asnir96 - Tumblr blog

asnir96 · 52 minutes ago

Text

The Disappearance of Private Rogers

Bit of a longer one! Wanted to capture all the hypnosis and race tf. Hope you enjoy!

Colonel Hawkins sat behind his desk, his weathered face set in a grim expression as he gestured for Garrett to take a seat. "Listen up soldier, we've got a situation that needs your attention."

"Yes sir, I'm all ears Colonel. What's the deal?" Garrett was always eager- ready to do what he needed for his country.

"There's been a...truce called with one of the major cartels. Part of the agreement is the release of some high-value prisoners, including someone close to their boss, a fella named Miguel." The Colonel tapped his fingers on his desk, “Miguel has gone missing from our custody. Officially, we don't know how."

Garrett's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his mind racing with possibilities. He shifted in his seat, the fabric of his crisp Army uniform felt comfortable against his skin. Like it belonged.

"Missing? That's not possible, sir. Our facilities are secure." Garrett couldn’t understand how such a high-value target could go missing.

“Precisely. Which is why I want you to lead an investigation into Miguel's disappearance. You'll be working with a senior investigator - Dr. Logan Thorne. He's...experienced in these matters."

Something in the Colonel's tone gave Garrett pause, but he pushed the feeling aside. If the brass needed him on this, he'd see it through, no matter what. His duty was clear.

"I understand, sir." Garrett continued, “But are you sure I’m the best for the job? I’m not experienced in this kind of operation.”

"Private, it's simple really. Your track record speaks for itself. You're one of our most dedicated soldiers, always eager to follow orders without question." Hawkins leaned back in his chair, “You see things through to the end. And I only trust another man from Indiana.”

Garrett smiled, “I appreciate it, sir. I won’t question it and I won’t let you down.”

He always viewed Hawkins with great respect. The man taking on a mentorship role for the young private. Both born in small-town Indiana, both avid baseball fans- the man was like a second father to him.

"I knew you'd say that, son. That's why you were handpicked for this job." He released Garrett's shoulder and stepped back. "Dr. Thorne wanted me to give you these." Hawkins pushed a pair of headphones towards Garrett. "These headphones contain crucial information about Miguel. They’ll be invaluable to your mission."

Garrett took the headphones, placing them on his head.

Hawkins continued. "Remember Garrett, discretion is key here. Not even your wife Sarah needs to know." Garrett nodded, a buzzing static filling his ears, "You're relieved of your other duties for the meantime and will be provided a private room. Questions, Private?"

"No questions, sir. I understand completely." Garrett's voice was steady despite the unease churning in his gut.

Hawkins nodded approvingly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Good man."

_____

Garrett stretched out on his bed and settled into the privacy of his assigned quarters, the headphones continuing to buzz with static. And then...

..."subject name: Miguel Antonio Mortez..."

..."born and raised in Juarez, Mexico. Grew up in the volatile El Chavo neighborhood..."

..."Miguel likes fast cars. He owns a black '68 Mustang that he worked on restoring..."

..."Miguel plays acoustic guitar when he wants to relax..."

..."A skilled fighter, Miguel honed his skills brawling on the streets of Juarez..."

“Guess this is useful.” Garrett mumbled, wincing at a dull ache developing behind his eyes, “Fuck...” He yawned and felt his eyes starting to close, “So... tired...”

________

There’s a ball. A soccer ball? He stares at it and then up. Tall buildings around him. A dirt field. Makeshift goalposts. A firm kick. GOAL!

A woman’s voice called out sharply in Spanish, “¡La cena está lista!”

Garrett turns- panting, he sprints inside, catching a fleeting glance in a cracked hallway mirror. He pauses... the face of a young Mexican boy stares back at him. Dark hair, brown skin, eyes that hold a fierce determination.

_______

Garrett jolted awake, his heart pounding as he sits up. He blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, and caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall opposite his bed.

The man staring back at him was unmistakably Garrett. His short blonde hair, the strong jawline accentuated by his clean-shaven face, pale skin. Relief washed over him as he mentally affirmed his own identity.

"That's right," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Garrett. Born and raised in the Midwest. Played baseball, not soccer. None of that was real."

Despite the logical reassurance, a faint unease lingered. Garrett took a deep breath, steeling himself as he placed the headphones back over his ears. The unfamiliar voice filled his head once more:

..."You were born on July 12th, 1990 in Juarez, Mexico..."

..."Miguel learned to play the guitar at the age of ten from his abuelo..."

..."You spent countless hours practicing guitar riffs, strumming away your frustrations..."

..."Miguel dreamed of one day singing lead for a big time band, his voice captivating"

A sharp knock at the door jolted Garrett from his trance-like state. Before he could respond, it swung open to reveal a tall, distinguished-looking man in his 50s with salt-and-pepper hair.

"Private Garrett?" The man's voice was smooth and authoritative. "I'm Dr. Logan Thorne, the senior investigator assisting you with the Miguel Mortez case."

Garrett stood at attention, wincing as another wave of pain lanced through his skull. "Sir, yes sir. Good to meet you, Doctor."

Thorne's keen eyes lingered on the headphones. "I trust you've been reviewing the files I provided. I'm sure you find them... educational." Dr. Thorne smiles, "Tell me about yourself, Private. I like to know about the people I work with."

"I... I grew up in..." Garrett paused, "The Midwest. I think? Yeah..." His voice lacked its usual conviction, laced with uncertainty instead.

"Is that all?"

"Uh well... I-I grew up...Juarez? No, that's not right..." He grips his head, "Small town. Flyover country. Had a... a ball field, I think?" He looks up at Dr. Thorne, "I played a lot of... sports. I think baseball, but..."

"Perhaps it would be wise for you to get some rest, Private. You seem... rather disoriented at the moment."

Garrett bristled slightly at the interruption, an irrational surge of anger flaring in his chest.

"Yes sir, probably a good idea," Garrett replied.

"And private. Please continue to wear the headphones. We'll touch base later today."

Garrett closed the door to his quarters and leaned against it heavily, his mind reeling. He took a deep, shuddering breath and began to recite the facts of his life like a desperate prayer.

"I’m Garrett... From... Indiana. Born and raised in a small town. Played baseball, not soccer. Married to Sarah. Served in the U.S. Army. I am American."

He paced the room, his boots striking the floor in a staccato rhythm. "Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball, not soc... football...? Not from Juarez. Not a criminal." He stares at the headphones, "Loyal soldier." He places the headphones on his head, the voice reverberating in his ears.

..."You served Papi with unwavering devotion, attending to his every carnal desire..."

..."You found pleasure in submitting to his whims, craving his praise and approval..."

..."You spent long nights kneeling before him, worshipping his body with lips and tongue, relishing the musky taste of his skin and the weight of his thick shaft pulsing in your mouth...”

...“He taught you submission... broke you and exposed who you really are...”

As the relentless voice continued, Garrett felt his eyelids growing heavy. Vivid images conjured, in his mind.

"Not me... Not this... I'm not..."

The words faded into a distant hum as Garrett surrendered to sleep, his head lolling forward.

_____

He’s standing before a nude figure, muscles rippling as his large hand lazily strokes an impressive length of hard cock.

Papi.

"Eres mío, mi amor," Papi purrs seductively in a husky Spanish accent. Dark eyes gleam with lust and possessiveness.

He turns his head away from Papi, his gaze travels downward, seeing himself reflected in the large vanity mirror...

A strikingly handsome young Latin man graces his eyes. Brown skin glowing under the dim lights, eyes the color of rich chocolate framed by thick lashes, wild obsidian hair tousled artfully. His torso is lean yet defined, with a dusting of coarse black hair trailing down from his sculpted pecs to disappear enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.

______

Garrett bolts upright in bed, his heart pounding as he leapt to his feet. He stumbled towards the mirror, grasping the edge of the sink for support as he stared at his reflection with wide, terrified eyes.

"What the fuck..." he breathed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "It was just a dream. Just a goddamn dream."

Garrett stared intently at his reflection, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin - it was undoubtedly him. Although somewhat disheveled and unshaven. But as he gazed at his own face, a sudden flicker of doubt crossed his mind.

"Why does this feel... wrong somehow?" he muttered to himself, leaning closer to the mirror. "My skin... shouldn't it be darker? Brown maybe?" He gulps, "And my hair... wasn't it supposed to be black? Thicker?" He ran his fingers through the short, sun-kissed locks, confirming their familiar texture and length. Garrett's breath quickened as a confusing jumble of emotions flooded through him, "No, no, stop it!" he growled at his reflection, backing away from the mirror.

Without warning, the door burst open and two burly Military Police officers stormed into the room. They grabbed Garrett roughly by the arms, yanking him to his feet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?" Garrett struggled against their grip, his heart racing with confusion and growing fear. "I'm Private Garrett, not some damn criminal!"

The MPs ignored his protests, dragging him out into the hallway. Garrett's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why were they treating him like this? What had he done wrong?

They shoved him into an office room where Dr. Thorne waited, his expression unreadable. The MPs forced Garrett into a chair before taking up positions on either side of the door.

"Dr. Thorne, what's the meaning of this?" Garrett demanded.

"At ease, Private Garrett." Dr. Thorne greeted him coolly, taking a seat across the table. Colonel Hawkins stood beside him, his face impassive, "This is...unorthodox, I agree. But I'm afraid we have some concerns that require us to take certain precautions."

Garrett gripped the sides of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to protest but hesitated, doubts clouding his thoughts.

"But I'm a soldier, aren't I? An American serviceman." His voice lacked its usual conviction. He squinted, trying to recall the specifics of his military career. Flashes of boot camp, basic training, deployed overseas...it all felt hazy, disconnected somehow, "Shouldn't I be treated with more respect? Right? I'm still... I'm a soldier... right?"

Hawkins and Thorne shared a knowing glance, a silent communication passing between them. Hawkins cleared his throat, fixing Garrett with a penetrating stare.

"The prisoner exchange has been expedited, Private. It will occur tomorrow at 0600." He produced a small pill bottle from his pocket, setting it on the table with a soft click. "These will help sharpen your concentration and recall. Take them as directed."

“No... this isn’t...” Garrett gripped his head, “Please, something isn’t right... Colonel?”

“Don’t disappoint me, son.”

His voice was cold, somewhat strained. Garrett frowned, a sense of failure welling up inside him. He didn’t want to disappoint- he was a good... soldier? Lover? Garrett shook his head.

"You must continue listening to the headphones, absorbing every detail. The information is... vital to the success of the operation."

Garrett eyed the pills warily, his stomach churning with unease. Something about their demeanor, the urgency in their voices, set his nerves on edge. He nodded slowly.

The MPs escorted Garrett back to his room, their grips firm on his arms. As soon as they crossed the threshold, they spun him around and shoved him inside none too gently. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang.

Garrett reached for the handle, twisting it frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked. Panic started to rise in his throat as the realization sank in - he was trapped. Like a prisoner... Like Miguel... He shook his head.

“Just need to complete the mission.” He whispered, “Just finish the mission...” Despite every fiber of his body telling him no, he places the headphones on his head.

..."You existed only to serve Papi, to bring him pleasure in every way imaginable. Every inch of your body was his to claim, to mark with his touch and ownership..."

..."You ached for his domination. The delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open, claiming you most deeply, was heaven..."

..."Being his obedient little bottom, gagging on his cock, hole stretched and leaking his cum - that was your highest purpose...”

Garrett's breathing grew heavier as he listened to the sordid details, his body responding despite his mind's resistance. With shaking hands, he swallowed several of the pills. Warmth radiates from within him and he feels compelled to strip out of his clothes.

“Fuck...” He grunted, staring at his hardening cock.

He grips it firmly, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of Sarah, on the love and familiarity she represented. But the vivid images of Papi, of submission and raw passion, kept intruding.

"Papi... mi amor..." The words slipped out in a breathy moan before Garrett could stop them. The headphones whispered filthy promises in his ear, urging him deeper into fantasy.

He barely noticed the door burst open. Colonel Hawkins strode in followed by Dr. Thorne and two stone-faced MPs. They carried a strange object between them - a folded, nude rubber bodysuit.

Garrett gaped at the lifelike construct, his pulse racing. The suit was crafted to resemble a stunningly handsome young Latino man, with olive-toned skin and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Intricate tattoos coiled along sinewy arms and a broad, muscular back. Jet-black hair, thick and glossy, adorned the perfectly formed head.

“That...”

An intense wave of recognition crashed over Garrett as he drank in the features of the figure. It was unmistakably the man from his dream - Miguel. Garrett's breath caught in his throat.

"Que demonios es esto?" Garrett's voice cracked, desperation evident. "Why does it look like... like him? Like me...?" He trailed off, realizing the implications, "My name is... was... Garrett. Midwestern boy. Baseball. Army. Right?"

"The pills help release the necessary bodily fluids to allow for proper bonding." Dr. Thorne says to Hawkins and the MPs, "Please help Garrett into the suit."

A second later, the MPs roughly grabbed Garrett's legs, forcing them into the waiting limbs of the rubber suit. As the material enveloped his skin, Garrett gasped at the sensation - it felt almost alive, conforming to his contours. Bonding tightly to his skin... sinking into his pores...

"No please! Don't! Arghhhh." Garrett cried out, trying to pull away. But the MPs held him fast, their grips iron-tight as they slowly worked the suit up his torso.

"You see, Miguel was selected for Operation Rising Phoenix." Dr. Thorne said, "His memories, intimate details were saved. And his body was converted into this suit. He could’ve been used by an operative to go undercover."

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, the truce was made." Hawkins sighed, "But we couldn't return him in well... that state." He looked down at Garrett with pity, "So to ensure the deal can be completed, we needed Miguel back."

Garrett thrashed and bucked as the MPs forcibly pulled the rubber suit up his body, covering his abdomen and starting on his chest.

"Déjenme ir! Por favor, quiero ver a Sarah! Quiero vivir mi vida! No hagan esto!" Garrett’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his cut cock was encased in Miguel’s uncut member, sending waves of new pleasure radiating up his spine, “Oh fuckkkkkkk..... Papí... I need you... please..." Garrett whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the unwanted thoughts and sensations flooding his mind.

He opened them again to find the MPs standing over him expectantly. Looking down, he wasn’t greeted by his pale skin or light hair. His muscles leaner... more toned... skin darker... the body of Miguel. One of the MPs seized Garrett's chin, forcing his head still as he stretched the mask over Garrett's face. Garrett shuddered violently as the elastic material sealed over his skin.

"There, there. It fits perfectly." Hawkins nodded in satisfaction as he examined the encased man closely. The rubber flesh clung to his curves, indistinguishable from real skin save for a subtle sheen.

“Are you sure...”

“Colonel, the Private’s eagerness to please blends nicely with Miguel’s psyche. They were a perfect match to allow for seamless integration.” Dr. Thorne lifts up the headphones, gently placing them on Garrett’s ears, "Just relax you’ve done so well."

"Sarah... please, I'm sorry, No sé qué me pasa..." Garrett's voice broke.

He doesn’t register the men leaving. Only able to run his hands over the rubbery surface of the suit encasing his body. His fingers dug into the pliant material as he tried to ground himself, to cling to his fading sense of self.

"Mi nombre es Garrett... soy americano... army..." He mumbled deliriously, his eyelids fluttering. But the litany of his own name sounded hollow, drowning beneath the tidal wave of new memories crashing over him.

Miguel, Papi, Juarez... the fragments swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm his last threads of resistance. A smile forms on his face.

As the lines between his lives blurred, Garrett clung to one final, desperate thought before surrendering to unconsciousness.

“I... I'm still here... Inside. I’m still... me...right?”

______

The first rays of dawn filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the sleeping form sprawled across the bed. As the light increased, Miguel stirred. He stretched languidly, the sheets sliding off to reveal his bare chest and toned abs.

“Mierda...”

Miguel sat up slowly, running his hands over his arms and torso, marveling at the feel of his own smooth, warm skin. Nothing but skin... his skin...

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding naked to the full-length mirror. Miguel turned this way and that, admiring the play of muscle under tanned skin, the intricate lines of his tattoos. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he appreciated his own beauty.

“Hoy es el dia.”

Colonel Hawkins entered the room flanked by MPs, “Good morning.”

He stopped short when Miguel turned toward him with a blank expression, clearly not comprehending the English greeting.

“I forgot you don’t speak English anymore.” Hawkins lamented.

Miguel squared his shoulders instinctively, his posture radiating street-honed defiance. "¿Qué mierda queréis ahora, putos?" He gestured angrily at the soldiers. "Me tenéis aquí como animal enjaulado mientras mis hermanos están fuera luchando por lo nuestro!"

"Still got that fire, eh Miguel? Must mean the conversion took properly."

_____

The heavily guarded exchange point buzzed with tense activity as Miguel was led out, his wrists shackled. His dark eyes darted around furtively, drinking in every detail. There, standing tall amidst the armed escort, was a striking figure - Papi. His chiseled features split into a radiant grin as his gaze locked with Miguel's.

"Mi amor!" Papi called out, reaching for him. "Ven acá, mi chico malo."

Miguel surged forward as far as his restraints would allow, straining towards his lover. The second the shackles fell away, he was in Papi's arms, crushing his body against the solid warmth he knew so well. The display of submission, of pure unbridled love, was an unexpected sight. But they didn’t care who saw.

"Papí..." Miguel breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Papi's neck.

Hours later, Miguel lay tangled in sweat-slicked sheets, Papi's powerful body curled protectively around him. The events of the day replayed in his mind - the confusion, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and sensations. But now, nestled in his lover's embrace, everything felt right. He smiled and looked up at his lover.

Miguel tilted his head to place a tender kiss on Papi's stubbled jaw. "Te amo, Papí. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo tenerte."

His voice was low and thick with emotion, the words flowing in their native Spanish as naturally as breathing. In this moment, lost in Papi's scent, his touch, the familiar cadence of their lovemaking... Miguel knew he was exactly where he belonged.

793 notes · View notes

asnir96 · 57 minutes ago

Text

White Shirt, Blue Jeans

I'm telling you man, all you need is a white tee and some blue denim and you've got that hot classic look ready to go. Alright, alright, maybe you need to have the perfect bod to really sell the package, but don't worry, the store told me it all comes with the purchase. Just watch. They even recommended me to buy a larger size since you can fill them out as much as you want. All you gotta do is flex a little. Like this! O-oh... fuck... that was quick. L-look dude my arm's blowing up... giant meaty cannons, stretching these sleeves to their limit. Yeah, shoulders and forearms are getting nice and big too. I might have to look into their sleeveless options now, heh? They said the shirts leave loads of room in the front so you have to ugh... remember to fill... them.... out...! F-fuck sorry bro, didn't mean to give you a face full of my pecs, goddamn they're like tits now, look at them jiggle. See, with the white color you really get that sexiness. Skin tight, translucent fabric - unh - brushing against my nipples. Can't forget about the jeans either, giving me a nice big bubble butt. Thighs rubbing up against each other, calves squashed tight, there's barely any room left bro. Shit, I can hardly stand, huhu. A-Ah...? Down there too? Ooo, I can feel my cock throbbing, balls getting s-so heavy... Aw fuck... I think I burst the zipper on these pants, huhu, guess they couldn't handle the beast. Fuck, why do I feel so horny...? Bro, bro you gotta help me, this feels too good. I-I should have read the warning tags. W-wait, where did you get that cap? You weren't supposed to - ugh -find that. Bro, hold on, wait wait, the store said the caps make you more- Ooooooooogh. Nooooooooo... Stoppppphh...

huhuhuhu... look at my tits bro.

345 notes · View notes

asnir96 · 58 minutes ago

Note

Hello Oh Great Tharnis. I'm a nobody. I come in my thirties next year and I've achieved nothing in my life. I hate my life and most of all my hairy pretty basic body. I just wish to be someone confident in himself with a body to die for. Someone like Cody Christian. Can you help me? Your price will be mine.

You never really liked mirrors. They didn’t lie, and that was the problem.

You were almost thirty. Thirty. And what had you done? Nothing. You still lived alone in your crummy studio in Cleveland, still worked that dull analytics job no one respected. And your body? Pale. Hairy in all the wrong places. You weren’t fat, exactly, but you had the kind of build that screamed: “forgot to turn the camera on during Zoom calls.”

And you were gay, technically. But at this point, even the apps were quiet. You weren’t twinky enough for the twinks, not beefy enough for the bears, not hot enough for anyone.

But still, you had… your stories. The ones you told yourself at night. You fantasized about being someone else. Someone hot. Someone dumb. Someone who didn’t think so damn much. A real man. You’d scroll through Instagram late at night, lingering on Cody Christian’s page just a little too long. The gym pics. The shirtless videos. The praise for God. The chest. The smirk. You hated yourself for how much you wished you were him.

And that night, walking home after another awkward drinks-with-work-friends evening, a little drunk and a lot bitter, you cut through an alley you’d never seen before.

There was a shop. “Enigma Emporium,” scrawled in chalk on a door that didn’t look like it belonged anywhere. You felt drawn in like sleepwalking. Musty. Dim. Piles of hats, shirts, old sports gear.

On a rack in the corner was a single, faded Cleveland Guardians baseball cap. Sweat-stained. Slightly curved brim. You picked it up, and a voice slithered into your mind:

“Do you wish to be… someone else, boy?”

You froze. The hat felt warm in your hand. Your mouth moved before you could stop it.

“Y-yeah. I don’t wanna be me anymore. I want to be confident. Hot. Dumb. Just... basic, I guess.”

“Done.” “But you will belong to Me.”

You blinked. Your hand shoved the hat on your head.

And everything began to burn.

You stumbled backward into the alley, gasping. The world tilted. Your legs trembled as something cracked in your spine. Your chest popped outward. Your shirt tightened until the seams split.

“F-fuck, what the hell—?!”

Your voice cracked—deeper, raspier. You stumbled past a parked car and caught your reflection in its window. Your hairy chest was vanishing. Your patchy stomach fuzz sucked into your skin, replaced by slick, bronzed muscle. Your eyes widened. Your jaw squared. You felt your teeth grind, and for a second you thought: Oh my god. I’m hot. I’m becoming hot.

“Duuude…”

The word slipped out. You blinked. Why did you say that?

You groaned as your thighs thickened, your biceps ballooning out, stretching your sleeves. You tried to think—tried to remember who you were, but the pain made it so hard.

Memories came. But they weren’t yours.

The gym. Crushin’ bench with the boys. Youth group on Sundays. Chillin’ with Maddie after church and making her giggle when you showed her your “pec tricks.”

No, that wasn’t you. That wasn’t—

You doubled over as your stomach clenched, then hardened into a tight six-pack. You could feel your cock shift, grow, pulse with new weight and need. You moaned—loud, unfiltered, dumb.

“Fuckin’ gains, bro…”

Wait. What the hell?

You stumbled forward, muscles bulging with every step. You couldn’t remember your old name. All you could think about was beer pong, squats, protein powder, and how fucking tight Maddie looked in her little Sunday dresses.

You tried to speak, to say something smart, something clever—but what came out was:

“Shit, dude. I’m, like, totally jacked now.”

You flexed in the car window, marveling at your biceps. You weren’t thirty anymore. You looked maybe twenty. Tops. You had the kind of All-American whiteboy face that belonged on a recruitment poster for some Christian college’s football team. You were the guy people pointed at and said, “Yeah, that guy definitely farts in his sleep and high-fives after sex.”

And you were proud of it.

You laughed—low and dumb and so satisfied with yourself. And it was in that laugh that the last part of you slipped away.

“Name’s Cody, bro. Christian, A Christian named Cody. hahaha.”

You turned around, the Enigma Emporium already gone behind you. Just a wall. Just a warm breeze that smelled like gym socks and barbecue sauce. Your phone buzzed. A group chat from the bros: “Friday lift, then kegger at Blake’s. U in?”

You smirked. Of course you were in.

You didn’t remember ever not being in.

You adjusted your cap—your cap—and headed off, your balls heavy, your mind light, and your future bright. You had Jesus. You had your boys. You had abs and gains and girls who’d beg for your baby.

You didn’t need your old life. You didn’t even remember it.

All you needed was to be.

And you were.

Christian Cody Twenty. White. Frat. Bro. Conservative. Straight. Christian. Proud.

And perfect. At least, that’s what Tharnis whispered to you every night in your sleep.

15 notes · View notes

asnir96 · 3 hours ago

Photo

Ben’s Next Victim

I’m Ben and you might not believe me when I say that I’m actually a spirit trapped on earth. I’m telling you, it’s true. It’s all because I messed with a possession spell that allowed my spirit to leave my body. It worked however the moment my spirit lost contact with my body, it faded from existence. Nobody remembers me. It’s like I was never born to begin with. On the bright side however, I can now possess the body of any living person on the planet for as long as I want. Only problem is that I don’t gain any of their memories when I possess someone so if I plan on staying in a body for a long period of time then I need to observe the person I want possess for a long time and learn about there life. It a bit of a hassle but it’s necessary.

So anyway, I’d just left the body of my previous victim, leaving him confused as to why he couldn’t remember the last few week, and I was just flying around town for fun when I saw an indoor swimming pool. I faded through the walls and straight into the main pool area. I was just floating around, spectating, when I saw a man leave the men’s changing rooms in in a pair of black swimming shorts.

My gaze was immediately drawn his daddy like physique. A strong, fit body that had adopted some incredible tattoos. Never mind the delightful amount of body hair spreading over his legs and torso. His styled hair and beautiful beard were just the very tasty icing on the cake.

I watched him slip into the pool and dunk his head under the water. When he came back up, his hair fell from its styled position to cover his forehead. I was just completely mesmerised by this absolutely gorgeous man. I’m telling you, if I wasn’t a ghost right now I’d be having the biggest boner ever seen.

For the next hour, I was watching him swim and chill in the as I waited for him to get out as by this point, I’d already decided that I was going to possess him. As I said earlier, I do like to observe the body I want to take for awhile before I actually take it but I forgot to mention that I’ll possess the body for maybe a minute or to give it a test drive before leaving and then observing for awhile. So that’s what I was waiting to do as when I possess a new body for the first time, it looks like the person is about to have a seizure so I shouldn’t do it in a populated area, like a swimming pool.

That one hour felt like an eternity but my heart skipped a beat when I saw the man climb out of the pool and start to head back towards the changing rooms. Obviously I followed him straight back his cubicle after to he got his clothes out of the locker. The man locked the cubicle door behind him before grabbing a towel and beginning to dry himself off.

He pulled off his swimming shorts and the moment he did, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer as I dove into his ass and began filling up his body with my soul. He looked as if he was having a seizure, just as I said he would.

This lasted for a total of 3 minutes considering it was my first time possessing his body but I got him. The second I assumed control, my cock began to grow. The first thing I did however was admire the awesome tattoos. Especially the one on my left pec. As I traced the outline of the tattoo with one of my fingers, I couldn’t help but get even more aroused while feeling my chest hair. My cock was practically begging for attention at this point but I continued to admire the lean muscle of this body before bringing my hands to my head. Firstly I brushed my fingers through my still damp hair before bringing them down to rub through and admire my well kept beard.

My cock was so hard that it was almost painful so I decided that it was about time to get down business. Using one of my new hands, I grasped my erect member and started jack it off while trying to keep as quiet as possible, remembering that this is still a public place. However pleasure wasn’t that only reason for masterbating, as much of reason it might have been. The other reason for masterbating was because it would give my soul a sort of dominance over the body making it much easier to possess next time. Anyway, I couldn’t help but let a slight groan escape my lips as cum squirted out from the tip of my cock, going on the floor and cubicle wall, but hopefully, if they heard it, anyone else would probably think it was just a regular sigh.

After cooling down from release, I ran my borrowed hands over this incredible body once last time before my ghostly form retreated from the body out of the ass. It’s official, I’m taking that body once I have some more Intel on his general life. So for the time being, I get the just sit back, watch and listen to this mans life and enjoy every moment of it while imagining taking his body again.

It was always funny to watch try and make sense of what just happened. The last thing he remembered was taking off his swimming shorts and now he was standing there in a cold sweat with his cum on the floor and wall of the cubicle. He held a hand to his head, probably trying to remember and piece together what happened, as he grabbed the towel continued to dry himself and restyle his hair anxiously.

Once he was dry he used the towel to wipe up his cum, still confused as to why he couldn’t remember releasing it. He then folded the towel so that the side with cum on it was on the inside of it and it wouldn’t touch the inside of his bag or his swimming shorts on his way home.

Then he pulled on some white boxers before slipping on a light blue button up shirt, a watch and a necklace. Next he pulled up a pair of grey trousers with a black belt before zipping them up and buckling up the belt. Lastly the man buttoned up his shirt, picked up his bag and went to the locker to collect the last of his belongings before leaving.

You can probably already guess that I followed his car all the way back to his house and from there I continued to learn about him, his personal life, his social life and his family. It won’t be long before I’m able to take his body out for a real spin.

462 notes · View notes

asnir96 · 3 hours ago

Text

In the middle of my garage cleaning while my husband is out and about for his meditative walk, I'm suddenly stunned by the approaching ginger hunk that addressed me while slightly jogged his way with his bated breath

"May I help you......sir?" I asked him with slight hesitation on what should I address him with

"Yeah, so I'm kinda new here so I need some guide. Do you know where I can find the horniest man in this neighborhood that will kneel right here right now to worship my sweaty, reeked body?" The ginger stud said flashing that grin that I will recognize no matter who wears it as he peeled off his shorts to reveal an Under Armour that hugs his frame nicely

"Andrew, you said it, you wanted to stop jumping into others. It's your 13th days already, why stopping now?"

"Well, it just appeared out of nowhere apparently. You like what you see here? He was running with his dog for several laps around the park when he caught my attention. I think he's quite a freak, you have to see his co--"

"Andrew, as much as I like it, it's wrong for me to cheat from you, even though it's only the physical, okay? We're risking a lot of things with this habit of yours,"

"Here we go again......huh, you're such a mood killer," and just like that, Andrew leaped out of Russell and the ginger's body flopped right then and there at their driveway, "don't talk to me, go take care of him if you want, saint,"

"You're being dramatic, Andrew. Remember, shit starts from Day 1 again since you failed to hold your impulse. One more failure and I will inform Dr. Maurer that you need a full-time professional help to solve that growing itch in you,"

391 notes · View notes

asnir96 · 3 hours ago

Text

Movie Night

The queue outside the small indie cinema was not particularly long. A very special film was on the programme: ‘In Your Dreams’ was the story of two men who had made it to great wealth, but lost it all again before enjoying their good fortune. Ashton Poole and Theodore Butler, two young heirs to wealthy families, had financed the film. Their first investment. Now they would soon reap the rewards of their ‘hard work’.

The cinema was empty. Naturally, the two young men had asked for a private screening. After all, they had made it all possible. A glass of champagne and small pastries stood next to them on small tables. ‘Ash, do you ever wonder what it would be like if we weren’t rich?’ asked Theodore, sipping from his glass.

“Honestly not, Theo, I like it far too much for that. Besides, we’ve always been rich, that should never change,” replied Ashton, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. The room went dark and the film started.

A velvety voice began to narrate while Theodore and Ashton made themselves comfortable in their seats.

This is the story of two men who came into great wealth with their own hands, only to have it taken from them by two long-established families through fraud. Join us on a journey into the past and into the nefarious machinations of the Poole and Butler families. Learn how they robbed two honest men of their life’s work and left them to rot in the street. This is the story of Danny and Zak.

It took a few seconds for the two young men to realise what had just been said. ‘How dare those filthy liars!’ Theodore shouted angrily, throwing his champagne glass towards the screen.

‘That ungrateful little something of a director, I’ll have my bodyguard beat him up myself,’ Ashton said, fuming with rage. He knocked over the small table next to him, sending the pies spilling onto the floor, and headed for the door. But no matter how much he shook it, nothing moved.

“Open up! I command you! I warn you, my father knows very important people, you’ll regret this? Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR?” Ashton barked, but no one answered him. He returned to his seat and angrily crushed the expensive pies on the floor.

‘Our lawyers will destroy these losers, they won’t produce another film in this country!’ said Theodore with a manic grin as his best friend since childhood returned. “They don’t know who they’re messing with. We”

But he was interrupted. The narrator’s voice continued and the screen now showed a picture of two men sitting together on a bench. They smiled happily at the camera. Theodore made a snide noise.

Let’s start by introducing our protagonists. We’ll start with Danny Jackson.

As soon as the name faded, the angry expression on Ashton’s face disappeared and he stared at the screen.

Danny grew up in the north-east of England. He was a happy child. His father was a miner until he left the family (his wife and five children) behind after a mining accident. His mother and her sister brought up the three boys and two girls. Both sisters died shortly after each other in the Antonius fire.

‘Ha, it serves those losers right, how pathetic, if only they’d been rich,’ Theodore commented spitefully on the description and looked to his best friend for confirmation.

But Ashton strangely didn’t feel the usual sense of superiority or indifference at the terrible fates of people who, according to him, were ‘out of his league’. An incredible sadness filled Ashton’s heart at the sight of the family pictures shown. It felt as if Ashton had suffered this loss, as if it was his loss that was being recounted there.

“Ash? You don’t feel sorry for that rabble, do you?” Theodore asked, but was interrupted again by the narrator’s voice.

Despite these terrible circumstances, Danny grew up to be a handsome man of whom his parents would certainly have been proud. It is said that he inherited his dark brown, almost black hair from his mother, which adorned more than just his head.

Ashton’s skin began to tingle, like when he was thrown into the nettles by that disgusting boy. He could feel it all over his body. The brown hair on his head darkened and shortened until his well-groomed waves had given way to a short haircut. The tingling had turned into an unbearable itch. Ashton tore and scratched at his clothes. The sensation was driving him mad. What he couldn’t see were the dark hairs spreading over the rest of his body. Hair sprouted from his smooth skin under his black turtleneck jumper. Within seconds, his chest was covered up to his collarbones with dark swirls of hair, even if it wasn’t visible yet.

“Ash, what’s wrong with you? You’re not an ape!” Theodore exclaimed, looking at his friend in disgust. But he was now scratching himself more and more. Then a dark shadow appeared on his face. The young face was covered by a veil of black whiskers until a short boxed beard emphasised the edges of Ashton’s face.

‘I can’t do anything about it, something’s wrong, it’s this film, my chest itches like hell!’ Ashton gasped and raised his hand to his face, trembling. He looked down at himself. You couldn’t see what had happened underneath through his jumper. But he could feel it. How the woven material scratched over his skin and, above all, over something that wasn’t there before. Still scratching, he lifted the collar of his jumper slightly and looked at his chest.

Thick black chest hair covered his previously hairless chest. Horrified, Ashton tore the expensive cashmere jumper from his body and revealed his strange metamorphosis. Meanwhile, the film continued to play, showing images from Danny Jackson’s life. And with each image, a little more of Danny seemed to seep into Ashton.

Danny was a very hard-working man who didn’t shy away from any work. With his strength, he easily broke the record for carrying the biggest milk churn in the neighbourhood - seven times in a row. Perhaps because he was built like a bull, he was always able to impress everyone.

With a crunch, Ashton’s slender figure widened as the screen showed images of Danny grazing. Ashton groaned in pain as his shoulders widened, while the black hair stretched here too. Bit by bit, his shoulder blades pushed apart. But that was not the end of it. His trembling hands clawed at his hairy chest, which rose and fell frantically beneath them. But the heaving became stronger than the lowering as they grew into his hands and pecs formed under the hairy skin. He squeezed it in disbelief, feeling the muscle fibres under his skin tearing and growing back together.

‘Theo, help me,’ Ashton gasped and reached out for him. But at that moment, his arms began to shake uncontrollably as the dark hair crawled down his upper arms to his hands. His skin began to bulge as his biceps and triceps contracted and relaxed again, growing larger and larger. As the crunching in his shoulders came to an end, his arms grew in width while his vertebrae stretched in length. At 5′8′’ ft, he was not the shortest before, but the waves of his transformation pushed him even higher. 6′ ft. 6′1′’, 6′2′’, 6′4′’, 6′7′’, . Ashton’s face was contorted in pain, but he felt something else welling up inside him besides the pain: Energy. Power that blazed in his body. Veins crawled under his skin, while his increasingly tight armpits were filled with thick black hair. “Theo… please,” Ashton croaked weakly under the sound of tearing fabric. But his childhood friend only recoiled in horror at the sight.

Mother Nature had honoured Danny with so many qualities, he had charm, a fantastic countenance, but who would forget the strength with which he carried his own self through the world. Customised clothing made him spend a lot of money a month on suitable garments.

“You… You’re a freak… get away from me, I’m warning you,” he almost screeched as he stared in disgust at the shifting figure in front of him, which bore less and less resemblance to Ashton. Ashton’s legs gave way and he fell over forwards, right in front of his friend cowering on the ground. With a final rip, his expensive jeans split. Pulsing muscles emerged from between the large tears, making their way out into the open. Ashton groaned as his bum bulged out and the remnants of his equally expensive boxer shorts hung down in tatters. What had previously fitted into any slim fit trousers had changed, grown, covered in a light veil of dark hair that slowly worked its way down his cracking legs, seeming to stretch his bones as it went. With incredible effort, Ashton sat down. His eyes were closed, but his legs continued to grow. Pushing aside the last remnants of the jeans, they came closer and closer to Theodore.

He in turn stared at the hairy, muscular thighs that presented themselves to him, until suddenly Ashton’s boat shoes tore open - unable to accommodate his feet, which stretched with all their might to size 48. Exhausted, Ashton’s legs slumped down and fell on top of Theo’s, who let out a strangled, disgusted cry. Ashton breathed heavily but didn’t move. Beads of sweat glistened on his changed body in the light of the film. What neither of them realised was that the film was now showing a similar but slightly different backdrop.

But he wasn’t just doing it for himself, but for a special person in his life who had been a light in the darkness during difficult times: Zak Ellis, the neighbour’s son from two yards away.

Zak. Something inside Theodore stirred at the name. Now it was Theodore’s turn to stare mesmerised at the screen, as if he had never seen anything more captivating.

Zak’s life had been characterised by loneliness from an early age - his mother died in childbirth and his father succumbed to excessive alcohol consumption as soon as Zak reached manhood. So he grew up on his aunt’s farm.

An incredible sadness and melancholy permeated every fibre of Theodore’s body and replaced the disgust. Beside him, the transformed Ashton breathed heavily, his legs resting just as heavily on Theodore’s.

‘Zak,’ Theodore whispered, inhaling the images on the screen as if they were his elixir of life, his last resort to survive.

His aunt was a strict mistress, but her heart was big and she gladly took her nephew into her home. And this big heart was not only evident in Zak’s soul, but even in his body. After all, he had enough in him to wrap that heart in a protective cloak of strength.

Theodore grunted softly as his chest began to ache. Theodore’s breathing quickened, but the rising of his chest was not accompanied by the same lowering. As if someone had stuck an air pump into his slender figure, at first only his nipples, then more and more skin and especially the muscles underneath pressed against his loose shirt, making the fabric groan. Pulsating and squeezing, plump pectoral muscles protruded. Under tension, Theodore’s nipples rubbed against the silky fabric of the shirt. His breathing became even faster. His pecs continued to expand.

It was not uncommon for his cousins to call him Bull’s Champion, a nickname he only revealed to a few in adulthood - but it was clear why he got it. After all, Zak showed an impressive mixture of size, strength and hair magnificence.

Theodore threw his head back as his limbs crunched and cracked. Squeaking, his narrow shoulders widened, pushing him away from the seat. His chest continued to press against his shirt, causing him to breathe heavily.

With his trembling hands, he tried to push his chest back in. ‘Go away, I don’t want this!’ he said, alternately shrieking and moaning. But the more he touched himself, the faster he seemed to change. His arms bulged and lengthened, narrow arms that would fit into any wide-cut shirt became fleshy limbs, thick and juicy, trembling with unused strength. And finally, with a final ripping sound, the $470 shirt gave up and hung in tatters over the muscular torso that Theodore now called his own.

Stunned, he looked down at himself. With his mouth open, he saw small dark patches appear on his pale skin before long dark hairs began to snake out of his skin like little snakes. Little by little, the empty space of his curved chest filled up and soon there was barely an inch without thick hair growth. ‘I’m a freak, a disgusting muscle-bound frea…oooooh,’ he moaned, interrupting himself when he felt something else on his chest, making slow circular movements.

His good heart, hidden behind the hairy chest, was already on display at the age of 17 when he saved the life of another young man from the village by using his tremendous leg strength to upright an overturned wagon - Danny Jackson entered Zak’s life.

Theodore looked down and saw the hairy man who had once been his best friend crouching above him. And massaged his nipples, cupping his pecs in his hands, circling the sensitive points of his quivering chest.

“You saved my life… I think,” Ashton breathed… but it was no longer Ashton. Theodore knew that. It was Danny. THE Danny. His Danny. Theodore stared into the other man’s eyes. But it wasn’t disgust, it wasn’t rejection that he felt. He was attracted to the man, he wanted… wanted…

The two of them were inseparable for several years, not a leaf came between them. They spent every spare minute together. And at some point, dear viewers, what happens so often happened: they fell in love.

He wanted HIM.

‘Come… I…’ stuttered Theodore as his watch flaked off his arm and dissolved into nothingness. Slowly, the grip on his chest tightened. More demanding. With his arms quivering, the same black hair filling his swollen muscles and the depths of his armpits, he pulled As-Danny closer to him, inhaling the other’s and his own intensifying smell.

Another tearing sound. The-Zak’s trousers burst open under the pressing mass of muscle pushing in all directions. The fibres of the expensive branded clothing tore apart - slowly his limbs grew, his legs in length and width, thighs like rounded tree trunks, almost the same colour due to the hair on them. 5′6′’, . A-Danny found his growing centre. Crunch. 5′9′’. Th-Zak clawed at the firm muscles beneath his hands, while his body lengthened. crunch. 6′1′’. Crack. 6′4′’.

T-Zak breathed heavily. Unable to ignore the pressure in the centre of his body that kept him from thinking clearly. Unable to ignore the man half above him, sliding his hands over his body. Unable to ignore the feeling of desire that coursed through him. Unable to ignore the particular scent of the other that robbed him of his senses. His own hands found the other’s chest. Warm and sweaty, but just like his.

And then their lips were together. Eager, hasty, full of power, their kiss felt like the first of all time. T-Zak’s face burned as a dark beard crept up the narrow cheeks - his face cracked as his features became rougher and stronger. He gasped into the kiss, his hands running over his lover’s body. Over his Danny. He was… he couldn’t take any more…

Together they overcame all of life’s adversities, their unity and their love gave them the strength to overcome all hostilities. And so the men full of shadows became a couple full of highlights.

With those words, their hands found each other’s cocks and with a voice-breaking moan, they both came on top of each other as the screen went black and the lights came back on in the cinema. For some time both men remained on the floor, breathing, while their new identities slowly took control. They forgot the life of luxury and disdain for other people. They became filled with diligence, ambition and love. So they walked hand in hand from the cinema to their car. Not a limousine, but an older car. They sat there and looked deep into each other’s eyes. And with one last kiss, Danny and Zak were back.

Theodore and Ashton had paid their price for their bad deeds and made up for their mistakes. For the two lives they destroyed, they recreated two lives in love (and lust).

It has been… a “little” while ago (September 2022) since I asked on Twitter which story of four suggestions I should write. Well, at that time, the vote was for something film-theatre themed. This story was supposed to be quite short, but somehow the plot took on a life of its own. Still, I hope you like it!

62 notes · View notes