked, panic rising. "Shit, man... this is fucked up!"

"I told you about the demon. I absorbed him," the creature said, his voice calm, almost casual.

"You did what?!" Jason could hardly believe what was coming out of the thing’s mouth.

"That was your plan all along?!" Jason's mind raced, struggling to understand how this creature, standing before him, could possibly be his old friend. The realization seemed to please the creature, a wicked smile creeping across its face.

What Jason would never know was that Arthur had outsmarted the demon. Before this moment, he had prepared Dan’s skin with countless runes etched on the inside. They would snap shut like a trap the moment the demon took possession. This forced an unnatural fusion of Dan, the demon, and Arthur’s former self, with Arthur now in control.

"It wasn’t my plan at first," the creature continued, his tone unnervingly calm. "But why should I leave the opportunity to become something this powerful?"

"Dude... so what now? Did you kill him?" Jason, still on edge, pointed to Ashton lying unconscious on the ground.

"No, I just prepared the transformation," the demon responded.

"So you can possess him now?" Jason asked, though a part of him dreaded the answer.

"No, I still need his skin."

Jason recoiled. "That’s so sick. How should I even call you now, Dan?!"

"No need to worry, soon you’ll be calling me Ashton," the creature smirked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. With a swift motion, he tore away Ashton’s clothes, leaving the lifeless body on the ground.

Pressing his claws into Ashton’s chest, the creature made a clean, straight cut downwards.

"This will be my skin for now," he declared, his voice thick with anticipation. The cut glowed with fiery light, and Ashton’s body began to deflate.

"I will become Ashton," it continued with a satisfied smile. "How about you clean up this mess I’ve caused?"

Jason, still paralyzed by the sight, could only nod slowly in response, his confusion and disbelief preventing him from reacting faster. He did as he was told, moving reluctantly to handle the aftermath.

The creature, now holding Ashton’s skin in his hands, entered the private rooms of his new victim. Dan stretched the skin over his form, the flesh pulling and stretching unnaturally to accommodate his immense size. But as the skin molded to his new shape, the more he wore it, the more it reshaped itself to fit the new, twisted version of Dan. Even the claws melted away, leaving Ashton’s hand unscathed, and the skin didn’t tear, though it stretched unnervingly tight.

With each passing second, the supernatural traces of the new Dan began to vanish beneath the shell of Ashton’s skin. As the transformation neared its end, he stretched Ashton’s face over his own head, forcing the last remnants of his demon form to dissolve completely.

When the new Ashton stared into the mirror, he was met with his usual appearance: the perfect, chiseled features, his grey eyes, and the body that everyone envied. Now, with his newfound powers, he carried the full essence of Ashton Conner immediately.

With an almost casual gesture, the newly transformed Ashton picked up some of his jewelry, and slipping it on. He fixed his hair with his usual products and spritzed on his signature perfume, the familiar scent enveloping him as he finished the final touches on his new identity.

As Jason stuffed the strange items into a trash bag, desperately trying to clear away the ash and dust from the floor, he was suddenly confronted by the shocking sight of a naked Ashton casually walking into the middle of the room. The transformation complete, the new Ashton moved with the same confidence as before, gathering the clothes he had worn earlier with a nonchalant ease. Stunned yet strangely amused, Jason watched as the new Ashton moved with effortless ease, as though it were completely normal for him to be naked in front of his own cousin, in this bizarre and unsettling situation.

The new Ashton moved with an inspiring ease, confidently dressing himself piece by piece. His actions were smooth, almost rehearsed, as if he were the same person Jason had been talking to just minutes before. First, Ashton slipped on the black underwear which contained his enormous dick. Then he squeezed his muscular legs into the tight khaki pants, the fabric of which conformed to his defined legs and also showed off his well-defined ass. He quickly followed with a tight black shirt, leaving a couple of buttons undone as he rolled up the sleeves casually, finishing with the slippers he had worn earlier.

Ashton’s scent filled the room, a familiar mix of his signature cologne. It hit Jason like a wave, grounding the reality of what he was witnessing—there was no mistaking it. Standing in front of him was the same Ashton Conner: the successful, charismatic cousin who commanded attention, admired by everyone who crossed his path.

"Are you ready, cousin? You seem distant." Ashton’s charismatic voice pulled Jason from his thoughts.

"For what?" Jason asked, still perplexed by the strange turn of events.

"For dinner with a new girl of mine, you buttmunch! She should be here soon," Ashton explained, his tone confident and teasing. "Why didn’t you bring your girlfriend? I invited both of you."

"Nice joke, Dan," Jason muttered, still unsure about what he was seeing.

"I'm serious, Jason. And why do you call me Dan?" Ashton asked, his irritation subtly creeping into his voice.

"Okay, okay, I get it, Ashton." Jason nodded, trying to steady himself. "I’m just glad I can finally spend some time with my cousin."

"So am I," Ashton said with a smile, slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder as he began leading him out of the suite. "Leave this chaos to the poor souls who are paid to deal with it. I’d like to show you a little bit about the business I’m involved in around here, along with the perks it brings, like banging hot bitches."

They made their way back to the lobby, where Ashton was greeted by young woman. With a proud grin, he leaned in to kiss her, completely at ease in his transformed skin. Jason, who was in the middle of the scene, struggled with his own jealousy.

Ashton spent the next few days as planned, effortlessly closing the deals he had come for, all while indulging in the luxuries that his wealth afforded him. Jason couldn’t help but notice some new habits emerging in Ashton: he had started wearing tight compression shirts more often outside the gym, a choice that felt out of place but somehow fitting. Ashton had also begun smoking—something he had never done before. The way he inhaled the smoke seemed less about enjoying the taste of the cigarettes or cigars and more about the ritual itself, as though the act of smoking was something he reveled in.

Meanwhile, Jason tried to ignore that his cousin was inhabited by a demonic presence which once was his former friend. But with Ashton acting as usual it made it way easier for Jason. He stayed by his cousin's side, absorbing Ashton's knowledge. Jason had become increasingly interested in how he might carve out his place within the Blackwood Group, seeing this as an opportunity to align himself with Ashton's success. Jason began to wonder how he could integrate himself into the business and use his position as a member of the Conner family to make everybody and himself proud.

Who could have imagined that an outcast like Arthur, a young man abandoned by fate, could rise to such heights in a desperate world like this? He had once lived in a hell on earth—yet now, here he was, wielding the power and influence he had longed for. Dominating the lives of the Conners and many more to come, with an unwavering grip that left nothing to chance.

The End

[tobecontinueth]

Bound by Blood and Magic

The sun had just begun its descent, casting a warm glow over the city, as Julia stepped out of her office building, her mind still buzzing with the success of her presentation. She straightened her already impeccable blazer, a confident smile playing on her lips. Julia had always been the ambitious one, determined to leave her small-town roots behind and make a name for herself in the corporate world. Her marketing expertise had brought her to the bustling metropolis, and she thrived in this environment, embracing the fast-paced lifestyle. As she walked towards the subway station, her thoughts drifted to Mario, her fiancé. He was the polar opposite of her—a free-spirited photographer with a heart as warm as the Mediterranean sun. Mario had supported her relentlessly, taking on the domestic responsibilities without complaint, understanding her drive to succeed. He was the anchor to her wild spirit.

As she walked towards the downtown area, she couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the evening ahead—a rare girls' night out with her sister, Cathrine. Julia and Cathrine were as different as night and day. Julia, with her sleek, blond hair and piercing hazel eyes, embodied modern sophistication, choosing to leave her magical heritage behind and forge her own path in the corporate world. On the other hand, Cathrine, with her flowing black hair and captivating emerald eyes, embraced their magical roots. She was a powerful witch, her spells and potions renowned among the magical community. Despite their contrasting lifestyles, the sisters shared an unbreakable bond. As Julia entered the lively bar, she spotted Cathrine sitting at a corner table, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. The witch's attire, a stylish blend of modern fashion and mystical allure, perfectly encapsulated her unique personality.

"You're late," Cathrine purred, her voice laced with playful accusation. "Sorry, work ran over," Julia replied, sliding into the booth across from her sister. "You know how it is." "Oh, I know," Cathrine said, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Always the dedicated career woman. But tell me, how is dear Mario?" Julia's face softened at the mention of her fiancé. "He's wonderful. He's been incredibly supportive of my career, taking care of the house while I climb the corporate ladder." Cathrine sipped her martini with a contemplative frown. “Honestly, Julia, you could do so much better than Mario,” Cathrine said, her voice laced with frustration. “I mean, he's such a—how do I put this nicely—weakling.” Julia chuckled, swirling the ice in her glass. “Weakling? You know he’s a fantastic photographer and supports my career. That’s strength in its own right.” Cathrine rolled her eyes, the emerald depths of her gaze piercing through the dim light. “But don’t you want a real man? Someone who’s strong and—” she leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “virile?” “I love Mario the way he is,” Julia said, her smile unwavering. “He’s got a heart of gold, and it’s not about being virile for me. It’s about partnership.” Cathrine’s brow furrowed as she set her glass down with a soft *thud*. “Have you even stopped taking the pill yet? With the wedding coming up, you should be thinking about starting a family.” Julia smirked, leaning forward, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. “I don’t want kids, Cathrine. Not now, not ever. Mario gets that, and I appreciate him for it. Kids would just put a risk on my career. Besides, we've agreed that Mario is responsible for contraception!” “Come on!” Cathrine exclaimed, her voice rising slightly. “A big family is so important for witches. It’s about security, about lineage. You should be popping out babies like it’s a tradition!” With a shake of her head, Julia countered, “You chose the way of the witch. That’s not my path. I don’t need a big family to protect me. I’m perfectly content being just a mortal.” Cathrine sighed, a mix of disappointment and exasperation washing over her face. “You’re missing out on so much. Magic is in our blood, and you’re just—” “—wasting my potential?” Julia interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “No, I’m choosing my potential. This is my life, and I’m not going to mold myself into someone else’s idea of what I should be.” “Suit yourself,” Cathrine said, her tone sharp and dismissive. She took a long sip of her drink, her expression darkening. “But just know, when the time comes and you’re alone in a world of magic, don’t come crying to me.” Julia sighed, feeling the weight of her sister's expectations pressing down. “I won’t be alone. I have Mario, and that’s enough for me.” “Is it?” Cathrine’s voice was almost a whisper now, a hint of concern creeping in. “Is it really?” “Yeah,” Julia replied firmly, her heart steady. “I’m building my life the way I want. You can keep your magic, Cathrine. I’m happy here.” The silence that followed was punctuated only by the distant clink of glasses and the soft laughter of other patrons, leaving the sisters to navigate the chasm of their differences, each firmly rooted in their own worlds.

On the next morning, the morning sun had barely kissed the city awake, Julia was already on her way to the office, her mind buzzing with the upcoming presentation. She'd left in such a hurry, she hadn't even spared a moment for a goodbye kiss. Mario, in his usual hoody and jeans, watched her go with a mix of amusement and admiration. He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "She's something else, that one," he murmured to himself. "Always so focused." With a sigh, he turned back into the apartment, planning to start his day with a leisurely breakfast.

Just minutes after Julia's departure, the apartment door swung open, and there she was, a look of realization on her face. "Did you forget something?" Mario asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Yes," she purred, closing the distance between them. "I forgot to tell you how much I love you.” Mario's smile widened, but before he could say anything else, she was upon him, her lips pressing against his with an urgency that took his breath away. Her hands, soft and warm, framed his face, and she kissed him with a passion that set his body on fire. Mario's heart raced, and he responded to her kiss, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. He could feel her body responding, her muscles tensing and relaxing against him. The kiss deepened, and a wave of desire washed over him, unlike anything he had experienced before. It was as if his senses had heightened, every touch, every taste, igniting a fire within.

As their kiss deepened, he became aware of a subtle transformation taking hold. Breaking away for a moment, Mario caught his reflection in the mirror—a sight that made him pause.

The reflection revealed a face that was his, yet not entirely. His features had become rugged, a day's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw, and his eyes held a new intensity. His body, too, had transformed, muscles defined and powerful, as if he had spent months in the gym. Confused, he turned back to Julia, his eyes searching for answers. "What... what's happening here?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with desire and confusion. Julia's laughter filled the room, but as he watched, her features shifted, morphing into the visage of Cathrine, her sister. "I just wanted to help you become a better future-brother-in-law," Cathrine purred, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Mario, startled by the sudden change, tried to push her away, but Cathrine was already too close, her hand sliding under his waistband, her fingers wrapping around his growing arousal. A moan escaped his lips as she began to stroke him, her touch sending waves of pleasure through his body. "No, wait..." he protested weakly, his body betraying his words as he hardened under her skilled touch. He was losing control, his mind clouded with desire, and his body responded to her every touch. As Cathrine continued her sensual assault, Mario's clothes began to change. The soft fabric of his hoody transformed into a black medieval gambeson, its red lining contrasting against his skin. His jeans melted away, replaced by tight-fitting medieval pants and sturdy boots. He felt powerful, primal, as if he had stepped out of a legend. The apartment around them shifted, the modern furnishings dissolving into stone walls and torches, the chamber of a medieval castle. Mario, now a knight in appearance, stood tall, his body radiating a new-found confidence and strength. Cathrine's hand moved faster, bringing him closer to the edge. "You're almost there, my knight," she purred, her voice echoing in the stone chamber. Mario's breath came in ragged gasps, his body on the brink of release. But just as he was about to climax, Cathrine withdrew her hand, her laughter filling the room. "Enjoy your stay, brother-in-law!" she said, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In an instant, she was gone, leaving Mario alone in the medieval chamber. He stood there, his body still buzzing with energy, his mind struggling to comprehend the surreal turn of events. He looked down at his transformed self, the rugged knight in the mirror, and wondered what this meant for his future.

He barely had a moment to process this strange turn of events when the heavy wooden door swung open, revealing a knight in full armor. The knight's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the silence. "Come, man-at-arms! The enemy approaches, and our place is on the battlefield!" Mario's mind raced. This couldn't be happening; he was a photographer, not a warrior. But the fear in his eyes must have been evident, for the knight grabbed his shoulder, his grip firm yet reassuring. "No time for hesitation, friend. We fight as one, or we fall. The choice is yours." With a gulp, Mario nodded, steeling himself for what was to come. He followed the knight, his new armor clanking with each step, and soon found himself amidst a bustling courtyard. Soldiers were preparing for battle, sharpening weapons, and donning their gear. Mario's heart hammered against his ribcage as he realized this was no illusion; the scent of steel and leather filled his nostrils, and the sound of warhorses whinnying echoed off the castle walls.

As they rode towards the battlefield, Mario's fear intensified. The clatter of hooves and the creak of leather mingled with the sound of his own rapid breath. He was no warrior, and the thought of facing an enemy made his palms sweat and his stomach churn. But the thought of desertion and its consequences kept him moving forward. The battlefield emerged from the morning mist, a chaotic scene of clashing swords and shouting men. Mario's fear turned to terror as he found himself in the thick of it, sword in hand. He swung wildly, more out of self-preservation than skill.

The adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses. He felt alive, every nerve tingling, as if he had awakened from a deep slumber. With a cry of determination, he charged at an enemy soldier, his sword finding its mark. The rush of victory flooded him, and the fear dissipated, replaced by a primal, blood-pumping exhilaration. He fought with newfound ferocity, each clash of blades bringing him closer to the heart of the battle. As the enemy retreated, Mario stood, breathless but triumphant.

Returning to the town, Mario and his fellow knights were greeted with cheers and jubilation. The streets were alive with celebration, and mead and ale flowed freely. Mario's senses were alive with the sights, sounds, and smells of the medieval world, and his body still buzzed with the adrenaline of combat. Mario's gaze wandered, and he spotted a beautiful maid serving drinks. Her eyes, a deep emerald green, seemed to beckon him. The adrenaline still coursing through his veins now took on a different form, igniting a fire in his loins. He approached her, his movements confident and purposeful. The maid, sensing his intent, offered a coy smile. As they found themselves alone in a secluded corner, Mario's hands were on her, his kisses urgent and demanding.

She responded with a passion that matched his own, her moans mingling with his grunts of desire. The intensity of their coupling was unlike anything Mario had experienced. He thrust with a primal urgency, his body demanding release. The maid's cries of pleasure echoed in his ears, spurring him on. “Yes, my lord," she panted, matching his rhythm. "Harder, please!"  The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal beat to their dance. Mario's thoughts were consumed by the need to claim, to possess, to spread his seed. He wanted to mark her, to ensure his lineage, a primal urge he couldn't ignore. Mario's world blurred as his climax approached. The room seemed to spin, and just as he was about to find release, his surroundings shifted. He was back in his apartment, the maid's cries still echoing in his ears. He stood there, his body still charged with energy, his appearance that of the medieval knight. The sensation of the maid's touch lingered on his skin, and he felt a deep, unsatisfied longing. He had been so close, and now he was back in his own time, his reality, but his body still craved the release it had been denied.

The day had been a blur of presentations and meetings for Julia, her mind buzzing with the excitement of professional challenges. As she stepped into the apartment, the familiar surroundings greeted her, but something felt amiss. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Mario, her fiancé, sitting in the living room with an altered appearance. She paused, her eyes widening at the sight that greeted her. His physique had transformed, radiating a rugged masculinity. The gentle photographer she knew now embodied the essence of a medieval knight, his muscular frame adorned in a brown velvet jerkin with a bold red lining.

Julia's heart raced, her mind struggling to comprehend. Before she could speak, Mario was upon her, his eyes burning with an unfamiliar intensity. He pulled her close, his lips finding hers with a hunger that left her breathless. She felt his hands, rough and demanding, exploring her body, igniting a fire within her. "My love," he growled, his voice deep and primal. "I've been waiting for you." Julia surrendered to his embrace, her body responding to his touch with a fervor she had never known. He lifted her, carrying her to the bedroom, where he laid her gently on the bed. The gentleness of this act contrasted sharply with the ferocity of his desire. His kisses became more demanding, his hands more insistent. She could feel his hardness against her, and a surge of pleasure rippled through her. This was her Mario, but with an intensity she had never experienced. "I want you," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin.

Julia's body trembled as he entered her, filling her with a raw, primal force. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The pleasure was unlike anything she had known, and she found herself surrendering to his dominance. "You're mine," he declared, his voice hoarse with passion. "I'll give you what you truly desire." Julia's eyes flickered open, meeting his intense gaze. "Yes... oh yes!" she cried out, her voice mingling with his as their pleasure built. But as their climax neared, Mario's words sliced through her ecstasy. "I will plant my seed in you, and you will bear my heir." Julia's eyes snapped open, her pleasure turning to panic. She had always trusted Mario, but this new persona, driven by a primal need to procreate, was foreign … "No! Stop, you're not wearing a condom!" She struggled against his powerful frame, her protests muffled by his relentless kisses. "No more condoms," he grunted, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "I'll give you my legacy." Julia's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she realized the implications. She tried to push him away, but his strength was overwhelming. "No, please, Mario, stop!" Her words trailed off as she felt his body tense and then, in that moment, as his climax neared, Mario's mind cleared. He froze, his body trembling as he realized the depth of his actions. With a final, desperate effort, he withdrew, his seed spilling onto his chest instead of its intended target.

Breathing heavily, Mario stared at Julia, his expression a mix of shock and relief. "What have I done? I almost impregnated you. "Julia reached out, her hand gently caressing his cheek, her eyes soft with understanding. "You stopped, my love. You resisted Catherine's spell. She wanted you to become a mindless breeder, but you broke free." "I... I felt so compelled, so driven by a force I didn't understand." Mario's voice trembled. "I almost impregnated you against your wishes." "But you didn't," Julia assured him, her voice steady. "You're still the man I love, just with a different... packaging." She smiled, her eyes taking in his transformed appearance. "Though I must admit, this new look suits you." Mario chuckled, a sound that held both relief and amusement. "I feel like I've lived a lifetime in a day. From a medieval battlefield to..." He gestured to himself, "...this." "My brave knight," Julia whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "You've endured Catherine's enchantment, and you came back to me. That's all that matters." As they embraced, Mario's mind began to clear, the fog of magic lifting. He realized the depth of his sister-in-law's manipulation and the power she held over him. But for now, in the warmth of Julia's embrace, he was grateful to have her by his side, guiding him through this unexpected transformation.

Julia had tried her best to avoid any contact with her sister, Cathrine, ever since the incident with Mario. The memory of that day still made her blood boil; Cathrine's meddling with her fiancé's appearance and personality was unacceptable. As the days inched closer to her wedding with Mario, Julia found herself avoiding Cathrine, creating a distance that hadn't existed before. "You can't stay mad at her forever, Julia," Mario's gentle voice broke through her thoughts one evening as they sat on the couch, his hand resting on her knee. "She's your sister, and family is important. I know you're upset, but holding onto anger won't help anyone." Julia sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I know, but she went too far. Changing you like that... it was just wrong." "I understand, and I won't let her do anything like that again. But maybe, just this once, we can invite her and my brother over for dinner. A peaceful gathering might help ease the tension." Julia considered his words. Mario was right; she couldn't hold a grudge forever.

The evening of the dinner arrived, and Julia, Mario, and Cathrine sat around the table in the cozy apartment, sharing light-hearted conversation.

It was almost as if the tension between the sisters had never existed. Julia felt a twinge of guilt for her cold behavior towards Cathrine, but she quickly pushed it aside, reminding herself of the reason for her anger.

Just then, the front door opened, and Liam, Mario's younger brother, stepped inside. But something was different. The nerdy, bespectacled physics student they knew had been replaced by a tall, confident man with a striking appearance. His once-slender frame had filled out, revealing a muscular build, and his hair, now perfectly styled, framed his face, accentuating his strong jawline.

"Hey, everyone!" Liam announced, his voice booming with newfound charisma. "Sorry I'm late. Had a last-minute meeting with a client." Julia's eyes widened in shock. This was not the Liam she remembered. "Liam, you look... different," Mario said, his voice laced with surprise. Liam flashed a dazzling smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, I decided to make some changes. Quit the science gig and got into consulting. Pays better, you know? And with the ladies, well, let's just say they're more attracted to a high-income guy." Julia's jaw dropped. "You mean to tell us you left your PhD for a job in consulting?" Liam's chest puffed out proudly. "Absolutely! I mean, who has time for all that academic stuff when you can make real money? And I plan to start a family soon. Kids are expensive, you know?" Julia's jaw dropped, and she glanced at Mario, who looked equally stunned. Liam's transformation was astonishing, and the implications of it sent a shiver down Julia's spine. Cathrine, however, seemed delighted. "Isn't it wonderful? At least someone in this family understands the importance of carrying on the lineage." Julia's anger flared, but Mario placed a calming hand on her knee under the table. She took a deep breath, determined not to let Cathrine ruin this evening.

Some weeks later the wedding of Mario and Julia was a joyous occasion, a celebration of love and the triumph of their unconventional relationship.

As the newlyweds exchanged vows, a sense of peace settled over the guests, who had gathered to witness this union. Among them, Cathrine stood, her emerald eyes gleaming with a newfound satisfaction. Liam, now a charismatic consultant, exuded charm as he mingled with the guests. As he approached a young witch, a coy smile played on his lips, and he whispered, "A beautiful night for a wedding, don't you think?" "Indeed," she replied, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "But I can't help but wonder, what's a handsome consultant like you doing at a wedding like this?" Liam's laughter filled the air, a rich, confident sound. "Oh, I'm here to celebrate family. And perhaps, to find a little magic of my own."

Cathrine observed the exchange with a sense of victory. *'Yes, Liam will be the key to my plan,'* she thought. *'With his charm and virility, he'll ensure a powerful magical lineage. And Mario, well, he'll just have to accept his role as a footnote in my grand design.'* As the wedding festivities continued, Cathrine's gaze shifted to the happy couple. *'Julia may have evaded my enchantment, but her sisterly bond will be her undoing. And as for Mario, his kindness will be his downfall. They will learn that magic always finds a way to assert its dominance.'* With a satisfied smirk, Cathrine raised her glass, toasting the unsuspecting couple. "To the newlyweds, and the magic that binds us all." Her laughter, a chilling echo in the joyous atmosphere, signaled the beginning of a new chapter in her grand scheme.

[tobecontinueth]

The Body Swap Experiment (Dave's POV) Part 2

Check out Cody's POV by @verus-veritas here.

The next few days were a whirlwind of anticipation. I could hardly contain my excitement, my mind racing with thoughts of the new life that awaited me. I still had to go to work, of course—if Cody suddenly showed up in my place, people would be downright confused. So, while I went about my usual routine, Cody, bless him, handled all the ironing and prep work for me. Watching him do these tasks, his face drawn with unease, made the waiting game all the more enjoyable.

I couldn’t resist teasing him every chance I got. “It’s so strange, isn’t it?” I’d say with a sly grin. “We’re not in the correct bodies. Don’t worry, though—Doctor Larry is going to fix all of that very soon.” The way his jaw clenched every time I said it was almost too satisfying.

One evening, as he handed me a freshly ironed shirt, I smirked and quipped, “Why’d you steal my body, Dad? Trying to relive the glory days?” He didn’t respond, but the flicker of frustration in his eyes was enough to keep me grinning.

Another time, as I sat on the couch, I sighed dramatically. “I really miss my friends, Dad,” I said, emphasizing the word. “I just want to hang out with the guys again, you know, once I’m back in my body.”

Cody shot me a glare but said nothing. I pressed on, unable to help myself. “Thank God Doctor Larry promised this next swap will be permanent. I never want you in my body again, and I definitely never want to be out of it again.” The tension in the air was palpable, and I reveled in it.

Each comment, each loaded exchange, felt almost tantric, a slow build of anticipation and power. I was counting down the hours to the big day.

Finally, the morning of the swap arrived. I was so excited that I woke up at 5 a.m., my mind buzzing with energy. I decided to give this body one last hurrah. After all, it had served me well, and I wanted to send it off in style. I picked out my best shirt, a snug fit that accentuated my chest and arms, and paired it with tight pants that hugged my ass. I even spent some time trimming and grooming, ensuring everything was neat and presentable for its new owner.

When Cody—my soon-to-be new body—finally came down the stairs, his shoulders were hunched, and he looked like he hadn't slept all night. I couldn't help but grin. I leaned casually against the counter, the picture of calm anticipation, and greeted him with a cheery, "You ready?" I even threw in a wink, which made him flinch slightly. He looked like he was going to pass out.

"It's a shame to leave Mom," I said, my tone full of mock regret. I tugged at the hem of my perfectly chosen shirt, letting the fabric stretch across my chest. "But I know she loves this outfit. She won’t be able to keep her hands off you, Dad." The emphasis on "Dad" made his face darken with frustration, but he stayed quiet. He was always the quiet one.

I had one more little surprise for him. I pulled out a neatly folded stack of clothes I’d bought earlier in the week, holding them out with a sly smile. “Here,” I said, placing the bundle in his reluctant hands. “This is what I want to be wearing when I wake up in your body.” Tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt, chosen specifically to show off my soon-to-be muscular arms and lean frame. The thought of finally living in his youthful body, dressed the way I always wanted, sent a thrill through me.

Cody’s eyes flicked down to the clothes, his expression one of horror. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” I replied smoothly. “I’ve got to make a good first impression, don’t I? Besides,” I added with a smirk, “you’re going to be me, so you can wear whatever you want. You might even like my suits.”

His hands trembled slightly as he clutched the clothes, and I couldn’t help but enjoy his visible discomfort. This was my moment, my chance to reclaim the life I deserved. And I was going to savor every second of it.

“Better hurry up and change,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Doctor Larry’s waiting, and we wouldn’t want to be late for the big day.”

We arrived at the clinic, the sterile white walls and soft hum of machinery making the air feel thick with anticipation. Dr. Larry greeted us with a knowing smile, his clipboard tucked under one arm as he motioned us toward a small changing area. “Welcome, gentlemen. Today’s the big day,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Go ahead and change into these gowns, and I’ll explain the final steps.”

He handed each of us a folded gown, the fabric soft but clinical. As I held it, I glanced at Cody—my soon-to-be former body—and couldn’t help but notice the tension in his posture. He seemed torn between resignation and disbelief as he reluctantly accepted the gown.

I stepped into the changing area, quickly pulling off my clothes. It felt strange knowing this would be the last time I’d ever wear them. As I tied the gown around my waist, I peeked through the crack in the curtain to see Cody, his movements slow and deliberate as he undressed. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction. This body was about to be mine.

When Cody turned, I caught a glimpse of his face, flushed and visibly uncomfortable. His breathing was shallow, his gaze shifting nervously. That’s when I noticed it—my soon-to-be former body was reacting. He was turned on.

I suppressed a smirk. “You all right, Dad?” I asked, letting the word hang in the air.

Cody stiffened, his eyes darting toward me. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice tight.

I stepped closer, letting my own excitement show in the way I moved, deliberate and confident. “It’s okay to be a little overwhelmed,” I said, my tone dripping with mock concern. “After all, this is a pretty big deal. I mean, just think—soon you’ll be me, and I’ll be you.” I gestured to my own cock with a grin. “It’s only natural to feel a little... charged up.” Honestly, he should be happy, my dick is definitely bigger than his.

Several doctors had gathered and made us lay on cold metal tables. Electrodes were attached to our heads as I closed my eyes.

“Hey, Dad!” I yelled. “Don’t worry. It will be over before you know it, and all of this,” he smirked and wrapped his hands around his protruding member as if taunting me. “... will be yours..." Then, everything went dark.

---

Suddenly, I found myself standing in what felt like a dream. Clouds surrounded me, soft and endless, brushing against my toes. In front of me stood my son, looking startled and out of place. I couldn’t help but smile—the biggest grin spread across my face as a bright light began to radiate from beneath me, rising through the clouds like something divine.

Instinctively, I reached behind my back and grabbed the rope I had been holding. Without hesitation, I swung one end at him, letting it fly through the air like a bolas. The rope wrapped around him perfectly, tying him up completely. I felt a surge of joy and began laughing as I pulled him toward me, the rope coiling tighter with every yank. My laughter echoed through the glowing clouds as I tugged faster and harder, watching him struggle against the pull.

He planted his feet, trying to stop the momentum, but the clouds offered no resistance. I saw him slip and fall onto his back, gasping as the pull grew stronger. Closer and closer he came, the light engulfing us both. My strength surged one final time, and I yanked the rope with everything I had. He flew toward me, colliding with my chest, and in that moment, I felt his essence begin to merge with mine.

I embraced the feeling as his body dissolved into mine, his energy becoming one with my own. My larger, stronger form absorbed him completely, and I let out a deep, joyous laugh.

“Hope you enjoy your new body and life, Dad!” I called out, my voice echoing faintly as I faded into the brilliant light.

---

I woke up with a rush of euphoria, an overwhelming sense of joy coursing through me. Everything felt... different. Better. I glanced down at myself and couldn’t help but grin. My new, younger body was incredible—strong, light, and energized. My hands roamed over my torso and arms, marveling at the tautness of my skin, the firmness of my muscles. It felt unreal, like a dream, but every sensation confirmed it was real.

As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the movement felt effortless. No aches, no stiffness—just pure vitality. The male nurses came in to check on me, their glances lingering a bit too long, their smiles overly friendly. I chuckled to myself. They’re hitting on me. I couldn’t blame them, really—I looked amazing.

Everything seemed lighter, freer, as if the weight of years of stress had been lifted away. My mind was sharper, my confidence unshakable, and my body... well, my body was very much alive. A warmth spread through me, one that I hadn’t felt in years.

I don’t remember much of our conversation after we woke up, but I do remember saying to my dad, "I’m really happy I get to be Cody now. I can’t even begin to tell you how GOOD I feel in this body."

Then I added, "The most important thing is to keep doing what you’ve been doing these past few days, before you got your real body. Just embrace it. I’m Cody, you’re Dave. You’re MY father, and your brothers and sister are now your sons and daughter. That’s just the way it is now. I know it was hard for you to call me Cody before, but I think it’ll be easier now that I look the part. And I think calling yourself Dave will be easier for you too."

He argued with me for a while, but honestly, there was nothing more he could do. As he got distracted with the doctors, I saw my chance. I slipped into the bathroom, my heart racing with anticipation. I pulled out my phone and opened Grindr, scrolling to my conversation with Mark.

I paused looking at our earlier messages, a smirk creeping across my face. The thought of seeing him later—of having him inside this body—had me hard in an instant. It was Friday afternoon, and I was hoping he'd be chill with moving our Saturday plans up.

I quickly snapped a picture of my new body—the first of many I'm sure I'd take as Cody. Of course, Mark had no idea that was the case.

A few seconds after hitting send, his reply came through: "Fuck, dude. I need you today."

I grinned, typing back quickly: "Exactly what I wanted to hear. See you tonight."

[tobecontinueth]

Captions inspired by @/GreedyCorpo on Twitter