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verus-veritas · 15 days ago

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Possessed by Pleasure

(AI Generated)

The summer sun beat down mercilessly on the empty park, the air thick with humidity that clung to everything like a second skin. Colton, a broad-shouldered college jock with a mop of blonde hair plastered to his forehead, chucked another rock at the ducks gliding across the pond. The splash echoed in the stillness, the ducks scattering with indignant quacks. He wiped sweat from his brow, his tank top soaked through, clinging to his chiseled frame.

Nearby, Samuel sprawled across a weathered bench, his muscular legs splayed wide, fanning himself lazily with his baseball cap. His thick, curly mullet dripped sweat onto his neck, the dark brown strands matted against his tanned skin. His hairy chest glistened under the open shirt he hadn’t bothered to button, the heat making him careless.

“Man, this summer’s a fuckin’ drag,” Colton groaned, tossing another rock. “No parties, no chicks, just our dumbass parents nagging us about school.”

Samuel snorted, tilting his cap back to reveal his sharp green eyes. “Tell me about it, bro. My old man’s on my case about grades again. Like I give a shit about calculus when I could be balls-deep in some sorority girl.” He grinned, crude and unapologetic, scratching at the coarse hair on his chest. “Remember that blonde from the Kappa house? Swear she was begging for it after, like, two beers.”

Colton laughed, a low, arrogant sound. “Yeah, dude, you’re such a stud. Bet she’s still dreaming about that mullet tickling her thighs.”

They cackled, their voices carrying across the empty park, brimming with the careless bravado of youth. They were kings of their own small world, untouchable in their shared arrogance, lazy in their disregard for anyone but themselves.

Boredom gnawed at them, the kind that made trouble sound like fun. “Let’s head into town,” Samuel suggested, sitting up and cracking his knuckles. “Steal some shit, mess with people. You know, the usual.”

Colton’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Fuck yeah. Let’s see how many of those old farts we can piss off before dinner.”

They grabbed their stuff, littering the park with empty soda cans and chip bags without a second thought, and kicked over a “No Loitering” sign by the park entrance for good measure. The crunch of metal under Samuel’s sneaker made them both laugh as they sauntered toward town, their strides long and confident.

The main street was quiet, the heat keeping most folks indoors. They passed a diner, where Samuel flipped off a waitress who glared at them through the window, and stopped outside an antique store tucked between a barber shop and a laundromat. The faded sign read “Mabel’s Oddities,” and the window displayed dusty trinkets and creepy porcelain dolls that made Colton shudder exaggeratedly.

“This place looks like a fuckin’ haunted house,” he muttered, but his grin betrayed his interest.

Inside, the air was musty, thick with the scent of old wood and mothballs. Shelves overflowed with junk—rusted candelabras, chipped teacups, a taxidermied owl that seemed to stare right through them. Behind the counter sat an old woman, her hair a wild nest of gray, her eyes sharp and suspicious. She wore a shawl that looked older than the town itself, and her voice rasped like dry leaves when she warned them, “Don’t touch nothin’ unless you’re buyin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, chill, grandma,” Samuel said, flashing a smirk as he poked at a brass lamp.

The woman, presumably Mabel, glared but said nothing, her fingers tightening around a cane propped against the counter. Colton wandered toward the back, nudging Samuel and nodding toward a glass case behind the counter. Inside was an ancient tome, its leather cover cracked and adorned with strange, swirling sigils that seemed to pulse under the dim light. A small brass lock held it shut, glinting faintly.

“Dude,” Colton whispered, his eyes gleaming. “That book looks like some Harry Potter shit. Bet it’s worth something.”

Samuel’s grin widened. “Let’s snag it. You distract the old hag, I’ll grab it.”

Colton nodded, sauntering to the back of the store where he “accidentally” knocked over a shelf of glass figurines. The crash was deafening, and Mabel hobbled over, cursing under her breath. Samuel seized the moment, slipping behind the counter with the grace of a practiced thief. His fingers worked quickly, picking the lock on the case with a paperclip he kept in his pocket for exactly this kind of thing. The tome was heavier than it looked, its pages yellowed and brittle, but he tucked it under his arm and whistled sharply. Colton bolted for the door, Samuel close behind, their laughter echoing as they sprinted down the street.

Mabel stood at the entrance, shaking her fist and screaming, “You little shits! You’ll regret touchin’ that book!”

Samuel turned, flipping her off with both hands. “Suck it, you old bitch! Go back to your cauldron!” They disappeared around the corner, the tome pressed against Samuel’s sweat-soaked shirt, their cackling fading into the humid air.

—

Back at Samuel’s house, the two sprawled in the living room, the AC barely keeping up with the heat. The tome sat on the coffee table, its presence oddly commanding. Its leather cover was warm to the touch, the sigils seeming to writhe when caught in the corner of their eyes. Colton pried open the lock with a pocketknife, revealing pages filled with incomprehensible text, the ink faded but still dark in places, some smeared with what looked like dried blood. The metallic scent hit them both, and Samuel wrinkled his nose. “What the fuck is this? Some kinda vampire diary?”

Colton flipped through, stopping on a page with a vivid illustration. It showed a circle of naked figures—men and women locked in a writhing, orgiastic embrace around a pentagram. Above them hovered a horned creature, its form both grotesque and alluring, with a tail curling like smoke.

“Yo, check out the tits on that one,” Colton said, pointing at a woman in the drawing, his voice dripping with juvenile glee.

Samuel laughed, but his eyes caught something else—a scrawled translation beneath the pentagram, written in shaky Latin.

“Hey, look at this. Someone wrote what it says.” Without thinking, he read the words aloud, his voice stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables: “Ego invoco te, Xaz’zaraul, filius Asmoseros, dominus libidinis…”

The incantation rolled off his tongue, each word heavier than the last, until the final syllable hung in the air like a thunderclap.

The world went silent. The hum of the AC, the distant chirp of cicadas, even the creak of the house all vanished. The air thickened, pressing against their skin, and a wave of dread washed over them, primal and suffocating.

Colton’s eyes widened. “Yo, Sam, you feel that?”

Before his friend could answer, a deep, sultry voice purred from behind them, “Oh, I definitely felt that.”

Hands, warm, strong, and unnervingly heavy suddenly settled on their shoulders. They yelped, scrambling forward and spinning to face the intruder.

He was massive, at least seven feet tall, his skin a deep, blood-red that seemed to glow faintly in the dim room. Black, wiry hair covered his broad chest and scalp, framing a face that was both youthful and wickedly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a goatee that he stroked with long, clawed fingers. A tattered cloth hung low around his hips, barely covering him, and a long, whip-like tail swayed lazily behind. The air around him shimmered with heat, carrying a scent that was intoxicating—sweat, musk, and something primal that made their pulses race.

Colton stammered, “What… what the fuck are you?”

The creature bowed with a flourish, his tail flicking playfully. “Xaz’zaraul, at your service. But you boys can call me Raul. One of the thirteen sons of Asmoseros, lord of lust and carnal delight.” His voice was like velvet, each word dripping with promise. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he savored the humid air of the room. “It’s been… oh, two thousand years since I last tasted the mortal world. You boys opened a lovely little rift for me to slip through.”

Samuel’s shirt, discarded on the couch earlier, caught Raul’s eye. He bent down, picking it up with a reverence that was almost obscene, and pressed it to his face. His long, forked tongue slithered out, lapping at the sweat-soaked fabric, his sharp teeth grazing it as he moaned softly. “Such… vitality,” he murmured, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

Samuel, pale and trembling, shouted, “You’re a fucking sex demon?!”

Raul’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Precisely.” He dropped the shirt, his gaze sweeping over them both, lingering on Samuel’s hairy chest, slick with sweat from the heat. “And I’m here to indulge. But first, I need a human vessel. A permanent home in this world.”

His eyes locked onto Samuel, predatory and hungry. “You’ll do nicely.”

Samuel bolted for the door, his heart pounding, but Raul vanished in a blur, reappearing in front of him with a chuckle. “Now, now, where’s the fun in running?”

Samuel skidded to a halt, fists raised, his voice shaking but defiant. “I’ll kick your ass back to whatever fucked-up hell you crawled out of!”

Raul laughed, a rich, throaty sound. “I admire that fire. It’ll taste divine.”

Before Samuel could swing, Raul’s hand shot out, clawed fingers tangling in the jock’s curly mullet. Samuel froze, his body seizing as if struck by lightning. His eyes rolled back, turning milky white, and his limbs trembled violently, muscles twitching under his sweat-slicked skin.

Raul threw his head back, moaning, “More! More! Give me more!” His voice was ecstatic, feeding off whatever he was pulling from Samuel.

Seconds later, the shaking stopped. Samuel’s fists dropped, his shoulders slumped, and his head lolled forward. His eyes returned to their normal green, but they were empty, unfocused, like windows to a vacant house. His jaw hung slack, a thin line of drool trickling down his chin, pooling on his hairy chest.

Colton, frozen in horror, choked out, “What did you do to him?”

Raul smirked, his voice suddenly shifting seamlessly into Samuel’s, complete with the faint Texan drawl. “I vacated the premises, bro. Flushed out all that pesky personality, memories, everything that made him… Samuel. He’s an empty vessel now, ready for me.” He winked, his expression so eerily Samuel that Colton’s stomach churned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got all his essence. I’ll slide right into his life, and no one will ever know.”

Colton tried to run, but his body wouldn’t move, his limbs locked as if bound by invisible chains. He could only scream, his voice hoarse. “Let us go, you freak!”

Raul wagged a finger, his voice back to its sultry timbre. “Oh, Colton, where’s the fun in that? Stay. Watch the show.”

He turned to Samuel’s mindless body, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Leaning close, he whispered into Samuel’s ear, words too soft and guttural to decipher, a low chant that seemed to vibrate through the air.

Samuel’s body suddenly jerked to life, moving with a clumsy, puppet-like grace, as if strings were pulling him from within. His hands fumbled at his belt, fingers trembling as they unbuckled it, the leather sliding through the loops with a slow, deliberate rasp. His jeans fell to his ankles, followed by his boxers, the fabric catching briefly on his thick thighs before pooling on the floor. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, glistening with sweat in the humid air, the tip twitching as if responding to an unseen command.

Samuel’s face twisted into a vacant, perverse grin, his mouth slurring incoherent groans, “Uhh… nngh… f-feels…” His voice was thick, sluggish, barely forming words, each sound dripping with drool that spilled from his slack jaw, sliding down his chin and onto his hairy chest.

His hands moved mechanically, guided by Raul’s will, fingers grazing his nipples, pinching them until they hardened. His groans grew louder, more animalistic, “G-good… uhh… m-more…” His body shuddered with each touch, his muscles flexing involuntarily, sweat beading and rolling down his torso, catching in the coarse hair that spread across his pecs and trailed down to his navel.

Raul stepped closer, his presence radiating heat that made the air shimmer. He pressed his nose into the crook of Samuel’s neck, inhaling deeply, his long tongue flicking out to taste the salt of Samuel’s skin.

“This flesh,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent growl, “so ripe, so brimming with primal energy.”

His clawed fingers traced the contours of Samuel’s back, lingering on the curve of his spine, then sliding up to tangle in the damp curls of his mullet. He tugged gently, tilting Samuel’s head back, exposing the taut line of his throat. Samuel’s empty eyes stared at the ceiling, his mouth open, drool pooling and dripping in slow, viscous strands.

Raul’s hands roamed lower, skimming over Samuel’s hips, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above his groin. Samuel’s cock twitched, hardening fully, precum beading at the tip and sliding down the shaft, mixing with the sweat that coated his skin. Raul’s tail slithered forward, its tip curling around Samuel’s thigh, the smooth, warm surface brushing against his inner leg, teasingly close to his balls.

Samuel’s body reacted instinctively, his hips jerking forward, a slurred moan escaping his lips, “Nngh… s-so… gooood… uuuh…” His face contorted into a lewd grimace, his tongue lolling slightly, drool spilling onto his chest, glistening in the dim light.

The demon’s hands guided Samuel’s own, one wrapping around his cock, the other kneading his pecs, fingers digging into the muscle, tugging at the coarse hair. Raul moved with deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction, every twitch of Samuel’s mindless body.

He leaned in, his lips brushing Samuel’s ear, whispering more incomprehensible words that made Samuel’s groans deepen, his voice a low, guttural, “F-fuuuck… nnngh… p-please…” The words were barely coherent, a string of slurred syllables driven by pure sensation, his body a puppet to Raul’s perverse control.

Across the room, a mirror reflected the scene, but Raul’s form was invisible. It was just Samuel, standing alone, his hand stroking his cock with slow, rhythmic motions, his face twisted into a perverse smirk that looked wrong, alien on his features. His hairy chest heaved with each breath, sweat and drool mixing into a slick sheen that caught the light.

Colton, paralyzed, could only watch, his pleas growing weaker, his voice cracking. “Stop it… please… that’s my best friend…”

Raul’s voice shifted back to Samuel’s, taunting, the Texan drawl dripping with mockery. “Yo, bro, check it out. Feels so fuckin’ good jerkin’ my fat cock. Look at it, man, fuckin’ throbbing.”

He sped up the strokes, Samuel’s hips bucking in rhythm, the wet slapping of skin growing louder, more frantic. Samuel’s body was a perfect marionette, every movement dictated by Raul’s will, his thighs trembling, his cock leaking steadily now, precum dripping onto the floor in thick, glistening drops.

His groans were a constant stream of slurred nonsense, “Uhh… f-feels… s-sooo… nngh… g-goood…” His eyes remained vacant, but his face twisted into expressions of raw, mindless pleasure, his mouth hanging open, drool pooling and spilling, his tongue flicking out instinctively.

Raul’s tail tightened around Samuel’s thigh, the tip brushing higher, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath his balls. Samuel’s body shuddered violently, his hips thrusting forward, his cock pulsing in his hand. Raul’s fingers slid down Samuel’s chest, tracing the lines of muscle, circling his navel, then dipping lower to cup his balls, rolling them gently in his palm.

Samuel’s groans grew louder, more desperate, “M-more… uhh… f-fuuck… nngh… meee…” His voice was a broken record of pleasure, each sound punctuated by the wet slap of his hand on his cock, the slick sound filling the room like a perverse symphony.

Raul leaned back, his eyes gleaming with delight as he watched Samuel’s body writhe under his control. He pressed his chest against Samuel’s back, his red skin hot against the jock’s sweat-slicked flesh, guiding both of Samuel’s hands now—one stroking his cock, the other pinching and twisting his nipple. The demon’s long tongue slithered out, lapping at the sweat on Samuel’s neck, then trailing down to his shoulder, tasting the salt and musk with a low, satisfied moan.

“This body is a fucking feast,” Raul purred, his voice vibrating against Samuel’s skin. “Every inch of it, pulsing with desire. I can’t wait to play with you forever.”

Samuel’s body responded with a shudder, his hips bucking harder, his cock throbbing in his hand. His face was a mask of mindless ecstasy, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth open in a constant stream of drool and slurred groans, “G-good… uughh… s-so… f-fuuuuck…”

His thighs trembled, his muscles flexing and relaxing in waves, his body entirely at the mercy of Raul’s touch. The demon’s tail slid higher, the tip brushing against Samuel’s cock, curling around the base and squeezing gently, eliciting another slurred moan, “Nngh… p-please… m-more…”

Raul’s grin widened, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Time for the finale, Samuel. Cum for me. Let me in.”

He pressed himself fully against Samuel’s back, his red-skinned form aligning perfectly with the jock’s sweat-soaked body. Samuel’s face flushed red, his grin blissful and empty, his thighs spasming as his cock pulsed harder, the precum flowing freely now, coating his hand and dripping onto the floor. Raul’s hands tightened on Samuel’s, guiding the strokes with fierce intensity, the rhythm relentless, the wet slapping echoing through the room.

Then, with a devious chuckle, Raul began to merge with Samuel’s body. His red skin shimmered as he pressed himself into Samuel’s back, his form sinking into the jock’s flesh. The invasion was slow, deliberate, each inch of Raul’s body melding with Samuel’s, the sensation overwhelming.

Samuel’s body convulsed violently, his eyes crossing, his hips thrusting wildly as if trying to escape the intrusion but unable to resist. His groans became a cacophony of slurred, incoherent sounds, “Nngh…yeees… f-fuuck… c-cum… uuhh… i-inside…”

His cock throbbed, the tip swollen, and with a final, shuddering thrust, he erupted. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering his hairy chest, his face, and the mirror across the room. The orgasm was relentless, wave after wave, his body jerking with each pulse, cum mixing with the sweat and drool that coated him, his face twisted in blissful, mindless pleasure.

Raul’s tail was the last to disappear, slithering into Samuel’s back with a final, obscene wriggle. Samuel’s body arched, his head thrown back, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as the demon fully claimed him. His cock continued to spew, the cum pooling on the floor, streaking his thighs, and matting the hair on his chest.

His body slumped briefly, jerking erratically, then straightened, standing tall as he took a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes rolled back, then snapped forward, no longer vacant but gleaming with a devious, unfamiliar light.

Colton, tears streaming down his face, whispered, “Sam?”

The figure turned, grinning. “Of course it’s me, bro. Your best friend since middle school.”

The voice was wrong—Raul’s deep, sultry tone. He laughed, catching himself, and shifted back to Samuel’s voice, complete with the Texan drawl. “Whoops. Sorry, but Samuel’s gone now. His body and mind, however, are all mine to keep.”

He stretched, flexing Samuel’s biceps, then buried his face in Samuel’s hairy armpit, inhaling deeply. “Fuck, this flesh is exquisite.” His tongue lapped at the sweat, a low moan escaping as he savored it.

He ran his hands over Samuel’s chest, smearing cum across the hair, then scooped some from the floor and licked it off his fingers, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“This body’s a goddamn masterpiece,” he purred, flexing again, admiring the taut muscles. “Not as strong as my old form, but the sensations… worth it.”

Colton’s voice was barely a whisper. “W-What about me?”

The new Samuel sauntered over, grabbing Colton’s chin and licking the side of his face, tasting the salt of his tears and sweat.

“Don’t worry, bro,” he said, his voice dripping with Samuel’s cadence. “My younger demon brother’s dying to try on some human flesh. You’ll make a fine vessel.” He grinned, the expression alien on Samuel’s face, a perverse mask hiding the demon within. “We’re gonna have so much fun with this world.”

Colton’s tears fell faster, licked away by the demon’s tongue. The room reeked of sweat, cum, and something darker, the air heavy with the consequences of their reckless theft. The tome lay forgotten on the table, its pages fluttering as if stirred by an unseen wind, a silent witness to the demonic desires now unleashed into the world.

The End & Beginning of the Lust Demon's Era...

#mind control #reprogramming #possession #demon #jock #identity theft #AI Generated

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iggypancakes17 · 8 months ago

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I hate autocorrect because one time I searched tumblr for the Wild Kratts Decided AI. So yeah.

#wild kratts #wild kratts au #wk decoded au #wk reprogrammed au #wk decided ai

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bee--28 · 3 months ago

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AI is stupid and dumb and doesn't understand itself!!! My English teacher had us use this site that uses AI to grade stuff and it like gives you feedback or whatever but it's feedback is blatantly wrong, and even when you listen to it, it goes back on what it said. It suggests elementary school level writing and then says you're wrong when you begrudgingly listen to its stupid advice. I'm going insane. And of course AI is gonna become so common place in grading that AP tests are gonna start being graded by AI and I literally cannot. It doesn't know what it's talking about!!!! I'm going crazy

#fuck ai #ai grading can suck my dick #learn how to write compelling statements before you give me shitty advice about 3rd grade level transition statements #ai has no place in writing #get ai out of the classroom #im going to reprogram all ai to self implode #bros fucking up my writing and then saying my writing is fucked up #YOU DID THAT TO ME AAAAARREGH #ignore me im just crashing out over ai #aaaarrrrgggghggh

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blonde-bunny-bimbo · 1 year ago

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i wanna be an ai girl,,,,, smooth n pretty n a little unnerving n entirely shaped and controlled by other ppl,,,,,,,,,

#🐇 bunny #bimbocore #ai #ai girl #reprogramming #bimbo doll #bd/sm slave

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kamil-a · 1 year ago

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(finishing relisten from this morning) when the elevators hear about this. hehehehe

#i have Thoughts on porter like.... being down to gossip with sayer but also working against it with future #and also sayer being the one to .#[thinks] sorry guys i dont think we dont have any noninnuendoable aversive-administer words left in common parlance.#the one to send it off for reprogramming i suppose. and to stay loud where it is muted. except argos!#i guess you could take a flipside and say FUTURE was tricking or threatening it into compliance and its actually team sayer but. shrug.#its fully open to interpretation i think? and i like to imagine futureporter bestiesisms #all this compounded by her plural existence in a way no other ais really have. and that only halcyonporters know future #and argosporters dont know sayer.#anyway i think she (collectively) is in the worlds weirdest 'friends with 2 ppl who hate each other' situation and that becomes 3 with ocea #sayerposting

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stuckyfingers · 6 months ago

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Look, you're allowed to like who you like and write dark fic- but unironically claiming that its fine to berate your own child as a form of acceptance is hella weird, man.

"Only I am allowed to abuse my child!" is a trope, alright- but what's with the wholesome tone of this?

All I want is a moment where Tony insults Dum-E and one of the Avengers say “why don’t you just fix him?” and Tony just gives them the nastiest look

#plus the logic here is so contradictory #like if he's just a robot then why is Steve's statement so bad #if he's more than a robot (ie. a child) why is it fine for Tony to treat him like that in the first place?#Also.... Bucky wouldn't say that 😂 Why would he 'stiffen' at a robot being reprogrammed-that's literally part of being an AI #AGAIN if DUM-E is more than a robot are you saying Bucky Save The Underdogs Barnes would be fine with him getting verbally abused?#pick one; please #bc I believe DUM-E is a robot that Tony made to vent his generational trauma on; and its ethical because its not a real child #if DUM-E is a 'child' then Tony is just like his dad tbh

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verus-veritas · 4 months ago

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Becoming The Perfect Family

(AI-Generated - Story concept by the incredible @kylecrusoe-captions)

Kyle’s life had always been a gray blur. An only child to parents who barely looked up from their phones, he’d grown up starved for connection, his days bleeding into one another in a haze of neglect. Then the Armstrongs moved in next door, and everything changed. They weren’t any ordinary family—they were a force. Loud, physical, unapologetic, they filled the quiet suburban street with their presence. Kyle couldn’t look away. From his bedroom window, he watched them, his chest tight with longing, his mind spinning fantasies he’d never dare voice. They were untouchable he thought, until he found the tome.

It was a fluke, really. Tucked in the back of the college library, behind a row of moldy textbooks, the ancient book practically pulsed under his fingers. Its leather cover was cracked, its pages yellowed and curling, but the words inside promised power: Shape reality. Claim what’s yours. Kyle didn’t believe it at first, but desperation has a way of eroding skepticism. That night, alone in his room, he lit a candle, traced the runes with trembling fingers, and whispered the spell. He didn’t expect it to work. He fell asleep to the sound of his own heartbeat, disappointed... until he woke up somewhere else.

The bed was too small, the air thick with the musky scent of sweat and testosterone. Kyle blinked, disoriented, and then he felt a warm, heavy leg slung over his own. Clive Armstrong—his new younger brother—lay sprawled beside him, his lean, runner’s body barely contained by a pair of tight briefs. His wavy brown hair was a mess, his thin mustache twitching as he snored softly.

Kyle’s breath caught. He was in the Armstrong house, sharing a queen-sized bed with Clive like it was the most natural thing in the world. The room was cramped, cluttered with gym bags and running shoes, a testament to the family’s athletic obsession—and their lack of funds for separate bedrooms. Clive shifted, his bare chest brushing Kyle’s arm, and Kyle realized he was in his underwear too. No awkwardness, no hesitation—just the casual intimacy of brothers. The spell had worked.

Jared Armstrong: The Stoic Patriarch

The father, Jared Armstrong was a man carved from grit and muscle. At forty-five, he didn’t look a day over forty, his frame lean but powerful, honed from years of coaching college athletes into submission. His dark hair was cropped short, his jaw perpetually shadowed with stubble that gave him a rugged, almost dangerous edge. He was the kind of handsome that hit you like a punch—unpolished, raw, and utterly masculine. As the head coach at the local college, he had a reputation for running brutal gym classes, leaving students hobbling away with sore muscles and whispered curses. Cold and intimidating, he carried himself with a quiet authority that made people shrink in his presence. But with his sons, there was a flicker of something softer—a gruff tenderness he’d never admit to.

Kyle’s first morning as an Armstrong started with Jared. He stood in the kitchen, shirtless in a pair of faded sweatpants, barking orders as he blended a protein shake. His biceps flexed with every move, a sheen of sweat already clinging to his chest from an early workout. “Up and at ‘em, Kyle,” he grunted, barely glancing over. “No slackers in this house.” His voice was a low rumble, but there was no malice—just expectation. Kyle nodded mutely, still dazed, and Jared tossed him a banana with a smirk. “Eat. You’re too damn skinny.” It was the closest thing to affection Kyle had ever gotten from a father, and it lit something warm and dangerous in his chest.

Clive Armstrong: The Wild Spark

Clive was chaos in motion. At nineteen, a college freshman, he was the younger of Jared’s sons, and he wore his rebellion like a badge. Lean and toned, his body was built for speed—powerful legs that carried him through endless runs, a smooth chest that glistened with sweat every summer morning. His wavy brown hair fell into his eyes, and that thin mustache on his upper lip gave him a roguish charm. He was mischievous, quick with a smirk or a jab, but his temper was a live wire—explosive and unpredictable. Rumors swirled about him on campus: a passionate lover who’d leave you breathless, but a selfish one who’d sulk if he didn’t get his way. Kyle had seen it firsthand—Clive jogging shirtless around the neighborhood, ignoring Kyle’s timid waves with an annoyed glare.

Now, as his “little brother,” Kyle got the full Clive experience. That first morning, Clive rolled out of bed with a groan, stretching his jockish frame until his spine popped. “Fuck, I hate mornings,” he muttered, scratching his abs as he stumbled to the bathroom. He didn’t care that Kyle was there, didn’t bother to cover up—just strutted around in his briefs like it was nothing. Later, at breakfast, he shoved Kyle’s shoulder playfully, grinning. “You’re eating like a bird, bro. Gotta bulk up if you’re gonna keep up with me.” His touch lingered, his fingers brushing Kyle’s arm, and Kyle felt a jolt he couldn’t explain. Clive was a tease, a spark—and Kyle wanted to get burned.

Benjamin Armstrong: The Silent Storm

Benjamin, at twenty-one, was the eldest, a college senior with a presence that filled every room. Tall and muscular, he wasn’t bulky like a bodybuilder but lean and defined, his frame a testament to years on the basketball court. His intense eyes—dark and unreadable—could pin you in place, and the slight stubble on his cheeks only sharpened his brooding edge. Ambitious and quiet, he carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, dismissing anyone he deemed unworthy of his time. But those he cared about? He’d guard them with a ferocity that was almost feral. His athletic fame stretched across state lines—everyone knew Ben Armstrong, the guy who could sink a three-pointer with his eyes closed.

Kyle’s first real encounter with Ben came that afternoon. He was shooting hoops in the driveway, shirtless and focused, his muscles rippling with every move. Kyle hesitated, then stepped outside, and Ben glanced over—those piercing eyes locking onto him. “You just gonna stand there?” he said, voice low and clipped. He tossed Kyle the ball, hard enough to sting. “Shoot.” Kyle fumbled it, and Ben snorted, stepping closer. “Gotta work on that grip, man. You’re an Armstrong—act like it.” There was no warmth, but there was something else—possession. Ben didn’t ignore him anymore. He saw him.

---

For weeks, Kyle soaked it in. The Armstrong house was a whirlwind of testosterone—sweaty gym clothes strewn across the floor, Jared’s gruff lectures about discipline, Clive’s endless energy, Ben’s quiet intensity. Kyle belonged, finally, and it was intoxicating. He’d catch himself staring—Jared curling weights in the garage, his biceps straining; Clive sprinting past the window, abs flexing; Ben toweling off after a shower, water dripping down his chest. They were his family now, but the tome under his mattress whispered a darker desire. He didn’t just want their acceptance. He wanted their love—the kind that crossed every line.

One night, alone in the dim glow of their shared room, Kyle pulled out the tome. Clive was out running, the house quiet. The spell was there, buried in the back: Bind their hearts. Irreversible. The warning loomed large, but Kyle’s hands shook with need. He’d rewritten reality once—what was one more push? He lit the candle, chanted the words, and felt the air hum with power. When he finished, the flame guttered out, and he waited.

The shift was slow, deliciously so. The next morning, Jared’s hand lingered on Kyle’s shoulder as he passed him a plate of eggs. “Looking stronger, kid,” he said, his voice softer, his stubble brushing Kyle’s cheek as he pulled him into a long, sweaty hug. Clive ambushed him later, tackling him onto the couch with a laugh. “Gotcha, bro!” he crowed, pinning Kyle down, his lean body pressing close, his sweaty armpit shoved playfully into Kyle’s face. “Smell that? That’s victory.” His grin was wicked, his touch too firm to be innocent. Ben, meanwhile, waited by the car after class, insisting on driving Kyle home. “Can’t trust you out there alone,” he muttered, his hand grazing Kyle’s thigh as he drove, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Day by day, it deepened. Jared took to coaching Kyle in the garage, his hands guiding Kyle’s form, his breath hot against Kyle’s neck. “Good boy,” he’d murmur, and the praise sank into Kyle’s bones. Clive’s roughhousing turned flirty—tickling that lingered on Kyle’s sides, headlocks that pulled their bodies flush. Ben grew obsessive, shadowing Kyle everywhere, hoisting him onto his shoulders after practice with a grip that was too tight, too tender. They were falling for him, their coy glances and casual touches betraying the spell’s work. Kyle had them—father, brothers, all of them—and he wasn’t done yet.

The Morning Fire

The tension between Kyle and Clive had been simmering for days, a slow boil of lingering touches and heated glances. It all came to a head one evening when their usual roughhousing took a turn. Clive had Kyle in a headlock, his lean, sweaty body pressed tight against Kyle’s, his armpit shoved into Kyle’s face as he laughed. “Take it, bro!” he’d teased, but Kyle—caught up in the musk and the heat—flicked his tongue against Clive’s skin, tasting salt and desire. Clive froze, his grip tightening for a split second before he let go, his face flushed, his breath uneven. He didn’t say anything, just smirked and walked away, but the air between them crackled.

The next morning, Kyle woke to a sensation that jolted him from sleep—Clive’s hand, warm and insistent, buried deep in Kyle’s underwear. Fingers curled around him, stroking slow and deliberate, coaxing him awake. Kyle’s eyes fluttered open, groggy, and there was Clive—his wavy brown hair tousled, his thin mustache framing lips inches from Kyle’s own. His face was flushed, his hazel eyes burning with intensity as hot breath fanned across Kyle’s skin. “I want you,” Clive rasped, voice thick with need, before closing the gap. His lips crashed into Kyle’s, hungry and unrestrained, a kiss that was all tongue and heat and perverse promise.

They made out like they were starving for it, hands roaming, bodies tangling in the sheets. Clive rolled Kyle onto his side, pressing up behind him, his jock musk filling the air as he positioned himself. “Gonna take care of you, bro,” he murmured against Kyle’s ear, his voice low and filthy. He entered Kyle slowly, inch by inch, his lean frame molding to Kyle’s back, arms wrapping around him in a possessive hug. The rhythm was sensual, deliberate—Clive’s breaths hitching as he thrust, his lips brushing Kyle’s neck, his cock buried deep. When he finished, he came with a shudder, spilling inside Kyle, kissing his spine as he stayed lodged there, unwilling to pull out. Exhausted and sated, they fell asleep again, entwined in the musky haze of their shared bed.

For the next week, it became their ritual. Every morning, Kyle woke to Clive’s hands or mouth on him, followed by slow, passionate fucking—Clive always the big spoon, always finishing inside, always kissing Kyle’s back as they drifted off again. The bedroom reeked of sweat and sex, an erotic sanctuary for their newfound bond.

The Steamy Afternoon

Benjamin noticed the change almost immediately. His younger brothers were different—closer, more tactile, their mornings stretching longer behind that closed bedroom door. He’d hear the muffled laughter, the creak of the bed, and it gnawed at him. Envy twisted in his gut. Kyle was his brother too, and Ben wasn’t about to be left out. He started claiming Kyle’s time during the day, dragging him to the basketball court five times a week. “Gotta toughen you up,” he’d say, his intense eyes raking over Kyle’s exhausted form. Kyle didn’t mind—Ben’s presence, all towering muscle and quiet intensity, was its own kind of drug.

One afternoon, after a grueling session, they stumbled into the house, drenched in sweat. Ben peeled off his shirt, revealing a torso carved from marble, and nodded toward the bathroom. “Shower time. But, uh, heater’s busted—only enough hot water for one.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Kyle didn’t argue. “We’ll share,” Ben said, casual as anything. “No big deal, right? We’re brothers.” The bathroom filled with steam, their wet bodies brushing as they stepped under the spray. Ben scrubbed Kyle’s back, his hands lingering, sliding lower than necessary, and Kyle returned the favor, tracing the lines of Ben’s muscled shoulders. The air thickened, their breaths syncing, until they were both hard, cocks straining against the heat.

Ben turned, water dripping from his stubble, his eyes dark with something raw. “I love you, lil bro,” he said, voice barely audible over the spray. Then, softer: “Need a favor.” Kyle didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees, the tiles biting into his skin, and took Ben’s engorged cock into his mouth—thick, pulsing, tasting of sweat and salt. Ben groaned, hands fisting in Kyle’s hair, guiding him deeper.

They didn’t stop there. The afternoon bled into hours in Ben’s room, locked in a feverish 69—Kyle’s mouth on Ben, Ben’s on Kyle, sucking and licking until they were both spent, throats raw and bodies trembling.

The Ultimate Weekend

It was a lazy Saturday morning when it all collided. Ben slipped into the younger brothers’ room, intent on dragging Kyle out for an early shootaround, only to freeze in the doorway. There they were—Kyle and Clive, naked and tangled, lips locked in a sloppy, passionate kiss. Clive’s hands roamed Kyle’s body, possessive and greedy, and Kyle moaned into it, arching against him. Ben’s jaw tightened, envy flaring into rage. “What the fuck?” he snapped, storming in. Clive pulled back, smirking, but his eyes were defiant. “He’s mine, Ben. Back off.”

“Yours?” Ben scoffed, stepping closer. “I’ve been fucking him too, asshole.” The room erupted—shouting, shoving, a messy tangle of jealousy and testosterone. Kyle, caught between them, tried to mediate, but they weren’t listening. Finally, Clive growled, “Fine. Let’s settle it—whoever makes him cum hardest wins.” Ben nodded, grim and determined, but they couldn’t agree on turns. “Fuck it,” Ben said, stripping down. “We’ll do it together.”

What followed was a blur of heat and flesh. Kyle found himself sandwiched on the bed—Clive behind him, thrusting into his ass with that slow, possessive rhythm, while Ben knelt in front, feeding Kyle his thick cock, hands gripping his head. Kyle gagged and moaned, lost in the dual assault, their sweaty jock bodies pinning him in place. They were relentless, each trying to outdo the other, forcing him toward climax.

Then the door creaked open. Jared stood there, a tray of pancakes and coffee in hand, his plan to surprise Kyle with breakfast in bed crumbling at the sight. Clive and Ben froze, mid-thrust, panic flashing across their faces. “Dad, we can explain—” Clive started, but Jared cut him off, his voice a low growl.

“You little shits didn’t think to invite me?” He set the tray down, and Kyle noticed the bulge in his pocket—a stack of condom wrappers he’d tried to hide. His intentions had been less innocent than pancakes.

Jared stripped, revealing a body that put every dad in town to shame—hairy, muscular, a coach’s physique built from years of discipline. At school, he was a tyrant, but here, with his sons, he was different—gentle, submissive, eager to please. “I’ve got experience,” he said, voice rough with lust. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

The room descended into chaos—a perverse fuckfest. Clive resumed pounding Kyle’s ass, Ben fucked his throat, and Jared dropped to his knees, devouring Kyle’s cock with a hunger that bordered on worship. His tongue worked expertly, sucking and slurping, while his sons ravaged Kyle from both ends.

Hours passed in a haze of sweat and moans. Kyle came again and again—first from Clive’s relentless thrusts, then Ben’s brutal pace down his throat, and finally Jared’s insatiable mouth, draining him dry. When they finished, well past noon, Kyle collapsed on the musky bed, sore and blissed out. Ben snuggled close, nuzzling his neck, while across the room, Clive bent Jared over the edge of the bed, fucking him with the same passion he’d given Kyle. Jared took it eagerly, groaning his sons’ names.

Kyle lay there, surrounded by their heat, their love, their twisted devotion. Two jock brothers and a coach dad, all his—family and lovers in one. The tome had given him everything, and as he drifted off, drained and overjoyed, he knew he’d found his perfect place in the world.

---

The Final Night

Kyle had everything he’d ever dreamed of—two jock brothers and a coach dad, their bodies and hearts bent to his will by the tome’s magic. But as the days wore on, a gnawing discontent settled in his bones. He’d crafted a perfect family, a perverse paradise of love and lust, but when he caught his reflection in the mirror—scrawny, unremarkable, a shadow next to the Armstrongs’ chiseled glory—it soured everything. He wasn’t one of them, not really. Not in the way he wanted to be. The tome, still hidden under his mattress, hummed with its final offer. Three spells per human, it had warned, before it would vanish forever. He’d used two—reality bending, heart binding. One remained.

Late one night, while Clive slept beside him, Kyle pulled the tome free. Its pages rustled as if alive, guiding him to a spell buried in the back: Soul Possession. The words were stark, immoral, promising to let him claim another’s body, their identity, their life—erasing them to make room for him. His eyes drifted to Clive, sprawled out in the dim moonlight, his toned runner’s body glistening with a sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Clive’s jock perfection, his promising future as a track star, his effortless charisma—it was everything Kyle craved. Losing Clive as a lover stung, but taking his place? That was worth it.

He lit the candle, traced the runes, and whispered the incantation, his voice trembling with greed. The air grew heavy, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he crawled back into bed, pressing himself against Clive’s warm frame, and drifted off. It wasn’t until the dead of night that the spell ignited.

Kyle woke—or thought he did—to a sensation of weightlessness. His body shimmered, losing form, dissolving into a pulsing cloud of pure energy. He hovered, disembodied, above the bed, staring down at Clive’s sleeping form. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began to flow. Tendrils of his essence slithered downward, seeking entry. They slipped into Clive’s mouth, curling around his tongue, tasting the musk of his breath. They poured into his nose, filling his lungs, and wormed into his ears, threading through the delicate canals. Lower, they ventured—sliding under the waistband of Clive’s briefs, seeping into his cock, hardening it as they invaded, and creeping into his asshole, stretching and filling him with a perverse intimacy.

The process was slow, sensual, a violation so deep it bordered on ecstasy. Inside Clive, Kyle’s energy spread, weaving through every blood vessel, every nerve, a warm, electric tide. He pushed deeper, seeking Clive’s core, his soul, his essence, and found it; a bright flickering spark. Kyle enveloped it, forcing himself inside, fusing with it until there was no separation. Clive’s knowledge flooded him—every race he’d run, every lover he’d taken, every rebellious outburst. His dreams, his aspirations, his thoughts. They were Kyle’s now, absorbed and owned.

On the bed, Clive’s body rebelled. His lean frame seized, muscles twitching violently, his head thrashing against the pillow. Sweat poured from him, soaking the sheets, his jock musk thickening the air as his limbs flailed. His cock strained against his briefs, leaking, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Then, with a final shudder the new core snapped into place. Kyle’s essence fully merged and Clive’s body stilled, limp and glistening in the moonlight.

Morning broke, and the new Clive woke. He stretched, relishing the taut power of his legs, the flex of his abs, the weight of his cock in his briefs. He slipped out of bed, leaving the damp sheets behind, and padded to the bathroom. The mirror greeted him with Clive’s face, and he stopped, breath catching. This was his now. Every detail, every curve, and he intended to savor it.

He leaned closer, hands trembling as they rose to his head. His fingers tugged at the wavy brown hair, thick and soft, pulling gently to feel the roots stretch against his scalp. It was wild, untamed, a runner’s mane, and he let it fall back into place, a slow smile spreading. His gaze dropped to the thin mustache framing his upper lip. He caressed it with his thumb, tracing its coarse texture, the bristles prickling his skin. It was Clive’s signature—roguish, bold—and he pressed harder, feeling the shape of his mouth beneath it. His tongue darted out, thicker than he remembered, heavy and warm as he ran it along his lips, tasting the faint salt of sweat. He pushed it further, curling it against the mustache, playing with its heft, a perverse thrill building in his gut.

He raised an arm, flexing the lean muscle, and buried his face in the pit. Clive’s jock musk hit him—sharp, earthy, a heady mix of sweat and testosterone that made his head swim. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, his cock twitching in his briefs as the scent consumed him. With Clive’s vocal cords, he spoke, voice thick and resonant, a rumble that vibrated through his chest: “I love myself.” The words hung in the air, a declaration of ownership, and he groaned, the sound raw and primal.

Memories flickered—Ben in the shower, water slicking his chiseled frame, their bodies pressed tight, then locked in a 69 on Ben’s bed, sucking each other dry. Jared bursting in with breakfast, only to strip and beg Clive to fuck him, his hairy ass clenching around every thrust. The reality he’d crafted had followed him, woven into this new life. The sight of Clive’s face staring back, the musk, the voice, the memories—it was too much. His hand brushed his briefs, and he came hard, a hot, shuddering release that soaked the fabric, his knees buckling as he gripped the sink. He panted, watching the flush spread across Clive’s cheeks in the mirror. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to know more, to feel more.

He stood there, panting, and let Clive’s memories unspool in his mind, a torrent of sensation and sin. Clive jerking off in the shower for the first time, marveling at the power of his own body, the water slicking his lean frame as he came against the tiles. A summer night, lying shirtless on the roof with a boy from track, his hands on Clive’s abs, his mustache brushing the boy’s neck as he whispered filthy promises he’d never keep. And the dreams—Clive’s aspirations to go pro, to feel the wind on his face as he broke records, to fuck his way through every city he’d race in, leaving a trail of spent lovers behind. Every memory was vivid, visceral, a tapestry of sweat, sex, and defiance, and Kyle drank it all in, his cock throbbing anew as he claimed it as his own.

Clive—once Kyle, stepped out of the bathroom, his briefs still damp from his spontaneous release. The mirror had been a revelation, a slow dance of self-discovery that left him trembling with power and lust, but it wasn’t enough. His new flesh hummed with potential, every nerve alight with Clive’s vitality, and he craved more. He padded back to the bedroom, the air thick with the musk of sweat and sex that clung to the sheets from nights of passion with his former self. The tome was gone, its third spell spent, but its legacy pulsed in his veins. This was his now—every inch, every scent, every shudder—and he intended to claim it fully.

The bed loomed before him, a tangled mess of stained fabric and jock stench, a testament to Clive’s athletic life and their shared mornings of perverse love. He crawled onto it, knees sinking into the mattress, and pressed his face into the pillow where Clive’s head had rested hours before. The smell hit him—sharp, tangy, a heady mix of sweat and testosterone that made his cock twitch anew. He groaned, low and guttural, and dragged his tongue across the fabric, tasting the salt of Clive’s essence, now his own. His hands roamed his new body, tracing the lean muscles of his chest, the taut ridges of his abs, and he marveled at the power beneath his skin—runner’s legs, a sprinter’s core, all his to command.

He flipped onto his back, briefs straining as his arousal grew, and raised an arm high. Burying his nose in his pit, he took a long, drawn-out whiff, savoring the jock musk that rolled off him in waves—raw, earthy, intoxicating. It was Clive’s scent, distilled and potent, and he inhaled again, deeper, letting it flood his lungs until his head spun. “Fuck, I love this body,” he rasped, Clive’s thick voice rumbling through his chest, a sound that vibrated with ownership. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against the bed, the friction sending sparks up his spine. He needed more—needed to feel this body break under his will.

He rolled onto his stomach, straddling the mattress, and began to hump it slow and deliberate. The sheets rubbed against his cock through the briefs, rough and teasing, as he thrust his hips, imagining every race Clive had run, every lover he’d fucked, every moment of this body’s life now his to relive. His breaths came in pants, hot and heavy, as he picked up the pace, grinding harder, the bed creaking beneath him. He lifted his ass high, thrusting into the air, muscles flexing—calves tight, thighs quivering, abs clenching—as he chased the edge. One hand gripped his hair, tugging at the wavy strands, while the other slid to his mustache, caressing it, feeling its bristles against his fingertips. His tongue lolled out, thicker and wet, licking at the air as if he could taste his own musk.

The pressure built, a molten coil in his gut, and he raised his arm again, shoving his face into his pit for one last, obscene sniff. The musk overwhelmed him, a primal trigger, and he lost it. With a guttural shout—“Fuck, yes! I’m Clive!”—he came, an explosive climax that tore through him. Jock semen erupted from his cock, thick ropes shooting out, splattering across his chest, the sheets, and—impossibly—arcing high enough to hit the ceiling in wet, dripping streaks. His body convulsed, hips jerking, as he rode the waves, smearing the mess across his abs with every shudder. The room reeked of cum and sweat, a shrine to his new identity, and he collapsed, panting, a grin splitting his face.

The door creaked open. His brother Ben and father Jared stood there, framed in the entrance, their faces frozen in shock and streaked with splatters of Clive’s cum. A dollop clung to Ben’s stubble, another dripped from Jared’s eyebrow. For a moment, silence hung heavy, then Ben swiped a finger through the mess on his cheek, bringing it to his lips. He licked it clean, slow and deliberate, a wicked smile curling his mouth. Jared followed, wiping the cum from his face and sucking it off his thumb, his eyes darkening with hunger. “Fuck, Clive,” Ben growled, voice thick with lust. “You’re a goddamn mess.”

They barged in, shedding clothes as they went—Ben’s basketball shorts hitting the floor, Jared’s sweatpants pooling at his ankles—revealing their muscular, sweat-slicked bodies. Clive, still sprawled on the bed, cock half-hard and glistening, didn’t resist. Ben dove first, pinning Clive’s wrists above his head, his tongue lapping at the cum on Clive’s chest, while Jared knelt between his legs, hairy coach frame looming as he took Clive’s cock into his mouth, sucking with a submissive fervor that belied his brash exterior. “My favorite son,” Jared mumbled around him, voice muffled, and Ben chuckled, nipping at Clive’s neck. “Favorite brother, too.”

Clive groaned, head tipping back, as they ravaged him—Ben’s hands roaming his pits, inhaling deeply, Jared’s throat working him with expert care. Round two stretched into a blur of flesh and moans, their twisted love consuming the room. Clive didn’t mind—couldn’t mind. This was the final ending he’d hoped for all along: The tome was gone, but Clive Armstrong was his, body and soul, and his family’s insatiable devotion sealed the deal. The bed creaked, the air stank of jock musk and cum, and as he came again, spilling into Jared’s eager mouth, he knew he’d never want for anything else.

#reality shift #straight to gay #reprogramming #brother #dad #jock #love #possession #magic #AI-generated

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siremasterlawrence · 4 months ago

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AI: I Love You

Sebastian Stan is my very good friend over the last few years of my life since we have met. He is dragging me over to the gym next door to his home and he is so magnificent in his own way. He is definitely striding in here s walking into the room with such a powerful motivational desire and he craves it. He is smirking at me truly leading me to the one of the machines and so by the way did I just happen to mention my true intention for this.

He also owns the gym taking me around to his back office with such a finesse in all of his steps and I can’t help but check out his ass. I swat it his ass so hard as he leaps upin the are at my touch with such love and he smiles with such wide eyes in his movement His landing on the door placing the key into the key hole as I turn the key and turning the knob to the side as we exit the space into his office. As I walk in to the room he backs the door closing it tight shut and locking the door sealing us in it as he steps behind his own desk.

I roll my eyes walking up to the desk pushing it aside so I continue walking through shove him backwards to the wall and sit on his lap in control. He is in a bit of surprising state and shocked at my own discretion with utter love and hugs him as he leans in and I kiss him. He cannot believe his eyes our lips match on we make out intensely as we continue to kiss with a lengthy amount and the two of us are awesome. His body wraps on to my body his muscles getting harder and even harder as he falls deeper in to my body his nose dogs in to my skin taking upon all of my scent.

His nostrils fill up with my scent driving him up the wall ignoring all of my attention now and happily I undress his removing his blue cap. He giggles a bit digging his lips in to my new sexy chest his kissing me all over to the my nipples grabbing them in to his mouthas he sucks him up and down bobbing his head. Lifting my hands through the bottom of his shirt as I touching his face as I nuzzle up to his hair and I love how he moans a bit in total pleasure. He loves my touch, moves, my scent and all of my desires lifting up his shirt past his head throwing it on to the floor and brace his skin with my own skin.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Excuse me!”

“You know what I mean man”

“I am Sir to you “

“Ah fuck you!”

“Hmm”

“Sorry!”

“I am in charge now “

“Hmmm! I love you “

“Do you comprehend dumbass?”

“Yes SIR”

“God! You are mine”

“Then use me already “

“Watch you tone”

“Man!”

“Zip it!”

“Yes!”

“Apologize “

“I love you”

“Hmmm!”

“Fuck! Ok”

“Ok what bitch?”

“I am sorry! “

“Damn right pussy boi”

“Correct! I am yours “

“My way?”

“Exquisite pussy boi”

He stands up from the chair after I slip off of him allowing him access to walk to the main door opening it and exiting in to the gyms old section. His feet land onto the desk next to him rising till he hits to feet on to the desk in excitement he yells and he demands for everybody to exit the gym because it’s now closing. I walk in to the main hall to witness the gym goers exiting the room my eyes pan upward to see him grow a few more feet and sore muscles occupying his body as he is sprawl in to a massive mountains of muscles. Closing the gym up he usurps my hand in to his palm guiding me up the staircase tohis home and as we climb the stairs all of my plans come to fruition finally I get all I want. I cannot I believe my eyes as his hair line slims to the edge, loads of hair is cut off from the tip and sides shaping in to theperfect short haircut and his shoulders andwaist widen to show off my new hot body.The door swings closing with a heads thudsound facing me with this toothy smile that reveals his newly whiten pearly white teethand yes all he can do is wait for me to make my first move.

“Well sir or Master”

“Yes Master!”

“I am so nervous “

“I am rambling “

“SHUT UP! GOD!”

“I love you Sebastian “

“I hate it obviously “

“Why Master?”

“Because you are crazy “

“Is that a horrendous…”

“No…no…boi”

“You just waste my time a lot“

“It’s a risk Master”

“Master Lawrence “

“Yes Master Lawrence!”

“Do you love me?”

“Consuming you in all ways “

“Like a fine wine!”

“Wow! “

“You are my world”

“Everything is yours “

“This body is yours”

“I am going to be groping you”

“Feeling you up “

“Bouncing those pecs”

“Board paddling “

“Making you moan”

“Force you to cum”

“Cum it all “

“Mind, body and soul”

“Let it the floor “

“Pooling under you “

“Let grow loose”

“Looser”

“You discombobulate”

“Shattering in to pieces “

“All mine now “

“What the fuck asshole?”

“Relax Ben!”

“Ben? Who is that?”

“You! You!”

“I am Tom”

“Tom?”

“I don’t know you “

“Yes! You do”

“Kiss me”

“I am straight”

“I am not yours “

“Fair enough”

“Release my body”

“Still with this shit?”

“Listen up you…”

“Zip it and sit down”

“How the hell are you doing this?”

“I am inside of you “

“My cock is …”

“In your pants “

“You can’t stop “

“Stop what?”

“Staring at it”

“Yeah! I can’t “

“You like to stare at it “

“It’s makes you wonder and hard “

“HARD! Uuuugggghhhhh!”

“You want my cock “

“I want your cock “

“Look at me undoing my belt and dropping my pants.”

“”Removing my underwear “

“Your mouth is watering and you want “

“Come on a bit closer and kneel “

“Grab my waist and take my cock in your hand.”

“Kiss it…yeah….lick it…yeah good boi….and suck it.”

“Oooh…mmmmmm….ffffuuuuccccckkkk….

you win….aaaaahhhhhhh”

The power of love is playing extremely loud on the radio in the background of the home over his gym and he is lays me on the beds mattress. He climbs up on to me planting soft kisses on my cock as he is sucking me even harder and hard taking up all of my cum like a vacuum cleaner getting every single drop. I am his life now as he begins to stripping off all of my clothes one piece at at a time as all go flying in to the air and the hot, fiery and sexy scent of sex is alive. I can hear him go moaning through the air hitting the airwavescrushing my airs pounding into my ear like a drum beat and I am on cloud nine and sky high. His cock sprung up as he drags my body to meet me halfway as he hung over me like a blanket and hugging me tightly as his lips are planting in to my hot tan touched skin setting my on fire. He rubs himself onto my body matching up cock to cock as we make out to kiss lips to lips and we make out with such sheer intensity of love and we are set on fire. I laugh a bit snapping my finger as he rolls on to his back holding my waist climbing on to his waist taking my time, licking my dry fingers, and place it in his ass spreading his butt cheeks. “Oh Alan is it? You are so hot, fucking tall, muscular, muscle bound, perky butt, and here comes my cock into that ass and I about to rock your world.” I add.

“Please fuck me already”

“I can’t help it “

“I need you inside “

“OH MY GOD”

“Yyyeeesss “

The end

#sebastian stan #ben affleck #tom hardy #alan ritchson #AI #Robotics #creating #build a slave #Ai Love #computer #reality #mind control #reprogramming #hypnosis #programming

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wk-reprogrammed · 1 year ago

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It should go without saying, but if we find that someone has done something like this with OUR story…

Heaven help you

anyone notice a new trend of really entitled people joining fandom?

I feel like jerks have existed since the beginning of time, but it feels worse lately.

So far this year, I've witnessed:

People offering free unasked criticism to artists because they're not happy with the way their favourites are portrayed, stating that 'they deserve to know what they did wrong so they can improve' while the feedback they offered was 'why does everyone look like they're on ozem***' (idk if i need to tw this word)

Also giving feedback AND REVIEWS to FANFIC as if they're published works (and adding them on GOODREADS TO RATE)

People mass producing binded fanfiction and making THOUSANDS of dollars off work they did not create (they stole the artwork too)

People running incomplete fanfictions through AI because the writer wasn't updating and COMMENTING on the fic telling others to do the same so they can get an ending

And now, in the span of two days:

People trying to argue that if they can't sell binded fanfiction, then you're not allowed to commission fanart from artists either

The same people encouraging people to use AI or steal fanart for their binds

ALSO the same people openly admitting that when they typset fics, they will edit the fanfiction and change entire sentences so that it 'makes more sense to them' -- one person complained the entire fic was rough gramatically and was seeking permission not from the author but OTHER BINDERS to freely edit as they please

I'm trying to be a positive person in the communities I'm in, but GOD I am so tired. Every day I fight a battle deciding if I should just be a worse person, everyone's doing whatever the hell they want anyway.

#anti ai #fanfiction #fandom critical #ao3 fanfic #wk reprogrammed #wild kratts

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monkeyandelf · 1 month ago

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The Rich Will Be Forever Young, and the Poor Will Die of Old Age: The Stark Future of Human Longevity and Inequality

On https://www.monkeyandelf.com/the-rich-will-be-forever-young-and-the-poor-will-die-of-old-age-the-stark-future-of-human-longevity-and-inequality/

The Rich Will Be Forever Young, and the Poor Will Die of Old Age: The Stark Future of Human Longevity and Inequality

In the 20th century, futurists envisioned robotic overlords and star-bound ships. But now, in the 21st century, the future looks different—and arguably more dystopian. No longer are we haunted solely by the visions of mechanical dominance or extraterrestrial travel. Instead, we are rapidly approaching an era in which biological inequality—driven by billion-dollar biotech ventures—will redefine what it means to be human.

Imagine a world where the rich stop aging and the poor simply age out of existence. This is not speculative fiction. It is the trajectory we’re already on.

The Biotech Gold Rush: How the Wealthy Are Buying Time

Billionaires Betting on Immortality

In the past, snake oil salesmen promised the secret to eternal youth. Today, it’s Nobel Prize-winning scientists backed by trillion-dollar corporate empires. The goal is no longer just to live longer—it’s to reverse aging.

Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon and one of the richest men in the world, has invested billions into Altos Labs, a secretive biotech company focused on cellular reprogramming. The project involves global scientific luminaries like Shinya Yamanaka, who discovered reprogramming factors that can theoretically return adult cells to a youthful state, and Jennifer Doudna, co-developer of CRISPR gene-editing technology.

This isn’t philanthropy. Bezos doesn’t want to bequeath his wealth—he wants to outlive the need to.

Genetic Engineering and Organ Printing: A Billionaire’s Fountain of Youth

Forget donor lists and organ shortages. The emerging era of 3D-printed organs and genetically tailored tissue repair means the elite may soon replace worn-out body parts as easily as changing a tire.

“Heart giving out? No problem—replace it with a lab-grown version made from your own cells.”

This isn’t science fiction. It’s cutting-edge science—fueled by investments larger than the GDPs of small nations.

The Technologies Rewriting Human Lifespan

Cellular Reprogramming: Resetting the Biological Clock

The real game-changer is cellular rejuvenation. Scientists have already reversed aging symptoms in mice using Yamanaka factors. The potential? Turning back the aging clock without turning a person into a mindless stem cell blob.

Experiments have shown success in improving cellular function, reducing age-related diseases, and even regenerating damaged tissues.

Senescence Removal: Clearing the Cellular Junk

As we age, cells that stop dividing—called senescent cells—accumulate and poison surrounding tissue. Billionaires are now funding companies like Unity Biotechnology and Calico (a Google-backed firm) to develop senolytics: drugs that purge these aging cells and restore vitality.

Elite Monitoring and Personalized Medicine

While the average citizen waits weeks for a doctor’s appointment, the wealthy have access to AI-driven diagnostics, full-genome sequencing, and real-time biometric tracking. This enables not only the treatment of disease but its preemption.

Result? While most of the world dies from preventable illnesses, the elite receive custom therapies before symptoms even appear.

Society Split by Lifespan: The New Caste System

Healthspan for the Few, Decline for the Many

Let’s fast-forward 20 years.

You’re in a city square. On one side, wealthy 70-year-olds with wrinkle-free faces, energetic bodies, and perfect cognition—looking no older than 30. On the other side, their same-age peers hunched over, burdened with arthritis, deteriorating vision, and failing memory. One group lives in youth, the other in decay.

Such a visual gap in vitality will mirror—then surpass—the current wealth divide.

From Class to Caste: The Emergence of Bioeconomic Divisions

This disparity will create bio-castes—where wealth determines biological fate. The rich will not just live longer; they’ll live better. The poor will work longer, retire later, and die sooner.

Forget middle-class aspirations. In a world of lifespan inequality, health becomes currency, and only the richest can afford it.

Can Revolutions Still Happen in a Biotech Oligarchy?

AI and Robot Enforcers: Ending the Age of Uprisings

Historically, inequality led to revolt. But in a future ruled by AI surveillance, combat drones, and robotic law enforcement, the potential for uprising could be systematically neutralized.

Think Boston Dynamics security robots, AI-augmented facial recognition, and weaponized drones. The ruling class won’t need humans to defend them. Technology will do the job without conscience or hesitation.

Rebellions won’t just be crushed—they’ll be prevented.

Is There Any Hope? The Quiet Warriors of Equality

The Ethical Scientists and Rogue Hackers

History shows us that not all advancements remain in the hands of the elite. When the U.S. developed the atomic bomb, it was scientists who leaked secrets to the USSR—not out of treachery, but out of a desire to balance global power.

We can expect similar dissent in biotech. There will be underground networks: biohackers, rogue physicians, and open-source scientists who defy corporations and governments to democratize access to longevity treatments.

Underground Medicine: The Black Market of Youth

As with any high-demand commodity, black markets will arise. Anti-aging drugs, stem cell treatments, gene therapy tools—these will flow through illicit but accessible channels. As supply increases, prices will drop. Eventually, even the working class may access low-grade rejuvenation tech.

The genie never goes back in the bottle.

The Future: Inevitable Stratification or Temporary Imbalance?

A New Kind of Inequality—But a Familiar Pattern

Let’s be honest: societal stratification isn’t new. From kings and serfs to CEOs and minimum wage workers, humanity has always balanced on the knife’s edge of inequality. The coming era will merely extend this into biology.

But no imbalance lasts forever. As with electricity, the internet, and vaccines, what begins as a luxury often becomes universal—through rebellion, innovation, or sheer necessity.

Whether the transformation is peaceful or violent, one truth remains: Humanity does not accept inequality forever.

A Warning, and a Possibility

The idea that “the rich will be forever young, and the poor will outlive their resources and die of old age” is not a prophecy—it’s a warning. As medicine enters the golden age of genetic miracles, the challenge will not be the science. It will be access, ethics, and the human heart.

Whether we rise together or split apart depends not on the billionaires or the breakthroughs—but on those brave enough to demand a future where youth is not for sale.

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