ericppp

[ericppp]

The 4400: Being Tom Baldwin

(AI Generated - Inspired by the sci-fi TV-series “The 4400”. I remember I grew up watching the series, and developing a deep crush on the handsome actor Joel Gretsch, imagining some super powered criminal using their ability to steal his identity. This is my attempt at fulfilling that dream! Anyone else watch this TV-series back in the day? /Verus)

The year was 1998 when my life ended, or so it felt. One moment, I was a nobody, a lanky, aimless 33-year-old drifting through Seattle’s gray streets, scraping by on odd jobs, nursing a secret I barely admitted to myself: a hunger to be someone else, someone bold, someone whole. The next, I was gone, snatched by a blinding light, one of the 4400 stolen from time. When they spat us back into 2004, Seattle was a stranger, and so was I. 

We were branded “returnees,” each gifted or cursed with an ability from our unseen abductors. Some got flashy powers: telekinesis, healing, visions of the future. Mine was subtler, slipperier, a thief’s dream: body-switching. A touch, a pulse of intent, and I could slide into another’s skin, feel their pulse, and wear their flesh like a tailored suit. It was intimate, invasive, and it fed a craving I’d carried since I was a kid, staring at stronger boys in the locker room, yearning to shed my own frail shell for theirs.

The 4400 were chaos incarnate, a puzzle the government scrambled to solve. The National Threat Assessment Command (NTAC) herded us into quarantine, probing our powers, our motives. I hated it: the sterile rooms, the suspicious stares, the way they made me feel like an abomination of humanity. 

Pale, scrawny, with stringy hair and a voice that wavered, I was nothing. My life before had been a string of one-night stands with men who never called back, a closet I’d cracked open but never stepped through. I wanted permanence, an identity to claim, a life that mattered. Then I saw him: Tom Baldwin and his partner Diana, NTAC agent, striding through the quarantine’s chaos like a king commanding his court.

Tom was everything I wasn’t. Tall, lean, pushing 50 but carved from years of fieldwork, he moved with an older man’s confidence, every step deliberate. His blond hair, short and sun-kissed, caught the light, framing a square jaw dusted with stubble. His piercing blue eyes sliced through the room, missing nothing, and his suit, stretched tight over a muscled chest, hinted at the body beneath: fit, strong, a man’s man.

His gravelly voice barked orders, calming the crowd, and I was hooked. Not just desire, though that burned hot. I didn’t want to fuck him. I wanted to be him: his badge, his purpose, his life.

My obsession grew slowly, a fire stoked by stolen glimpses. I’d linger outside NTAC’s Seattle office, a ghost in the crowd, watching Tom debrief returnees with that commanding tone. On weekends, I’d trail him to the waterfront, his jogs a ritual I memorized. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his broad shoulders, smooth chest peeking through the open collar, his lean legs pumping with effortless power. I’d camp outside his apartment, hidden in shadows, peering through blinds as he moved inside: shaving that rugged jaw, sipping whiskey in boxers, sprawling on his couch with a masculinity I could only dream of. 

Tom had it all: a badge that opened doors, a son and ex who adored him despite the divorce, a nephew, Kyle, who idolized him. Me? I was a shadow, a 4400 freak with a power that let me taste other lives but never keep them. Tom was my opposite: unshakable, authoritative, the embodiment of control. I spent months worshipping his blond, fit, older body, and I burned for it: his identity, his everything.

The first real swap was a test, a perverse rehearsal. I planned it meticulously, my heart pounding as I stood outside NTAC one gray afternoon. I’d popped a sedative earlier, not enough to knock me out, just enough to dull my senses, to make my body a trap for Tom’s mind. The pill left me woozy, my steps unsteady, but I pushed through the crowd, spotting Tom in his tailored suit, badge clipped to his belt. His blond hair glinted under the fluorescent lights, his lean frame cutting through the chaos with purpose. 

I bumped into him, feigning a stumble, my hand grazing his wrist, power surging like a live wire. The world tilted, and I was in: Tom’s body, tall and solid, a rush of heat and strength flooding me.

I blinked, settling into him. His hands, big and rough with blond hair dusting the knuckles, flexed on instinct. His suit hugged me, the fabric crisp against his lean frame, and I inhaled his scent: clean deodorant, musky armpit, pure Tom. 

I glanced back, seeing my own body, pale, scrawny, eyes glazed from the sedative, stumble. Tom, trapped in it, opened his mouth to shout, but the drug hit hard. 

“What… the hell…” he slurred, voice thin and panicked, before his knees buckled.

He crumpled to the floor, out cold, and I acted fast. Using Tom’s strength, I scooped my old body up, muttering to onlookers, “He’s one of the 4400, needs help.” No one questioned the badge, the suit, the man they saw as Tom Baldwin.

I carried him to a janitor’s closet, locking the door. My old body slumped against the wall, Tom’s mind locked in a drugged haze, and I had time, time to explore. 

I strode to a bathroom, Tom’s boots clicking, and locked myself in a stall. My hands tore at his suit, buttons popping, revealing that powerful chest I’d dreamed of. Blond dusting of hair spread across his pecs, thin and soft, trailing down to tight abs. I ran my fingers through them, slow and greedy, feeling the muscle beneath, the warmth of his skin. His armpit scent hit me, fresh yet primal, and I buried my face there, inhaling deep, dizzy with lust.

“Fuck, Tom,” I groaned, his gravelly voice echoing off the tiles.

I stepped to the sink, facing the mirror. Tom’s face stared back: blond hair mussed from my touch, blue eyes wild with my hunger, stubble glinting under the harsh light. I leaned closer, tracing his jaw, feeling the grit of his beard, my lips curling into his smirk. My hands dropped lower, unzipping his trousers, freeing his cock: heavy, thick, framed by blond curls. I gripped it, stroking slow, savoring its weight, its heat, as it swelled in my hand, my eyes locked on his reflection.

As I pumped faster, a jolt hit me, not just pleasure but something deeper. Flashes of Tom’s life erupted in my mind, vivid and unbidden. I froze, shocked, realizing the truth: the more intense the sensation in a borrowed body, like an orgasm, the more I could unlock its memories, its essence, making it easier to impersonate my host. 

My hand sped up, and the visions poured in: Tom’s NTAC training, hand-to-hand combat in a gym, his body slick with sweat; interrogating 4400 suspects, his voice sharp and commanding; his failed marriage, bitter fights with his ex, Linda, her tears as he walked away; lonely nights in his apartment, jerking off in bed, his grip tight and practiced.

I adjusted my hold on his cock, fingers shifting instinctively, mimicking that memory, and gasped. I was jerking Tom’s cock exactly as he liked it, muscle memory guiding me, the pleasure so raw, so perfect, it overwhelmed me. His life was mine to steal, piece by piece.

The intensity built, my hand a blur, visions of Tom’s solitary nights merging with my own. I saw him sprawled on his sheets, blond hair damp, his hairy chest heaving as he worked himself, and I matched it, stroking harder, my other hand clawing his thighs, pinching his nipples.

“Tom, you’re wasting your life” I moaned, his voice breaking, the pleasure too much, the memories too vivid. “but I could make you so much better!” I couldn’t hold it, my thoughts and his powerful body, a furnace of desire, and I came, a shattering climax.

Cum erupted, hot and thick, splattering the stall, and I’d moan his name, my stolen voice low and rough. I scooped it up, licking it off my fingers, tasting him: salty, sharp, mine.

I cleaned up, rebuttoned his suit, and swapped back just as my old body stirred in the closet. Tom woke confused, rubbing his head, muttering about losing time. I played the concerned returnee, and he never suspected.

That taste wasn’t enough. I needed permanence. For months, I stalked him deeper, my obsession a living thing. I’d tail him to dive bars, watching him sip beer off-duty, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned to tease that smooth chest. I’d study his routines: NTAC briefings, jogs, late nights at his apartment, planning my move. 

My own life frayed; I barely ate, barely slept, consumed by visions of Tom’s body, his badge, his life. I jerked off nightly to stolen memories of his skin, his scent, his power, but it only sharpened my hunger. I needed him forever...

—

One rainy night, I struck. Tom was at a dive bar, nursing a beer, his dress shirt open enough to show that perfect chest. I approached, playing the desperate 4400. “Agent Baldwin? Please help me! My ability’s out of control.”

His blue eyes narrowed, but he grunted, ever the hero, and offered to drive me to NTAC. In his car, I suddenly grabbed his wrist, power flaring, and instantly swapped us. My mind slammed into his body, a wave of heat and strength, while his jolted into mine, dazed and disoriented.

I blinked, adjusting to him: taller, leaner, solid. His hands gripped the wheel, big and calloused, blond hair dusting the knuckles. I flexed them, grinning at the power in every twitch.

“What the hell?” he rasped from my old body, voice weak and panicked. I glanced over, seeing my former self: pale, scrawny, forgettable, staring with Tom’s confusion. 

“Relax,” I said, his deep voice smooth, “it’s temporary.” 

A lie.

I drove to his apartment, adjusting myself constantly as an excuse to feel his muscles shift under his clothes, the shirt brushing his nipples.

Inside, I locked the door. He stumbled, demanding answers, still reeling in my old shell. I ignored him, peeling off his jacket, then his shirt, exposing the body I’d coveted for months. Broad shoulders, a powerful chest with a light dusting of blond hair, abs firm from years of work. I ran my hands over it, slow and possessive, savoring the coarse curls, the heat of his skin, the musky armpit scent rising sharp and clean.

“Stop that!” he barked, lunging at me in his stolen body. I shoved him back, his strength mine now, and pinned him to the wall, relishing the reversal.

“You don’t get it,” I growled, his voice rumbling in my throat. “Your body and life belong to me now.”

He fought, but he was weak in my old frame. I grabbed his throat, my throat now, and squeezed, Tom’s biceps flexing as his air cut off. His eyes widened, blue but trapped in my pale face, and he clawed at me, gasping, “Please…” 

He went limp, unconscious, and I tied him up with his own belt and a curtain cord, gagging him for good measure. My old body slumped, Tom’s mind locked inside, and I turned to the mirror, shedding the rest of his clothes.

Pants hit the floor, revealing Tom: naked, magnificent. Thick, hairy thighs, a heavy cock swinging between them, blond curls framing it. I gripped it, stroking slow, feeling it thicken in my hand: his hand. His scent, clean deodorant laced with musky sweat, filled my lungs, intoxicating. 

“Fuuck, Tom,” I moaned, his timbre echoing off the walls, “your body feels so good!”

I jerked harder, other hand roaming: tugging at the powerful pecs, pinching nipples, clawing at the meat of his ass. He stirred behind me, muffled groans through the gag, and I smirked, his smirk, watching him watch me defile his body. 

Cum erupted, thick spurts across his stomach, matting the blond hair. I scooped it up, licking it slow, tasting him: bitter, salty, mine.

I couldn’t keep him here. He’d ruin everything. So I acted. I dressed myself in Tom’s clothes, perfectly tailored to my body, and dragged him to his car, Tom’s strength making it easy. I drove through the night, rain lashing the windshield, crossing state lines to a corrupt rundown asylum in Idaho I’d researched. Tom woke halfway, thrashing against the bonds, screaming through the gag, but no one heard. At dawn, I pulled up, flashing Tom’s badge, my badge now. 

“Agent Tom Baldwin, NTAC,” I said, his voice calm and authoritative. “This man’s a maniac and a danger to society. He’s completely unstable and claims he’s me. I suggest you diagnose him with Dissociative Identity Disorder and lock him up for good!”

They bought it. Tom, in my old body, was dragged inside, still shouting, “I’m the real Tom Baldwin!”

The staff nodded, sedatives ready, dismissing him as delusional. I signed the papers with Tom’s signature, practiced for weeks, and left, never looking back. He’d rot there, drugged and forgotten, while I claimed his life. I drove back to Seattle, the sun rising over the Cascades, Tom’s blue eyes reflecting a world now mine.

—

Back in his apartment, my apartment, I shed his clothes, the shirt stiff with dried sweat, the suit crumpled from the long drive. I cranked the shower, steam filling the small bathroom, and stepped under the spray, hot water cascading over Tom’s body. His blond hair darkened, slick against his scalp, and I ran my hands through it, feeling the coarse strands. I lathered his smooth chest, fingers brushing the nipples, the soap suds trailing down his tight abs, his strong thighs.

I explored every inch: his broad shoulders, knotted from tension; his lean biceps, flexing as I scrubbed; his heavy cock, thickening under my touch. I lingered there, stroking slow, testing its weight, its heat, moaning softly in Tom’s gravelly voice. The shower was a baptism, washing away the last traces of my old self, sealing me in his skin.

I toweled off, droplets clinging to his powerful chest, and stood before the mirror, Tom’s reflection a vision of power: blond hair tousled, blue eyes fierce, stubble sharp against his jaw. I flexed his arms, watching the muscle shift, then lifted an arm, burying his nose in his pit, the musky scent grounding me.

Naked, I sprawled across his bed, the sheets cool against his warm skin, and surrendered to the hunger. I gripped his cock, stroking it firm, my other hand roaming: rubbing his hairy calves, squeezing his thick quads, then slipping lower. I moaned, Tom’s voice deep and raw, “Fuuuck, you’re so tight, Tom,” as I slid two fingers into his ass, the tight warmth clenching around them, a new spark of pleasure igniting.

I worked myself furiously, fingers pumping, cock throbbing under my palm, the intensity unlocking more memories, vivid as dreams. I saw Tom briefing NTAC, his voice steady as he outlined a 4400 case, agents hanging on his words; bantering with Diana in the office, her laugh warm as he teased her about her coffee; hugging Kyle tight, his nephew’s arms around his waist, a rare moment of family. 

The sensations deepened, my fingers curling inside, and another memory hit, sharp and intimate: Tom that morning, showering in this same apartment, steam thick, his hands lathering his body, then dressing in his perfect suit, adjusting the tie, inspecting himself in the mirror with a nod of approval. I saw his reflection as he did, his blond hair perfect, his blue eyes confident, his body a weapon of authority. That image, so vivid, so him, broke me.

“Oh Tom, your body is fucking perfect!” I gasped, his voice cracking, and came fiercely, a tidal wave of cum, hot and thick, splattering my chest, matting his blond hair, soaking the sheets.

I lay there, a shuddering mess, sweat drenching Tom’s body, my body now. His post-orgasm haze wrapped me in him, his musky scent heavy in the air, his memories settling into my mind like keys to a kingdom. I licked the cum from my fingers, tasting him, and knew I was ready. I’d claimed Tom Baldwin in every way, his life mine to live, his perfect body mine to wield. I drifted, sprawled on his bed, the sheets damp, feeling invincible, prepared to step into his world tomorrow.

—

The months that followed were a perverse paradise. I lived as Tom Baldwin, my new life a seamless performance. I wore his suits, his badge, his authority, striding into NTAC with his blond hair neat, his blue eyes sharp. Diana clapped my shoulder, Kyle called me “Uncle Tom,” and I owned it, his grin my mask. But the nights were where I truly reveled, exploring the power of Tom’s body and badge in ways I’d only dreamed.

One evening, I leaned into it, testing the limits of my stolen identity. NTAC’s after-hours were quiet, but a few agents lingered, drawn to Tom’s charisma like moths to a flame. I’d noticed their glances: Agent Torres, a broad-shouldered man with a sly smile, and Agent Larson, a sharp-eyed woman whose gaze lingered on Tom’s chest. I invited them for drinks at a bar near NTAC, playing the charming Tom Baldwin, my badge glinting on my belt. Torres clapped my back, his hand lingering, and Larson smirked, her fingers brushing my arm. 

“You’re different, Baldwin, but better,” she teased, and I grinned, Tom’s grin, leaning into the role.

We ended up at my apartment, Tom’s apartment, whiskey flowing, the air thick with tension. I stood, loosening my tie, unbuttoning my shirt to reveal that powerful chest, blond curls catching the dim light. Larson’s eyes widened, Torres bit his lip, and I felt Tom’s power surge through me. 

“You ever wonder what it’s like with an NTAC agent?” I asked, his gravelly voice low, teasing. 

They didn’t hesitate. Larson’s slim hands found my pecs, fingers fondling my pecs, while Torres pressed against me, his beard grazing my stubble. I guided them to the bedroom, Tom’s strength effortless as I shed my suit, badge clinking on the nightstand.

Naked, I was a god. Tom’s lean body gleamed: hairy thighs, heavy cock swinging, blond curls framing it. Torres knelt, his mouth hot and eager, taking me deep as I groaned, Tom’s voice rumbling. Larson straddled me, her nails raking my chest, and I thrust into her, relishing the heat, the control. I switched between them, fucking Torres against the headboard, his moans muffled, then Larson on her back, her gasps sharp as I pounded, Tom’s cock thick and relentless. My hands roamed: tugging my own muscular pecs, inhaling my musky armpit scent, savoring every sensation. 

Cum erupted twice that night, first in Larson’s mouth, then across Torres’s stomach, matting my blond hair as I collapsed, spent, their bodies tangled with mine. Torres left at dawn while Larson stayed for some post-sex cuddles, no questions, just satisfied smiles, and I lay in Tom’s bed, his sweat and musk all over me, knowing I’d claimed his life in every way.

—

Then came the cure. A few months later, the NTAC cracked the 4400 secret: a serum to strip our powers, restore order. Returnees lined up, eager for normalcy, but I panicked. I realized my power was my weakness; one slip, one swap, and I’d lose Tom, his body, his life. I couldn’t risk it.

Late one night, I broke into NTAC’s lab, heart pounding in Tom’s lean chest. The serum glowed blue in its vial, a faint promise of freedom or ruin. I swiped it, drove home, and drew a bath, syringe in hand. Across the room, his reflection stared back in the bathroom mirror: rugged, blond, stubble sharp, blue eyes fierce.

I jabbed the needle into his arm, plunger down, a cold rush spreading through his veins. It hit fast: a tingling wave, then a hollow ache, like a cord snapping inside. My power vanished. I reached for it, that familiar spark, but found nothing. I was locked in Tom’s flesh, no way out.

His hands flexed, permanent now, his musky scent baked into my pores. I grinned, his grin, my grin. 

“No more playing pretend,” I muttered, voice low and final. “You’re mine forever, Tom.”

I ran my hands over his smooth chest, feeling the muscle, the reality of him, and laughed: a deep, triumphant rumble. I’d given up everything, my body, my life, my powers, to become him. No longer a 4400, I was NTAC agent Tom Baldwin, hunting and investigating others like me, my days filled with purpose, my nights with the perverse joy of his skin. Tom was gone, silenced in that asylum, and I lived his life, wore his body, reveled in his everything, forever.

[ericppp]

Lost in a crowd

Warning, this story has some homophobia in it. Maybe skip it if that's not your thing.

Crowds never bothered Jessie. He came to the festival with his boyfriend, Lewis, for a weekend of sun and sounds. The handsome couple were in great shape and spent the entire first day dancing in front of the main stage. The crowd was a seething mass of hot, sweaty bodies packed together for hours. They had a few run-ins with overly touchy girls, including one who was particularly insistent. Despite that, the couple retired to their luxury tent at the edge of the festival grounds, still in high spirits.

But on the second day, Jessie woke up in a dingy tent on the other side of the campground, with his boyfriend nowhere in sight. He was shocked when he pulled back the covers. His usual tall, toned physique, built from years of sports and working out, was gone. Instead, he saw a scrawny body covered in terrible tattoos and a fake tan several shades too dark to be believable.

Panicked, he stumbled out of the tent and searched for Lewis at their original campsite but found no trace of him. Desperate to make sense of the situation, he wandered through the festival grounds. The stench of fake tan and cheap body spray that poured off his body was unbearable. Navigating the crowds in his new, unfamiliar body was challenging. Normally, his height and presence parted the crowd effortlessly, but now, in his diminished state, he was at the mercy of the jostling masses.

After hours of fruitless searching, Jessie was about to give up when the crowd suddenly parted. There, by the main stage, was his own body, dancing and partying as if nothing was wrong. But something was terribly wrong. Several girls were draped over his bare, muscular torso, their hands groping any bit of hard muscle that they could get their hands on. Other men stole glances, some admiring, others lustful. Strangest of all, Jessie was watching his own body from the outside.

Jessie stormed over to the imposter. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, trying to look imposing despite his reduced stature.

The imposter glanced down at him from behind his shades. "Yo, brah, your body is the fucking shit!" he hollered, throwing up an uncharacteristic shaka and sticking out his tongue as he danced to the heavy bass.

"Everything is so fucking easy," the imposter continued. "People just respect me. They either get out of my way when they see me coming or crowd towards me to get a feel of what’s in my pants. Seriously, within five minutes of leaving your tent this morning, I had a sweet piece of ass choking on my cock. The poor bitch was practically gagging just trying to take the head. Oh, and I never knew cumming could feel so good. I was balls-deep in some slut and practically passed out from how sick it felt. This body was just made to get pussy, dude."

Jessie was appalled by the imposter’s casual vulgarity and the thought of his body being used to sleep with women. What would Lewis think? Lewis was still missing. Jessie grabbed the imposter by the shoulders, forcing him to face him. "Lewis. Have you seen Lewis?" he asked, his eyes pleading.

"Oh, your boyfriend," the imposter laughed as he flexed his shoulders free of Jessie’s grip and resumed dancing. "Yeah, that queer turned tail when he walked in on me railing a chick I met a few tents over. Your boy couldn’t handle seeing me fuck like a real man. He’s probably crying in some corner, wishing he could be the one being impaled by this cock. Just think, that bitch turned me down yesterday like I wasn’t even worth her time. Well, her attitude changed when I made her cum three times. Turns out she was a bit of a screamer with this stretching out her pussy" The imposter laughed and mimed fucking a girl from behind. The girls dancing nearby giggled at the vulgar display, and the imposter rewarded their attention with a cheeky wink.

Jessie was livid. This maniac was ruining everything. "Swap us back now," he demanded.

"Swap us back? Why the fuck would I do that?" the imposter as he rolled his abs in time with the music. "This body is the fucking shit. All my life, I was desperately trying to be something I just wasn’t. The tattoos, the fake tan, the clothes—I was a pretender. Now I’m the real deal, and it’s fucking sick." He threw up his arms into a double biceps pose to emphasize his point, much to the pleasure of the girls dancing nearby. The air was filled with the pungent scent of the musk that wafted from his sweaty armpits. “See girls, this is what a real man smells like” the imposed teased, his words spiked with a venom directed straight at Jessie. One of the girls stepped forward and shoved her face straight into the hairy pit, before she dragged her tongue over the veiny bicep. Jessie was speechless at the brazen display of arrogance.

Lowering his voice, the imposter leaned in toward Jessie so only he could hear. "Besides, I couldn’t swap us back if I tried. I don’t even know how we swapped in the first place. If you ask me, it’s some karmic justice. I’m finally the alpha stud I always deserved to be, and your body is finally being put to good use instead of being wasted on a queer like you." The words cut Jessie like a knife. Grinning, the imposter stood to his full height. "Now scram. That chick from this morning is coming back. Sure, there are hotter chicks around, but she was a solid lay and I need to get my dick wet soon, or I’ll bust a nut in my shorts." The imposter grabbed his hefty bulge for emphasis before he shoved Jessie back into the crowd of festival goers.

Jessie tried to fight his way back against the mass of bodies, but he was slowly pushed further and further away. As Jessie fought the crowd, a girl with long brown hair walked up to the imposter, the other girls falling back with looks of extreme jealousy on their faces. The girl looked vaguely familiar to Jessie, but he couldn’t place her.

"Come on, babe, let’s get out of here," the imposter said as he drew her body close to his, her soft curves rubbing against the hard ridges of his exposed torso. Jessie could only watch in horror as the imposter grabbed a fistful of the festival girl’s ass and slowly turned her toward the festival campground.

"Hang on a sec, babe," the girl said, reaching up and grabbing her fling by the back of the head, pushing her lips to his. Jessie watched, mouth agape, as the woman’s hands wandered the imposter’s muscular chest and washboard abs before slipping into his shorts. The imposter shuddered as her delicate hand massaged his swollen pipe, pleasure coursing up the length of his stolen cock. In an act of lust, he scooped her up with his massive arms and carried her back toward their campsite, her pelvis pressed hard against his throbbing tool. With a spiteful glance, the girl broke from the kiss momentarily, locking eyes with Jessie before smiling a knowing smile and leaning back into the kiss once more. Jessie could only watch as the crowd parted around them, the imposter off to do god knows what with his body.

Disclaimer: This story was proofread by AI. I suck as spelling.

[ericppp]

Gooey Thief

(Original story posted May 7th 2023) Minor edits and corrections

Carter looked down gleefully at Brad’s now vacant body lying motionless on the floor with his juicy ass on full display. At the same time, sitting on the kitchen counter, a jar filled with white shimmering goo began to rattle a little. Almost as if the goo inside was angry being trapped and forced to look upon the sight before it.

“Sorry man, but you ain’t getting out of that jar until I’ve finished fixing things around here.” Carter shrugged towards the seemingly sentient mass of goo trapped in the jar. With that he looked back down at the large hunky body laying on the floor. His roommate's body. Empty and ready for the taking…

Just a few hours prior Carter had run into a strange older man at a coffee shop. Handsome, silver hair, seemingly muscled body hidden under his designer clothes. For some reason he’d felt immediately comfortable around this stranger to the point where he began complaining about his roommate Brad. Saying that he was loud, dumb, always leaving his clothes around the flat and overall just a bit of a douche among other things. Not to mention he was envious of the jock’s large powerful body. Understandable considering Carter himself was rather skinny and unassuming in comparison. Yet despite all that he couldn’t help crushing on the jock anyway. Jerking off to him constantly and even stealing some of his clothes on the odd occasion.

After hearing all this the man offered Carter two white cubes that looked somewhat like sugar cubes. But when he explained what they could do Carter didn’t want to believe him. He wanted to call the man crazy. And yet he couldn’t help but believe him. Almost like he was under some sort of hypnotic spell just by being in this man’s presence.

“Use them well Carter.” The stranger said before finishing his coffee and leaving the lanky college nerd to decide what he was going to do with this little gift. Carter didn’t even get the man’s name. All he got were the initials on his jacket. C.W…

Armed with these special and seeming magical cubes, Carter had already decided what he was going to do. Seeing that Brad was already sat watching football in the living room, Carter reached into the fridge and opened two cans of beer before plopping one of the cubes in the can he planned on giving to Brad, hearing it dissolve inside. The jock was surprised to see his nerdy roommate bringing him a beer but he didn’t complain as he immediately took a gulp, much to Carter’s delight.

It took awhile for the cube to kick in but eventually Brad began to grunt in an uncomfortable manner. Seeing this Carter made sure to get a jar ready and soon enough Brad was stumbling into the kitchen as he believed was about to vomit. Before he could make it to the sink though he collapsed onto his knees. Part of Carter felt as though he should’ve been worried but the stranger he met said everything would be fine. The blind and unquestioning trust he had for the silver fox in the coffee shop told him to just believe and everything would work out fine. And so he watched on as Brad started to convulse a little while falling flat on the floor. According to the man’s instructions, this was when Carter had to use the jar.

He walked up and knelt beside the jock before lifting up his head and putting the jar under his lips just in time. Carter’s eyes widened with wonder as a wave of white goo came flowing out of Brad’s mouth. He couldn’t believe it. If what the stranger had told him was true then this goo was Brad’s very essence. His soul more or less. All being ejected from his body until it filled the jar. After screwing the lid on, Carter breathed a sigh of relief once he checked to feel that Brad’s body still had a heartbeat. And then… he grinned.

“Hahahaha! Suck it asshole! Let’s see you call me a wimpy nerd now that you don’t have that big hunky body of yours anymore!” Carter taunted the jar of white glimmering goo before setting down on the kitchen counter. He then turned his attention back to that large hunky body lying on the floor, wearing nothing more than shoes, socks and a pair of briefs. “Now let’s see the goods that you always taunted me with by walking around semi-nude all the time.” He continued before reaching down and pulling back the briefs to reveal that juicy jock butt. “Mmmmm perfect.”

Brad’s soul began to shake around vigorously inside the jar in protest. It was clear that he’d retained some form of consciousness in that form. “Sorry man, but you ain’t getting out of that jar until I’ve finished fixing things around here.” Carter told him before pulling out the other cube and dropping it in his own beer before necking the entire can in one go.

The lanky nerd wasn’t exactly sure how long he had before his own cube kicked in so he immediately got down on the floor and shoved his face into Brad’s former ass. Eating it out like his life depended on it. Digging his tongue deep into the hole and opening it up a little so that it was ready.

And then, it started.

Carter began to feel as though something were rising up his throat. As he did he started to lose control of his limbs until suddenly his whole body was convulsing just like Brad’s had done before. Before he knew it he’d lost all his senses as he was ejected from his body and spewed out as white goo. Except, as the stranger had told him, soul infused goo forms will naturally magnetise to another vacant body if one is nearby. As so, Carter found his gooey form being instantly attracted to Brad’s ass, stretching his hole a little as it entered. The real Brad could only watch in terror from his small glass prison as his former body began to convulse once again with his nerdy roommate's body now lying motionless between his asscheeks.

It didn’t take long for Carter���s body to eject every trace of his soul in liquid form only for it all to fill up Brad’s hole nicely. With that Carter began to slowly regain his senses as his goo form stretched itself throughout Brad’s body. Gradually he gained control of his new body’s limbs and torso until at last the rest of his consciousness was absorbed into the empty brain. And just like that, Carter’s new eyes darted open.

The first thing he felt was a head between his now much thicker ass and he immediately knew it’d worked. With an almost sinister smile Carter pushed himself up slowly as he began to take notice of how much bigger he was now. Before long he found himself standing, if not a little awkwardly at first due to his unfamiliar proportions, and looking down at his stolen body with glee. “I’m a fucking Jock!” He yelled using Brad’s deeper and much more bro-ish voice as he gazed upon all the thick muscle he now owned. Running his hands over his pecs and abs in disbelief. “Ohhhh yeah… this is amazing.”

Carter continued to explore his new body and even going as far as to tease his roommate. Standing directly in front of the jar and flexing while moaning about how good his new body felt. Groping himself all over and even going as far as to turn around and jiggle his new jock butt at the jar of goo while telling it how he was gonna have so many hot dudes plowing his hole from now on. How they’re just not gonna be able to resist the pull of a thick muscle ass belonging to a guy who used to claim he was straight.

“Regardless I can tell you one thing for certain, you’re never getting this body or it’s good looks back!” Carter laughed mockingly at the roommate who’d once tormented him.

Before long Carter found himself finally pulling down the front of his briefs and unleashing his new cock. “Mmmm fuck… now that’s an upgrade for sure.” He commented while smacking the thick rod against his hand. It must’ve been an easy 3-4 inches longer than his old dick and much thicker. “Perfect for plowing plenty of dad butts dontcha think?” Carter added before starting to jerk himself off. As he did he began to wonder if maybe he was being too mean. Sure Brad was a douche but did he deserve all this? To be trapped in a jar while someone else paraded around as him. Well it wasn’t as if Carter was going to give up this powerful hunky body now but…

He continued to jerk himself off until he finally blew a huge hot load that was strong enough to fly up and hit the jar, much to the real Brad’s disgust. After which however, Carter decided to take some pity on the former jock. Kinda. He grabbed the jar and brought it over towards his former skinny ass body. Brad already knew what Carter was trying to do but there was nothing could do to stop it as his form magnetised to the nerdy body the second Carter opened the lid and soon enough he was flowing into the mouth of Carter’s original body before he blacked out for a moment.

Brad’s eyes began to flicker open as he saw none other than his own beefy body standing over him. “Noooo… fuuckkk…” he mumbled, already knowing what’d happened.

“Back with us little guy?” Carter teased, having just pulled his briefs back up. “Hey don’t be pissed bro.” He said, imitating the way Brad spoke. “Surely having my old weak ass body can’t be any worse than being stuck in that jar right?” He grinned smugly.

“I can’t believe… you did this… how?” Brad asked groggily as he tried to stand.

“Doesn’t matter how. All you need to know is that I’m Brad now and if you ever try to tell anyone otherwise I’ll beat the fucking shit outta you. Got it?” He threatened. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go watch some football on the TV. It’s one of my favourite sports after all.” Carter smirked before sauntering off into the living room and collapsing onto the couch exactly where Brad had been sitting earlier, leaving the former jock to grieve his stolen life.

———

“It seems humans can be more merciful than I thought when given the choice.” Wavell thought to himself upon witnessing his most recent subject taking the body of his roommate.

“Out of the ten men I gave those cubes to, two of them decided not to use them. Six decided to use them and then allow the other man to take their old body out of pity or guilt. And only two of the ten decided to steal a body and leave the person they stole it from as a helpless pile of goo. Interesting.”

He wrote down a few notes regarding the experiment about how people react when given an opportunity such as this. He’d need to test it a few more times to get the most reliable data but what he had now was already proving to be interesting. With that the warlock nodded before flipping his notepad shut and returning back to his mansion.

[ericppp]

Spinoff: Mike from Promising Models

@vindictivenerdcels you did yours, I have mine. You can check the OG here by @thesuitaskin

As Giselle expertly licked and swallowed his shaft which triggered his devious grin as the hot bombshell model looked so funny with Mike's beer can cock stuffed her mouth full, he decided to check his continously buzzing phone.

The name Rory appeared on his screen, what's so urgent? he pondered to himself. Looking at the blonde sucking on his third leg and the video call request, Mike decided to pick up the call because bros always come before hoes after all

"Yo Mike, can you come to my room? I have absolutely the craziest shit I ever experienced this morning,"

"If it's about another tightest pussy you ever conquered, I'm not going there bro, I am......busy," Mike said with a wink, not really focused on Rory's distressed expression

"No, dude, it's not about that. There's a fucking faggy nerd all naked next to me on my bed this morning," Rory said with a frustrared expression as if holding out his anger

"Wait......what did you say?" Mike said a little bit surprised, his sudden position shift caused his cock to impale Giselle's throat even deeper

"There's this weird nerd that somehow ended up in my room, in my bed, all crouched and hidden inside my blanket this morning! Wait......why do your eyes glitch like that? Bro, is there someone giving you a BJ?"

"Nu uh bro, no one, I'm just busy watching some stuff sent by Georgina, hence the noise," Mike said as he stopped Giselle from moving her head, practically choking her with his veiny, gargantuan 8 inch monstrosity

"Oh okay, you long-distance freak. Anyway, I couldn't be that drunk to the point of picking up a dude, right? It was just 4 tequila," pondered Rory, oblivious to the gargling and choking noise coming out from Mike's background

"Dude, that's just hella FUUUCCKK--ed up. Let me see what I can do to help you, I'm c--CUMMINGG there, okay? Gimme 15," Mike replied, this time he maintained his facial expression despite releasing all of his morning load down Giselle's throat, the poor blondie gargled and choked by the amount of cum yet she cannot break herself free from the choking to the point the cum and her saliva mixed up and simply spluterred out like a sticky fountain that now covered Mike's pubes

"Thanks bro, damn, my head is so fucking dizzy. And fuck, beating the shit out of that nerd really drained me somehow, I'll nap for a while," Rory said as he turned off the call. Mike quickly released Giselle's head from his choking. She let out a sigh of relief as she gasped for breath with her mouth all messed up from the load Mike shot down her throat. If it's any other men, Giselle would be furious to be treated like she's a mere object for pleasure, but Mike is somehow an exception due to his charm and connection that would help any aspiring girls to a better career in this City of Angels. So, like a good blonde bimbo, she licked her lips and thanked Mike, laughing off the incident as something normal as she said

"Can't let a distressed friend feels like the focus is not on them, can't we?"

"You're such a smart lady, keep behaving like this and you'll go far around here, I can assure you,"

"Awww, thanks. Anyway, you need to get out? Can I stay here while you're out?"

"Of course not, I'm not trusting anyone with my apartment. I will clean myself first and by the time I walk out from the shower, you better be gone, understand?"

"Oh......okay,"

Inside his mind, Mike sneered at Giselle, what a basic bitch......thinking that she's all special just because she's holding herself down there, she's not even milking it better than that wimp Simon LOL, he thought to himself. Simon.......is that nerd causing all this? What didn't he reveal to me and Rory about that fucking pill? Mike internal monologue pondered again.

As he walked out from his bed with his slick cock flopping left and right, he strut to the shower to quickly clean himself. If what Rory described turned out to be true, it means that Jeff is out from controlling Rory's body, but how? Will that happen to him too? And why it happened in the first place? Plus, where's Jeff then? His mind is getting a bit more anxious under the shower, he quickly walk out after a quick clean-up to ensure that he's not smelling like sweat and fresh cum. The blondie already left the apartment per his order so he got the place all for himself

"Please don't let this be the final time I'm enjoying this room. Life will be hella sucks without you, bro," he murmured to himself while rubbing his cobblestone abs before putting on the closest piece he can find. It's a branded athleisure clothing that he and Rory developed way before his takeover, and it's one hell of a snug fit

"Fuck man, I will never be ready to leave this shit,"

As he grabbed his phone, a message from a weird number appeared on his phone

"Dude, I'm ejected from Rory! Are you doing okay? I'm heading out to Simon's to interrogate him,"

Is this Jeff? He thought to himself......Hopefully this is the second chat he sent after not getting any reply from Max's original number, it would be hella risky and irresponsible of him to just reveal their whole scheme all along, Mike murmured to himself. Just imagine if he's also ejected from Mike already and Jeff just texted this outlandish chat to the real Mike???? That would be a major catastrophe, or maybe Mike would just dismiss it as another bullshit? Anyway, believing in the logical rationale Jeff possessed, Mike replied

"Yeah, Rory freaked out about you, I'm coming down to his unit now. What are you planning to do with Simon?"

"I'm just gonna make him responsible for hooking us up with this shit. I cannot stand a single minute not inside Rory, dude! I'm addicted to be him and I'm blaming Simon wholeheartedly. I wish he has stock of those pills remaining or can tell us how to get it!"

"Update me then, I'll bring Rory right there if you find any leads," Mike replied as he closed off his phone and walk out from his apartment

For the past 3 months, both Max and Jeff immersed themselves fully to the kind of life the real Mike and Rory would enjoy.

Despite its lavish settings and seemingly differing events, their activity consisted of three general things. Booze, babes and business. In the morning, they will have their 90-120 minutes workout with sets of friends they linked through the fitness influencer industry. Sometimes, they have clients to attend to that they charged thousand of dollars per session as it involved another set of workout in the bedroom that can happen right at that very morning or simply scheduled for. This workout usually happened in LA, but it's not rare for them to fly to Dubai, Bali, Cancun, St. Barths, Turks and Caicos or wherever their heart pleases. Then, afterwards, they filled their schedule with "work" that consisted of supervising their video and photo editor or attending bunch of BS business meetings scheming up classes and programs for impressionable and lost young men or bunch of losers. Usually, it's accompanied with lunch paid by people that invited them for the meetings, those social climbers trying to wow the established LA influencer crowd like him and Rory or they simply paid for it using their own money that they will then reimburse as business expenses to the bunch of companies they fronted for. Before the sun sets, depending on the location, they usually lounged around the pool or the beach in the hotel where their client paid for their accomodation and it's impossible for them to not have at least two babes each by their side. The same girls would then usually joined them for dinner and the night out that followed, or if both of them are drained from their very busy social butterfly schedule, they would then head straight to their room where they would blow their loads inside the girls before repeating the whole cycle the very next day. Now, Mike is not very sure about the continuation of it all if all in a sudden, he can simply be ejected from Mike's body and forced to return to his pathetic, invisible life as Max Belmont the boring graphic designer that will probably lose his entire industry because tech bros keep funding AI graphic generator development.

"Mike, Mike, hey dude, sorry if I rambled too long, I'm just....."

"Oh---no, no, no, sorry bro, I'm just trying to remember what transpired last night and spot the moment if there were any when you interacted with a scrawny gay dude. He must be sticking out oddly, last night theme was literally "Babes & Bros" after all," Mike replied trying to hide the fact that he's been zoning out from the get go thinking of the lives he and "Rory" might lose if Jeff failed to find anything from Simon

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to remember too. I literally have zero recollection of talking to that fag, and even if I talked to him, why the fuck I did that?"

"Okay, chill bro. No need to get all pent up again, maybe I should grab you some beers, you stock up any?"

"Yeah, maybe that will help. Just take out anything to be honest,"

Right as Mike excused himself to the kitchen, he received a short text from Jeff

"Bingo, quickly bring your ass here bro, and bring that meathead Rory too, the real one need to be in control once more,"

So, with a smirk while still hidden by the fridge door, he instinctively shouted

"What about a drive bro? We can use my Lambo, get your mind off from this shit,"

"That sounds perfect, let's fucking go!"

---

Mike told Rory that rather than driving aimlessly, he actually needed to drop something that the girl he slept with earlier this morning left behind in his unit. Rory bought the story with no questions asked because why would Mike fool him at this or intended to harm him in the very first place? They are the closest of friends, he knows there's no way Mike would let anyone or anything to harm him. So, Rory remained oblivious all the way until they reached the front door of the apartment 2139 on the 21st floor. Not even before he managed to knock on the door, Mike all in a sudden put him on a chokehold from behind, taking the air out of his lungs and squeezing his arm to its maximum strength to ensure a total knockout. Too surprised by the sudden attack, the shorter Rory eventually found himself flailing around mid-air as his very own best friend seemingly tried to kill him through strangulation or asphyxiation. Rory's eyes turned even wilder when the door of the apartment slightly opened to reveal the same faggot that he bashed for waking up next to him. But before he can make any meaningful attempt to break free, Rory's vision turned dark as the last thing he witnessed is the gay dweeb crooked smile

---

"Where the fuck is that dweeb hiding it?" Mike said as he thrashed the entire living room and its shelvings, finding nothing worthwhile

"Yeah.....I can't find it still and I've checked all the drawer" Jeff said as he tiptoed around the scattered mess and also the passed out Rory's body

"Fucking stupid nerd! Why can't he just put it where it's visible??? Why makes shit so complicated?" Mike added angrily

There's several pathetic attempt to bust the bathroom door, yet it remain locked throughout the whole ordeal. Mike's just hyper-focused to the task at hand, he only realized that someone is inside the bathroom and can't escape

"Wait, you locked him inside there? HAHAHAH, fuck him!" Mike said as he continued his rampage, flipping over the sofa hoping to find a ledge or some hidden spaces marked by oddities in the floor paneling. While he's busy tracing the entire flooring, Jeff entered the bedroom and head straight to the drawer next to the bed. Inside the first drawer, Jeff finally reunited with the pills that caused all of the experience in the past few months, neatly separated into color-coordinated arrangement of reds, yellows, and blues. He counted 10 pills for each colors, which he then smuggled 2 for each into the pocket of his hoodie before shouting

"YO BRO! I FOUND THE SHIT! It's here in his bedside drawer!

Mike dragged Rory's limp body into the room as he marched inside. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight when Jeff shows him all the pills.

"Can't wait to fuck around with my real mate again," Mike said as he tossed Rory's limp hand to the floor and let Jeff takes care of it

"Fuck, I remembered how Rory reacted to the tightening of his chest after that dweeb drugged him in the gym ages ago, and with what he said about these red and yellow pills, maybe I should just----" Jeff said as he squatted down next to Rory's passed out form and grabbed his face

"Wake up, fucker, wake up,"

Several attempt to wake him up eventually succeed when Rory's eyes fluttered, but then Jeff caused him to chin up before forcefully openimg Rory's mouth to drop all 3 different pills to the back of his throat. Acting differently from normal pills, it instantly dissolved upon contact with the tongue and Rory instantly trembled as the drug takes effect rightaway

"Yo......shit's quicker from last time,"

"Maybe it's the blue one,"

"Well damn if that's the case,"

Within a minute, Rory's body already back to its deflated form and that's when Jeff starts to undress the jacked stud and put him on like an overall. Mike observed Jeff squeezing into the much-bigger body with ease as Jeff expertly slide his legs to give some life to Rory's legs that hardened upon Jeff's body entering.

Then, a rather awkward sighting happened when Jeff full control over Rory's pelvic and cock caused Rory to spurt out cum all over the carpet of the bedroom. If Mike stood a bit more close, he would be in its shooting distance. Laughing it off and noticing the quick progress of his best friend, Mike stared at the container filled with all sort of pills. Taking a step closer to take a good look at it, he noticed a familiar logo that resembled a gaming company he knows that yet somehow emblazoned to this container. Alphaland. Hmmmm......something to ponder later on, he said to himself.

Rather than risking himself to experience the same thing as Jeff, he eventually decided to grab the blue pills out of the others and chugged it in instance. Like a cold breeze sweeping through, Mike instantly shivered as a differing sensation hit him internally. All this time, he always sensed like he simply peered into the real Mike's memory and used it for his benefit, but somehow, the blue pills caused him to feel more aligned, it feels like he belong here and really own the memory. It's not like he borrowed it, no, he owns that fucking cherished moment when he saw the first outline of his abs back when he was 13. The taste of his first alcohol. The first pussy he scored in Ibiza for his highschool graduation trip. The way he jerked himself off when he got that million-dollar funding for his business line he's been dreaming off. All the parties. All the workouts. All the lavish trip, all of them feels like truly his and not just him siphoning off the real Mike's memory. Yes he internalized so much that he's the real Mike all this month, but this is the first time that he feels like he truly belongs. It's like, if he needed to make an interpretation of it, the oversized crown finally fits well because he's now the real Mike through and through, no longer an impostor that steal access and control of the crown while siphoning off memories out of the real one. As he opened his eyes after internalizing the upgrade he experienced, Mike decided that there's no more need for them to keep the pills so he crushed all of it with his bare hands. Rory that just finished his whole takeover sequence stared at Mike with a knowing smirk, understanding the rationale why his best friend is doing that

"So that nerd doesn't have any silly idea,"

As Rory put on his soaked shorts, Mike is already one step ahead and walked out to the pounding bathroom. He moved the broom that jammed the door from the outside and kick it hard to surprise the panicking Simon

"Hey there, fucktard! I see that you are not tired screaming all this goddamn time. Do you still have anything else to scream about?" Mike said with an aggression that is quite unusual for him, "and ohh.....Jeff is not here anymore,"

"It feels fucking good to be back, dweeb. Great job in giving away your friend's once more. I'm starting to think, you actually love it when he's looking this good and decided to puppet the muscle stud that once ignored you to actually give a fuck by bullying you. No need to deny it, that little pecker of yours cannot lie," mocked Rory to the cowering Simon that looked at both men in fear, "just admit it, you purposefully let Jeff knows about the whole fucking pills and admitted that you still have its stash because you want that nerd to be able to control my body once more, right? Guess what, you fucking did it, and more," Rory said it with an intrigue to hint on the mental transformation he managed to unlock with the blue pill

"M---m---more?"

"Y---y---y, stop acting dumb! You know the blue pill, that shit is the apeshit! It makes us the real thing, y'know? You can fucking kill us right at this very moment and our ghost will be looking like the stud we are now! We're in so deep, we're the real ones now and all thanks to the blue pill. Now, what should we do to you to thank your sorry ass, dweeb?"

Both men stared at each other with a wide grin before deciding on to tied him to the sink and piss on poor Simon that failed to put up a fight whatsoever as both Mike and Rory easily stopped any silly attempt from Simon to fight back. Done with humiliating their former best friend, both leave the premise and head out to embrace the life as two bonafide hunk, inside and outside

--------

Epilogue:

Mike said to Rory that he needs to do some out-of-state business for the next few days, so Rory is all by himself for the weekend. He already finished his workout, working on his videos and editing his Masterclass content, so now he finds himself bored with nothing fun to do. Then, he remembered about the pills. He scoured through the internet once to really delve deeper about it and he found out through the remnant of the online forum he found in the wayback machine that while the red deflated your body, the yellow one actually functioned to suppress one's consciousness, making the drinker a zoned out drone or something. That's why combining the red and the yellow one actually helped for a more long-lasting control because you need to be mentally on-point to keep your hold over the body if you only chugged the red one. The blue one is the one that sealed the whole deal, ensuring total control as the invader fused into the puppet's psyche and well, he doesn't need it anymore since he's not planning to leave this life as Rory anytime soon. So, feeling a bit adventurous, Rory knocked on the door of the apartment next to him. The man opened the door and greeted him quite coldly in a heavy Balkan accent

"What do you want, pretty man?"

---

"Javier Guzman?"

"Yes? And who are you?

"My name's Mike Leatherwood. Well, it's actually Max Bloomfield, and I'm your biggest fan, Xander,"

Javier's eyes went wide after hearing that name as he stared at the smirking Mike. How the fuck this guy knows? His gaming channel was not even that big and he really separated that world to this other world of his. Could he be a follower?

"Alphaland huh.....quite a generic and meathead name but I know what it alluded to. The logo and all. Based on your reaction, I really hit the jackpot with that name. Well anyway, I'm here to propose a business venture, this guy's quite a handy busines operator if I may say, do you mind if I come in? I see that you're making quite a good life out of this whole thing,"

Javier simply smiled and let Mike walks into his house, maybe they will not work out right away from this meeting, but at least he knows that not only there's people out there that actually used his product to its full extent, they also know or at least manage to trace and link his disapperance with the way this meathead gymbro Javier suddenly has enough capital to built a business as big as this one. Game recognizes game, they said

[ericppp]

Sark Enterprises: Glauber, E.

Late at night several hundred miles awah from New York City, an old man step off from a car driven by a black-haired woman in a power suit

"Mr. Glauber, please, follow me,"

As they entered the basement, the pitch-black glass chamber illuminated by the light paneling on its top side to reveal a shirtless man standing firmly in the middle of it

"Is it up to your order, sir? You can check it through this magnifier so you don't touch it yet,"

The frail old Glauber walks himself closer to a podium where he can check the fine details of the man standing in the chamber. He zoomed in on the perfectly manicured nails, the almost fully-shaved body as hairy bodies tend to gross him out, the perfect set of 8 abdominal muscles that prominently supported the broad pectoral muscle he specifically ordered to be big enough to flaunt yet broad enough to make it proportional to the aesthetics that Mr. Glauber pursued. The face is exactly as he described to the sketcher, perpetual facial hair that sharpened his jaw, smooth skin with no scars whatsoever and angularity that can only be matched by the Greco-Roman statues in his art collection.

"Oh, he's magnificent, Fran. Can we start the procedure now?"

"Of course sir. You are done with all your business?"

"Yup, settled it all with David and he'll come here to get his payment too after he's done setting it all up,"

"Perfect, then please take all of your clothes off and step into the pod. I will help start the transfer process and then you can just follow my instruction,"

And with that, the 83 years old businessman stripped himself off his suit to reveal his aging, wrinkly body. He takes several deep breath before stepping into the pod just right on the corner of the room and closed his eyes as the pod closes itself and the basic yellowish light turned blue. The pod whirs to life as Fran the account manager pressed the blue button and at the same time, the light in the glass chamber also turned blue. As life sucked out of Ernest Glauber's body, the man in the middle of the glass chamber stirred to life and as his eyes blinked, he instantly smiled when he noticed that he's now looking from the center of the glass chamber. He looked to his right to the panel room where Fran gives him a thumbs up before she said

"Please step out from the glass chamber while we prepared the conditioning, Mr. Glauber,"

---

While waiting, Ernest reminded himself of his choices. Navy SEAL-level physicality. Sex drives that knows no bound. Financially savvy and charmingly manipulative. Seductive voice that can lull anyone that listened to it. He's basically casting himself as a perfect human which will be foolish if not because you're not paying 250 million dollars to customize some basics. No, you want the best of the best and you are not sparing any details or deficiencies when you are presented the chance to create the new you and that's exactly what I did, Ernest thought to himself, slightly jittery to think that he might missed out on some details

"Mr. Glauber, it's ready. Please step back in to the glass chamber,"

He grabbed the robe and entered the chamber where one of the tub is filled with liquid. Fran then explained,

"There, the soaking tub is filled with the muscle conditioning liquid that will help you pull off all the feats you physically wish to do,"

"5k running no sweat, sub 3-hours marathon, ability to learn any sport quickly with minimum training, judo, silat and Brazilian jiu---"

"Yes sir, everything, please submerge yourself, it will help the muscles to do all of the demand and then we will do the mind-conditioning after that in the "sauna" chamber,"

His muscle contracted and spasmed after several minutes inside the tub, but he pulled himself through the painful ordeal.

Rather than bloating him, the special liquid acted as an agent that delivered all the necessary information needed to pull off all the feats he requested, physically. But, of course he also need the mindset and memory of all the moves so "sauna" is the next step he takes. Again, rather than an actual sauna, the steam emanated from the sauna actually infiltrated his mind with the information required to kick someone Brazilian Jiujitsu way, the workouts to maximize his glutes growth and definition, how to swing his arm for a perfect tennis serve, the physicality to swim in open water, and also the more non-physical side like the art of negotiation and persuasion during the current era of AI, techbros and influencers on the rein, the newest updates on crypto which Ernest didn't really delve into in his later stage of career as he felt like it was not his forte, the art of dating in the 21st century, and all the other request

When the session is over, Mr. Glauber stepped into a room filled with wardrobes and a table and two chairs where Fran is already waiting for him

"This is all your new info, sir. David already arranged all of this document validity and you just need to sign it,"

"Oh, okay. Hmmmmm.......Alexander Voss. Alexander Voss. Alex. Yup, sounds right," he said as he signed the paper and smiled at Fran while he extended his hand, "thank you for the service, Fran,"

"No worries, Mr. Voss. And please, select the wardrobe that suits you and we will send it to your new address. Oh, one more thing, this is the car key, Lambo, per your request. Please find whatever you want to wear for now before you leave our facility. Refrain yourselves from driving shirtless for 100 miles, okay Mr. Voss?"

"I'm a former Navy SEAL, I think that will not be a problem HAHAHA, but sure thing, Fran,"

When he finally leave the hidden compound of the secretive Sark Enterprises, the sun is up and it's already a brand new day with a brand new man charging through it

Thanks for your pictures submission and general idea! A very cool concept that I wish lived up to your standard @vindictivenerdcels

[ericppp]

The Do-Over

This is one of my favorite stories that I've done, so much so that I've been considering bringing this idea back and turning it into a series for Patreon. I hope you enjoy!

As Arthur Saunders peered down towards his kitchen counter, the newly-minted 29-year-old scratched his head as he attempted to understand what he was looking at. It was earlier in the day when he first encountered the medium-sized box as he accidentally kicked it upon exiting his apartment. Despite his own curiosity about the box given the fact that there was no label or return address listed, the man had several birthday-related errands to run and was forced to quickly place the box inside before leaving for the majority of the day.

So despite his slight tiredness upon returning back to his apartment after a lively day of various celebrations with friends and family, Arthur’s mind began to continuously ponder not only what was inside the box but who had sent it. Based on the lack of postage or a shipping label, it was clear that someone had physically dropped the package off on his doorstep. But who would do that and not even knock on the door or attempt to speak with the man?

Although Arthur believed his curiosity was already at its peak, he soon realized that this was not true as he cut open the box and pulled back the cardboard flaps. Sitting in the box was a huge red button with the words “DO-OVER” painted white on the top, which instantly puzzled the young man. Although he assumed the button was all that was inside the box given the slew of packing peanuts that filled most of the box, Arthur gripped onto the button and found that a full contraption was unearthed upon lifting it up and out of the box.

As he set it down on the kitchen counter, Arthur spent a few minutes observing the bizarre item. Although the bright red button was a prominent feature, it was connected to a jet black base that was rounded and nearly double the size of the large button. On the base itself, Arthur discovered two large rectangular LED screens that sat both above and below the large button. Although he could tell that they were meant to display some sort of text or visual, the dull haze of the screen revealed that there was no power to the contraction… at least not yet.

Intrigued about what exactly the device did, Arthur found himself lifting it up and inspecting it in search of a power button. But alas, no such discovery was found by the man, which caused him to set the item down and direct his focus towards the huge box. In hopes of finding some sort of instructions, the man plunged his hand deep into the sea of packing peanuts and aimlessly felt around.

Eventually, the man was able to pick up on the slip of paper that was included in the box and fished it out. Upon grabbing it and holding it out in front of him, the curious man narrowed his eyes as he hoped the paper would provide some much needed explanations.

Dear User, Congratulations on being selected to test out the brand new Do-Over Program. Upon being submitted by an acquaintance of yours, our company has been slowly observing you and your actions for the past few months. Upon noticing your general feelings of stagnation and confusion over your life, we’ve deemed you to be a perfect fit for the program. The device you’ve been provided will allow you the opportunity to do-over your life, which will cause every aspect of your personality to be randomized in hopes of providing you an entirely new and positive outlook towards life. Although such a concept may seem scary, please know that none of these changes are permanent (as long as you don’t wish for them to be). With the perks of being chosen for this program though, our only ask is that for our own research that you wait at least 24 hours before attempting another do-over.  In regards to completing the program, there are two possible options. Firstly, you can continue to explore and test out various different lives and identities until you find one that seems perfect to you. Upon doing so, you can then lock the new identity in, which will cause the device to be retrieved and sent to the next participant in the program. If you do not accept any of the new lives created by the program, there is also another option that will return you to your original life. With this option though, we only recommend it if you have discovered that the entire process has caused you to have a renewed interest and sense of determination of how to move forward. If you choose this option, please contact S-C Enterprises via the provided information and we will send an employee to retrieve the device. Regardless of the end result you choose, we hope you have an enjoyable experience as a part of our program. Sincerely, The Do-Over Team

Upon finishing reading the note and setting the piece of paper onto the kitchen countertop, Arthur found that he now had more questions than he had answers. Who had submitted him to this program, and what did the company mean by saying they’ve been observing him for months? Surely they weren’t actually watching him and observing his online behaviors, right? 

Despite being significantly unnerved by the contents of the note, Arthur couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued by the reveal of what the contraption sitting on his counter was capable of. The premise sounded like something straight out of a science fiction 80s film, but it felt surprisingly pertinent to him. 

Although he hated to give props to a group that was apparently stalking him both in person and virtually, it was true that Arthur wasn’t quite happy with the cards he had been dealt with in life. When he first decided to go to university, the concept of being a teacher and helping mold young minds seemed like a rewarding career path. But after several years of actually being a teacher in a posh all-male school, the dull monotony of lessons along with the disrespect from both his students and fellow faculty members left him feeling like a husk of himself. With the constant influx of assignments to mark along with having to create lesson plans, Arthur found that even his own free time in his flat was devoted to his career… which only made him loathe it further.

To make matters worse, the realization that he was now only one year from reaching his 30s left the teacher feeling quite depressed and anxious. Although he knew that he personally loathed his current career choice, the crushing reality of his ever-increasing age meant that it was becoming incredibly unlikely for a last minute career change. Even worse, he had so many other hobbies and dreams that he couldn’t even mentally envision what to do with his life. In his free time, the man loved to write short stories or play video games, but the likelihood of becoming a famous author or Twitch streamer seemed impossible. Overall, his life left him feeling trapped and utterly helpless. 

As he realized just how correct the letter’s assumption of his unhappiness was, Arthur’s eyes soon found themselves peering down to the blocky white text of “DO OVER” plastered across the top of the red button. Although he remained significantly unnerved by the contents of the letter, the bold white letters on the button had an inversely calming effect. Closing his eyes, the text flashed through his mind like an opening night marquee and thus caused the man to envision the endless amount of possibilities that he could have taken with his life. Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, the man reached a hand out and quickly slammed it down onto the bright red button.

The loud noise suddenly emitting from the contraption caused Arthur to suddenly open his eyes and look down in slight fear. As a sound similar to gears whirling seemed to emit from the inner mechanism of the device, Arthur let out a soft scream and jumped in shock as the speed of the noise increased until a booming pop filled his flat. 

Soundtracked by the noise, Arthur watched as a small knob suddenly popped out and revealed itself on the left side of the device. It was perfectly in line with the rectangular LED screen, which left the man curious about if the knob was somehow linked to the screen. Just as he began to reach out to mess with the knob though, both screens suddenly became active and lost their dim and dull display. 

In awe, Arthur watched as the screens finally began to display text. At first, it was just the top screen that went into action, displaying a simple welcome message that addressed him by his full legal name. But upon displaying that message for a few seconds, the screen erased the text as a slew of text emerged. As Arthur watched each statistic display itself though, he quickly realized that it was somehow perfectly displaying accurate descriptions of himself. 

Name: Arthur Saunders Age: 29 Height: 6’1” Weight: 95kg  Physique: Average  Ethnicity: Caucasian Nationality: British

Before Arthur could even attempt to formulate a reaction to what he was seeing, his eyes watched as the bottom screen suddenly roared to life. Looking down to see what was happening, he watched as letter by letter a word was forming. Although he soon figured out what it would say by the fifth letter, Arthur still watched with intense curiosity as the word Randomizing manifested. Just as the “g” finally appeared to finish the word though, Arthur gasped in shock as a loud and shrill whirring noise began to emit from the device.

Unlike the metallic whirring sound that was due to the gears inside the device changing, this whirling was undoubtedly electronic due to its frequency. Out of nowhere, the noise spiked to ear-numbing levels and forced Arthur to grit his teeth while lifting his arms up to shield his ears.

For a few moments the sharp noise maintained its maximum intensity, which continued to just assault Arthur’s eardrums to the point where the usually non-religion man was mentally begging for salvation. To his relief and utter shock, his prayers seemed to work as the noise suddenly halted and caused the entire room to go quiet (besides the intense ringing that was still rattling in Arthur’s ears). 

Unfortunately though, this tranquility didn’t last for long as a bright white light suddenly erupted from the device and completely engulfed Arthur’s modest flat. Frantic to not be blinded by the intense assault on his vision, the man pulled his hands away from his ears expeditiously and used them to cover his eyes. 

Although he had assumed that the assault on his senses had been utterly affected, it seemed this wasn’t the case as Arthur could feel a dull vibration ripple across his entire body. Upon gritting his teeth, the man was left with nothing to do but ride out this uncomfortable sensation that left him feeling as though he was viciously drifting through the ocean.

After what felt like hours, the bizarre sensations riddling Arthur’s body suddenly ceased. Although he was unsure of whether the blinding light that had filled his flat had finally stopped, the confusion and fear over what he had been feeling caused him to take a risk and slowly part his eyelids. Given the blinding light and the deep vibrations that had wrecked his body resembled that of a bomb, Arthur had assumed that his flat would be in some state of disarray. But as he looked around, everything appeared to be exactly like he had last seen it from the slight piling of dirty dishes in his sink to the device that remained on the kitchen counter.

Such a reveal was confusing to Arthur, which caused him to rub his temples and attempt to figure out what exactly he had just experienced. “What the hell wa-” he began, his words suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. As his eyes bulged out in shock, the man lifted a hand up and allowed his fingers to graze along his Adam’s apple. For 29 years of his life, Arthur had always had an average and very clearly British accent when he spoke. But as he talked now, it quickly became clear that it wasn’t the case. Instead, the words that came out of his mouth resembled a deep boom that echoed through his flat and unequivocally American. “Is, is that my voice?” he asked aloud to no one in particular, his body shivering as he realized he wasn’t insane in his first assumption. He truly did sound just like the men he had seen in countless American blockbuster films.

Just as he was on the verge of becoming incredibly panicked over the new voice in which he spoke with, a loud ding suddenly rang out from the device and caused Arthur to look down. Upon doing so, he watched as the bottom screen began to display text. As he watched each line of text display itself, Arthur quickly realized that it was the same stats as the top screen, although they were now being listed in reverse order and displaying very different information.

Nationality: American Ethnicity: Caucasian

Although Arthur felt proud of himself for assuming that his assumption of his new accent was correct, there was also a lingering sense of panic as he finally took a moment to realize that the device was truly randomizing his body and turning him into someone else. With the concept of having a new life to try out now validated, the man looked down with cautious excitement as the next few lines of text began to appear.

Physique: Muscular Weight: 163 lbs Height: 5’11”

Upon watching those three lines of text appear on the screen, a loud gasp instantly escaped from the man’s mouth as he couldn’t believe the concept of becoming incredibly muscular. Although he had a moderate amount of muscle in his arms and legs, it was often clear that he was an average man by the slightly pudgy stomach that was small yet still made itself present in any shirt he wore. It was always a place of insecurity for the man, so when he looked down at himself and noticed that his stomach was completely flat, a relieved smirk manifested onto his face. This smirk quickly turned into a cocky grin though as he reached his hand underneath his shirt and ended up discovering a well-defined six-pack that left his hands feeling as though they were traveling down a brick road.

Despite wanting so badly to explore more of his new physique, Arthur forced himself to stop as the final two lines of text revealed itself to him.

Age: 23 Name: Michael Chad Johnson

Upon learning of his new name and age, the realization that he was now someone entirely different from Arthur Saunders set in. In his mind, it was one thing to gain a muscular physique and another to become an entirely different person. As such, the concept was both incredibly exciting yet also undoubtedly nerve-wracking. In hopes of calming this anxiety though, the man took a moment to remind himself that this could all be temporary and that caused him to take a deep breath and ground himself once more.

With the last of the text now displayed, Arthur wasted no time rushing away from the kitchen counter in hopes of getting a better look at himself. The man made a direct bee-line towards his bathroom, quickly flipping on the light and shutting the door behind him. As the lights above the mirror flicked to life, Arthur felt butterflies in his stomach as he found himself looking at his new visage. He looked so hot!

The man couldn’t help but smile as he looked into the mirror and admired the new features that his face possessed. Not only was he in possession of a well-angled jawline, but his blue eyes were incredibly inviting and at odds with just how classically masculine and intimidating he looked. Although it was only 6 years of age regression, Arthur quickly picked up on some noticeable changes. Given the fact that his new age made it so he wasn’t up late every night planning class lessons and grading papers, there was no indication of the slight wrinkles that had recently begun adorning his face. On top of this, the man also picked up on how his complexion had completely altered, shifting away from a slightly pasty shade to something that was much more well-maintained and tanned.

Eager to see more of his new physique, the man wasted no time taking his shirt off and throwing it aside. Upon turning back to stare into the mirror, Arthur was greeted to the glorious sight of a ripped physique. Although he was momentarily upset by the loss of chest hair that adorned his chest and down his stomach, he quickly accepted the change as he traded it in for an impressive six pack and pair of pecs. 

Not wanting the remaining clothes to hinder his exploration of his new physique, Arthur quickly dropped his pants until all that he was dressed in was a pair of underwear. For several minutes the man was transfixed as he tensed his leg muscles to admire his thick thigh and calf muscles. As he turned around and craned his neck back to the mirror, the man was also relieved to discover he had a prominent yet firm ass now. 

But while all of those aspects were exciting, the sudden strain against the fabric of his underwear caused Arthur to take note of his manhood. While he was admiring himself, he had understandably gotten quite turned on to the point where a rock hard cock was struggling to remain concealed. Unlike his former 5-incher, the manhood he was now in possession of had to be at least 7 inches and twice as thick. As he gripped onto it and gave a slight squeeze, the man moaned as he began to leak pre-cum. This is a dream come true, he thought, allowing one hand to caress his cock while the other flexed and squeezed on his new physique.

So while Arthur was having a blast admiring his new jock body, the device that remained unattended on the kitchen counter was continuing to move onto the next stage as text appeared on the top screen.

Stage Two: Location Alteration Current Location: United Kingdom Residence Style: Flat

Given Arthur’s new identity as an American, the second screen suddenly began to rapidly scroll through all 50 states to settle on his new home along with a list of different housing styles. After a good 15 seconds of bouncing between countless options, the device finally settled on two choices for the new Michael Chad Johnson.

New Location: Virginia Residence Style: Mobile Home

So while Arthur remained in a euphoric state exploring his new body, the man was unaware of the fact that he and his residence had been teleported to a vacant lot in a rural Virginia trailer park. Given the larger plot of land that he now called his own, the man’s flat began to expand and rearrange itself into an expanded rectangular shape. While the magic began to connect all of his piping and electricity to the plot of land, the interior of his new home was being redecorated to give a cozy Americana feel. Although a lot of the man’s original décor remained (such as the few shelves of superhero memorabilia that he had), it was condensed to allow an entire row of shelving to display vintage Americana style décor and signage.

By the time Arthur had finally exited the bathroom to return to the device, the changes to his new residence had finished and immediately threw the now-younger man for a loop. It was so bizarre to discover the new layout of his home as he attempted to navigate his way back to the kitchen. Throughout his journey to return to the device, Arthur also noticed the slew of blank picture frames that now hung off of his walls. It was a bizarre sight for the man to behold, especially as he knew that they would soon be filled with random new images as more of this Michael character’s backstory was created…

Upon returning to the kitchen counter, Arthur Saunders’ return was perfectly timed with the text of the device erasing as the next step in the process began. To his immediate interest, the next stage was revealed to be the announcement of both Arthur’s and “Michael’s” hobbies. Rather than just a text reveal though, the top screen of the device became much more visual as it was divided into three individual sections. As soon as the lines were finished dividing up the spaces, Arthur watched as each individual section began moving up and down. Watching each section rapidly spin up and down, it quickly became clear that the visual was supposed to be reminiscent of a slot machine. After a few more rotations around, each section finally stopped to lock in three emojis.

|🖊️|💪|🕹️|

To Arthur’s amusement, he saw these and immediately realized that they perfectly described his hobbies. Whenever he wasn’t hard at work grading papers or creating lesson plans, the man loved nothing more than writing, working out, or playing video games. Although he shouldn’t have been surprised about how accurate the device was given the magical abilities of it, he still found himself impressed that he could be narrowed down so specifically. 

Soon afterwards, the bottom screen adopted the same visual style and began to aimlessly spin. With intense curiosity, Arthur found himself bent over the counter and excitedly looking down to wonder what his new hobbies would be as Michael. One-by-one, the emojis that formed caused Arthur’s heart to flutter in a tizzy of intense joy.

|📱|💪|🎼|

Although he had no idea what the music emoji would entail, the visual of seeing a cell phone and a flexing emoji back to back left Arthur taking into account his hunky new physique and becoming excited about the concept of being a hunky influencer. While the magic quietly worked itself in the background for a few minutes though, the man began to ponder whether his educated guess was actually right as nothing seemed to be happening. But soon enough, his phone began to go absolutely haywire as a flood of notifications began to ring out and fill the room with an endless sea of dings.

Despite not being able to unlock the phone as it continued to ding and reveal endless notifications, the man’s lock screen was able to provide a decent amount of information as he saw these notifications coming from both Instagram and TikTok. With each like and comment notification flooding his phone, the man’s mind couldn’t help but wonder what his new social media content would be like.

Eventually Arthur was given the opportunity to explore his new social media as the notifications finally stopped after a few more minutes of notification spamming. To start things off he headed over to his Instagram to see what had become of his account. Upon doing so and heading to his account page, the man was flabbergasted to discover that his new account of michaelchad757 had nearly 100k followers. Given the fact that his former account only had 400 followers, the growth was monumental and left Arthur oddly feeling incredibly proud despite not actually being Michael.

Upon clicking on his most recent post, Arthur was immediately turned on by innate confidence that his new self displayed as he smirked for the camera and flexed his mighty biceps. Based on the comments underneath the post, it seemed that Arthur wasn’t in the minority in terms of how hot and bothered his flexing made people feel.

After quickly scrolling through the rest of his post history and finding tons of flexing videos or thirst trap photos that showcased his ripped torso, Arthur was buzzing with excitement to see what sort of visual delights awaited him on TikTok. As such, the man quickly exited out of Instagram and switched over to the other app that had become overloaded with notifications. Upon doing so and heading to his account, Arthur was shocked to discover that his account there was even bigger than his Instagram. With over 250,000 followers and over 2.6 million likes, he was an undeniable TikTok star!

For the most part, his TikTok account was exactly what he expected: an endless slew of thirst traps where he cockily smirked on the camera before removing his shirt and flexing his muscles as a random song or sound soundtracked the video. As he continued to scroll through videos, he found that Michael had a favorite move - popping his pecs to the beat of any song that he used in the video. It was incredibly hypnotizing to watch his plump chest ripple and bounce to the song, which made more sense as to why he was able to amass such a huge following despite being the most vanilla of thirst traps. 

After scrolling through at least 20 videos of his new body doing the same sort of moves while stripping, Arthur found himself thrown for a loop when he came across a video of Michael doing something non-flexing related. Instead, he watched as his shirtless body stood in front of a mirror and instead began to freestyle rap rather than flex. Such a reveal was a huge shock to Arthur, especially as he himself wasn’t much of a rap guy. Pop and alternative were usually his favorite genres, so this new reveal was quite the 180 for the former teacher.

Yet as he exited out of the app to explore his Apple Music, he found that the device had deleted all of his favorite tunes from his library and replaced them with unknown rap songs that Michael seemingly adored. Upon hitting shuffle, the first song that popped up seemed like an instant no to Arthur as the instrumental was a far cry from his usual tastes. But as the beat continued and rapping began, the transformed man found himself absentmindedly perfectly replicating the words and the flow of the rapper. 

Upon allowing the song to finish up, Arthur was somewhat amused by this new quirk. Although he loved his pop music more than anything, he found himself willing to embrace this new change as he viewed this new life as only temporary since he could just do another attempt with the device tomorrow. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, the device seemed to pick up on Arthur’s acceptance of his new situation as the screens lit up once more and began to move to the next stage.

The bright lights of the screen pulled Arthur away from his phone, which caused him to tuck it back into his pants pocket as he devoted his attention to the device once more. While doing so, Arthur quickly discovered that the next stage would be deemed the “mental changes”. As the text quickly deleted itself, the man watched as the screens evolved once more and became more visual. Instead of a slot machine graphic though, each screen revealed a large roulette wheel. 

In a snap, each roulette slot suddenly became adored with various text. While the top screen had a slew of numbers ranging from 70 to 130, the bottom screen’s slots were filled with text that listed various things such as “heterosexual”, “asexual”, “homosexual”. As he read the bottom screen, he was able to quickly figure out that the roulette wheel there was meant to decide his new sexuality. Given his status already as a bisexual, the device had already grayed out that option to make it clear that he was intended to have a new experience with Michael’s life. The top screen remained a mystery for a few minutes before the term “IQ” was suddenly manifested in the middle of the roulette wheel. 

Instantly, the concept of changing his IQ set off alarm bells in Arthur’s mind. The concept of gaining a new body was a dream come true, but the 50/50 chances of becoming either smarter or dumber than what he already was was a risk he was unwilling to take. As such, he tried his best to search for a way to skip the intended changes. But his entire search of the device revealed no skip button and he gulped in fear as the top wheel began to spin just as he set it back down on the counter.

For what felt like an eternity, the wheel continued to just aimlessly spin as if it was taunting Arthur for its impending choice. As such, Arthur’s entire body felt absolutely sluggish as the weight of the upcoming decision weighed on him. To both his relief and horror, the wheel finally decided to stop on the number 74. Given the fact that his IQ had seemingly been in the 100 range based on how that entire range had been grayed out, 74 was an extreme downgrade. 

Instantly, Arthur could feel the intense ripple effect of the IQ choice as his mind was seemingly drained of his knowledge. In no time, it quickly became clear that he wouldn’t be a teacher anymore as all of his university knowledge was sapped away and left him with a high school education. To make matters worse though, Arthur’s knowledge was further impacted as his low IQ made him a piss-poor student with a bare minimum vocabulary. Rather than easily passing all of his classes and graduating near the top of his class, Michael was an obvious idiot who struggled to stay focused on boring class lessons. As more of Arthur’s high school experiences were erased, they were soon replaced with memories that fit a total slacker like Michael. Given his new low attention span and dislike of boring classes, Arthur’s thoughts of high school brought forth new memories of being a total nuisance in class as he loved to disrupt the teacher or sit in the back making small talk with his other jock friends.

This life path as a total himbo also led to an unintended side effect as new memories emerged where Michael opted to go by his middle name of Chad. This was mainly due to the fact that everyone in his friend loved to taunt him and jokingly call him a “total Chad”. Given the fact that his middle name was actually Chad, he opted to forgo his ill-fitting first name and become the complete Chad fantasy that his best bros had heralded him.

Speaking of jocks, Chad’s high school experience made it so the only place he really excelled was in sports. Throughout his 4 years, he had played football, wrestling, and baseball and been the star player on each team. If it wasn’t for his barely passing grades, he could have gotten full-ride scholarships to countless major schools. But alas, the man found himself utterly bored with school by the time the last sports season of the year was over. Rather than wasting his time and waking up early to spend 7 “dull ass” hours trapped in a classroom, Chad dropped out a month before graduation and began to just work out at the gym 24/7. 

This decision had a serious impact on Chad’s life, causing him to get kicked out of his parents’ house and left to fend for himself. Given his jock physique, he ultimately found himself making money occasionally training some pudgy middle-aged loser who wanted to lose weight at his local gym. It was pathetic in Chad’s eyes to watch someone fail to do the bare minimum in terms of workouts, but he refused to make his thoughts known so he could continue making money. After nearly six months of crashing on the couch of his jockish best friends, the man had finally gained enough money to move into a mobile home in a nearby trailer park. 

By the time the second wheel had begun spinning, the light behind Arthur’s vibrant blue eyes had faded, leaving behind simply the dull stare of an idiot himbo. As such, the only reason why the man’s attention was kept by the device was the bright vibrant colors of the wheel as it widely spun around. This transfixion that the device kept on him was maintained even as the wheel stopped spinning and landed on the heterosexual option, so much so that he didn’t even object to such a reveal. 

“Fuck yeah bro, that’s lit!” Chad exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air as deep down Arthur finally submitted to become his ultimate straight jock fantasy. Upon closing his eyes and thinking about what it would be like to be a straight man, Arthur found himself envisioning a blonde bimbo on her knees and looking up with a lustful stare. While this fantasy was helping lead him into this new sexual orientation, the man’s cock was hardening as his memories of love and relationships were altering. 

Rather than being attracted to jocks like his best bros or sweet and kind girls, Arthur’s mind found his memories altering to where he almost exclusively hooked up with members of his high school cheerleading team. There were countless memories where he would be approached after a game by a girl looking to congratulate him for a great performance, which would soon lead to erotic fucking in the locker rooms or baseball dugouts. Although Arthur was once a sensitive lover who was more interested in the emotional connection he had with someone, it was all physical for Chad. He didn’t give a fuck about personality or emotional connection, all that mattered to him was whether a girl had a “banging bod” or not.

Upon the wheel’s effects finally finishing up their changes to the new Chad’s mind, the screens went blank again before announcing that the final stage - career prospects - was about to begin. As Chad looked up towards the first screen, he was utterly confused to see that his career was listed as a “Professional Educator & Aspiring Writer”. He fucking loathed school, so he would never dare to become a loser that spent all of his time dressed up all nice and teaching dumb shit that didn’t matter in real life! The concept of becoming a writer was funny to Chad as well, because he was fully aware of the fact that he was a complete idiot. He loved that fact about himself, so the concept of becoming a writer with his elementary school level writing abilities was hilarious.

After finishing his laugh at the concept of having such loser jobs, Chad watched as the bottom screen lit up and began to display text. His mind was quite confused though as the screen displayed the same text as the top screen: “Professional Educator & Aspiring Writer”. To add more confusion to the mix, the words educator and writer were suddenly erased to leave two large blanks.

As soon as this was complete, Chad jumped in shock as a keyboard suddenly extended out of the device. At first the man had no idea what he was supposed to do, but as he looked at the screen and watched as a text cursor began to blink within the first blank. “Oh shit, it’s like a game huh?” Chad dimly exclaimed, chuckling as he thought about the concept of picking his own career. Although he had the opportunity to pick any possible career that could provide him with a more lavish lifestyle, Chad’s low IQ didn’t allow for such intense thinking. As such, the man’s id led the way as he opted to pursue his immediate impulsive thoughts and typed out his answers. Upon looking it over, the man gave a dopey smile before he pressed the enter button to lock in his answer.

With a loud yet cheerful ringing suddenly emerging upon hitting enter, Chad found himself staring intensely at the bottom screen as more text began to finally fill the screen.

Professional Thirst Trap & Aspiring Rapper * CHOICE ACCEPTED *

Instantly, Chad tilted his head back and gasped as an intense tingle began to massage his skull. Deep within his brain, the jock’s mind was undergoing one final transformation to complete his new life for the day. Although his memories of becoming a worker at his local gym were true, this altered slightly as he became TikTok famous to the point where brands were actively reaching out to do deals and endorsements with him. With such a steady amount of income coming in, the man ultimately quit his job and focused on creating thirst trap content. Now instead of the grueling chore of a 9 to 5, Chad simply spends all of his time now working out and filming vanity videos of himself flexing for the camera.

Given just how fast his brand had grown over the course of the past year, Chad knew that he had his audience in the palm of his hand. So, knowing just how much people thirsted for him (for obvious reasons in his opinion), Chad also found himself making even more money as he opted to open up an OnlyFans account. Despite his OnlyFans account name being Chad Johnson (which always made him chuckle as he was a total Chad and had one glorious Johnson), the young jock was willing to show practically everything besides his impressive manhood. 

Although this was partially due to wanting to keep the ladies guessing, the main factor was that he knew that a large portion of his fans were gay men who thirsted over him. He had always had an issue with queers ever since he caught some nerds checking him out during gym class, so there was always a boiling rage he felt whenever he saw a man thirst-commenting on any of his photos or videos. The concept of some pathetic losers jerking off to his glorious body was utterly disgusting in Chad’s eyes, but the man was smart enough not to make those thoughts known so he wouldn’t be canceled. As such, he ultimately opted to forget about it as they were paying customers who helped fund his lavish lifestyle of expensive fitness gear and sports cars despite still opting to live in his trailer.

Given the constant influx of money he received every month from brand deals and OnlyFans, Chad spent most of his free time pursuing his other passion - rapping. Ever since he was a little boy, he had been drawn to the genre and found himself writing raps for fun whenever he was bored (which was pretty often). Now that he had no worries given his healthy income, the man finally decided to fully invest into his career as an aspiring rapper. Thinking back caused Chad to recall the release of his most recent EP, which had done moderate numbers given the size of his fanbase. 

Unfortunately, Chad’s cockiness made him unable to realize that he truly wasn’t the greatest rapper. Even when people commented under his posts to specifically pinpoint why he wasn’t good at the genre, he refused to believe such nonsense. Those losers were just jealous of his immense talent and trying anything they could to make him give up on his dreams!

As he continued to think about the intense criticism he got and considered making a diss track about those pathetic losers trying to hold him back, the changing of the text on the device’s screens caused him to forgo that thought and see what it said.

If you’d like to keep this life, please press in the knob to lock it in.  If not, you can press the button again tomorrow to try again. Thanks for using The Do-Over! 

Upon reading the text, Chad found himself struggling to comprehend everything that had just occurred to him. He knew deep down that he didn’t used to be like this, but the details were so vague and thinking about it too hard was just making his head hurt… and he hated that!

Luckily for him, a ding from his phone stole his attention and caused him to forget about the confusing transformation that had just befallen him. To his amusement, a text from Chad’s newest hookup had arrived. Although he had a feeling that he had never met the woman before, the memories that rushed into his mind upon thinking about her caused him to think otherwise. He could instantly recall countless nights of fucking where she eagerly worshipped his muscles and was utterly submissive as he fondled her perky breasts, teased her nipples, and slapped her soft peach-shaped ass. He was a total hunk, so it wasn’t a shock that girls like her would bow down to a total alpha!

Cockily smirking upon recalling just how great it was to fuck her, Chad took a moment to adjust the thick bulge that was straining against his underwear before unlocking his phone and entering the text messaging app. Upon doing so, his heart began to beat a little bit faster as he read the “omw” text and looked at the attached photo showcasing the raven-haired woman in her car.

Knowing that the woman only lived a few minutes away, Chad was quick to run around his trailer. Rather than cleaning up though, the man was simply moving items off of the couch and his bed to make sure they had no obstructions once they started messing around. Upon exiting his bedroom, the hunk took a detour into the bathroom where he quickly grabbed a box of condoms out of the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen.

After setting them on the counter next to the device that had transformed him, the sound of a knock on his door caused him to perk up and adopt his best machismo persona. With a swagger in his step, he strutted over to the door and pushed it open. As he flicked on the porch light and lifted his arms up to pose against the doorframe, he smirked as he saw Katie standing there dressed in a long trench coat.

“‘Sup babe?” He remarked, smirking as the woman looked up at him with “fuck me” eyes. To his surprise and pleasure though, Katie then suddenly moved towards him, but rather than stopping upon being face to face she just continued. Despite the man’s impressive physique, she was unfazed as she plowed right into his shoulder and caused him to move away and allow her entry. Such an action was an incredible turn on to Chad, as evident by the way he bit his lip and stifled a slight moan as he picked up on the scent of her flowery perfume. 

By the time he returned into the living room upon shutting the front door, the woman had already pulled off the trench coat and revealed an expensive-looking pair of white lace lingerie. So clearly turned on, the jock couldn’t resist reaching down and gripping onto his bulge as he savored the sight of the woman’s D cup breasts struggling to remain trapped within the garment. To make matters even worse, Katie then began to tease the man by attempting a slight striptease. 

“Oh, you want this don’t you?” she purred, guiding her fingers down to her panties which she began to slowly nudge down past the top of her curvy hips.

“Fuck yeah babe,” Chad exclaimed, making his way closer to her until their lips were mere centimeters away. Given the close proximity, the man was overcome by his lustful desires and leaned in to whisper that into her ear. “I wanna fuck that tight pussy of yours so bad…” As he pulled back away from Katie’s ear, the man noticed how the woman now had an equally cocky smirk on her face. 

Upon waiting a second,  she looked the man up and down and began to speak once more. “Then why are you still standing here doing nothing,” she matter of factly asked, which instantly sent Chad in a frenzy.

With incredible haste, the jock put his strength to use by wrapping his arms around Katie’s shoulders and the small of her back before lifting her up. Knowing exactly what to do, the girl pushed her feet off of the ground and used the momentum to wrap her legs around Chad’s waist. Now intimately intertwined, the duo pushed their heads forward and began to sloppily kiss each other. 

As their tongues began to their partner’s mouths, Chad continued walking until he was in the kitchen. Eager to get to the main event as if it was the first time he’d fucked in years (even though he knew he had literally just fucked another girl the night prior), the jock set the woman down on his kitchen countertop while pulling away to begin peppering kisses up and down her chest. 

In more attempts to display his alpha behavior, the man felt no remorse for gripping onto the front of Katie’s bra and ripping it off rather than just unfastening it. Based on the way the woman gasped and moaned as Chad pulled the material off and revealed her breasts, it was clear that she didn’t mind it either. 

With Chad basically nude already, all he had to do by the time he peeled off Katie’s panties was to drop his underwear and kick them to the side. Now staring at each other’s nude forms for a moment, both of them felt an undeniable attraction to each other that made a deep fiery lust emerge within them. As such, Chad looked towards the box of condoms on the counter and quickly grabbed onto them. Upon opening it and tearing one of the packaged condoms open with his teeth, Chad smirked as he rolled it down his irresistible eight inches of manhood.

Upon giving a knowing glance at each other, Chad wasted no time penetrating the woman’s pussy and beginning to fuck her with impressive stamina. As he continued to use his whole body with each thrust, the slapping of skin was also soundtracked by the high-pitched moans of Katie as Chad immediately began to pleasure her. Due to this, the woman found herself losing control of her body as it caused her to flail around.

So while their passionate lovemaking was occurring, neither of them picked up on the fact that one of Katie’s frantic hands had accidentally bumped into a large circular object that was on the counter. As a result, none of them could see how the device with the large red “DO-OVER” button landed onto the floor perfectly so that the extended knob was pressed in and locked into place. 

Given how preoccupied Chad would be for the rest of the night into the next morning, the jock would never discover the device again as the magic within would allow it to be transported back to the company’s headquarters so the next deserving candidate was given the chance for a do-over. As such, Chad would wake up the next morning and go about his daily routine with no memory of the life that he had accidentally given up. Although Arthur himself certainly wouldn’t be too pleased to discover that he had become an idiotic straight himbo, Chad loved that aspect of himself and thought that he was living the dream life!

Interested in reading more of my content? Head over to my Patreon to discover more than 140 hot transformation stories like this one! Additionally, I've also recently added a perk to the $15 tier where members can submit themselves to be the protagonist in future stories! If you'd love to be transformed by me, this is the only opportunity since I don't do commissions anymore.

[ericppp]

(Un)touchable Fiancé

Read Part 1

Thank you for reaching the first 500. I hope you like the sequel you've been asking for.

"You're really okay with this?" Austin asked, his tone low. "With me being him?"

Eli nodded, slowly. His voice came quiet, tight. "I want you even more because of it."

Austin didn't react right away. He simply stood there, framed by the mirror. His body—broad, sculpted, veined—was frozen in a moment of self-worship. The gold chain resting against his collarbone caught the light, swinging gently with each breath.

Behind him, Eli sat on the bench—shirtless, flushed, and silent. His eyes didn't move. He watched like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

Austin flexed—just one arm, slow and deliberate. The muscle swelled beneath his skin, perfect and unhurried.

"You still breathing back there?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the mirror.

Eli swallowed. "Barely."

A smirk crept across Austin's face. Not playful—measured.

"Good," he said. "That's how it should be."

He ran a hand slowly over his chest, down across his abs, watching his own fingers trace the hard lines. "You know what's wild? I look like this, and somehow it's your sister who got the ring. Not you. But you're the one in here, watching me like I'm a god."

Eli didn't respond.

"God damn," he muttered, almost to himself. "I really do look better every day."

Austin stepped toward him.

"Look at me."

Eli obeyed.

Austin leaned in, close but not touching. "You'll come crawling back again. Because you don't want kindness. You want this. My voice in your ear. My hand on your throat. This body. This ego."

He licked Eli's forehead—not tenderly, but like sealing ownership.

Eli's voice came, small but thick with tension. "I saw you last night. Through the door. With her."

Austin grinned, teeth flashing in the mirror. He didn't look at Eli—he didn't have to. "Yeah? You watched the whole thing like a little perv? That door wasn't closed by accident."

Eli flinched, cheeks burning.

Austin finally turned, walking slowly toward him, towel loose around his waist, droplets sliding down the deep grooves of his abs. "Let me guess—you were stroking it while I railed some random girl from the club? You couldn't help yourself."

Eli tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

"She was so easy," Austin said, standing over him now. "Didn't even ask my name. Just spread for the body. And you? You're sitting here begging for scraps. Watching me like I'm some kind of prize. Pathetic."

Austin grabbed Eli by the arm and turned him around with casual force.

"Come on. Bend over."

Eli didn't resist.

Austin smirked.

Eli leaned forward, bracing himself against the cold bathroom counter, breath shallow, heart pounding. Austin stood tall, his presence imposing. "I'm still not gay," he muttered. "But you were made to worship me."

Austin's hands gripped Eli's waist with quiet control—assertive, firm. His confidence wasn't loud; it didn't need to be. Then Austin began to move his hips forward, again and again. His hand reached around Eli's neck and pulled him back.

His gaze didn't shift to Eli. It stayed fixed on the mirror—on himself. On the way his shoulders squared perfectly, the way control fit him like a second skin. His reflection was the only approval he needed.

Eli trembled—not in fear, but in awe. Pulled into the gravity of the man behind him.

"You look better like this," Austin said in a voice low enough to make Eli's spine tense. "Bent. Obedient."

Austin growled against his lips. "Don't moan too loud. The same girl is still asleep in the other room."

————

Austin's days had rhythm—an unapologetic, alpha routine that never missed a beat. If Owen had once hesitated to slip into the full rhythm of Austin's life, that hesitation was gone. Now, he didn't just wear the body. He lived it. Owned it.

Every morning started with sweat. A run at sunrise, letting the sun catch every hard line of his body as he pushed himself down the neighborhood sidewalks.

Once Austin entered the open garage door, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths, his brown tank clinging to every ridge of his body. Sweat darkened the fabric in streaks down his chest, spine, and armpits—fresh proof of his morning run.

Eli stood silently at the edge of the room, eyes locked on him.

Austin didn't look at him at first. He peeled off his running watch, unbothered, then finally turned his gaze to Eli—sharp, annoyed, knowing.

"You got a job to do, Eli. Don't just stand there drooling." he commanded, voice cold and clipped.

Eli flinched at the command—but his breath caught in his throat at the same time. He nodded quickly and moved forward, eyes fixed on the soaked outline of Austin's torso.

"God, my scent," Austin muttered, pulling the hem up slowly. Eli's breath hitched again as each inch of sweat-slicked muscle revealed itself. The tank peeled off with resistance, clinging to Austin's back and armpits before he yanked it over his head.

He let it fall to the floor with a wet slap.

"Pick it up."

Eli obeyed immediately, fingers trembling as he lifted the still-warm shirt to his face. He pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering shut. The salty, masculine scent hit him like a drug.

Austin watched him with open disdain. "God. You really are into this. You're not even trying to hide it anymore."

Eli couldn't speak—he was too overwhelmed. He just nodded again, clutching the soaked shirt like something sacred.

Austin raised one arm, slow and deliberate, revealing the soaked tuft beneath. The scent was stronger here.

"Go on," Austin said. "Since you want it so bad. Prove it."

Eli leaned forward, face trembling as he pressed into Austin's armpit, inhaling like it gave him life.

Austin sneered, barely hiding his smirk. "You're disgusting. And you love it."

Eli nodded again, eyes wide with reverence.

"Don't stop. Not until I say."

And so he did—worshipping the body, the scent...

————

Austin also worked as a fitness coach by late morning. Sessions took place in a sleek, private gym downtown—clients hung on his every word. Women flirted. Men tried to impress him. Austin teased, flirted back when it suited him, leaning fully into the role. He'd touch a client's waist to correct her form, let his voice drop when giving praise. And when he caught her checking out his arms or the sweat pooling at his chest, he never hid the smirk.

Afternoons were filled with errands, emails, and business calls—running the small online fitness brand Austin had built before Owen took over. Content planning, sponsorships, Instagram reels showing off his pump progress and morning ab checks. His DMs were a warzone of thirsty messages. He chose who to respond to with precision.

And then came evenings.

Austin often went out—but Eli didn't know where or with whom. What he did know was that in the mornings, random women sometimes emerged from the bedroom. Eli had long since accepted that Austin cheated on Iris regularly. Owen didn't hold back, using the body to its full, raw potential—sleeping with whomever he pleased.

Other nights, Austin played the part of the fiancé. Iris adored him. He remembered how she liked her wine, her favorite shows, when to compliment her dress. He kissed her on cue. Held her waist when her parents visited. Took couple selfies, posted with cocky captions. He even showed up for brunch with her friends—pretending he wasn't hungover from the night before.

Every version of Austin was a role Owen performed to perfection. The gym god. The charming coach. The flirty bad boy. The ideal boyfriend. The golden son-in-law.

And beneath it all, Owen smirked in the mirror.

Eli had become a regular fixture in Austin's house—not as a guest, but as something else entirely. He played the role Owen carved out for him: submissive, silent, always eager. He stayed in the guest room most nights, waiting for a single message from Austin to know when to be present, when to disappear, when to listen.

Austin never hid his disdain—his words were sharp, cold, often laced with casual homophobia. "You're lucky I let you breathe my air, creep." And Owen made sure those words came from Austin's lips with such authenticity it made Eli shiver.

And Eli loved it.

He loved serving under the illusion—the golden boy alpha who barely tolerated his existence. He loved the tension. The cruelty. The way Owen's intelligence laced every insult, making them cut deeper.

Sometimes, Austin would text him just one word: "Stay."

That meant Eli was to remain silent in the guest room while Austin brought home a girl from the bar. The moans would echo through the walls. The creak of the bed. The low grunts. The gasped praise—Eli heard it all.

And it tore him apart.

Not because of Iris. Not because of the girl.

Because it wasn't him.

He'd sit on the floor in the dark, fists clenched, head against the wall, drowning in envy. Wishing Austin would walk in and humiliate him all over again. Wishing he could be the one under Austin's grip. Pinned down. Owned.

Eli wasn't just obsessed.

He was addicted.

To the scent. The sound. The body.

To Austin.

To Owen.

Because now, the man everyone loved? That was him.

He didn't just become Austin.

He became something more.

————

There were days Austin played the role so well, Eli almost believed the lie himself. Whenever he showed up with Iris at the family house—clean-cut, confident, polite—he slipped into the real Austin's mask without effort.

He'd greet Eli's parents with a strong handshake, compliment the food, talk about crypto investments and gym progress. With Iris clinging to his side, Austin would chuckle at jokes, nod along to weekend plans, and throw a protective arm around her shoulders.

And to Eli? Nothing.

Sometimes a nod. Sometimes a curt "Hey."

The golden boy act was flawless.

Eli sat across the table, barely spoken to, barely acknowledged. Austin would look right through him during dinner. Smile at Iris. Toast with her dad. Pretend Eli wasn't even there.

Once, during a cookout, Iris was chatting with her mother in the kitchen, and Austin leaned against the doorframe, sipping from a beer bottle. Eli passed by, their eyes met.

"Don't get too worked up tonight," Austin said under his breath, his voice sharp and smug. "She's wearing lace for me."

He took another slow sip and walked away like nothing happened.

Another time, after a family board game night, Austin stood next to Eli in the hallway as everyone packed up. His voice was low, expression cool.

"You looked like you were going to cry when I kissed her goodnight. What's wrong? Jealous?"

And once, when they were all watching a movie together, Iris curled up under Austin's arm, Austin looked across the room to Eli, his expression unreadable.

Then he mouthed the words: "She moans louder than you."

Eli's stomach twisted with heat, shame, and longing. And when Austin returned to stroking Iris's hair like a perfect boyfriend, Eli could only sit in silence—haunted, aching, addicted.

Because no matter how well Austin performed the golden boy, those sharp moments of cruelty proved one thing: Owen knew exactly what Eli needed to hear to burn.

————

There were moments Eli couldn't tell where Austin ended and Owen began. He knew the real Austin had been cold, distant—never openly cruel, never dramatic. If he disliked someone, he did it through silence, through subtle power plays. The perfect image of masculine composure. He never needed to raise his voice to dominate.

But Owen… Owen gave Eli something different.

Something darker.

Living in Austin's body gave Owen permission to push the fantasy further, to explore what Eli secretly wanted: a golden boy with a monster lurking beneath. And so, when the two were alone, Austin transformed into something wild—unhinged, unapologetic.

He strutted shirtless through the house, sweat glistening from an afternoon run, cracking open a cold drink and letting it pour down his throat—down his chest, soaking into his shorts like he couldn't care less. He was a god with no grace. Loud. Cocky. Animalistic.

Eli watched, frozen with lust.

"Look at you," Austin barked. "Sitting there like a pathetic little fanboy. Waiting to lick up my sweat?"

Eli said nothing.

Austin leaned in, grabbing Eli's chin with just enough pressure. "You didn't know the real Austin. Just the curated one. But this is what you wanted." His eyes burned.

Eli nodded, breathless.

He flexed—slow, deliberate—then stepped closer, voice low. "The real Austin would've ignored you. Me? I watch you break."

And just like that, the cruelty turned primal. He grabbed the back of Eli's head and shoved him down, sweat dripping from his chest.

"You want the real thing?"

Eli didn't answer.

Austin smirked. "Then prove it."

And Eli did—because every sharp word, every grunt, every second of dominance… was devotion.

————

There were moments when Owen's exaggerated roleplay took over—loud, taunting, openly cruel. But there were others Eli craved more. The ones where he caught a glimpse of who the real Austin had likely been beneath the curated image. And it wasn't in private, but when Austin was surrounded by his best mates.

That was when Austin let the mask drop just enough.

He wasn't loud like them. He didn't boast. But he was the quiet leader—leaning back with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, letting the others bark and laugh around him. He chose when to speak. And when he did, they listened. That's when Eli saw it. The natural dominance. The way Austin didn't need to mock or posture.

But Nick? Nick was different.

Eli first met Nick at a boxing event. Austin had paid for Eli's ticket but told him to sit a row behind. "Don't make it weird," he'd texted.

Eli obeyed. And from there, he watched.

Nick was the kind of guy who didn't know how to tone it down. Built like a tank, forearms veined and bulging, his black shirt stretched tight across a chest that looked carved out of gym steel. His voice boomed over the crowd, even in the packed arena.

"Bro, that chick from Friday? Absolute smoke show. Tightest fuckin' body I've seen all month. Screamed my name like she was in church."

He laughed—loud, careless. Eli flinched at the sound, but also… couldn't look away.

Nick leaned over toward Austin, fist bumping him. "You get with that blonde again? The one with the fake lashes? Told you she wanted it."

Austin gave a small smirk and a slow nod.

Nick whistled. "Fucking savage. Bro, you live the dream. These girls are starving out here, man. I swear, give 'em a wink and they melt."

He leaned back, spreading out in his seat like the arena was built for him. Tugging at the collar of his shirt to reveal a bit more of his chest, Nick caught sight of a group of girls walking by and grinned.

"Watch this," he muttered to Austin with a wink, then stood up mid-row, swaggering down toward the girls with no hesitation, confidence practically dripping off of him. He said something loud—too loud—and one of the girls laughed, tossing her hair. Nick threw his arm around her shoulders like they'd known each other for years, spinning her toward her friends like a prize.

"Told ya I was gonna pull one," he called back over his shoulder to Austin, who simply smirked, watching the spectacle unfold with an amused shake of his head.

Nick whispered something into the girl's ear, then pointed toward Austin with a booming laugh. The girls looked over, giggling, before Nick made his way back up the steps.

"Bro's the silent killer," Nick said with a grin, clapping Austin on the shoulder. "All I gotta do is point, and they're wet."

Then—he smiled.

It wasn't the kind of smile that invited you in. It was the kind that promised trouble. A flash of white teeth, confidence, and danger wrapped in testosterone and ego. Eli caught it from two rows back—and felt his whole body lock up.

The smile was erotic, magnetic. But there was something vicious in it. It wasn't meant for him. Nick hadn't even registered Eli's presence. But just seeing it made Eli feel exposed.

That smile was a warning.

He was the embodiment of danger and dominance, the kind of guy Eli knew would destroy him with a glance. There was no softness. No filter. No shame.

Eli couldn't help it—his stomach fluttered with something he hated admitting. Arousal. Terror. Obsession.

And from a row ahead, Austin glanced back once—just once—and caught the look on Eli's face.

He smirked.

Because he knew exactly what Eli was feeling.

Just then, Nick leaned over again, clearly enjoying the spotlight he never stopped demanding. Whatever he said was low and crude, just for Austin's ears—and Austin's expression cracked. The cool exterior gave way to something looser, rougher, like a mask dropped in the presence of a real friend.

"You're such a piece of work, bro," Austin said, laughing under his breath. He bumped Nick's shoulder, eyes lighting up with something rare—genuine camaraderie. "But yeah, she was into it. Said I ruined her for anyone else."

Nick let out a bark of laughter, no filter, no care who heard. "Classic. You and your damn cheat codes, man. Bro, stop hogging all the tens. Leave a couple for the rest of us degenerates."

Austin rolled his eyes but smirked, lifting his drink in salute. "Earn it like I did, asshole."

The two of them shared a look, a loud laugh, and suddenly Austin wasn't the polished, controlled version Eli usually saw. He was in full bro mode—smirking, flexing slightly as he laughed, leaning into Nick like they'd ruled every locker room they ever walked into.

It was jarring—and hot.

Because Eli had never seen Austin like that. He looked unfiltered. Real. Like this version of him had always been waiting under the surface.

————

When it came to Austin's friends, Eli hadn’t expected someone like Adam.

He'd imagined someone like Nick—or worse. Another alpha clone who acted like women and protein shakes were all that mattered. But Adam? Adam was something else entirely. He looked like he belonged in their circle—tall, athletic, lean muscle in all the right places—but his energy was nothing like the others.

He was open. Friendly. Grounded.

"Hey," Adam said, holding out a hand when Austin made the lazy introduction. "Adam. You're Iris's brother, right? Cool to finally meet you."

Eli blinked, surprised by the genuine smile. "Yeah—Eli. Nice to meet you too."

Austin didn't bother to chime in, already sipping from a shaker bottle and looking at his phone.

"Iris told me you were around a lot," Adam added with a chuckle. "Guess that makes sense now."

Austin shrugged, not looking up. "She made me promise to hang with him today."

"I don't mind," Adam said quickly. "Actually, I was about to hit the gym, but I can reschedule—"

"No," Austin cut in, finally glancing up. "We'll go. Just us."

Adam glanced at Eli, clearly not wanting to exclude him. "Unless you want to come too? It's chill either way."

Eli nodded, heart hammering. "Sure. Sounds good."

————

Eli was used to following Austin to the gym. There, he could drool over Austin's body without restraint. Austin, of course, rarely acknowledged him. It was a game for both of them.

But Austin always made an effort to keep Eli out of sight—to avoid unwanted attention. No one was supposed to suspect that a guy like Eli was hanging around someone like Austin.

Not even when Austin's younger brother suddenly appeared on the scene.

It had been a few days ago. Eli had just returned to Austin's place after working a grueling night shift, all he could think about was crashing on the couch for a few hours. The hallway was quiet, the familiar scent of Austin's cologne still lingering from earlier.

But as he stepped into the kitchen, the low hum of a blender caught his attention.

Someone was already there.

A guy leaned against the marble countertop, sipping a thick protein shake from a clear bottle. Tall. Muscular. Blonde hair, shorter on the sides, styled with effortless confidence. He wore a deep blue tank top that made his frame look even more pronounced—the kind of build that made gym influencers jealous. His skin glowed under the kitchen lights, arms veined, neck glistening.

For a moment, Eli thought Austin had returned early. But the posture was too relaxed. The expression too open.

The stranger looked up from his phone and gave a slow, assessing once-over. "Yo. You Eli?"

Eli froze. "Uh... yeah."

The guy nodded, offered a hand. "Justin. Austin's brother. Guess I'm the surprise guest today."

He smiled. Not like Austin's smirks that always felt loaded—this one was disarmingly warm, and yet... just as commanding.

Eli took the handshake, his mind racing. Austin had never once mentioned having a brother. And now here he was, in the middle of their apartment like he belonged. Like he'd been here a hundred times before.

Justin tilted his head as he took another sip from his shake. "Don't worry, man. He probably didn't mention me ‘cause I've been outta state for a while. Work stuff. Startup gig in Seattle. I just moved back this week."

"Oh," Eli said, trying to compose himself. "Cool. That makes sense."

It didn't. Not really.

Because now that he saw him, he couldn't stop seeing the Austin in him. Same sharp jawline. Same cut-from-marble build. But different all the same. Where Austin was intense, cold, even cruel—Justin felt grounded. Open. Like a guy who wouldn't put you down just for breathing next to him. But that familiarity in his voice, the shape of his arms, the way he rested his weight against the counter like he owned it—that was Austin.

And then, a flash—Eli remembered. A photo from months ago on Austin's Instagram feed. He hadn't paid attention to the second guy back then. But now... the resemblance was unmistakable. Justin had always been there, just outside the spotlight.

Eli found himself locked in place, eyes tracing every shift in Justin's posture. He hated how quickly his heart had started pounding.

"He told me you were staying here," Justin said. "Said you were the brother of Iris, so you are like family. That true?"

Eli hesitated. "I guess you could say that."

Justin's expression shifted slightly. Less amused. More analytical.

"Huh," he muttered. "Didn't think he'd keep someone like you around. Not saying that to be rude. Just... surprising, considering it's Austin."

Eli tensed. "What does that mean?"

Justin shrugged, letting the moment hang. "You just don't seem like the kind of guy he lets get close. He always had his... type."

Before Eli could respond, Justin stood and stretched, tank riding up to reveal tight abs and the dip of his hips. Eli tried not to stare.

Justin leaned against the doorframe. "You seem alright though. Maybe he's changed. Or maybe you just caught him in a generous mood."

Just then, the door opened behind them. Heavy footsteps. Austin.

He walked in, scanning the scene with narrowed eyes. His jaw tightened ever so slightly.

"Didn't realize we were having a family reunion," Austin said, voice clipped.

Justin turned slightly on the couch, grinning. "I was in the neighborhood. Figured I'd say hi. Didn't believe you were keeping Iris' brother as a roommate."

Austin's eyes flicked to Eli. Not pleased. Not surprised either. Just annoyed.

"Well, now you know," he said. Then, to Eli, "Got something to do or you just standing there for fun?"

The tension hung like smoke.

Justin gave a low chuckle. "C'mon. Don't be like that."

Austin grabbed his keys and turned. "We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Gym."

Justin adjusted his shirt. "You're not coming?" he asked Eli casually.

Austin cut in. "He wouldn't lift a bar if it had gold on it."

Justin laughed, short and sharp. "Damn. Brutal."

But Eli caught the flicker of something else in Justin's smile. Not just amusement. Something colder.

And then they were gone—two forces of nature moving out the door, leaving Eli standing in their wake.

————

But with Adam in the gym this place became something else entirely. Eli had been there countless times with Austin alone—but never like this. The two of them fell into rhythm instantly, spotting each other, trash-talking between sets.

"You're slipping, man," Adam said, racking his weights. "That last incline was sloppy."

"Bullshit," Austin replied with a smirk. "You're just jealous I've still got the better chest."

"You've got the better ego, maybe."

Eli hovered at the edge, pretending to be into his cardio, but his eyes kept drifting back. To Adam's shoulders. The way his chest swelled with each rep. The defined lines of his arms when he racked a barbell.

And that smile.

Friendly. Real. Like he didn't have anything to prove. Eli could see why Austin kept him around—it grounded the whole dynamic. Even if Austin was colder now, Owen still respected the bond.

"You sure you're good over there?" Adam called out at one point, looking toward Eli on the treadmill.

Eli nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm just doing cardio."

"No worries. Just let us know if you wanna jump in."

"He won't," Austin muttered to Adam. "He's more of a watcher."

Eli flushed but forced a laugh. Adam gave a brief glance—confused, maybe—but didn't press.

The rest of the session, Eli tried hard not to stare. He focused on keeping his form tight, wiping sweat often, hoping Adam wouldn't catch a glimpse of the way his eyes lingered.

But when Adam peeled off his sweatshirt halfway through the workout, revealing that sculpted torso, Eli's stomach twisted. Not with lust alone. But with guilt. Guilt that he craved something pure—and turned it into his black fantasy.

Adam caught his eye at the water fountain later, offering a kind smile.

"Hey, if you ever wanna tag along for a workout or just talk fitness, I’m around," Adam said, easy and sincere. "No pressure, man."

"Yeah," Eli replied, his voice catching slightly. "That... that’d be great."

And as Adam turned back toward Austin, laughing at something stupid he said, Eli knew he was doomed.

Because there was something about Adam—the body of a god, the soul of a saint—that made Eli want to be good. Even if he couldn't stop living his fantasy.

————

The morning sunlight was already sharp when Austin walked through the front door, a tailored camel coat hanging open over a white V-neck tee and slim jeans. The collar of a leather jacket peeked out from under the coat, framing his jaw like armor. His boots clicked sharply against the floor. He looked annoyed. Not furious—just mildly inconvenienced, like whatever girl he'd left in bed wasn't worth the Uber back.

Eli stood in the hallway, breath catching.

Austin looked like a walking ad for danger and dominance. The coat framed his broad shoulders perfectly, the jeans hugging his thighs just right. The way his hand casually tugged at the hem of his shirt made the moment feel choreographed—effortless and commanding.

"What?" Austin asked, catching Eli's stare, voice flat and cold.

Eli blinked. "N-nothing. Just... welcome back."

Austin grunted, grabbing a protein bar from the kitchen. "I am going to the gym."

Eli's heart jumped. He opened his mouth to beg—then stopped.

"You're coming too," Austin said casually, already peeling the wrapper. "Don't look so surprised. Even Adam'll be there. Figured you'd enjoy that."

Eli stiffened.

Austin turned, a lazy smirk on his lips. "You really think I haven't noticed how you act around him? The good guy. The sweet one. Bet you dream about thanking him on your knees, huh?"

Eli flushed, lips parting, but Austin didn't wait for a reply.

"Just remember your role," he added, stepping closer, eyes sharp beneath the edge of his coat. "You're my servant. You don't get to choose who turns you on. I do."

————

The gym air was thick with testosterone and pre-workout fumes.

Adam greeted Eli the moment they walked in. His smile was just as warm, his handshake firm.

"Hey! Good to see you again, man. Glad you came."

Eli melted. "Thanks. You too."

Austin slipped between them quickly, clapping Adam on the shoulder. "Let's get started. Bench first."

The two dove into their rhythm—warm-up, plates, reps, low banter about stocks and macros. Eli stuck to cardio, eyes tracing the two of them. Adam was all focus. Form perfect. Eyes kind. Even as he tried to include Eli with little comments, Austin pulled him away.

"Let him run. You're here for a real workout."

Half an hour in, Austin left for a moment and Adam turned during a water break.

"You and Iris get along well?" he asked Eli.

"Yeah, she's great."

"That's good. I've known Austin forever. If he's serious about someone, I wanna know the people around her are solid. You seem... grounded."

Eli smiled faintly. "I try."

Adam clapped his shoulder. "Keep trying."

Austin returned minutes later, scowling as he saw the two of them mid-conversation. His voice was clipped. "You done bonding yet?"

"We're good," Adam said easily. "Just chatting."

Austin gave Eli a look. The kind that said: mine.

———

Eli slipped into the restroom to catch his breath—but the moment the door clicked shut behind him, he froze.

Nick.

The beast stood shirtless, entirely absorbed in his reflection.

Under the harsh, sterile locker room lights, every inch of his carved physique was on display. He wasn't posing for anyone. This wasn't vanity. It was reverence—toward himself.

Nick grinned at his reflection. Not with arrogance, not with menace - just a quiet, deeply satisfied grin. Like a man who is proud of the temple he has built. As if the mirror only reflected a pale version of who he thought he really was. As if he knew he could never reflect the full power.

Then his gaze wandered upwards and caught on Eli through the reflection, who was playing with his own bulge with his hands.

The mood changed instantly.

"What the fuck do you think you're lookin' at?" Nick growled, stepping forward, veins popping along his neck.

Eli's breath caught.

Nick advanced like a charging bull. "You some kinda fuckin' creep? You wanna stare at me like that, you better be ready to deal with it."

Eli stumbled backward.

"Eyes down, freak," Nick snapped, voice rising. "You hear me? You think this is a fuckin' show for you to jerk off to?"

Eli bolted for the nearest stall, slammed it shut, and locked it. His pulse hammered as Nick's voice echoed through the room.

"Sick little bitch. Don't even belong in this gym. Stay the fuck away from me."

Eli crouched in silence, breath ragged, humiliated. The cold tile pressed against his back as he stared at the closed door of the stall, his thoughts racing.

Why the hell is Nick here?

Finally, with a shallow breath, he stood. His legs were stiff, his heart still hammering in his chest. Carefully, he unlocked the stall and pushed it open just an inch—then another—peeking out as if the air beyond might bite.

Empty.

He stepped out slowly, shoes echoing faintly on the tiles. No sign of Nick. Just the afterimage of that confident grin in the mirror, etched into his mind.

————

Back in the gym, Nick was nowhere to be seen. Eli hoped—prayed—they'd missed each other. Adam greeted him with a warm nod, like nothing had happened. Eli forced a smile, but the question burned in his throat.

"Did you know Nick was here?" he hissed at Austin, voice low.

Austin smirked, tossing a towel over his shoulder like it was nothing. "I know."

Eli blinked. "You... what?"

Austin's smirk didn't fade—but his gaze sharpened, cool and annoyed. Eli flinched, instinctively taking a step back. Without another word, he returned to the treadmill, head down, heart thudding.

Just as he reached for the start button, a voice rang across the gym floor.

"Yo!" Nick barked, striding in like the space belonged to him. "What's up, bros?"

The dynamic shifted instantly.

Austin leaned back into his relaxed dominance, arms loose, grin sharp. Nick took up space—loud, physical, unfiltered. And Adam? He moved with effortless calm, fitting into place like the final piece of a puzzle.

"You made it," Austin said, smirking.

Nick flexed one arm casually. "You think I'd miss a pump with my boys?"

Adam chuckled and pulled out his phone. "Alright—squad shot. Let's make it official."

He took the selfie—all three flexing in front of the dumbbells.

They looked like gods.

Still on cardio, Eli listened in on their locker room banter. Nick was loud, throwing weight around with a theatrical grunt after every set. He thrived on attention, barking jokes and jabs, flexing whenever a mirror caught his form. Austin smirked along, occasionally adding a low comment that kept the rhythm going—cool, detached, but fully present.

Adam, meanwhile, balanced the chaos. Calm and precise, he moved between sets with silent discipline, re-racking Nick's weights without a word, adjusting posture when needed. He didn't compete for the spotlight—he just existed in it naturally. And somehow, that dynamic worked. Nick's storm, Austin's swagger, and Adam's grounded control—they weren't just friends, they were a unit. The kind Eli could never touch.

Nick moved on to dumbbell presses. Each rep was a performance. Sweat rolled down his chest as Adam hovered behind him, hands guiding for perfect execution.

"Keep it clean," Adam said. "Full range. No swing."

Nick grunted, pressing harder. After the set, he tossed the dumbbells down with a thunderous crash. "Fuck yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

Then came the deadlifts. Every rep was a thunderclap. Every growl exaggerated. Adam coached him softly between breaths, calm and precise.

After the final set, Nick roared loud enough to echo across the gym. He stood tall, sweat clinging to every cut of his chest, breathing heavily—an animal momentarily satisfied.

Then his eyes found Eli again.

The moment stilled. Nick's smile faded, jaw setting. Without a word, he dropped the bar with a clang that made heads turn and stormed across the gym floor, his footsteps as heavy as his mood.

"You again?" he growled, voice low, teeth clenched. "You some little gym perv?"

Eli froze. His body stiffened, breath caught in his throat.

Nick advanced. "I catch you starin' one more time, I swear, I'll drag you outta here myself."

Before he could close the gap, Austin intercepted—cool and calculated.

"Chill, Nick," Austin said, blocking his path. "Didn't know some random dude could break your temper like that."

Nick's nostrils flared. "Bro, he's been watchin' me all day like I'm some strip show."

Adam joined them, calm as ever but with purpose in his tone. "What's going on here?"

"This boy here's about to get a lesson in boundaries," Nick snapped, eyes still locked on Eli.

Eli's eyes found Adam's, pleading silently. Adam's return gaze was calm and grounding. He offered a small smile—gentle, almost brotherly. A quiet message: I've got this.

Adam then slipped between Austin and Nick, placing himself directly in front of Eli. He flexed one arm slowly, each movement deliberate, and looked down at Eli with a smile that was all golden charm and quiet dominance.

"You think Eli's ready to suck me off?" he said, voice smooth, grin sharp like a knife wrapped in velvet.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Eli's breath caught.

That smile—so warm before—now dripped with something dark. The curtain was pulled back.

Eli's eyes darted to Austin, desperate for clarity—but all he saw was approval. The same look Austin wore when admiring his own reflection: proud. Possessive. Unapologetic.

Austin rested his arm on Adam's shoulder—casual, commanding. "What do you say, Eli? I let my boys test out some new pills. Ones that let them possess bodies—even without the natural gift. Then I gave them the same formula I used."

His smile curled, slow and deliberate.

"Let them borrow a few... golden specimens."

Suddenly, Nick roared like a wild animal, tensing every muscle group. "God, this dude is so full of pure aggression." He laughed like a maniac, checking out his reflection again. "But who cares when you look like that—glorious as fuck. Can't get enough. If I didn't keep these new instincts under control… well, let's just say you wouldn't be standing there, Eli. And I'm not even talking about his thoughts. Dark. Cocky. Just the way I like it." He smiled in a way Eli could only read as threatening.

He laughed to himself, then turned back to the mirror, grinning. "And this face... yeah, no wonder people cave the second I flash a smile. Guess how many pussies that smile has already brought me."

His gaze slid back to Eli, the mood shifting—cold, sharp. "But every time I see you? It just boils in me. Why'd you have to walk in—staring like the creep you are—right when all those memories kicked in?"

Adam's smile twisted—cool, sharp, but carrying a sneer just beneath the surface. "Stop your bitching, Nick. At least the guy you're riding wasn't some puppy-dog do-gooder. You think playing Mr. Perfect was fun for me?"

He shook his head, flexing his jaw as if shaking off a bad taste. "All that grinning. All that ‘Hey Eli, how's your day?' crap. I had to sit there pretending to give a damn—like I didn't want to roll my eyes every time he opened his mouth."

Adam glanced back at Eli now, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You seemed to love it though. Thought Adam was your sweet little gym hero, didn't you?" He laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "God, that act was suffocating. No wonder he was always so quiet."

He leaned forward, voice low and mocking. "Hope you enjoyed it, Eli. Because that version of me? Gone."

Austin stepped back, eyes gleaming. "You didn't really think I was gonna keep all the fun for myself, did you, Eli? Those pills cost a fortune. But for my boys? Worth every cent."

He winked at Eli.

"Now I've got the full squad. The new golden boys. And you? You get to watch."

Eli's world shattered.

All three jocks stood before him—smirking, flexing, reborn.

"Do you think anyone will stop us if he sucks us off here and now?" Austin laughed, and there was a certain curiosity in his voice.

Adam leaned in with that familiar warmth—the one Eli used to trust. His tone was soft, almost apologetic. "So, Eli… mind if I go first?"

He smiled kindly, just like the old Adam. "I mean, come on, I've always been nice to you, haven't I? Always friendly. Always respectful. The good guy."

He chuckled softly. "Bet I was your favorite squad member, huh? The one you looked up to while pretending not to drool."

Eli blinked, caught in the familiarity—until Adam's expression twisted.

The smile he wore—so warm, so practiced—snapped into something else. A sneer. Cold. Sharp.

"Yeah," Adam muttered, his voice dropping as his smile turned cold. "Fuck this Mr. Nice Guy act."

He stepped in closer, his body towering over Eli with casual dominance. His fingers came up—soft at first—brushing Eli's cheek in a mockingly gentle stroke.

"You liked it, though, didn't you?" he whispered. "That sweet, humble Adam. The one who smiled at you like you mattered."

Then his thumb pressed under Eli's chin, forcing his head up.

"So how about you thank me for all that fake kindness, huh? Get on your knees like the grateful little bitch you've always been."

He gave Eli's cheek a patronizing pat—more firm this time, like ruffling the hair of a child he barely tolerated.

"You never wanted Adam. You wanted me," he said, his voice like velvet draped over barbed wire. "to treat you like trash."

And with that, he smiled again.

In the background, a guy tried to pass the group—but Nick had already made it clear, with nothing more than a glare and a subtle shift in posture, that he needed to take the long way around. No room for questions. No room for interpretation.

"Gosh, fuckers," Nick muttered once the guy was out of sight, shaking his head. Then, with a mocking smirk, he turned to Adam. "Hope you're not planning to let him suck you dry. Just look at him—guy's practically shaking."

As Adam chuckled darkly, Nick took a slow, deliberate step back—circling around Eli like a predator eyeing weak prey. His heavy breath grazed the back of Eli's neck before he spoke.

"Just know," he growled, voice close now, breath hot against Eli's ear, "if you screw this up… I'll tear you apart."

Austin, watching from the side, let out a slow, amused breath—his smile tired, but proud.

————

The gym lights were soft in the late afternoon, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The room echoed with the rhythmic clank of weights and the distant thump of bass-heavy music. At the far end of the free weights area, Justin stood shirtless in front of the mirror, glistening with sweat.

He admired himself—shoulders pulled back, arms flexed just enough to make every vein pop. There was no shyness in his expression. No modesty. Just pure, wordless satisfaction. His shorts clung to his chiseled frame, abs contracting with every subtle movement. It wasn't just a glance—it was performance.

"Damn," he muttered, smirking as he twisted to check out his back. "What do you think, bro?"

Austin stood next to him, chewing gum with the same casual rhythm he always used when pretending not to be impressed.

"You've been killing it lately," he said—voice low, casual, but with a glint of approval.

Justin chuckled and struck a full front double biceps pose. The lighting carved definition into every groove, like a sculpture under a spotlight.

"Yeah? Think I finally caught up to you?"

Austin tilted his head, smirking. "Not yet. But you're definitely getting cockier. I'll give you that."

They both laughed.

"You always had it easy," Justin said, still locked on his own reflection. "The looks. The respect. Girls. Status. Guess I just had to figure out how to take some of that for myself."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you have any trouble with girls."

"Of course not," Justin replied, flexing again with a cold, arrogant stare. "Just look at me."

Austin didn't respond right away. He nodded slowly, studying his brother through the mirror.

"You really like being you now, huh?" he asked finally, his tone more thoughtful.

Justin met his gaze. For just a flicker—barely a heartbeat—something else passed through his expression. Then the smirk deepened.

"Let's just say… I finally get why you enjoy walking around like a god," Justin said. "Can't blame me for loving it."

Austin let out a dry, knowing laugh. He slung his gym bag over his shoulder.

"Well, looks like you finally fit into my selected circle. Nick and Adam are already at my place. You coming?"

Justin didn't answer right away. He gave one last flex, ran a hand down the center of his abs, watching the muscles tighten beneath his touch. His smile, this time, wasn't just confident.

It was Eli's.

He turned to Austin, his voice calm—almost reverent.

"You always make sure I feel good, brother," he said, drawing out the last word with a knowing, intimate edge. "Don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

Austin grinned. "Wouldn't want you to."

[ericppp]

A New Body, A New Chance

It was supposed to be a chill night. Just dinner with my new boyfriend, Elijah, and my best friend, Rachel, who insisted we do a double date so she could "finally meet the guy who stole my heart." Her words, not mine. She brought along her husband, Chris—a tall, built, all-American type. The kind of guy who looked like he came with a warning label: *Do Not Stare Too Long.*

We were at this trendy downtown restaurant, sipping overpriced wine and laughing about Rachel's latest work drama. Elijah held my hand under the table, giving it an affectionate squeeze every now and then.

We were having a good time, when Chris suddenly stopped our conversation, "Do you guys hear this noise...?"

We couldn't hear nothing but the conversation from the next tables.

"I don't hear anything, honey. Are you ok?" Rachel asked her husband.

“I’m fine... I suddenly started hearing this strange buzzing sound. Are you all really not hearing it?”

"Well, enough of wine for you, mister." Elijah joked. They laughed and Rachel continued her story.

But I couldn't help but notice how weird Chris was acting; he looked agitated, like he wasn't feeling well... then something strange happened.

The lights in the restaurant went out for a few seconds, and when they came back on, Chris’s eyes were rolling back in his head for a split second—just long enough for me to notice. His body stiffened. Froze. But no one else at the table seemed to catch it. He blinked, like a system rebooting, then suddenly said, "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."

He got up and walked off.

Minutes later, my phone buzzed. I glanced down, heart skipping a beat when I saw it was from Chris. That made no sense.

When I opened the message, my stomach dropped. It was a mirror pic. Chris in the restaurant bathroom, shirt unbuttoned like a damn tease. His thick massive pecs were on full display, I had no idea Chris had pecs this big. He was spotting a cocky little smirk like he knew what he was doing.

And beneath it, just four words: "We need to talk."

I shoved my phone into my pocket so Elijah couldn’t see it, muttered something about needing to pee, and slipped away from the table.

It was an individual bathroom, so I knocked on the door and Chris opened it. He pulled me inside and closed the door, leaning casually against the door, chest still exposed. He looked me up and down with a familiarity that made my skin prickle.

"What do you think, Nipsucker? Don't I look good in this body?" he said with his deep charming voice.

There was only one person who had ever called me "Nipsucker" My mouth went dry.

"Leon?"

Chris smirked. "Took you long enough."

I hadn’t seen Leon in over a year. He was my ex. Brilliant, obsessive, manipulative—and a goddamn genius. He used to rant about building a body-swapping machine that would transfer his consciousness to a new body, all that sci-fi stuff. I thought he was just being eccentric. And I broke up with him even before he could finish the device.

"What the hell are you doing in Chris’s body, Leon? Get out of him!" I hissed.

"He was the perfect candidate," Chris said, stepping closer, his eyes raking over me. "Healthy. Stupid. Married," He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed his pecs, "And with a body to die for... literally."

He reached out and brushed his fingers down my cheek. "I missed you. You said you wanted a man who could give you everything. So here I am."

I backed up a little, heart pounding. "You can't just steal people's bodies... especially not my best friend's husband, this is insane!"

"Is it? Or is it the ultimate proof of love?" he whispered. "I gave up my body. My identity. My original body was disintegrated in the process, It became ashes in my basement. I did it just to feel your eyes on me again. Just so I could have a chance to be with you."

"You shouldn't have done that. You killed Chris!"

"Would you have preferred me to take over Elijah? You know I could have done it—I could have taken him over, and you would never know. But I couldn't do this with someone you love."

He slowly caressed his chest, giving his pecs a few squeezes, "I know you want to touch him. You've thought about it. Don't lie."

I hated how true it was. Chris was a fantasy. And now Leon had turned that fantasy into a weapon.

He stepped even closer, pressing me gently against the tiled wall. His breath was warm against my ear. "Just give me tonight. One night. Let me show you what this body can do. If you still want Elijah after, I'll walk away."

I should’ve walked out. I should’ve told Rachel everything. But as his hands slid under my shirt, and I felt that stolen, sculpted chest pressing into me, all I could think was... Goddamn it. A part of me missed Leon. And right now, he was exactly my type.

I stared at Chris—well, Leon inside Chris. I couldn’t believe Leon was in there, puppeteering my best friend’s ridiculously handsome husband like a living puppet.

"Come here," he whispered, voice deeper now, more confident. Not Chris’s usual friendly tone, but Leon’s unmistakable command.

I couldn't resist and we kissed. A passionate and sloppy wet kiss, a kiss that I'm sure Chris never had in life.

I stepped back, panting, eyes fixated on those massive pecs that rose and fell with each breath. I pressed my face against them, burying myself in his warmth, his masculine scent.

"They're all yours, Nipsucker. Enjoy it," Leon muttered with a grin.

I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around one of his nipples, sucking on it gently at first, then harder. He groaned—Leon’s voice leaking through Chris’s throat—and I felt his body tremble. My tongue played with the firm nub, tracing slow circles. Then I switched to the other one, hungry for more. His fingers curled behind my neck, holding me there.

"That's it," he breathed. "I want you to leave your mark."

I sucked harder, teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp, until both his nipples were red and swollen. My fingers explored his bulge. He unbuckled his belt with one hand, eyes never leaving mine, then sank slowly to his knees as he stroked his 9 Inches cock.

Watching Chris kneeling in front of me—looking up at me with those puppy eyes, shirt open, jerking off—it was surreal. I was already rock hard. I quickly pulled down my pants, freeing my throbbing leaking cock.

"I missed your cock," Chris said, licking his lips. "This time I get to enjoy it with this body."

He took me into his mouth, warm and wet and eager. His tongue swirled around the head, teasing me while his hands gripped my thighs. He went slow at first, savoring it, his eyes flicking up to watch my reactions. Then he pushed deeper, taking more of me inch by inch until his nose pressed against my pubes.

"Fuck," I gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. He set a rhythm—sucking, bobbing, swirling—his lips tight, his cheeks hollowing with each pull. Soon I was face fucking him hard. Leon moaned around my cock, sending vibrations that nearly made my knees buckle. He sucked harder, faster, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth as he devoured me. He knew every little thing I liked—how to swirl his tongue just under the head, how to hollow his cheeks on the upstroke, how to make me feel like I was the only thing that mattered at that moment.

"You're gonna make me—" I warned, panting, but he didn’t stop. He wanted it. And when I came, he took it all, swallowing greedily, like he’d been starving.

He slowly pulled back, licking the last drop off his lips, eyes smug.

"I told you this body was the perfect candidate," he said.

I was still catching my breath when I noticed the red marks on his pecs. I chuckled.

"Guess I left my mark."

He smirked, tucked himself back in, and straightened up. "We should get back before they wonder."

I fixed my hair in the hallway mirror, and Chris buttoned up his shirt just enough to keep things decent.

We walked back to the table like nothing happened. Elijah and Rachel were still chatting, oblivious.

My boyfriend Elijah smiled at me when I sat back down. "Took you long enough," he teased, reaching for my hand across the table. I smiled nervously and squeezed it, trying not to glance at Chris too obviously. Rachel was deep into a story about her coworkers, while Chris sat there casually, like he wasn't a whole different person.

"So anyway, Linda thought it would be a good idea to email the whole department about her cat’s birthday," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. Elijah laughed, genuinely entertained, but I was struggling to focus.

Under the table, I felt Chris’s foot brushing against my leg. I stiffened.

The foot moved higher. Then, it pressed firmly against my crotch. I choked slightly on my drink and coughed.

"You okay, babe?" Elijah asked, patting my back.

"Yeah, yeah. Wrong pipe," I muttered, my voice hoarse. I looked over at Chris, who was sipping his wine, eyes locked with mine. He smirked just a little, barely enough to notice. That foot didn’t stop. It was deliberate. Slow. Teasing.

I met his gaze again, and he mouthed something to me while Rachel and Elijah were distracted.

"You missed me."

I swallowed hard… I did.

____________________

A year later. I came home from work to the sight of Elijah pounding Chris's ass hard on our bed. Chris was lying on the bed with his legs up on Elijah's shoulders, moaning like a depraved slut as Elijah thrust his huge brown cock inside of Chris's pale ass. Chris's pecs were bouncing up and down with each thrust.

Chris had divorced Rachel months ago. It was the best thing Leon could do, since he wasn’t straight and it wouldn’t have been fair to Rachel. Since then, Chris has been living with us. It took me some time to convince Elijah to open our relationship and add Chris to it. But just like me, he couldn’t resist Chris’s charms. He has no idea that the man inside Chris is my ex—and he doesn’t need to know.

"Come join us, babe!" Elijah said, panting hard.

"Yeah, spitroast me babe!" Chris begged.

I walked to the two sweaty men, pulled down my pants and offered my hard cock for Chris to suck. He took the entire length down his tight throat as I bent forward to kiss Elijah.

I loved them both.

[ericppp]

Facade of Justice

The dim, flickering lights of the underground lair cast jagged shadows on the cold concrete walls. Valorion, hero of the Justice Force, hung suspended, his wrists bound by energy restraints that drained his strength.

His metallic spandex bodysuit, accented with gold and silver, clung tightly to his muscular form. A sleek cowl fully enveloped his scalp, leaving only his eyes, nose, and mouth exposed, while framing his chiseled jaw, adding to his air of intensity and mystery.

From the shadows, Darksteel emerged like a phantom, his dark coat sweeping behind him. As the ruthless leader of the notorious organization Midnight Shadow, his presence radiated danger. His movements were slow and deliberate, his sharp face framed by a high collar. Piercing green eyes glinted with quiet amusement as they lingered on Valorion's bound form

“You can’t win, Darksteel,” Valorion growled, his voice strained but steady. “Even if you kill me, another hero will rise.”

Darksteel’s cold smile faltered for an instant, and in a single swift motion, he drove his knee into Valorion’s groin. The impact sent a sharp, searing pain radiating through Valorion’s body, forcing a gasp from his lips as he doubled over, his bound wrists the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His body throbbed with the aftershock, vision blurring as he struggled to catch his breath.

Darksteel leaned in close, his voice low and venomous. “Kill you?” he whispered, almost playfully. “I don’t need to kill you to break you. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg to stay forgotten.”

He turned and walked away, the door sliding shut with a hiss. With a soft hiss, the door slid shut behind him, sealing Valorion alone in the crushing silence of the chamber.

Valorion clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus, to breathe. Yet that uneasy feeling remained—the nagging sensation that unseen eyes were still watching him.

Minutes stretched into an eternity, broken only by Valorion's ragged breathing. Suddenly, a muffled explosion shattered the quiet chamber. The wall crumbled inward, and through the smoke, a masked soldier in Midnight Shadow’s black uniform stepped in.

Valorion tensed, unsure if this was a new threat or another of Darksteel’s games.

The soldier strode purposefully toward a sleek panel embedded in the wall. His gloved hand hovered over a red glowing button, its metallic surface gleaming under the dim light.

“Trust me,” he muttered before slamming the button.

A sharp hiss filled the air as the energy restraints flickered and then disengaged with a burst of sparks.

Valorion staggered momentarily as his limbs were freed, the dull ache from prolonged captivity flooding back. Before he could steady himself, the soldier turned to him, his movements quick and deliberate.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice low and distorted. “I’m getting you out.”

With no other choice, Valorion followed through the dark corridors. Faint alarms echoed as they reached the surface. They burst through the lair’s exit, only to find themselves at the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a fast-flowing river far below.

“We don’t have much time. We have to jump!” the soldier yelled, and before Valorion could react, they plunged into the icy torrent.

The current grabbed them instantly, pulling them downstream with violent force. Fighting the cold and the rushing water, they swam to the riverbank, emerging drenched and gasping for air. The soldier pointed to an old, abandoned warehouse in the distance, and without a word, they made their way toward it.

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick and damp. Water dripped from their soaked clothes, the cold clinging to their skin. “We need to get out of these clothes,” the soldier said, removing his mask to reveal his face.

He was young, in his early twenties, with intense brown eyes and a faint, troubled smile. His lean, athletic frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist exuded strength. Wet hair clung to his forehead, giving him an air of both vulnerability and allure.

As he stripped away the remaining layers of his soaked uniform, his skin gleamed faintly in the dim light, revealing his body as the damp fabric pooled at his feet.

Valorion hesitated for a moment, then slowly pulled back his cowl mask, revealing his face. His bold features came into view: a sharp, chiseled jaw, a firm, resolute mouth, and tousled blonde hair that draped slightly over his forehead. His intense eyes, framed by thick brows, shone with an aura of concealed power.

As he peeled off the metallic spandex bodysuit, his physique emerged—broad shoulders, a powerful chest, and heavily defined muscles sculpted like stone. His thick cock, now freed from the tight confines of the bodysuit, hung between his strong thighs. The cold bit at his skin, but it was the soldier’s gaze that sent a deeper chill through him.

“What’s your name, boy?” Valorion asked, noticing the soldier’s lingering gaze.

“I’m... Ethan,” the soldier stammered, quickly looking away.

“Aren’t you one of Darksteel’s soldiers? Why did you help me escape?” Valorion pressed.

Ethan hesitated, then sat on a nearby crate. “I’ve watched you for a long time,” he confessed. “You inspired me, made me realize there’s more to life than following Darksteel’s orders.” His voice wavered. “I became a soldier for Midnight Shadow out of desperation. I had nothing. They promised me everything, but it was all a lie. Watching you fight gave me hope for change.”

Valorion’s expression softened. He placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. “You’ve made the right choice, boy. But you’ll still have to face your past,” he said gently.

Ethan looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. “I know... I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

Valorion pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s okay. We’ll face it together,” he whispered.

Ethan buried his face in Valorion’s chest, their bodies pressing together, skin against skin. He hugged Valorion around the waist and rested his head against his abs. Valorion’s cock was half-hard, and it was now nestled against the top of the soldier’s head.

“Forgive me,” the soldier whispered. “Forgive me for everything.”

Valorion stroked the back of the soldier’s head, his fingers running through his wet hair. “There’s nothing to forgive, boy,” he said gently. “You’re changing. That’s all anyone can ask.”

The soldier sobbed against him for a few moments, then slowly he looked up. His eyes, bright and warm, shone up at Valorion, his face only inches from Valorion’s hard cock.

Valorion felt his heart beating hard. It had been a long time since he’d felt so close to someone. As a superhero, he had to maintain a certain image, and that meant it was difficult to let people get close.

He was always in control, always had to be.

But here and now, in this abandoned warehouse, with this young soldier’s eyes looking up at him, he felt that control slipping away. He felt his pulse hammering against the soldier’s hand, his cock throbbing against the soldier’s forehead.

Ethan reached up with his hand, and slowly, gently, cupped the side of Valorion’s face. His thumb traced Valorion’s cheekbone, and his fingers curved around the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” the soldier murmured. “Thank you.”

Without hesitation, Ethan tilted his head and pressed his lips to Valorion’s. Valorion froze for a moment, caught off guard. The moment hung between them, heavy and charged. The warmth of Ethan’s body, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the intensity in his gaze ignited something deep within Valorion. The resistance melted away, replaced by a rush of desire. Slowly, he surrendered, pressing his lips back against Ethan’s.

The kiss deepened, and the tension between them dissolved into something raw and urgent. Valorion closed his eyes as he felt the soldier’s cock, hot and hard against his own. A low moan escaped his lips, mingling with the fervor of their embrace.

Valorion ran his hands over the soldier’s body, feeling the lean muscle of his shoulders, the hard swell of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. He reached around and grabbed his ass, and gave it a squeeze.

Their cocks brushed against each other, and Valorion couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped his lips. The soldier echoed him, pressing his tongue more firmly into Valorion’s mouth.

The soldier sighed, pressing his body against Valorion. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he moaned.

As their hands explored each other’s bodies, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over Valorion. His vision blurred, and the strength he had regained began to fade.

He pulled back, resting a hand on Ethan’s chest, his eyes growing heavy. In moments, the hero collapsed gently onto the cold floor, falling into a deep, heavy slumber.

Ethan stood over Valorion’s unconscious body, his expression shifting. His lips curled into a cold smile as he gazed down at the fallen hero. “I told you before,” he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. “I don’t need to kill you to break you.”

His fingers moved to the back of his neck, searching for a hidden seam. With a firm pull, the seam gave way, and the false flesh began to peel back with a soft, wet sound.

Piece by piece, Ethan’s face loosened, slipping off like a second skin. Beneath it, sharp cheekbones and cold, angular features emerged—pale skin and green eyes gleaming with wicked amusement, framed by stark white hair. The face that now stared back wasn’t Ethan’s at all. It was Darksteel.

He continued the process, running his hands over his chest as Ethan’s toned physique began to sag and distort. His fingers traced the hidden seam at the back of his neck, slipping beneath the skin-tight suit with a precise, deliberate motion. With a firm pull, the suit loosened, the synthetic skin giving way as Ethan's athletic frame unraveled, revealing the far more imposing figure beneath.

With each pull, Darksteel’s true form emerged—his broader, muscular shoulders pushing through. His thick arms flexed as he freed them from Ethan’s false limbs, pulling each finger from the synthetic hands. The soft, squelching sound of the suit separating from his skin filled the room, heightening the unsettling atmosphere.

The skin, the muscles—everything that had made Ethan seemed to fold and fall away like a snake shedding its skin. Darksteel grunted as the tight material peeled off, the strange mix of squelching and tearing echoing through the warehouse.

Ethan’s build vanished, replaced by Darksteel’s sculpted physique. His broader shoulders and defined chest rippled with taut muscles, each honed by years of discipline. As the bodysuit slipped lower, Darksteel’s lean waist and carved abdomen came into view, a striking contrast to Ethan’s softer, less defined form.

The most delicate part remained—the groin. The tightness there had been a constant reminder of the suit’s control, and as he carefully slid it over his hips, Darksteel winced at the almost overwhelming relief. His skin, now exposed to the cool air, tingled with liberation.

With one last pull, he freed himself from the legs of the suit, feeling the tension fade as it pooled at his feet. His real skin glistened with sweat, faint impressions left from where the suit had gripped him tightly.

Darksteel breathed deeply, running a hand over his exposed chest, relishing the sensation of being in his own skin again. His muscles ached from the suit’s pressure, but a strange satisfaction remained, a reminder of the power and allure the suit had granted. He stretched, the stiffness fading from his limbs as he moved freely, unbound—like a predator finally released from its cage.

As he stared at Valorion’s unconscious body on the ground, Darksteel’s cock began to throb with excitement. His eyes roamed over the hero’s muscular form, tracing every curve. Clearly, the hero was still under the effects of the Kiss of Delusion.

The Kiss of Delusion was one of Darksteel’s special powers, causing his victim to become dizzy and unconscious. While under its effects, the victim’s dreams transformed into illusions imagined by Darksteel, allowing him to torture his opponents with their worst nightmares.

However, for Valorion, there was no need for such illusions. Darksteel had already implanted the perfect fantasy into his mind—one that would surely drive him mad once he awoke from his deep slumber.

Darksteel slid his hands down to Valorion’s ass and grabbed both cheeks, spreading them apart so he could see the hero’s tight asshole. His dick was now so hard it felt like it was going to explode at any minute.

He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, then plunges his cock into Valorion’s asshole in a single, fluid motion. With a swift spasm, he released his seed, letting it surge deep into the hero’s body. The essence, laced with his own cells, now flowed through Valorion’s insides, poised to begin its work. Now, all he had to do was wait.

Within minutes, a small lump began to form on the hero’s back. This was another of Darksteel’s abilities— the Flesh Husk Generation. By claiming his victims through intimate domination, Darksteel could cultivate a perfect replica skinsuit of their body, known as a Flesh Husk. This power allowed him to mimic not only their appearance but also their abilities when worn.

The transformation began with the Seed, a pulsing mass that grew and reshaped itself over several minutes. Once fully matured, the skin could be easily peeled from the victim’s body.

Darksteel gripped the warm, pliant flesh and, with a smooth tug, detached it. He marveled as the skin shifted, forming an exact copy of Valorion’s powerful body—from the broad torso to the muscular legs and arms, down to the smallest details of fingers and toes.

His fingers traced the flawless pecs, gliding over the hard contours of the sculpted abs, feeling the raw strength beneath the surface. A dark thrill surged through him, making him harder as he imagined what it would feel like to wear it—this hollow shell, waiting to be filled.

Slowly, he stepped into the suit, his legs sliding into the cool, flesh-like material. The suit clung tightly to his calves and thighs, making his body feel heavier, more defined. It wrapped around him like a second skin, reshaping him with an intoxicating intensity. As he pulled it over his waist, his legs bulged with muscle, his calves tightening, and his thighs swelling with power.

A gasp escaped his lips as the suit enveloped his torso. His once-lean chest swelled, pecs inflating into rock-hard slabs. His breath quickened as he stared at his new form—heavy pecs and ridged abs, as if carved from marble. The tightness around his torso was exhilarating, every inch of him reborn into something unstoppable.

The suit wrapped around his arms, thickening them into powerful limbs. Darksteel flexed, watching veins ripple beneath the synthetic skin. His fingers tingled, overwhelmed by the surge of strength. He clenched his fist, feeling untamed power coursing through him. Every movement felt deliberate, controlled—his body amplified, perfected beyond its limits.

As the suit closed around his core, the tightening at his groin made him catch his breath. His cock, nestled in the sheath, shifted from discomfort to a deep, sensual pressure. A groan escaped as he adjusted, feeling the sheath conform perfectly to his body. The suit gripped every part of him, shaping him into the powerful being.

Finally, he reached for the mask. The face had a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and shimmering blonde hair. Darksteel held it for a moment, then, with a deep breath, pressed the mask against his own face.

The adhesive activated instantly, molding his features into those of the towering blonde hero. He touched his cheek, feeling the hardness of the jawline, the rough stubble, and the cool synthetic skin as it seamlessly fused with his own.

Darksteel stood still for a moment, letting the full weight of his transformation sink in. His breath remained steady, but his pulse pounded beneath the thick slabs of his new chest. He raised a hand to his pecs, lingering over the firm, unyielding surface. Every inch of his torso was taut, solid—the suit enhancing his form to its absolute peak.

He turned his arm slightly, admiring the way the muscles shifted and stretched, as though they were alive, ready to crush or lift anything in his path. His legs felt heavier beneath him, solid pillars of muscle wrapped in the tight, flesh-like suit.

Darksteel’s gaze then shifted to Valorion’s iconic uniform, now dry, gleaming in the low light. The metallic spandex clung to every curve and ridge, practically begging to be worn. Darksteel’s pulse quickened as he reached for it, imagining how the fabric would embrace his body, completing his metamorphosis.

With steady hands, Darksteel lifted the spandex suit, feeling its weight shift, the material almost alive in his grip. His heart raced as the zipper slid open with a soft click, echoing in the still room. He took a deep breath, anticipation buzzing through him.

Slowly, he slid one leg into the suit. The fabric wrapped tightly around his thick calf, conforming to his powerful form. It stretched smoothly over his thigh, sending a jolt of excitement through him as it gripped his body like a second skin. Every movement heightened his awareness, the suit accentuating the solid muscle underneath.

He slipped his other leg into the suit, feeling the material mold to every contour of his legs. It seemed to know him, every ridge and curve fitting perfectly, leaving no space between him and the sensation of strength. The tightness was exhilarating—every step, every flex felt amplified by the form-fitting fabric.

As the suit slid over his hips, his breath hitched. It clung snugly to his groin, shaping him with precision, making him feel not just powerful, but in control—dominant. Adjusting himself slightly, the suit sealed him inside the illusion of a superhero’s body, and the thrill coursed through his veins.

He glanced down, watching the spandex stretch over his broad chest, highlighting the massive pecs that rose and fell with his rapid breathing. It hugged his torso with a snugness that made him feel invincible.

Darksteel’s hands trembled as he pulled the suit higher, over his shoulders, the fabric wrapping his arms like liquid metal. His fingers slipped into the sleeves, and the spandex tightened around his biceps. He flexed, watching his muscles bulge under the tight material, every motion enhancing the power that surged through him.

Darksteel adjusted the cowl over his face, sealing the heroic visage as his own. The transformation was complete. He looked down upon Valorion's still and sleeping form with a sinister smile.

"Sleep well, hero," he whispered with a cold, victorious grin. "In your dreams, you may still save the world, but in reality, it's my turn to reshape it."

------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Valorion stirred awake, his senses slowly coming to life. The soft beeping of nearby machines filled his ears, and his body felt weighed down, aching from an unknown ordeal. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a sterile, white room. The smell of antiseptic and the bright lights above made everything feel strange, unfamiliar. He blinked, adjusting to the harsh brightness, realizing he wasn’t in the warehouse anymore.

His breath hitched as he moved, his body bound not by his suit but by a stiff hospital gown. “Where am I?” he thought. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing of the bed.

Beside him, Ethan sat quietly, his eyes fixed on Valorion.

“You’re awake,” Ethan said softly, his voice calm. The young soldier was wearing a hospital gown too.

Valorion’s mind felt foggy, his memories jumbled. He glanced around at the machines, the sterile environment. A hospital? His heart quickened. “How did we get back?” he asked, his voice rough, cracking from disuse. “Back to the city?”

Ethan smiled faintly, but there was something guarded in his expression. “We were helped by some kind people,” he replied, his words vague. “They found us and brought us here. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”

Valorion frowned, his mind racing to remember. Flashes of their escape mixed with something more—something intimate. But his thoughts were fragmented, the details slipping away like sand between his fingers. He couldn’t tell if what he remembered was real or a fevered dream.

Before he could question Ethan further, the young soldier stood abruptly, his movements sharp. “You should rest more, Valorion. We can talk later,” Ethan said before swiftly exiting the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Valorion frowned, trying to recall what had happened. Flashes of their escape blurred with memories of something more intimate, something he wasn’t sure was real or imagined. His mind raced back to the moments before he blacked out—the feeling of Ethan’s body against his. Was it just a dream? He couldn’t tell.

Valorion lay still, his thoughts circled back to the blurry memories. Had they really shared those moments together? He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to recall the missing pieces. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Suddenly, the door burst open again—this time with a chaotic surge of people. Reporters, armed with cameras and microphones, flooded into the room, bombarding him with questions.

“Valorion! Can you explain the viral video?” one reporter demanded, shoving a microphone toward him.

“Viral video?” Valorion repeated, a wave of unease washing over him.

“Yes! The footage of you and this guy named Ethan!” another reporter chimed in, holding up a phone that displayed a still image—an image of him and Ethan together in an unmistakably intimate moment.

The hero’s chest tightened as panic set in. A video of him with Ethan? He scanned the room in panic, searching for Ethan, but the soldier was gone. His pulse raced as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. There’s a video of us? His hands gripped the bedsheets, his knuckles turning white. How could this be happening? How could anyone have recorded them?

Meanwhile, down the hospital’s quiet back corridors, Ethan moved calmly, his footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise empty hallway. He slipped into an unoccupied utility room, locking the door behind him. The dim light flickered overhead as he walked toward a small mirror on the wall.

His lips curled into a malicious grin as the memories of the warehouse flooded back:

After Valorion fell into a deep slumber, Darksteel called the real Ethan to come to the warehouse. Once there, Ethan was stripped of his uniform and had struggled against his captor. However, Darksteel, wearing Valorion’s muscular form, was far too strong. Ethan’s voice had cracked as he begged for mercy, but Darksteel silenced him, using the hero’s body to dominate him completely. Every moment was recorded as Darksteel, in Valorion’s skin, had taken his time fucking the young soldier. The sounds of Ethan’s desperation echoed in Darksteel’s mind even now, as he remembered how easily he had broken the man. After that event, he had the real Ethan confined in another secret lair with a reminder of who was truly in control.

With a cruel grin, Ethan—no, Darksteel—reached up and tugged at the tip of his nose. The synthetic skin loosened, and he carefully peeled it back, revealing his true face underneath. His sharp, angular features came into view, and his cold, green eyes gleamed with satisfaction as the mask of Ethan dangled from his hand.

He reached into a nearby bag and pulled out a full mask of a bearded man, rough around the edges. With practiced hands, he slipped the mask over his face, transforming into yet another persona. He checked his reflection, ensuring every detail was perfect.

Next, he pulled out an unremarkable outfit designed to help him blend into the crowd. He donned a plain gray hoodie, faded jeans, and worn sneakers. A baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes, completed the look. The beard, the weathered face, and the casual outfit—this disguise would let him disappear into the crowd, unnoticed.

Satisfied, he slipped the Ethan mask back into the bag and unlocked the door, stepping out into the hospital hallway. Nurses and staff passed him by without a second glance as he walked through the corridors, heading for the exit.

Outside, Darksteel blended effortlessly into the bustling city streets. He paused for a moment, looking up at Valorion’s hospital window from a distance. Through the glass, he could see the chaos inside—the flashing cameras, the reporters bombarding the hero with questions. A cold smirk played on his lips as he watched Valorion’s world unravel.

With everything going as planned, Darksteel's smile widened. He turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowd like a shadow.

But the game wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

-- ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ---

Commissioned by: 9momored

"Thanks for reading! Feel free to DM me with suggestions or commission requests. Don’t forget to follow me on my other platforms for more updates and content!"

[ericppp]

@malevessel requested this a long time ago but hey, better late than never

Essence of Men: Thad Hewitt

You think you can make a story about a criminal who possess the rich son of a family and uses his muscular body to throw the best parties in town and fuck all the girls he wants, and maybe smoke his father's cigars, while the young man can only watch from the back of his mind?

Thaddeus Michael Macpherson Erkskine Hewitt or Thad Hewitt for short is one of the most eligible bachelor in Sydney. He, by sheer fortunate fate of being born into his family, belong to the most elite social circle in one of the most expensive city to live in on Earth. So of course he grew up with silver spoon in his mouth and the refined palate for everything nice and upscale that his family money could afford. The best clothes, the best gadgets, the best vacation, only the best deserved to be tasted by the sole heir of the Macpherson Erskine-Hewitt lineage. As part of his parents plan to develop him into the rightful heir to their sprawling multi-sector enterprises, they sent him to the States for his university education, the isolation away from the scenes familiar to him might be helpful to help him become the adult his parents expected. Plus the higher studies in the States is just far more rigorous and opened up much more connection for him that might be beneficial for his future, but that's not why Thad is excited with the prospect from the very beginning

You see, as spoiled and well-fulfilled his wishlist to be, Thad is not necessarily the fitting stereotype of rich kids that blows through his parents money for sports car or fucking people as he pleased. In fact, he's the total opposite from it since he suspected himself to not necessarily be straight from the very beginning. Yes he had sex with girls in his batch a couple times before but he never really felt any kind of sparks or lust that the books described or movies portrayed. His crush to his best mate definitely never been explored because the repercussion would be massive so he's trapped in this limbo where he identified as straight since he fucked girls before and went hard for girls before, yet at the same time his mind really distracted a lot of times imaginimg about his best mate David or Cho sprawled around with no clothes on like the girls he fucked. The States provided him with an exciting experimentation ground alongside the anonymity and fresh scene for him to explore this conflicting desire of his. Yet, despite all that, he insisted to himself that he's probably straight.....or at worse bisexual and it was all simply a phase he would be finished with by the end of the day or somewhere in the near future. He just needed to try to verify it first.

But, as it turns out, after the first year in the States getting impaled by cocks — uncut or cut, clean-shaven or bushy, girthy 4 inches or long fuckstick that reached his deepest point — or simply giving those various meaty appendage a taste and a decent worship, he felt that the whole experience was really nice and liberating. Yes it's also painful and he recovered quite slowly, but he never experienced such euphoria until his eyes fluttered for a solid minute and his mind stopped thinking altogether as he just moaned like a bitch in heat or grunted in approval with every thrust. He explored with girls too that readily available for him with just a single wink and a little flirtatious dance in the club or the frat parties but it's just simply impossible to replicate such Earth-shattering sensation of getting fucked by another men or splitting open a dude's tight hole. The further he tried to think through about his sexuality, the more solid he determined himself to be not straight based on the way his mind reacted and the butterflies in his stomach flapped. And then he met Gabriel

Gabriel Blanco Ortega hailed from Spain and 2 years Thad's senior. He's studying to become a dentist and he finished his undergraduate from NYU with stellar performance that granted him with scholarship to attend Columbia free of charge. He's coolness personified, a very ambitious student yet also a very stunning human being with incredible emotional depth that can warm anyone's heart upon first sighting with his incredibly charming smile and easy-going personality. They stumbled on a mutual party once and hit it off ever since as they found out a lot of similarities and character traits that just matched between them. Gabriel is an only child from families filled with doctors so the expectation to carry the family legacy seemingly align between them. Other than that, they both love horchata and enjoyed reading analysis of museum pieces, plus they have this love-hate relationship with working out as both of them are fitness junkie but not to the level of becoming an outright gymbro. Gabriel is Thad's first openly acknowledged boyfriend while Thad is just one out of many dudes that Gabriel dated ever since his arrival to the States around 5 years ago. But, the spark between them was clearly undeniable so the usually reserved and observant Gabriel quickly brought their relationship to the next level, inviting Thad to his usual hangout spaces, apartment unit and even brought Thad around to parties to meet more senior colleague of his. Thad happily embraced his role practically being the "trophy" and Thad enjoyed these outings even more as Gabe usually ended it with a quick trip to this bodega they frequented a lot to tame down their hangover or late night cravings followed by lustful sex in Gabe's bedroom where Thad usually found himself reaching Nirvana as Gabe rode him till kingdom comes and Thad only saw whites.

In one usual day around the summer break between his 2nd and 3rd year, Thad lazily read some magazine in Gabe's living room while waiting for Gabe to return from his meeting with his supervisor. It's been 2 days since they met due to Thad's parents visit that occupied all his time but now he's available for Gabe once more. Gabe entered the apartment briskly and without even saying hi or anything to Thad. He even slammed his bedroom door and a loud thudding clearly heard from his bed. Confused and yet concerned, Thad asked Gabe what happened and is there anything he can helped him with but he refused to talk to him and even told Thad to give him some space.

"Unless you are a dentist, don't fucking talk to me," Gabe even said, which surprised Thad because Gabe never dismissed him this harshly

So space he gave, but Thad never expected that the space meant a literal 7 days of no contact that made him worried sick. So, he swung by Gabe's apartment only to be surprised with a girl walking out from Gabe's apartment clearly just finished from a one-night stand. He confronted Gabe with not only the betrayal but also what on Earth happened to him.

"Is it space or is it a fucking pussy that you need? So much bullshit for a fucking space," remarked Thad with anger from the get go as if he's ready for a fight

"It's not like what you think. She's just a friend, I swear to God," pleaded Gabe, trying to make Thad understands

"A friend that walked out from your apartment at 7 in the morning with hickeys on her neck? Do you think I'm dumb?" Thad confronted Gabe further

"I let her stay in my unit because it was too late. Daniela dated Perry, you know Perry and how fucking brutal that dude is when he's drunk, horny or both," explained Gabe, slightly exasperated but his tone clearly sounded more dejected and defensive rather than apologetic

"I don't buy that explanation, sorry. Plus, leaving me in silence for days with no updates, are you crazy? That is so unlike you, Gabe," exclaimed Thad

"Well....you got that right," Gabe said, all in a sudden sounding cold and menacing

"What right?" inquired Thad with his eyebrow furrowed

"That keeping you out of loop and far away is such an abnormal behavior coming from Gabe. I'm not Gabe after all, so maybe that's why," Gabe answered dryly

"What the fuck are you talking about?" replied Thad puzzled and stammered

"As I said, I'm not really Gabe, and I think you look pretty fucking decent for my brother, Martin. He's a familiar face, don't worry," Gabe said coldly with a smirk as he revealed a syringe from his pocket

"You don't have brother, Gabe.....what the fuck is this?"

"Enough with the banter, time to make you ours,"

Thad tried to ran out from the apartment but his coat easily grabbed by Gabe and with a hard pull, Thad fell backward and ended up right between Gabe's feet. With ease, Gabe injected the syringe to sedate Thad right on his neck and within seconds, Thad slurred out pleading for mercy before he passed out entirely

When Thad woke up, he's already buck naked and sprawled on top of Gabe's bed, with the dude working behind the counter at the bodega they frequented also buck-naked and seemingly ready to seed Thad's hole judging from his slick towering hard cock.

Martin is his name, if his memory served him right. So many things remained unexplained for Thad, yet when the invading cock entered his hole with such a powerful force he's never used to, his mind went blank as the pain override every single thoughts of his and caused him to scream out loud as if he's birthing a child or something. His stubborn hangover from the sedative and the Earth-shattering pounding really caused him to not be able to think straight as he just yelled for Martin to stop sinking his cock deeper to no avail. When he thought the agonizing pain from the cock penetrating deeper supposedly stopped, Thad opened his eyes and just mouthed a surprised reaction as he still felt it burrowed deeper beyond the deepest point he thought possible. His eyes rolled to the back in instance as the sensation reached a point that his body simply never experienced. He also realized that he's been listening to nothing but some sort of foreign incantation that enabled this whole sequence to happen. He felt warmer, like he's inside a sauna but it's his inside that felt the warmness while his body shooting buckets of sweat. That's also when he lost his ability to speak altogether as his mouth just gaped open with drool flowing out freely like a fountain while something definitely supernatural happened to him. As his rolled white eyes started to get tainted with darker hue, Martin roar turned louder and before long, he roared as he reached his climax and Thad's eyes rolled back with mischievous sparkle now visible in his eyes. Basically, aside from the seed that coated his inside to give him the core strength passed down through generations of the people of the land, Martin's essence transported alongside the massive eruption his cock ejected into Thad's hole. In literal seconds, as Martin's roar stopped and his body went limp, Thad roared as he returned back alive with a different driver on the driving seat of his consciousness. His cock also spurted out the delayed cum that's been holding on right at the tip of his cock like a fucking geyser, making one hell of a huge mess he didn't plan to make in the first place when he welcomed Martin inside.

His empty original skin has served him well and he's been too close to danger when he messed around with the sister of one of the more powerful mafia family in New York City. He needs something fresh, and Thad seemed like a very proper exit and might provide a new, easier beginning for Martin judging from the information he gathered while observing him and Gabe. His younger brother, Juan, already moved into Gabe earlier on the week, which caused the behavioral change on Gabe, but both men has been eyeing the two lover from the first time they walked in together to the bodega owned by their uncle.

Much to Martin's delightful surprise, Thad is way more loaded than he expected and even boasted powerful connection with the likes of British royal family, the energy oligarch from across the globe and some of the most powerful socialite in New York City and other metropolitan on Earth thanks to his oil heiress mom and coal-mining tycoon father. Martin studied Thad's entire life while laying naked on top of his cum-splattered silk sheet. The phone rings, the bell, the way the sun already set once more outside, he ignored everything in his pursuit to learn everything Thad. When the morning sunrise appeared once more, he stood up from his bed, stretched his back, and smirked to his reflection in the mirror. There's just no way anyone would notice anything different, he thought to himself as he mouthed seductively to the mirror

"Thad Hewitt, nice to meet you,"

Gabe appeared right by his side with tray of warm food and calming tea, he's equally excited that his brother has joined him for the transference to left their old life behind.

"Wait.....by the way. I can still hear Gabe in the back of my mind weeping because I literally looked like on the process to throw all his hard work away by ditching dental school, what about you, any noise from Thaddeus?"

"Oh Thad is also weeping and begging, but more to get a chance to hug his lovely Gabe rather than for his life. Guess he doesn't really care what ever the fuck I'm going to do with his body and his look,"

"Well, we can do a brotherly hug, it doesn't need to be homo despite the two of them are actually like that,"

"Why would I satisfy him and his pleading? You know what, I have better plan. Let's see how crazy they react when we plow pussies using their bodies,"

"Oh Gabe was livid when I pounded that chick Daniela. But it just made it super hot you know, her calling me Gabe while the real Gabe screamed for mercy to have control back over his body. You are going to really enjoy that sick and twisted mind game bro,"

"Oh that sounds solid. Fuck bro, you can really just ditch that bullshit dentist career and work for me. Thad got billions to cover his spending and I'm about to tap into the source and drained the shit out of it,"

"Yeah, I figured from Gabe's memories how Thad told him about a glimpse of his life but when I listened to you recollecting his memories, damn bro, I knew right then and there I would just stop going to school altogether LOL,"

---

That was 2 years ago, and as Martin expected, despite everyone's initial shock on the altered behavior, he's in the end of the day seen as Thad Hewitt that learned how the rich and powerful should really behave after learning from his American socialite friends, or so the folks back home thought.

His spending became astronomical as he moved to the literal Billionaire's Row after convincing his parents that it's a good property investment rather than keeping him in a rented Greenwhich Village apartment unit that he begged in the past because it was lowkey and provided him with privacy. His parents argued why on Earth he wanted to be flashy and seen all of a sudden and he simply replied that it's about time that the family business branched out to the States and involved in other sector other than mining and energy. He needed the initial splash to garner attention and made a mark so he can get the media buzz around it. That move to his 61st floor unit in the most expensive property in the United States per square footing followed by a ridiculous spending on furnitures, gadgets, wardrobe, personal care and a lavish sport car upgrade he requested for graduation present. Everything Thad wanted, Thad got it.

He even managed to get his parents to eventually supported him to explore the business ventures he wanted to do, which consisted of him hiring his "friends" to make "social media marketing agency" with all the coolest gadgets and apps to support their work and get the biggest client possible and also an event organizing company for the elites where he would plan parties for the folks in Billionaire's Row. Of course he didn't really work in any of it, he paid people to do those jobs as his parents injected fund literaly could pay their operational bill for years while also a fucking fat paycheck for him and Gabe on the side as long as he managed it right. He also invested some of the slush fund that his parents moved to him for crypto like the typical overloaded son of bitches that is not afraid to lose a couple million dollar here and there as long as it made him look cool and enabled him to talk BS to an impressionable audience.

Tonight is the 2nd anniversary of Hewitt Ortega ventures and Thad opened the entire 45th floor of the same tower where he lived for all his guest as no one bought the unit yet for his celebration. The entire bottle of liquor from his favorite bar in Soho plus one of the barrell of his family Argentinian, Californian and Australian vineyard brought to the celebration alongside endless canapes from one of his trusted caterer and connection Laurence. He even brought out the Cuban cigar stash he bought with his first major trading profit that he cashed out right away.

Aside from all the employees/friends that attended, he invited some of the major clients that used his service and also some VC buddies he made along the way as he also started to look at the idea to become an angel investor for some growing startup. Martin Rodriguez might not speak finance or upper class lingo fluently, but Thad Hewitt was born bathed in it so he faced not a single problem to mingle with all the folks and even dominated the conversation. A seductive glance from one of the hotter babes of the night attracted Thad to see where it will lead to, so he swiftly put down the cigar and excused himself away from his VC bros and instantly charmed his way to greet the seductress

"Hey there, you are working for Hannah Reuben, right? Alyssa?"

"Arisa,"

"Oohhh...Japanese......exquisite. Mixed with Brazilian? Let me guess, born in Brazil too?"

"You know your woman, huh?"

"Oh....I make it my business to be open-minded and well-informed about it. Enjoying your night?"

"Yeah, but it can be better, I believe,"

"Well, I can assure you, it's better at the 61st floor,"

"Is that an invitation, Mr. Hewitt? How about your guests?"

"Oh, Gabe and the others can handle them. After all, depending on you, we can be gone for 30 minutes or 1 hour. Most of them didn't last even 30 minutes,"

"So I heard. Let's put that to the test, shall we?"

Right as they entered the elevator and even before the door closed, Thad's mouth already sucked on her neck while his hands already groped her boobs as it slides in effortlessly past through the Alaia dress and her lacey Victoria's Secrets. His hard on pressed through his suit pants and the personal assistant to the star sculptor moaned his name as she can sense the snaking monster behind her

"Oh fuck Thad, you better fuck me as hard as the others,"

"Oh I'm not planning to do things differently,"

[ericppp]

Candle wishes

Well another one of AI stories with my ideas. To be honest I want to try something a bit different with a mix of transformation but overall with that spicy of corruption. I will do one single post now, but will include two endings here (a win and a lose ending).

Also, this is my final AI story for now. Is not that I have no more ideas, but I reach a limit on how much I can prompt to Grok without breaking its guidelines. Hope you liked this ride as much as I did.

Chapter 1: The Wish That Rewrote Reality

Angela sat on the edge of her bed in her childhood bedroom, her arms crossed tightly, her scowl deepening with every replay of her latest fight with her boyfriend, Nick. The small room in her parents’ house felt like a cage tonight, the pastel walls and faded posters a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. She’d moved back home after college to save money, but it meant dealing with her family’s chaos—and Nick’s infuriating behavior. They’d argued again, this time at the diner where she’d tried to have a serious talk about their future. Instead, Nick had spent the whole date talking about his construction crew’s latest prank—something involving a porta-potty and a lot of hot sauce—laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world while Angela sat there, fuming.

“Why are men like this?” she muttered, kicking off her sneakers and pacing the room. “All they think about is sex, or gross stuff, or food. I just… I don’t understand them at all.” She glanced at the photo on her desk—her and Nick at a carnival last summer, his arm around her, both of them smiling. She loved him, but lately, it felt like they were on different planets.

Her eyes landed on the small tin box on her dresser, a thrift store find she’d picked up earlier that day. It was a rusted vintage tin with a faded label: “Wishing Candles – 5 Wishes to Change Your Fate.” Inside were five tiny black candles, each the size of a birthday candle, their wicks untouched. The shopkeeper—a strange, wiry man with a crooked smile—had called them “special,” but Angela had brushed it off as a gimmick. Still, she’d bought them, thinking they’d be a fun distraction. Now, though, with her frustration boiling over, they felt like a lifeline.

She grabbed the tin, popped it open, and pulled out one of the candles, its surface cool and smooth in her hand. A small note inside the box caught her eye: “Light the candle, make your wish, and blow it out. Your fate will shift. WARNING: No undone wishes.” She scoffed. “Sure, whatever. What’s the worst that can happen?”

She set the candle on her desk, struck a match, and lit the wick. The flame flickered, casting a strange golden glow across the room, and a faint scent of cinnamon filled the air. Angela closed her eyes, her anger and longing for understanding swirling together. “I wish I could understand men,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She blew out the candle.

The room spun. A sharp, electric jolt coursed through her body, and her vision blurred, the golden glow of the candle flame searing into her mind. She gasped, clutching her chest, but the sensation overwhelmed her, and she blacked out, collapsing onto the bed.

When Angela opened her eyes, the room was dark, the candle extinguished, its wax melted into a small puddle on the desk. Her head throbbed, and her body felt… wrong. Heavy. Different. She groaned, sitting up, and froze as her hands brushed against her chest. Flat. Her curves were gone. She looked down, her breath catching—her breasts were gone, replaced by a broad, flat chest with a dusting of dark hair. Her hands flew to her face, feeling a sharp jawline, stubble prickling her fingertips. She stumbled to the mirror on her wall, her heart pounding, and stared at the reflection.

A man stared back. He was lean but toned, with short, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and deep brown eyes—her eyes, but in a face that wasn’t hers. Or… was it? He touched his reflection, his hands trembling. “What the hell?” His voice was deeper, a masculine timbre that sent a shiver down his spine. He looked down, pulling at the waistband of his pants—now loose around his narrower hips—and confirmed it. He was a man. Fully, undeniably a man.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, the note glaring up at him: No undone wishes. Panic surged through him, and he grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts. His name in the settings read “Angel,” not Angela. His social media profiles showed a guy’s face—his new face—posing with friends, at the gym, at family barbecues. Photos of him as Angela were gone, replaced by a lifetime of memories he didn’t have: playing basketball with his brother, drinking with his buddies, moving back into his parents’ house after college. Reality had rewritten itself. Everyone remembered him as Angel, a man.

He needed to talk to Nick. If reality had changed, what did that mean for their relationship? He dialed Nick’s number, his hands shaking, and waited as it rang. Nick picked up on the third ring, his voice casual and warm. “Yo, Angel, what’s up, man? You good?”

Angel’s heart sank. The flirty tone Nick used to have was gone, replaced by a bro-ish friendliness. “Nick… do you… remember us? Like, being together?” Angel asked, his voice trembling.

Nick laughed, confused. “Together? Dude, we’ve been best friends since high school. What’s with you tonight? You sound weird.”

Angel’s stomach twisted. Nick was still straight. In this new reality, they’d never been a couple—just best friends. The wish had made Angel a man to “understand men,” but it had erased their relationship, leaving him as Nick’s straight bro. “Yeah… I’m fine,” Angel lied, hanging up quickly, his chest tight with loss.

Before he could process it further, the bedroom door swung open, and in walked his older brother, Connor. At 28, Connor was a firefighter, his body a testament to years of training—broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and a cocky grin that had always annoyed Angela. Now, though, Angel’s reaction was different. Connor was fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but a pair of tight gray boxer briefs, his muscles flexing as he towel-dried his dark hair, completely unconcerned about his near-naked state. Living at home, Connor had always been casual like this—walking around in his underwear, lounging shirtless on the couch—and as Angela, she’d rolled her eyes and told him to put on a shirt. But now…

“Sup, Angel,” Connor said, his voice a low rumble, tossing the towel onto a chair. “You hitting the gym with me tomorrow? Gotta keep up with your big bro.” He smirked, flexing a bicep, and Angel’s mouth went dry.

As Angela, she’d found Connor attractive in a detached way—hot, sure, but manageable. Now, as Angel, his new male hormones roared to life, a wave of desire crashing over him so intense he nearly stumbled. His eyes locked on Connor’s abs, the way the boxer briefs hugged his hips, the casual confidence in his stride. Angel’s heart raced, his body reacting in ways he wasn’t used to—ways he couldn’t control. He wanted Connor. Badly. His brother. His straight, hot, unattainable brother.

“Uh… yeah, maybe,” Angel stammered, tearing his gaze away, his cheeks burning. He turned to his desk, pretending to fiddle with his phone, but Connor’s presence filled the room, inescapable. “You… you should put some clothes on,” Angel muttered, his voice strained.

Connor laughed, oblivious to Angel’s turmoil. “Nah, man, it’s too hot for that. Besides, we’re brothers—chill.” He clapped Angel on the shoulder, the touch sending a jolt through Angel’s new body, and sauntered out, leaving the door open.

Angel collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard. His new body was a storm of sensations—stronger, hungrier, more primal than he’d ever felt as Angela. And his attractions hadn’t changed. He still loved men, still craved them, but now he was one of them, with all the raw, unfiltered desire that came with it. Connor’s image lingered in his mind—those abs, that smirk, the way he moved—and Angel groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This is a nightmare.”

He grabbed the tin of candles, his hands shaking as he opened it. Four candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. The note stared back at him: No undone wishes. He couldn’t go back to being Angela. He was Angel now, forever. But the candles… they could still change things. He could wish for Nick to love him again, to be gay, to be his. Or… he glanced at the open door, where Connor’s laughter echoed from the hallway. He could wish for Connor. His own brother. The thought made his stomach churn with guilt, but his body ached with need.

He lit the second candle, the flame flickering gold, and held it in his trembling hands. He had to be careful. He had to think. But as Connor’s voice called out, “Yo, Angel, you want pizza? Mom’s ordering!” Angel’s resolve wavered. He was a man now, with a man’s desires, and the candles were his only way out—or deeper in.

Chapter 2: A Wish That Breaks Bonds

Angel sat on his bed, his heart hammering in his chest, the tin of wishing candles trembling in his hands. The golden flame of the second candle flickered in the dim light of his childhood bedroom, casting eerie shadows across the walls. His new body—male, unfamiliar, and pulsing with raw energy—was a storm he couldn’t tame. The rush of male hormones, the primal desire coursing through him, was unlike anything he’d felt as Angela. And Connor—his older brother, his biological brother—was at the center of that storm.

Connor had always been the golden child: a 28-year-old firefighter, straight as an arrow, with a chiseled body and a cocky grin that made their parents beam with pride. Growing up, Angela had been annoyed by his casual confidence—his habit of walking around the house in his underwear, his teasing jabs about her being “too serious.” But now, as Angel, those same traits were torture. Just minutes ago, Connor had stood in the doorway, fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but tight gray boxer briefs, his broad shoulders and sculpted abs on full display. The image was seared into Angel’s mind, and his new male body reacted with a hunger that made his thoughts spiral. He couldn’t think straight. He didn’t want to think straight.

The candles were his only way out—or deeper in. He stared at the flame, his breath ragged, his mind a chaotic blur of guilt and desire. “I can’t… I shouldn’t…” he whispered, but his body screamed otherwise. Connor was his brother—family, blood, someone he’d grown up with, shared a childhood with. This was wrong, so wrong, even with the candles’ power. But in a moment of reckless impulse, he gripped the candle tighter and spoke, his voice trembling with need. “I wish my brother was okay with having sex with me.” He blew out the candle, the golden flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke.

Regret hit him like a punch to the gut. “What am I doing?” he gasped, dropping the candle onto the desk, his hands shaking. Connor was his brother—his brother. They’d shared bunk beds as kids, fought over the last slice of cake at birthdays, laughed at their dad’s terrible jokes. This was beyond wrong. But the note in the tin glared up at him: No undone wishes. It was too late.

Reality shimmered around him, a subtle shift that made the air feel heavier. The family photos on his wall changed—where there had been pictures of him and Connor as kids with their mom, now there were photos of just him and his dad, with a new woman and a teenage Connor joining them in later shots. The wish had rewritten their family: his mother was no longer his biological mother, but his stepmother, a woman named Linda who’d married his dad years ago. And Connor… Connor was now his stepbrother, not his blood sibling. The wish had found a way to make itself “okay,” but it didn’t stop there.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Connor stepped back in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. His dark hair was still damp, his gray boxer briefs clinging to his hips, but something about him was different—darker, more dangerous. The wish hadn’t just changed their relationship; it had corrupted Connor’s very essence. Gone was the straight, heroic firefighter, the perfect son their parents adored. In his place was a spoiled, twisted version of Connor, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger, his smirk crueler, more entitled. He sauntered closer, his voice low and dripping with intent. “I told Mom to order the pizza,” he said, his hand dropping to fondle himself through his underwear, a clear erection straining against the fabric. “But I think you could eat something else until it arrives.”

Angel’s mouth went dry, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. “Connor, I—” he started, but the words died in his throat as Connor closed the distance between them, his hands gripping Angel’s shoulders with a possessive strength. Their lips crashed together, sloppy and desperate, Connor’s tongue pushing into Angel’s mouth with a hunger that matched the fire in his eyes. Angel melted into it, his new male hormones overriding his guilt, his hands roaming Connor’s bare back, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin.

They stumbled backward, falling onto the bed, their kisses growing messier, more frantic. Connor’s hands were everywhere—gripping Angel’s hips, sliding under his shirt, fondling him with a shameless confidence. Angel’s mind spun, torn between the wrongness of it all and the overwhelming need coursing through him. Connor broke the kiss, his breath hot against Angel’s ear as he growled, “You’re so fucking hot, Angel.” He pushed Angel down, guiding him to his thighs, his erection now fully visible through the strained fabric of his boxer briefs.

Angel’s heart raced as he slid the underwear down, Connor’s cock springing free, hard and ready. He hesitated for a split second, the last shred of his conscience screaming at him to stop—but then Connor’s hand tangled in his hair, guiding him forward, and Angel gave in. His lips closed around Connor, the taste and heat overwhelming his senses, his new body responding with a primal eagerness he couldn’t control.

The bedroom door swung open, and their stepmother’s voice cut through the haze. “Boys, pizza’s gonna be here in 15 minutes!” Linda froze in the doorway, her eyes wide, a pizza menu still in her hand. Angel’s heart stopped, his mouth still on Connor, panic flooding him. This was it—she’d scream, she’d freak out, she’d—

But her reaction wasn’t what he expected. She blinked, then sighed, a hand on her hip, her expression more annoyed than shocked. “Really, Connor? You couldn’t wait until after dinner? Your dad’s gonna be disappointed he missed out on the fun.” Her tone was cold, dismissive, her gaze flicking to Angel with a hint of disdain. To her, Angel was just her pathetic new husband’s son—a nobody compared to her golden boy, Connor.

Connor pulled back slightly, his cock still in Angel’s hand, and grinned at his mother, completely unashamed. “I’ll do Dad later, Mom. I’m horny now, and Angel’s right here.” He laughed, a cocky edge to his voice, and gave Angel’s hair a playful tug. “Besides, he’s been eyeing me all day—he wants it.”

Linda rolled her eyes, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a spoiled brat, Connor. Fine, have your way with him. Just don’t make a mess before the pizza gets here.” She turned to leave, closing the door behind her, her laughter echoing down the hall.

Angel’s mind reeled as Connor pushed him back down, his stepbrother’s hunger undeterred. They continued, Connor’s hands guiding him with a rough tenderness, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt both foreign and intoxicating. But as Angel surrendered to the moment, a cold realization settled in his chest. The wish hadn’t just made Connor okay with this—it had shattered their family dynamic in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His mother was now his stepmother, indifferent to him, viewing him as a pathetic extension of her new husband. And Connor… Connor was no longer the straight, heroic firefighter, the perfect son. The wish had twisted him into a spoiled, entitled version of himself, sexually open and unashamed, with a cruel streak that made Angel’s stomach churn. What had he done? What kind of reality had he created, where this was normal?

Connor’s voice pulled him back, low and teasing. “You’re so good at this, Angel. We’re gonna have so much fun.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and arrogance, and Angel couldn’t help but wonder how deep this rabbit hole went—and how many candles he’d need to fix it.

Chapter 3: A Family Unraveled

Angel’s mind was a haze, his body trembling as Connor’s cock filled him with cum, the heat and intensity overwhelming his senses. He gasped, his new male body shuddering beneath his stepbrother’s weight, the bed creaking beneath them in the dim light of his childhood bedroom. The pizza hadn’t even arrived yet, but Angel was already lost in a storm of desire and guilt, his thoughts a chaotic blur as Connor’s hands gripped his hips with a possessive strength.

But Connor wasn’t done. In a swift, fluid movement, he hooked Angel’s legs over his broad shoulders, his chiseled firefighter’s body glistening with sweat as he positioned himself again. “You’re mine, Angel,” Connor growled, his voice low and dripping with entitlement, his eyes glinting with a cruel hunger. He thrust into Angel again, wildly, relentlessly, each movement a claim, a domination. Angel moaned, his body responding despite the turmoil in his mind, the raw pleasure of his new male form drowning out his ability to think straight.

For a fleeting moment, clarity broke through the haze. Angel’s eyes drifted to the family photo on his wall—one of the few that hadn’t changed completely in this warped reality. It showed him and Connor as kids, back when they were biological brothers, grinning at a park with their parents. Connor had been different then. He’d been a good person, the kind of brother who’d protected Angel from bullies, who’d shared his Halloween candy even when Angel lost his own, who’d helped him with math homework despite being three years older. Their parents—Richard and their mom, before she became Linda the stepmother—had raised them both with love and care, values that had made Connor volunteer as a firefighter, dedicating his life to saving others. He’d been smart, kind, the golden child in the best way, someone Angel had always looked up to.

But this Connor—the one fucking him with a savage intensity—was a stranger. The wish had twisted him beyond recognition, and as Angel’s body rocked beneath him, new memories rose to the surface, memories of a reality the candles had created when they turned Connor and their mother into his stepbrother and stepmother.

It had started when Linda, Connor’s biological mother, married Angel’s dad, Richard, years ago, after the wish rewrote their family history. In this new reality, Linda had brought her teenage son, Connor, into the marriage—a spoiled brat who’d been raised with no boundaries, no discipline. Richard had tried to step in, to raise Connor with the same values he’d instilled in Angel: kindness, responsibility, hard work. But Linda wouldn’t allow it. She doted on Connor, giving him everything he wanted, shielding him from consequences, turning him into a monster of entitlement. Angel remembered the fights—Richard’s voice raised, pleading with Linda to let him discipline Connor, to teach him right from wrong, but Linda always shut him down, her voice cold and final: “He’s my son, not yours.”

Things had escalated quickly. A few weeks after the marriage, Connor—fed up with his new stepdad’s attempts to “control” him—had snapped. Angel’s memories shifted, vivid and horrifying: Connor, at 18, towering over Richard in the living room, his fists clenched, his voice a snarl. The fight had turned physical, and Connor, stronger and more ruthless, had won. But he didn’t stop there. Over the weeks and months that followed, Connor had broken Richard through sheer force, sex, and time. It started with dominance—Connor pinning Richard down, asserting his control, using his physical strength to overpower him. Then came the sex, relentless and degrading, Connor taking Richard whenever he wanted, turning his stepdad into a tool for his pleasure. Over time, the constant assault shattered Richard’s sanity, his mind fracturing under the weight of Connor’s cruelty. Once his sanity broke, Connor reshaped him, molding him into a cock-obsessed whore who lived only to serve his stepson, a man who’d betray his own son if it pleased Connor.

Linda’s reaction had been just as shocking. At first, she’d been furious, threatening to leave Richard when she caught Connor with him, the family dynamic shattered. But Connor, with his charisma and unyielding will, had convinced her to stay. He liked the new setup—liked having a family that revolved around him, that bowed to his every whim. Linda, unable to say no to her golden son, had agreed, her love for Connor outweighing any moral qualms. Now, she was complicit, indifferent to the depravity, viewing Angel as nothing more than her pathetic new husband’s son—a toy for Connor to play with.

The family had become a twisted mockery of what it once was. Connor was the head of the household, his word law, his desires paramount. Richard was a shell of his former self, a submissive puppet who lived to serve Connor, even at the expense of his own son. Linda enabled it all, her loyalty to Connor absolute, her disdain for Angel palpable. And Angel… Angel was no one in this new reality, just a plaything for the golden son, his place in the family erased by the wish’s cruel magic.

Connor’s voice snapped Angel back to the present, his thrusts slowing as he leaned down, his breath hot against Angel’s ear. “You feel so good, Angel,” he purred, his tone cocky and self-assured, his hands gripping Angel’s thighs tighter. “You’re gonna be my favorite toy.” He smirked, pulling out and flipping Angel onto his stomach, ready for another round, his spoiled nature on full display as he took what he wanted without a shred of guilt.

Angel’s mind reeled, his body still trembling from the intensity, his thoughts a chaotic mix of pleasure and horror. He’d done this. The wish hadn’t just made Connor okay with sex—it had shattered their family, rewriting their history, their relationships, their very identities. Connor was no longer the brother he’d loved, the protector he’d admired. He was a spoiled, twisted monster, a stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his straight identity corrupted into a sexually open, dominant force that bent everyone to his will. Richard was a broken man, Linda an enabler, and Angel… Angel was nothing, just a toy for Connor to use, his place in the family stripped away.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Richard’s voice cut through the haze, high-pitched and whiny, a stark contrast to the deep, steady tone Angel remembered from his childhood. “Connor, my boy, why are you wasting your time with him?” Richard stood in the doorway, his posture slumped, his eyes wide and desperate as he wrung his hands. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight shorts that left little to the imagination, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic neediness. “I’ve been waiting for you all day, and you’re here with… with Angel? Your pathetic little brother? I thought I was your favorite!”

Angel’s heart sank, the words cutting deeper than he’d expected. His dad—his dad—didn’t care about him anymore. Richard’s love for his son had been erased, replaced by an all-consuming obsession with Connor. To Richard, Connor was his world now, his “favorite son,” while Angel was nothing more than a nuisance, a rival for Connor’s attention.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, not even pausing as he thrust into Angel again. “Relax, Dad,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I’ll get to you later. Angel’s new—I’m breaking him in. You’ll get your turn.” He smirked, giving Angel’s ass a possessive slap, his dominance over the family on full display.

Richard pouted, his eyes welling with tears, but he didn’t argue. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “But don’t take too long, Connor. I need you.” The door closed behind him, his whiny voice fading down the hall.

Angel’s chest tightened, a mix of shame and grief washing over him. His dad didn’t love him anymore—didn’t even see him as his son. Connor had reshaped him so completely that Richard’s only concern was pleasing his stepson, even at the expense of his own flesh and blood. The family Angel had known was gone, replaced by this twisted, dysfunctional nightmare.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, three remaining, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. Angel’s eyes darted to them as Connor’s hands roamed his body, his stepbrother’s hunger insatiable. He had to fix this—he had to use another wish to undo the damage, to bring back the family he’d lost. But the note in the tin echoed in his mind: No undone wishes. And deep down, a darker thought whispered: what if he didn’t fix it? What if he used the candles to take control, to make Connor his, to rewrite this twisted reality into something he could live with?

The pizza sat untouched downstairs, Linda’s voice calling out, “Boys, food’s getting cold!” But Connor didn’t stop, his thrusts growing wilder, his laughter dark and triumphant. “We’ll eat later,” he growled, his grip on Angel tightening. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Angel’s heart pounded, his body caught in the storm of Connor’s desire, his mind racing with the weight of what he’d done—and what he might do next.

Chapter 4: A Table Set for Chaos

Angel lay on his bed, his body still trembling from the intensity of his encounter with Connor, his mind a tangled mess of guilt, desire, and horror. The scent of Connor lingered on his skin, a reminder of the stepbrother who’d claimed him with a savage hunger, leaving him feeling both used and electrified. His new male body was a storm of sensations, the raw pleasure of the moment clashing with the sickening realization of what he’d done—what the wish had done to his family.

Connor had finished with him abruptly, pulling out with a cocky smirk and a casual slap to Angel’s ass. “That was fun, little bro,” he’d said, his voice dripping with entitlement, as if Angel were nothing more than a toy he’d grown bored of. Without another word, he’d pulled on his boxer briefs and sauntered out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Pizza’s waiting—don’t take too long.” The door had closed behind him, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts, his body aching and his heart heavy.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, his breath still uneven. He needed a moment—a break from the chaos, a chance to process what had just happened. But the sounds of the family downstairs—Linda’s laughter, Connor’s booming voice—pulled him from his thoughts. He couldn’t hide in his room forever. He had to face them, to see the full extent of the damage his wish had caused. With a deep breath, he pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, his legs shaky as he made his way to the dining room.

The scene that greeted him was a twisted mockery of the family dinners he remembered. Connor sat at the head of the table, the spot that had once been Richard’s, a slice of pizza in one hand, his posture relaxed but commanding. His gray boxer briefs were still on, but his bare chest glistened with a sheen of sweat, his chiseled firefighter’s body on full display. He was mid-rant, his voice loud and petulant, a spoiled brat in a man’s body. “Work is so fucking annoying,” he complained, taking a bite of pizza, his tone dripping with disdain. “They want me to help people, like if they’re worth something. I’m out there risking my ass for what? A pat on the back? Fuck that.”

Linda sat to his right, a glass of wine in her hand, her expression a mix of amusement and adoration as she listened to her son. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair perfectly styled, her demeanor that of a woman who’d long since given up on morality in favor of keeping her golden boy happy. “Then quit, Connor,” she said, her voice smooth and encouraging. “You don’t need to work. We have Richard to pay the bills, don’t we? He’ll take care of everything—you can just enjoy yourself.”

Richard, Angel’s dad, was a sight that made Angel’s stomach churn. He was straddling Connor’s lap, his movements greedy and desperate, riding Connor’s cock with a shameless intensity that made the dining table shake. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight briefs that had been pushed down to his thighs, his body pressed against Connor’s as he kissed and fondled his stepson’s chest, his lips trailing over Connor’s collarbone with a feverish need. Richard’s eyes were glazed, his mind long since broken by Connor’s relentless domination, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic, cock-obsessed devotion. Without stopping his movements, he spoke, his voice high-pitched and whiny, a stark contrast to the deep, steady tone Angel remembered from his childhood. “I’ll give you all the money you want, Connor,” he panted, his hands roaming Connor’s body, his words punctuated by moans. “As long as you keep fucking me instead of that burden of a son, Angel. You don’t need him—I’m all you need.”

Angel froze in the doorway, his heart sinking, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow. His dad—his dad—had just called him a burden, dismissing him as if he were nothing. Richard’s love for his son had been completely erased, replaced by an all-consuming obsession with Connor. To Richard, Connor was his world now, his “favorite son,” while Angel was an inconvenience, a rival for Connor’s attention. The family Angel had known—the one where Richard had taught him to ride a bike, where they’d laughed over bad puns at the dinner table—was gone, replaced by this twisted, depraved nightmare.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, not even glancing at Angel as he took another bite of pizza, his free hand guiding Richard’s hips with a possessive grip. “Hear that, Angel?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Dad knows his place. You should learn yours.” Linda chuckled, sipping her wine, her eyes flicking to Angel with a cold indifference before returning to her son, her pride in him unshakable.

Angel’s chest tightened, a mix of shame, grief, and anger washing over him. His family was gone—he was sure of that now. Richard didn’t love him anymore, didn’t even see him as his son. Linda had never cared for him, and Connor… Connor had become a monster, a spoiled, twisted stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his straight identity corrupted into a sexually open, dominant force that bent everyone to his will. Angel was nothing in this new reality, just a toy for Connor to use, his place in the family stripped away by the wish’s cruel magic.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t watch this any longer. Turning on his heel, he fled back to his room, his heart pounding, his mind racing with the weight of what he’d done. He slammed the door behind him, leaning against it as tears stung his eyes. He’d lost everything—his family, his identity, his place in the world. But there was one person who might still be on his side, one person he could turn to: Nick.

Nick, his former boyfriend, now his best friend in this warped reality, was the only connection to his old life that hadn’t been completely tainted. If Angel could bring Nick back into his life, make him more than a friend, maybe he’d have someone in his corner, someone to help him navigate this nightmare. He stumbled to his desk, grabbing the tin of wishing candles with trembling hands. Three candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light. The note in the tin stared up at him—No undone wishes—but he couldn’t think about that now. He needed Nick. He needed someone to love him, to stand by him, to remind him of who he used to be.

He lit the third candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room. His breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities of what this wish might do, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. “I wish Nick was more than my friend,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear. He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around him shimmered, reality shifting once again.

Angel sat back on his bed, his heart pounding, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Would Nick call? Would he show up at the door? What did “more than my friend” even mean in this twisted reality? The candles’ magic was unpredictable, and Angel knew better than to assume this wish would go as planned. But for now, all he could do was wait, the sounds of Connor’s laughter and Richard’s moans echoing from the dining room, a haunting reminder of the family he’d lost—and the dangerous game he was still playing.

Chapter 5: A Wish Misplaced

Angel sat on his bed, his heart pounding, the tin of wishing candles still on his desk where he’d left it after making his desperate wish. The golden flame of the third candle had long since gone out, but the air in his childhood bedroom still felt heavy, charged with the unpredictable magic he’d unleashed. His mind was a storm of emotions—grief over the loss of his family, shame over what he’d done with Connor, and a fragile hope that Nick, his former boyfriend turned best friend in this warped reality, could be his lifeline. He’d wished for Nick to be “more than my friend,” hoping to reclaim the love they’d once shared, to have someone on his side in this nightmare. But as the minutes ticked by, doubt crept in. What if the wish had gone wrong, like the others?

A sharp knock on his window snapped him out of his thoughts, the sound so familiar it made his heart leap. It was Nick’s signature entrance—back when they were dating as Angela and Nick, he’d always climbed through her window late at night, sneaking in to avoid her parents. Angel’s breath hitched as he rushed to the window, his hands trembling as he pushed it open. Nick was here. Maybe the wish had worked. Maybe he’d have Nick back as his boyfriend, someone to love him, to help him navigate this twisted reality.

Nick climbed through the window with the same easy grace Angel remembered, his broad shoulders and construction worker’s build filling the room with a presence that made Angel’s new male body ache with longing. Nick’s dark hair was tousled, his flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tight undershirt that hugged his muscular frame, his jeans clinging to his thighs. He grinned at Angel, but the smile was… off. It was friendly, casual, the same bro-ish grin he’d given Angel on the phone earlier, not the flirty, loving one Angel had hoped for. “Yo, Angel, what’s up, man?” Nick said, brushing off his jeans as he stepped inside. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Angel’s heart sank, his hope flickering. Didn’t the wish work? Nick’s tone was still that of a best friend, not a boyfriend. There was no warmth, no affection, just the same casual friendliness that had defined their relationship since the first wish turned Angel into a man. “Nick, I… I just needed to see you,” Angel stammered, his voice trembling, searching Nick’s face for any sign of the love they’d once shared.

Nick barely seemed to hear him, his eyes darting around the room, his expression shifting to one of impatience. “Yeah, cool, but where’s Connor?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost dismissive. “I told him I’d swing by after work.”

Angel’s heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in his chest. Nick was looking for Connor. Not him. Before he could process the implications, the bedroom door swung open, and Connor sauntered in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He was still shirtless, his gray boxer briefs clinging to his hips, a slice of pizza in one hand, his chiseled firefighter’s body on full display. His smirk was cruel, his eyes glinting with a possessive hunger as they landed on Nick.

“There you are, babe,” Connor said, his voice low and affectionate, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he’d shown Angel earlier. He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling Nick into a tight embrace, their bodies pressing together with a familiarity that made Angel’s stomach churn. Nick melted into the hug, his arms wrapping around Connor’s waist, his hands roaming Connor’s bare back with a tenderness that Angel had once known.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Nick murmured, his voice soft, intimate, the kind of tone he used to use with Angela. He tilted his head up, and Connor leaned down, their lips meeting in a passionate, hungry kiss that made Angel’s breath catch in his throat. The kiss was deep, desperate, their tongues tangling as they devoured each other, their hands gripping tighter, bodies pressed so close there was no space between them.

Angel stood frozen, his heart shattering as the truth hit him like a tidal wave. The wish had worked—but not the way he’d intended. Nick was more than his friend now, but not to Angel. He was Connor’s boyfriend. The candles’ magic, unpredictable and cruel, had twisted his wish, giving Nick to Connor instead, deepening the stepbrother’s control over the family and leaving Angel more isolated than ever.

“Why’d you come through his window, babe?” Connor asked, pulling back from the kiss but keeping Nick in his arms, his tone a mix of teasing and possessiveness. “I told you to use mine.”

Nick chuckled, his hands still roaming Connor’s body, his eyes locked on his boyfriend with a devotion that made Angel’s chest ache. “Sorry, Connor, I always get confused with your shrimp brother’s room,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he glanced at Angel, his expression cold and dismissive.

Connor laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, his grip on Nick tightening as he shot Angel a disdainful look. “Don’t call him that,” he said, his tone sharp, his eyes glinting with malice. “He’s not worthy of being called my brother.” He smirked, pulling Nick closer, their bodies pressed together as they turned their attention back to each other, dismissing Angel entirely.

Their embrace quickly turned sexual, their hands roaming with a shameless hunger, their kisses growing sloppier, more desperate. Nick’s hands slid down to Connor’s ass, squeezing through the boxer briefs, while Connor’s fingers tangled in Nick’s hair, guiding him with a possessive roughness. They moved together with a rhythm that spoke of familiarity, of a relationship that had been rewritten into reality by the candles’ magic, a relationship that excluded Angel entirely.

All the while, they mocked him, their words cutting deeper with every touch, every kiss. “He’s so pathetic, isn’t he?” Nick murmured against Connor’s lips, his voice low but loud enough for Angel to hear. “Always moping around, like he’s worth something.”

“Yeah, just a toy I got bored of,” Connor replied, his laughter dark and triumphant, his hands sliding under Nick’s shirt to pull it off, revealing his toned chest. “You’re so much better, babe. Let’s show him how real men do it.”

Angel’s vision blurred with tears, his heart breaking as he watched the two men he loved most in the world—his stepbrother and his former boyfriend—embrace each other, their love a cruel mockery of everything he’d hoped for. Nick wasn’t his anymore. He was Connor’s, fully and completely, his straight identity rewritten into a gay, devoted boyfriend for the golden son, the head of the family. Angel was nothing to either of them, just a pathetic footnote in their twisted love story.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Turning away, he stumbled to his desk, his hands trembling as he grabbed the tin of wishing candles. Two candles remained, their black wax gleaming in the dim light, the note inside a haunting reminder: No undone wishes. He’d lost his family, his place in the world, and now Nick—the one person he’d thought could save him. But the candles were still his, the only power he had left in this nightmare reality. He could make another wish, try to fix this, try to take Nick back, or… or he could use them to destroy Connor, to take control, to rewrite this twisted world into something he could survive.

The sounds of Nick and Connor’s laughter, their moans, their cruel taunts, echoed behind him as they continued their passionate embrace, oblivious to Angel’s pain. He gripped the tin tighter, his resolve hardening. He didn’t know what his next wish would be, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t done yet.

Chapter 6: A Wish Stolen, A Father Erased

Angel stood by his desk, the tin of wishing candles trembling in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to think his way out of the nightmare his life had become. The sounds of Nick and Connor’s passionate embrace filled the room, their moans and laughter a cruel reminder of the love he’d lost. Nick, his former boyfriend, was now Connor’s devoted partner, their relationship a twisted product of Angel’s own wish gone wrong. The candles’ magic had betrayed him again, and with only two candles left, he had to be careful—had to find a way to fix this, to take Nick back, to reclaim some semblance of the life he’d lost. He lit the fourth candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room as he stared at it, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

Behind him, Nick and Connor’s embrace grew hotter, their hands roaming with a shameless hunger, their bodies pressed together in a rhythm that spoke of raw desire. Nick’s hands slid down to Connor’s ass, squeezing through the boxer briefs, his voice low and desperate as he broke their kiss. “Fuck, Connor, I want to top that ass so bad,” he growled, his tone thick with need, his hands gripping tighter as he pressed himself closer.

Connor pulled back slightly, his smirk sharp and commanding, his eyes glinting with a possessive edge. “You know you can’t top with me, babe,” he said, his voice firm, a reminder of his dominance in their relationship—and in the family. “I’m the one in charge here.”

Nick whined, his frustration clear as he nuzzled Connor’s neck, his hands still roaming. “Come on, Connor, I want to top today,” he pleaded, his voice a mix of desire and petulance, his body tense with unfulfilled need.

Connor’s smirk widened, a cruel idea sparking in his mind. He turned his head, calling out toward the hallway. “Yo, Richard! Get in here!” His voice was commanding, a tone that brooked no argument, the tone of the head of the household who expected to be obeyed.

Richard shuffled into the room, his posture slumped, his eyes wide and desperate as he wrung his hands. He was still shirtless, wearing only the tight briefs he’d had on at the dining table, his once-proud demeanor replaced by a pathetic neediness. He’d been broken by Connor over the years—through force, sex, and time—his sanity shattered, his identity reshaped into a cock-obsessed whore for his stepson. But even in his degraded state, he had a sliver of pride left, a faint echo of the man he’d once been. “What do you need, Connor?” he asked, his voice high-pitched and whiny, his eyes locked on his stepson with a mix of devotion and fear.

Connor gestured to Nick, his smirk never wavering. “Nick wants to top, and I’m not in the mood to bottom,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice. “So I’m offering your hole to him. Get over here and let him fuck you.”

Richard’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through his submissive haze. “W-what?” he stammered, his hands trembling as he took a step back. “Connor, I… I’m your slut, not his. I’m only for you.” Despite his broken state, a shred of his former pride as a man surfaced, a faint resistance to the idea of being passed around like a toy. He’d given everything to Connor—his body, his mind, his identity—but this was a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

Connor’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. He stepped away from Nick, closing the distance between himself and Richard in a few strides, his hand shooting out to grab Richard’s arm with a bruising grip. “You’ll do what I say,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes glinting with a cruel intensity. “I own you, remember? Now get on the bed and spread your legs for Nick.”

Richard whimpered, his resistance crumbling under Connor’s force, but it wasn’t enough. He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, his voice trembling. “Please, Connor, I… I can’t…” Nick, still frustrated, let out an exasperated groan, his hands clenching into fists. “Come on, man, I need to fuck something,” he snapped, his tone sharp, his desire turning to anger.

Connor’s eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over, but then his gaze landed on Angel—and the lit candle in his hands. A mocking laugh escaped his lips, his smirk returning as he released Richard and turned his attention to his stepbrother. “What the fuck are you doing, Angel?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Making wishes? You think those stupid candles are gonna save you?” Before Angel could react, Connor crossed the room in two strides, snatching the candle from his hands, the golden flame flickering dangerously as he held it up, his eyes glinting with malice.

Angel’s heart stopped, panic flooding him as he reached for the candle, but Connor held it out of reach, his laughter dark and triumphant. “Let’s see how this works,” Connor said, his tone mocking, his gaze flicking to Richard, who was still trembling by the bed. “God, your dad is so annoying. I wish he forgot ever being anything more than my personal slut.” He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around them shimmered, reality shifting once again.

The change was immediate, and devastating. Richard’s eyes glazed over, his expression going blank as the last remnants of his former self were erased. The memories of the straight man he’d once been—the loving father who’d taught Angel to ride a bike, the husband who’d cherished his family, the rightful man who’d tried to raise Connor with values—vanished, as if they’d never existed. He wasn’t Richard, Angel’s father, anymore. He was just a slut, gay and insatiable, his entire identity reduced to a single purpose: serving Connor’s cock. Angel? Who was Angel? He couldn’t recall having a son—couldn’t recall anything beyond the all-consuming need to be fucked, to be used, to be Connor’s personal slut.

A wide, vacant smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with a mindless eagerness as he turned to Nick, his hands already reaching for his briefs to pull them down. “You want to fuck me?” he purred, his voice high and eager, his body trembling with anticipation. “I’m all yours. Connor says it’s okay, so it’s okay.” He climbed onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his movements shameless and desperate, his pride as a man long gone.

Nick’s frustration melted into a grin, his hands already working to unbutton his jeans as he moved toward the bed. “Fuck yeah, that’s more like it,” he said, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked on Richard’s eager form. Connor laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound, as he tossed the candle back to Angel, the wax still warm from the flame. “See, Angel?” he sneered, his tone dripping with malice. “That’s how you use those things. Now watch how real men fuck.”

Angel caught the candle, his hands trembling, his heart shattering as he watched Nick climb onto the bed, his hands roaming Richard’s body with a possessive hunger, their moans filling the room as they began to fuck. Richard’s eager cries, his complete lack of recognition for Angel, were a knife to the chest. His dad was gone—truly gone—erased by Connor’s wish, his identity reduced to nothing more than a slut for Connor’s pleasure, a hole for Nick to use. The family Angel had known was a distant memory, replaced by this twisted, depraved nightmare where he was nothing, less than nothing, to the people who’d once loved him.

The tin of candles sat on the desk, one remaining, its black wax gleaming in the dim light. Angel’s eyes darted to it, his resolve hardening amidst the despair. Connor had stolen his wish, used it to erase what little was left of Richard, but Angel still had one candle left—one last chance to change things, to take back control, to make this nightmare end. The sounds of Nick and Richard’s moans, Connor’s mocking laughter, echoed around him, a haunting reminder of the hell he’d created—and the dangerous game he was still playing.

Chapter 7: The Final Flame

Angel stood frozen by his desk, the tin of wishing candles clutched in his trembling hands, the sounds of Nick and Richard’s moans echoing behind him, a cruel symphony of the family he’d lost. Connor’s mocking laughter still rang in his ears, his stepbrother’s cruel wish—“I wish he forgot ever being anything more than my personal slut”—having erased Richard’s identity completely. The man who’d once been Angel’s father was gone, his memories of being a straight man, a loving father, a husband, replaced by a mindless, gay cock slut who didn’t even know Angel existed. Nick, Angel’s former boyfriend, was now Connor’s devoted partner, their passionate embrace a constant reminder of the love Angel had lost. Linda, his stepmother, enabled it all, her loyalty to Connor absolute, her disdain for Angel palpable. And Connor… Connor was a monster, a spoiled, sexually dominant stepbrother who ruled the family with an iron fist, his corruption complete after stealing the fourth candle and using it to erase Richard’s past.

The tin held only one candle now, its black wax gleaming in the dim light, the note inside a haunting reminder: No undone wishes. Angel’s heart pounded, his mind racing with the weight of his decision. This was his last chance—his final wish, his only hope to fix the nightmare he’d created, to take back control, to reclaim the family and love he’d lost. But the candles’ magic was unpredictable, cruel, always twisting his desires into something darker. He’d wished to understand men, and he’d become one, losing his identity as Angela. He’d wished for Connor to be okay with sex, and it had turned him into a twisted stepbrother who dominated the family. He’d wished for Nick to be more than a friend, and it had given him to Connor instead. What would this final wish do?

He glanced at Connor, who was watching Nick and Richard with a smirk, his chiseled body still on display, his dominance over the room absolute. Angel’s resolve hardened. Connor was the source of this nightmare—his corruption, his cruelty, his control had destroyed everything. If Angel could take him down, maybe he could save what was left of his family, maybe he could bring Nick back, maybe he could find a way to survive this hell. He lit the final candle, the golden flame flickering to life, casting a warm glow across the room. His breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. “I wish Connor was stripped of all his power and control,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. He blew out the candle, the flame snuffing out with a faint wisp of smoke, and the air around him shimmered, reality shifting one last time.

A cold laugh echoed through the room, a sound that wasn’t Connor’s, wasn’t Nick’s, wasn’t Richard’s. It was otherworldly, sharp and mocking, sending a chill down Angel’s spine. The air grew heavy, the shadows in the room lengthening, and a figure materialized in the corner—a wiry man with a crooked smile, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, malevolent light. It was the shopkeeper from the thrift store, the one who’d sold Angela the candles all those days ago, but he was different now, his form flickering like a mirage, his presence radiating a dark, supernatural energy. “Well, well, well,” the figure said, his voice a low purr, his smile widening. “You’ve used all my candles, little one. I must say, you’ve made quite a mess.”

Angel’s heart stopped, his hands trembling as he clutched the empty tin. “Who… who are you?” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes darting to Connor, Nick, and Richard, who seemed frozen, their movements halted as if time itself had paused.

Connor Lose

The figure stepped closer, his form shifting, his body elongating into something less human, more ethereal, his eyes glowing with a golden light that matched the candles’ flame. “I am the Trickster, the spirit bound to those candles,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “I grant wishes, yes, but I also feed on the chaos they create. And you, my dear, have given me quite a feast.” He gestured to the room, to Connor’s dominance, Richard’s submission, Nick’s betrayal. “But now you’ve made your final wish, and I must grant it—though not without my own little twist.”

The Trickster snapped his fingers, and reality shuddered, the effects of Angel’s wish taking hold. Connor’s smirk vanished, his body trembling as an invisible force seemed to grip him, stripping away the power and control he’d wielded so effortlessly. His chiseled form shrank slightly, his muscles softening, his commanding presence fading as he stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock. “What… what’s happening to me?” he gasped, his voice no longer deep and authoritative, but high-pitched and panicked, a shadow of the dominant stepbrother he’d been.

Nick and Richard blinked, their movements resuming, but their expressions shifted, their devotion to Connor faltering. Nick stepped away from Richard, his hands dropping to his sides, his brow furrowing as if waking from a dream. “Connor?” he said, his voice uncertain, his eyes darting between his boyfriend and Angel. Richard slid off the bed, his vacant smile fading, his mindless eagerness replaced by a confused, hollow look, as if the slut he’d become was unraveling without Connor’s control to anchor him.

Angel’s heart leaped, hope flickering in his chest. The wish was working—Connor’s power was gone, his control over the family stripped away. Maybe Nick would come back to him, maybe Richard would remember him, maybe—

The Trickster’s laughter cut through his thoughts, sharp and cruel. “Oh, you thought it would be that simple?” he said, his glowing eyes locking onto Angel, his smile widening. “I said I’d grant your wish, but I never said I’d make it easy. Let’s add a little twist, shall we?”

The Trickster snapped his fingers again, and the air shimmered, the wish’s magic twisting in a way Angel hadn’t anticipated. Connor’s body stopped shrinking, but his expression changed, his panic replaced by a blank, vacant stare, his eyes glazing over as the last remnants of his personality were erased. The Trickster’s voice echoed through the room, a dark proclamation: “If he has no power, he has no control—not even over himself.” Connor’s identity, his memories, his very self, were stripped away, leaving him as a mindless shell, a blank slate with no will, no desires, no dominance. He stood there, staring at nothing, his body still, his mind gone, a hollow husk of the man he’d been.

Nick and Richard’s reactions were immediate, their connection to Connor severed. Nick stumbled backward, his hands trembling, his eyes wide with confusion. “What… what the fuck is happening?” he stammered, his voice shaking, his devotion to Connor replaced by a disorienting emptiness. Richard collapsed to the floor, his body trembling, his vacant expression turning to one of anguish as the slut identity Connor had forced upon him unraveled, leaving him with nothing—no memories, no purpose, just a hollow shell of a man who couldn’t even remember being a father.

Angel’s hope turned to horror, his heart sinking as he realized the cost of his wish. He’d wanted to strip Connor of his power, to take back control, but the Trickster had twisted it, erasing Connor entirely, leaving him as a mindless husk. And with Connor’s control gone, the family dynamic he’d enforced collapsed, leaving Nick and Richard adrift, their rewritten identities unraveling without Connor to anchor them. The family was broken beyond repair, their minds shattered, their connections severed, and Angel was still alone, the last candle gone, the Trickster’s laughter echoing in his ears.

The Trickster stepped closer, his form flickering, his smile cruel and triumphant. “You wanted to understand men, and now you do,” he said, his voice a low purr, his eyes glinting with malice. “You wanted love, power, control, and you got chaos instead. That’s the price of playing with my magic, little one.” He leaned in, his face inches from Angel’s, his breath cold against his skin. “But don’t worry—I’ll be watching. Maybe I’ll find another fool to play with, and we’ll see what chaos they create.” With a final, mocking laugh, the Trickster vanished, the air returning to normal, the golden glow fading, leaving Angel alone with the wreckage of his family.

Angel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, the empty tin slipping from his hands. Connor stood motionless, a blank slate with no will, no personality, a far cry from the heroic brother he’d once been or the monster he’d become. Nick sat on the floor, his head in his hands, muttering to himself, his mind a jumble of fragmented memories, unable to reconcile the straight man he’d been with the gay boyfriend he’d become. Richard lay curled on the floor, whimpering, his identity erased, his mind too broken to even recognize the son he’d once loved. Linda, downstairs, would likely be unaffected, her loyalty to Connor meaningless now that he was gone, but Angel didn’t care. His family was gone, his love was gone, and the candles—the source of all this chaos—were gone.

He’d wanted to fix everything, to take back control, but the Trickster had ensured his final wish would be his undoing. Angel was alone, truly alone, in a reality of his own making, a reality where the people he loved were broken beyond repair, their identities erased, their lives destroyed. The candles had given him what he’d asked for, but at a cost he could never have imagined—a lesson in the dangers of unchecked desire, a lesson he’d never forget.

Connor Wins

The figure stepped closer, his form shifting, his body elongating into something less human, more ethereal, his eyes glowing with a golden light that matched the candles’ flame. “I am the Trickster, the spirit bound to those candles,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “I grant wishes, yes, but I also feed on the chaos they create. And you, my dear, have given me quite a feast.” He gestured to the room, to Connor’s dominance, Richard’s submission, Nick’s betrayal. “But now you’ve made your final wish, and I must grant it—though I think I’ll have a little fun with it.”

The Trickster’s gaze shifted to Connor, his smile widening, his eyes glinting with a dark admiration. “You wished to strip this one of his power and control,” he said, his voice a low purr, “but I’ve grown rather fond of him. He’s embraced the chaos, reveled in the corruption, become a true master of this twisted game. I think he deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Angel’s blood ran cold, panic flooding him as he shook his head, his voice trembling. “No… no, that’s not what I meant! I wanted to stop him, to take it all away—”

The Trickster’s laughter cut him off, sharp and cruel. “Oh, but the candles don’t care what you meant, little one,” he said, his tone mocking. “They give you what you ask for, with a twist of my own. And I say… let’s give Connor more power, more control, make him the god he was always meant to be.” He snapped his fingers, and reality shuddered, the effects of Angel’s wish taking a devastating turn.

Connor’s body glowed with a golden light, his chiseled form growing even more imposing, his muscles bulging, his presence radiating an almost supernatural aura. His smirk returned, wider, more triumphant, his eyes glinting with a godlike power as the Trickster’s magic amplified his control, making it absolute, unbreakable. “Yes,” Connor growled, his voice deeper, more commanding, a sound that shook the room, his dominance now a tangible force that pressed down on everyone around him. “This is what I deserve.”

Nick and Richard’s reactions were immediate, their devotion to Connor intensifying, their minds bending further under his enhanced control. Nick dropped to his knees, his hands reaching for Connor, his eyes wide with worshipful adoration. “Connor, my love, my king,” he murmured, his voice trembling with awe, his straight identity long gone, his entire being devoted to his godlike boyfriend. Richard crawled to Connor’s feet, his vacant smile returning, his mindless slut identity reinforced, his body trembling with eagerness to serve. “Please, Connor, use me, fuck me, I’m yours,” he begged, his voice high and desperate, his last shred of pride erased by Connor’s amplified power.

Linda appeared in the doorway, drawn by the shift in reality, her expression one of pure reverence as she gazed at her son. “My golden boy,” she whispered, her voice filled with pride, her loyalty to Connor now a fanatical devotion, her role as his enabler elevated to that of a worshipper. The family was united under Connor’s rule, their minds, bodies, and souls his to command, their identities rewritten to serve him and him alone.

Angel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, the empty tin slipping from his hands. The Trickster’s twist had turned his wish into a nightmare—Connor wasn’t stripped of his power; he was elevated to a godlike status, his control over the family absolute, his corruption complete. Nick, Richard, Linda—they were all Connor’s now, their devotion to him unshakeable, their minds bent to his will. And Angel… Angel was nothing, less than nothing, a broken, powerless shell in a reality where Connor reigned supreme.

Connor turned to Angel, his godlike presence towering over him, his smirk cruel and triumphant. “You thought you could take me down, little brother?” he said, his voice a low rumble, his eyes glinting with malice. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grip Angel’s chin, forcing him to look up into his glowing eyes. “You’re nothing to me. Just a toy I’ll keep around for fun. But this family, this world—it’s mine now. And you’ll watch me rule it.”

The Trickster’s laughter echoed through the room, his form flickering as he stepped back, his work complete. “A fitting end, don’t you think?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement, his eyes locked on Angel. “You wanted to understand men, and now you do—through the lens of the ultimate man, the ultimate god. Enjoy your new reality, little one. I’ll be watching.” With a final, mocking laugh, the Trickster vanished, the air returning to normal, the golden glow fading, leaving Angel at Connor’s mercy.

Connor released Angel’s chin, turning back to Nick and Richard, his hands gesturing for them to rise. “Come, my pets,” he said, his voice commanding, his presence undeniable. “Let’s celebrate my ascension.” Nick and Richard scrambled to obey, their bodies pressed against Connor’s, their hands roaming with worshipful hunger, their moans filling the room as they began to pleasure their god. Linda watched with a smile, her pride in her son unshakable, her role as his enabler now a sacred duty.

Angel curled into a ball on the floor, his sobs echoing in the room, the weight of his defeat crushing him. Connor had won—everything. His corruption arc had culminated in absolute victory, his power godlike, his control unbreakable, his family and Nick devoted to him completely. Angel was nothing, a broken toy in a reality where Connor reigned supreme, a reality of his own making, a reality he could never escape. The candles had given Connor everything, and Angel had lost it all—a final, devastating lesson in the dangers of unchecked desire.

[ericppp]

Twink Death

Dylan’s voice rings out across the bar, high-pitched and bubbly, as he bounces around, gesturing animatedly to his friends. “No, seriously, I swear, I saw a wrinkle on my forehead this morning. Like, right here!” he dramatically points at his face, his fingers tracing over his brow like he’s trying to find the offending line. “I’m turning into a daddy—I just know it. Tomorrow, I’ll be a mummified twink,” he scoffs, wrinkling his nose.

His friends laugh, but Dylan’s worried, caught in the anxiety of the looming big 3-0. “Ugh, I can’t even—like, how am I supposed to handle that?” He twirls around on the dance floor, making a show of his perfectly sculpted bubble butt, pretending to let go of the stress, but the truth is, the worry’s gnawing at him. He eyes a group of cute, muscular daddies at the bar, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. Then he spins back around to his group, all too aware of the youthful guys still buzzing around him, distracting the attention away.

“Ugh, and then there’s that guy I lost out to in the party planning thing,” he mutters to his best friend, a little edge creeping into his tone. “I mean, he was, like, 21 and—gorgeous, but still, no one told me 30 meant losing out to a kid.” Dylan’s brows furrow as he scans the bar. His fingers flip through his hair, frustration bubbling up.

“I just don’t get it. What is it with you guys and not liking me? I’m adorable! Hello?!” He pouts, dramatically batting his lashes. He leans over, his body swishing side to side with exaggerated sass. “I’m, like, practically perfect for everyone here, and yet—ugh! I wish I could have all the attention at the bars.”

Dylan’s statement gets him a few glances. A few appreciative looks. And then, out of nowhere, he catches the eye of the bartender, a tall, eerily handsome figure who appears to be made of shadows and sin. The bartender, dark eyes glinting with something unsettlingly otherworldly, stirs a deep red drink, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

With an almost theatrical flair, he slides the shot towards Dylan. “A nice man ordered this for you,” he says, his voice smooth and low, laced with something almost too deep for the atmosphere.

Dylan looks around in confusion, squinting through the haze of neon lights and bodies, but the bar’s packed, and whoever ordered it is lost in the crowd. “Nice man, huh?” he mumbles to himself, eyebrow quirked, unsure if he’s buying into this. Still, he shrugs and grabs the shot glass, tossing it back with the kind of bravado only someone like him can muster.

The burn hits almost immediately. It’s like fire racing down his throat—hotter, sharper than any alcohol he’s ever had. Dylan’s lips part as the heat courses through him. “Oh my God,” he gasps. “What the hell was that?!” His body reacts almost involuntarily, a flush of warmth sweeping over him, and then—something worse.

His blood feels like it’s boiling, pressure rising deep within his chest, his heart racing as if it’s trying to escape his body. He can feel his muscles twitching, his bones creaking, and then—without warning, his body starts to shift, something deep inside him stretching.

His bubble butt, already perky and tight, expands. The sensation is grotesque, a pressure building that he has no control over, and then, with a rumbling sound, it escapes—loud, revolting, a thunderous fart that shakes the bar. PPPPPPPFFFFFFFFT. The stench is so potent it makes Dylan wrinkle his nose in shock. His friends around him grimace, trying to wave away the disgusting smell. One of them even holds their nose, eyes watering.

“Ugh, oh my God, sorry! Dudes” Dylan yelps, mortified, his cheeks burning with shame. But the worse part? He can’t stop the widening. He feels his body growing, his legs stretching, his torso becoming longer, leaner, his height slowly inching up.

The bizarre pressure continues to build until something miraculous happens—his wrinkles, the ones that had been haunting him all day, disappear. His skin tightens, smoothed out by whatever hellish concoction the bartender slipped him. The frustration, the anxiety, all the little signs of aging he’d been obsessing over melt away. He starts to grow taller, his face changing slightly, the sharpness of his features softening as his body seems to almost untwist before his very eyes.

“Wait—what the fuck?” Dylan mutters, his voice now lower, deeper. He blinks as his newfound height brings his gaze up higher than it ever had before. His reflection in the mirror behind the bar is unrecognizable. Who is this?

Dylan stands at the bar, his heart pounding in his chest, but it’s not just from the shot anymore. The change inside him is deep, unsettling. The muscles in his arms twitch, a sudden, fierce pain that shoots up to his shoulders, spreading like a creeping fire. His limbs start to feel alive, like something is being torn and rebuilt, stretched and molded with bone-cracking precision. The skin on his arms tightens, veins pulsing as they snake their way down, bold and aggressive, almost bursting with each throbbing beat of his heart.

He stumbles, unsteady, his hands grasping for the edge of the bar to steady himself. His fingers lengthen, fingers flexing in slow, painful increments. The pain continues, gnawing at his shoulders as the first hint of muscle begins to swell beneath his skin, thickening, pushing his shirt tighter. It’s as though his body is undergoing a brutal metamorphosis, like a skeleton being forced to expand, every inch of his form stretching, swelling, compacting with muscle in a way that feels unnatural, almost monstrous.

His chest heaves, an intense pressure building beneath the fabric of his shirt. It feels like his ribcage is being crushed from the inside as his pecs begin to bulge, inflating, muscles pushing outward, as though they’re desperate to escape the confines of his body. His breath catches as the pain surges—his abdomen contracts and expands, the sharp, defined ridges of his abs twisting into something far more grotesque. They ripple under his skin, the six-pack of a model turning into an exaggerated, almost cartoonish display of physicality. His stomach tightens, stretching outward as if trying to escape the skin that can no longer contain it.

Then, his biceps. His once lithe arms now begin to split apart, muscles swelling, becoming grotesque. They balloon outward in a series of painful pops, like the skin is being stretched over raw, unrelenting muscle that refuses to be contained. They’re massive, swollen cannonballs of arrogance, veins snaking across the surface like angry, throbbing rivers trying to escape the tight grip of his skin. Each movement, each twitch of his muscle is another reminder of how grotesque he has become.

His legs—once sleek and lithe—begin to stretch, thickening, each fiber of muscle expanding with brutal force. The pain is unbearable, a deep, gnawing sensation that makes him want to scream, but he holds it in. His quads flare outward, thick and unyielding like oak trunks, pushing against the seams of his shorts until the fabric starts to groan, stretching with an unnatural tension. His calves swell to impossible proportions, the muscles so thick they seem to take up the entire room. Each step he takes now is a proclamation of force, each movement an audible crack of bone and muscle grinding together.

He stands there, taller, broader, an absurd parody of strength, every inch of him a grotesque monument to his own arrogance. It’s not just muscle—it’s a grotesque exaggeration of everything he once was. A walking, flexing billboard for excess, the very definition of cocky entitlement, and the kind of vanity that becomes suffocating. His body is a living sculpture, carved by a madman obsessed with power, ignoring the toll it takes on the human form. His skin tightens over his bulging, grotesque muscles, as though it were too thin to contain the force beneath it.

Dylan turns slowly, surveying the room, his body shifting with each motion. Every step he takes is a flex, a reminder that his transformation is complete. His face, once charming, is now an almost cruel mockery of himself. His jawline is sharper, his features more angular, as though they’ve been carved from granite. His lips curl into a smirk, dripping with arrogance, as he looks down at the crowd around him. He’s the center of attention, but not in the way he once imagined.

The pain in his body has subsided, replaced now with a crushing sense of power. He doesn’t just walk into a room anymore. He arrives. Every step is deliberate, exaggerated, like he's flaunting every ounce of his superiority, reminding everyone within a ten-foot radius that he is, without question, the biggest, the best, and the most important person in the room. His movements are sharp, calculated, each motion dripping with a kind of neanderthal-like certainty that only arrogance can bring.

His laugh, booming and obnoxious, fills the space, echoing against the walls. It’s grating, like a foghorn that won’t stop. His voice drips with contempt as he addresses the people around him, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist, his gaze sharp and judgmental. His eyes, cold and calculating, pierce through everyone like he’s sizing them up, evaluating them like mere insects beneath his feet.

Dy’s body trembled with the aftershock, muscles still expanding as he felt the pressure deep within his chest, his legs, his arms. He flexed instinctively, a slow, deliberate motion that sent shockwaves through his body. As his biceps bulged like swelling cannonballs, his stomach churned with the force of the change. He felt it—felt his muscles bulging outward, the power surging in his body like a rising tide. He grinned as he pushed, his chest puffing up like a rooster’s, and then—fart. A loud, gut-wrenching sound that sent a wave of stench through the room. PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTT. He froze.

The smell hit him first, the thick, rancid odor of pure protein and sweat. It wafted upward to his nose, like a thick fog descending into his mind, clouding everything. His eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath, the air now thick with that overpowering, stomach-churning scent. It was like stepping into a gym locker room after a month without ventilation, a stench that forced its way into his lungs and changed something deep inside him.

And just like that, the fog began to descend—first into his mind, then into his memories. He remembered the boy he used to be: that quirky twink who had danced to Lady Gaga’s “Marry the Night,” hoping to catch the attention of some cute guy, shaking his bubble butt to the beat, full of flirtatious energy. The memories flashed, one after the other, like a string of broken images.

There he was at the club, spinning on the dance floor, eyes locked on some random hunk, a smile on his lips as he tried to make the most of the night. He remembers the thrill of it, that burst of energy, that feeling of being the center of attention, the way every guy at the bar noticed him when he shimmied his ass just right.

But then, the memory turned sharp. The fog of the stench seemed to twist it, to warp it, as if the muscle swelling inside him was shifting his entire perspective on life. The twink disappeared into the dark corners of his mind, replaced with something colder. The soft, flirtatious persona faded like a shadow into the void, replaced by something bigger. Something louder.

The stench enveloped him, and Dy could feel it spreading, curling deep within his mind, like a plant growing inside his skull. His memories began to shift. The first flex in the mirror, the one where he saw his muscles begin to pop—not just for show—but a symbol of his dominance, of his superiority. He remembered standing there, looking at himself, a sly grin curling up his lips as he puffed out his chest and thought, Bro, I’ve got a body built like a machine.

He remembers saying it—too loudly, too cocky. To anyone who would listen. To everyone who would pretend to care. But deep down, he was convincing himself more than anyone else. He needed to believe it. He had to.

“Man, look at this,” he had said in the mirror, not to anyone in particular, just to the reflection that stared back at him. This is me. I’m the guy everyone wants to be. Watch out, world.

The shift was slow, but sure. From there, his memory pulled him to college, those late-night parties. The ones where every interaction was a game, a calculation. He would stroll in like the whole scene was built around him, flashing that grin that felt more like a slap in the face than an invitation. He would pretend to fit in, pretending to laugh along with his friends, but in truth, he was already above it all. His friends were just there to reaffirm his status, his power. He was the one they had to know, the one they wanted to be seen with. The king of the scene.

“Yo, bro, I’m just here to show the world who runs this place.”

He laughed, but his laugh was a smug, knowing thing. It made people feel small, and that was the best part.

But the stench wasn’t done with him yet.

The fog thickened in his mind. He remembered his late-night “debates.” The late-night gatherings with his bros, the ones who “got it.” They would drink cheap beer, huddle in the corner, and talk about how the world was getting softer, how it was being taken over by woke culture. He’d raise his voice, mockingly at first, but then with more confidence, more venom.

“Bro, free speech is dead,” he’d say. His words were like bullets, each one meant to wound. To make people realize how right he was. “Everyone’s too sensitive these days. Everything’s about feelings, not facts!”

The rush of that—of triggering someone, of getting under their skin—was intoxicating. He’d hammer out his thoughts online, sending out inflammatory posts like they were his personal manifesto. “We need to bring back traditional values. People just don’t get it anymore. This country’s getting weak,” he’d type, grinning as his fingers flew over the keys.

He cherished those moments, those online arguments. The rush of watching someone get triggered, knowing his words had caused someone to explode. It made him feel strong—like he was in control. In his mind, the louder he shouted, the more right he became. The world didn’t want to listen, but he wasn’t backing down. If they can’t handle my opinions, that’s their problem.

But as the fog of the stench thickened, he felt his perspective shift again.

He saw himself at college parties, his voice growing louder with each passing year. His bros were the only ones who mattered. Anyone who disagreed with him? Soft. “Brainwashed.” He loved being surrounded by guys who thought just like him, reinforcing his worldview.

In this fog, he was the man who didn’t care about anything else—he didn’t need relationships, or love, or friendships that didn’t serve him. Everything was transactional.

“Man, society is soft. You know what they say? Everyone’s too sensitive,” he’d sneer, looking down on anyone who didn’t think the way he did.

And as the memories twisted, sharpened, calcified into the man he had become, Dy’s face twisted into a cruel smile. The smirk stretched wider, more venomous. His muscles bulged as the arrogance, the entitlement, that had always lurked beneath his surface now poured out. His need for attention, for validation, became a black hole. Every word he spoke was a desperate grab for more.

His eyes gleamed with a cold, ruthless hunger for power, and he stood taller, broader, a man who no longer cared about cute or bubbly—his only need was for dominance. His laugh rumbled in his chest, a low, unsettling sound.

“All you little weaklings are scared of real opinions. You’re too soft to handle truth.”

Dy—no, Logan—took another swig of his beer, the bitter liquid rushing down his throat, its coldness a sharp contrast to the fire now burning deep in his gut. He gripped the bottle like it was an extension of himself, a weapon in his hand that matched the arrogance beginning to churn inside him. He could feel the pressure building, a familiar discomfort in his stomach that felt almost... right. The transformation had fully taken hold now. And with it, the change was more than just physical. The twink Dylan he had been—the playful, flirtatious, bubbly little thing—was gone.

What replaced him was something bigger. Stronger. Louder. Logan.

The next moment, without warning, his body betrayed him. A massive, revolting fart ripped from deep within his gut. The sound was grotesque, a deep, disgusting rumble that could’ve shaken the very foundations of the bar. PFFFFFFFFFFFT The stench followed, heavy, thick, and pungent, swirling through the air like toxic smoke, swirling into the faces of everyone around him. It was a god-awful smell—like spoiled beer mixed with protein powder and old sweat, a scent that made eyes water and noses curl.

And yet, Logan didn’t flinch. In fact, he grinned. He lifted his beer to his lips again and took another greedy gulp, savoring the bitter burn. He was no longer bothered by the stares or the grimaces. He owned this moment. Hell, he owned this whole damn bar.

Logan wiped his mouth casually with the back of his hand, never once glancing at the people around him. His eyes were locked ahead—focused, calculating. He was done with being cute. Done with being seen as some soft, little twink who needed everyone’s approval. He was Logan now. And Logan didn’t care if anyone liked him. He didn’t need to be liked. What he needed was power.

“What’s up, losers?” he spat, his voice cutting through the air, rough and laced with condescension. The words dripped from his lips like venom. He felt himself getting more and more worked up, more aggressive. His chest swelled as if to puff up his ego, and the muscles on his arms—no, his guns—tensed involuntarily. He felt them stretch, the weight of them filling his entire body with a sense of superiority. He was invincible now.

“God, y’all are pathetic,” Logan continued, his voice louder now, more commanding. “You sit around here, acting all woke, thinking you're better than the rest of us. But guess what? You ain't better. You're just a bunch of whiny, weak little sheep hiding behind safe spaces and politically correct nonsense. You think I care? Nah, man. I speak the truth. And no one’s gonna stop me.”

The bar fell quiet, and the eyes that had once avoided him now focused intently on Logan. They didn’t dare speak, but their discomfort was palpable. Some of them looked at him with disdain. Others, fear. But Logan didn’t care. He just wanted them to hear him. He needed them to hear him.

“You can’t even speak your mind anymore without some soft, whiny liberal trying to shut you down,” he sneered, leaning against the bar. His voice grew louder, filled with venom. “You’re all a bunch of puppets, letting the media control you, telling you how to think, what to say. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I say what’s on my mind, and if you can’t handle it, that’s your problem. This is the real world, and you’re just too damn weak to survive in it.”

He swelled with pride, his own words pumping him up. There was no trace left of the carefree, bubbly twink who used to dance on the bar, hoping to get a cute guy’s attention. No, now Logan was the center of the universe. The bar was his stage. Every word that spilled from his mouth felt like a victory, a conquest. People didn’t need to agree with him—they needed to respect him. They needed to hear what he said and understand that he was in charge.

“Look, I’m just out here living life, man,” Logan said, his voice thick with arrogance. “I’m not scared to tell it like it is. The rest of you? You just hide behind your weak excuses, trying to make everyone feel bad for saying what they think. You wanna call me a ‘bully’? Please. You’re just mad ‘cause I don’t play by your soft rules. ‘Free speech’ is dead, huh? Nah, it’s alive and well—I’m the one out here showing you how it’s done.”

His chest puffed out again, and the muscles rippled beneath his skin like waves crashing against rocks. He grinned, almost to himself now.

“You can’t handle a man who speaks the truth, who calls it like it is. You know what’s wrong with this country? Everyone’s too damn sensitive. Too soft. Too afraid to speak up.” He looked around the bar, his eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to challenge him. “All these weak-ass liberals acting like they know what’s best for the world, but they don’t know shit. This country’s gone soft. No one’s tough anymore. Everyone’s just afraid of offending someone, trying to hold everyone’s hand. And I’m here to tell you, that ain’t real life. I’m the only one brave enough to say what I really think.”

The more he spoke, the more Logan felt the rush of power. His words felt like a weapon, like they were cutting through the crowd, dividing them into the weak and the strong. He was the strong. And as the fog of his arrogance thickened, it solidified his place in the world. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need to be loved. He needed power. He needed control.

And at that moment, he was the king of this bar. He could feel it, deep in his bones. The crowd might not like him, but they would respect him. They had to.

Logan's chest puffs out like a rooster's, his shoulders squared and chin held high as he spots the gaggle of cute guys chatting up some girls.He barrels through the crowd, his imposing frame parting the sea of people like a bulldozer. But the moment he lays eyes on the twink, his stride falters, replaced by a hesitant shuffle. A loud, wet fart escapes him, the stench palpable in the air. His face contorts in disgust, a sneer twisting his lips. "Fuckin' fags," he mutters under his breath, his homophobia dripping from every word. "Wouldn't touch that pretty boy with a ten-foot pole."

He lets out a harsh laugh, the sound grating and unpleasant. His gaze flickers to the girls, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. "Damn, look at those sluts throwing themselves at the fairies,"

Logan's eyes rake over the girls' bodies, his gaze lingering on their curves. He steps closer, invading their personal space. "Yo, bitches," he slurs, already drunk on power and alcohol. "Why waste your time with those faggots when you could be with a real man?" He grabs the nearest girl's arm, yanking her towards him. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get out of here and have some fun."

His other hand reaches out, squeezing the ass of the girl next to her. "Mmm, you're a thick one, ain't ya? I like that." He leans in, his breath hot and heavy. "I bet you're dying for a real dick, huh? Tired of those limp-wristed pussies?"

Logan's entitled attitude drips from every word, his crude behavior on full display. He flirts with the girls, his advances aggressive and unwelcome. Logan's obnoxious behavior knows no bounds as he continues to harass the girls. "Damn, you girls are so basic," he sneers, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You think you're hot shit, hanging out with those queers? Newsflash, bitches: they ain't into your tight pussies like I am."

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through it with a smug grin. "Check this out. I got laid by three girls last weekend. Bet those faggots can't say the same." He thrusts his phone in their faces, showing off crude photos. "See? Real men get real pussy."

Logan belches loudly, the smell of alcohol and poor life choices wafting through the air. "You girls are lucky to have me here. I'm the catch of the century, you know." He winks, clearly oblivious to his own repulsiveness.

As the night wears on, Logan's behavior becomes increasingly unbearable. He buys the girls drinks, insisting they owe him for his generosity. "Come on, ladies. Let's get fucked up!" he shouts, slamming shots on the bar. "I'm gonna show you what a real night looks like." He starts flexing his muscles, puffing out his chest like a peacock. "You like what you see, girls?I work out, unlike those scrawny fags." Logan grabs the nearest girl's hand, forcing her to feel his bicep. "See? Solid as a rock."

As the alcohol flows, so does Logan's crude language and behavior. He grabs asses, makes lewd comments, and generally acts like a complete douchebag. "I bet you're all dying to suck my dick," he laughs, unbuttoning his pants. "Who wants first dibs?"

[ericppp]

The Substance

Derek sat at his windowsill, staring at the birthday card in his hand. The bold text, "Happy 40th! Welcome to Twink Death," made him scowl. His brow furrowed as he turned the card over, wondering if it was some twisted joke from his best friend, Stevie. Sure, Stevie was in his mid-20s, a vibrant twink with all the youthful charm Derek once had, but Derek wasn’t laughing. He felt a pit in his stomach, a knot of frustration and sadness, as the reality of his 40th birthday set in.

The card was supposed to be a playful jab, but it hit differently. Derek was more than just annoyed. He was deep in the trenches of existential dread. Forty wasn’t just a number to him; it was a symbol of everything he hadn’t achieved. The career he’d worked so hard to build in advertising felt like it was crumbling beneath him. Despite his 20 years of experience, he was constantly passed over for younger, fresher faces—those who had the “right” energy for today’s Gen Z-driven world.

Derek’s mind wandered to his apartment—a cramped, overpriced place in New York, devoid of any real permanence. No husband. No house. Just bills and fleeting moments of shallow connections. He'd once been that young, attractive guy who attracted attention with his looks and charm, but those days were behind him. The once-promising twink in a sea of twinks had been left behind.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. After a few rings, he answered, his voice laced with bitterness, “Yes?”

A deep, cryptic voice echoed through the speaker, “What if everything you’ve been searching for is inside? It’s... right there. Just let it in.”

Derek blinked, confused. Was this Stevie? He asked skeptically, “Who is this? Stevie?”

The voice responded again, calm and certain, “It’s there. The door is open, and so is the opportunity. Don’t be afraid—what’s inside is exactly what you’ve been searching for.”

Derek was about to respond when the line went dead, the dial tone filling his ear. Before he could process, there was a knock at the door. His heart skipped a beat. He walked to the door cautiously, not knowing what to expect.

When he opened it, there was no one there—only an unmarked box resting on the doorstep. “What the hell?” he muttered to himself. He picked it up, his curiosity outweighing his caution. Inside the box, resting on top of crumpled tissue paper, was a syringe and needle with a note attached: “One Touch. One Moment. A New World Awaits. Respect the Balance.”

Derek’s mind raced. Was this some sick joke? He'd seen The Substance before—the movie where people are lured into a life-altering, irreversible decision. This had to be some twisted prank. His friends must be messing with him, teasing him about getting older. But as the cold reality of his life set in again, Derek felt the weight of it all. The failed dates. The hookups that led nowhere. The endless nights spent in a haze of alcohol and self-pity. His reflection in the mirror seemed so far from the man he once was.

For a moment, he hesitated, but only for a moment.

Without truly thinking, his hand gripped the syringe. It felt strangely comforting, as though it held some kind of answer to everything he had been searching for. He looked at his reflection, his tired eyes, his flabby body, his crow's feet—all the things that reminded him of what he wasn’t anymore.

With a shaky breath, Derek closed his eyes and injected the needle into his arm. For a moment, everything went quiet, and then the world around him seemed to spin. His vision blurred, and he felt a heavy, suffocating weight pulling him down, until he finally passed out.

The darkness swallowed him whole, but what awaited him when he woke up… that was the real question.

Derek’s eyes fluttered open, and the world around him spun as if he were in a haze, the kind of disorienting fog that clings to you after a drunken night. His head throbbed, the aftershock of whatever he'd just done reverberating through his body, but as his feet hit the floor, a strange new weight settled into his bones. He wasn’t sure if he felt stronger, or if the world was just tilting in a way that made him feel like he could stand taller, like he was somehow larger than himself.

"Pathetic," the thought crept into his mind, as his body struggled to orient itself. It wasn’t his usual self-loathing, but something sharper, like an external force pushing him toward an uncomfortable realization.

He stumbled toward the mirror, his movements unsteady at first. But with each step, he felt something shift, something inside him beginning to swell—muscle, confidence, or maybe something darker. His body was stronger, bigger, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. His chest, normally flat and soft, now stretched the fabric of his shirt in a way that made it look like he could break through it at any moment.

He stood in front of the mirror, blinking at his reflection. The man staring back at him wasn’t quite Derek. Sure, his face was the same—eyes tired but intense, jaw sharp and defined. But the posture, the way he held himself, was something else. He stood with a confidence that felt deliberate, almost aggressive, as if his very existence in the room was enough to command attention.

His chest puffed out—not out of arrogance, but with the kind of overcompensation that screamed, look at me. It was a deliberate gesture, something primal, something meant to make him look as if he could conquer anything. He didn’t just occupy space—he owned it.

He took a step closer to the mirror, his abs coming into focus, each muscle sculpted and gleaming under the harsh light of the room. It wasn’t just muscle—it was a statement. A promise of perfection. But behind the surface of those perfect lines, a question gnawed at him: How many hours had he spent perfecting this? This image, this shell, was it something real? Or had he spent so much time trying to please others with his looks that he lost track of who he really was?

His reflection didn’t stop there. His biceps swelled under the tight sleeves of his shirt, as if threatening to tear through the fabric. They pulsed with each movement, veins running like roads carved into the landscape of his arms. They looked strong, yes, but were they? Or were they just a performance—an exaggerated display, an attention grab? Did they mean something real, or were they only the result of countless hours flexing in front of a mirror, performing for an audience that would never truly see him?

His pecs—Jesus. They bulged under the tight fabric of his shirt, a physical testament to something that wasn’t strength, but the act of displaying it. What were those pecs for? To catch glances? To satisfy an invisible, growing need for approval from the world outside? He flexed, watched them rise, and felt the satisfaction of how it looked—but did he really feel it? Did they actually mean anything beyond the image they created?

And then there was his bubble butt, high and tight. His legs, slim but defined, stood like perfect pillars beneath him. His whole body was designed for the shot, for the angles, for the likes. The mirror didn’t lie—he looked like he belonged in a campaign. His appearance was flawless, but was that all he was? A curated Instagram profile in human form?

He raised his arm, watching the bicep flex, and something inside him twitched. There was pride, but there was also an emptiness that settled in the pit of his stomach. This was all a performance, wasn’t it? He wasn’t flexing for strength—he was flexing for validation, for people to look at him and say, “You’re worth something.”

Derek reached for his face, touching the sharp line of his jaw. He didn’t even need to look closely to see how perfectly sculpted it was, like it had been designed with precision. His eyes met his own, the intensity in them now unmistakable, but still… something was missing. When was the last time he felt real confidence? Was it really something you could see, something people just liked in their feed, or was it more than that?

Derek's hand trembled as he reached up to touch his face again, as though trying to confirm that this was real. His fingers ran over the sharp edges of his jaw, his full lips. Derek stood over the lifeless body on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest, but it wasn’t the scene that unnerved him the most—it was the man staring back at him in the reflection of the mirror, he wasn't Derek...he was someone else. "Devon", a cold calculating voice seemed to mutter.

The body lying in front of him didn’t belong to anyone else. It was his own. The pale, crumpled figure looked so small, so fragile, like a broken version of himself he was desperate to leave behind. He felt disgust, but it wasn’t the kind of disgust one might expect. It was worse. It was disappointment—not in the lifeless form, but in who he’d allowed himself to become. He cringed at the thought of it. The old man lying there, the old man he had been moments ago, felt pathetic.....fag.

Devon's face contorts in disgust as he stares at the lifeless body on the ground. The word "fag" echoes through his mind, a bitter taste on his tongue. He can't believe he was once that pathetic, that weak. The mere thought of it makes his skin crawl. Pride parades and gay bars, those symbols of acceptance and freedom, now seem like nothing but a joke to him. A mockery of what real strength and masculinity should be. His new body, his real body, pulses with a different kind of energy. It craves something primal, something raw. As he stands there, looking down at the old man, he feels his dick stir, his mind filling with images of tight pussy and rough fucking. He needs to assert his dominance, to prove that he's not a fag anymore. He's a man now, a real man, and he's going to fuck like one.

His mind twisted. The thoughts spiraled, each one feeding the next, like a chain of rotten logic. It was as though he was shedding the person he had been for years and slowly becoming something else. Something better. Something more... successful. The kind of person who took what he wanted. He could feel the shift happening deep inside him, like gears grinding and turning in his skull.

He saw himself, his reflection now morphing before his eyes. He was no longer the aging, soft man who’d spent too many nights wallowing in self-pity. No, this was a new version—sharper, more confident. The lines in his face still vanish, the muscles in his body still pumping and growing. He was a man. A man who didn’t wait for opportunity to knock. He created opportunity. He lived for attention, for the rush of recognition. He didn't care about the slow grind. He craved the fast-track, the flashy lifestyle, the chaos. The kind of person who didn't follow the rules of old, but bent them. And if the rules weren't enough, he’d break them.

The thoughts hit harder now, shaping his mind like clay. The politics? Screw all that woke nonsense. It was all about power now. About dominance. Strength. Real men took what they wanted. No apologies. He was done playing the victim—done being weak. He didn’t need anyone's approval or validation. No one was going to stop him.

Devon’s memories began to twist, turning his past experiences into something almost unrecognizable. He didn’t remember the failed dates or the self-pitying nights of scrolling through social media, wondering why he wasn’t enough. That version of him was dead. Instead, he remembered those nights he spent in bars, surrounded by people who lived for the next high, the next party, the next "hit" of adrenaline. He remembered the way the lights felt in those places, how the music made him feel alive, how the women—no, the girls—clung to him, eager for attention. It wasn’t just about sex; it was about the status. They saw him, and in their eyes, he was everything. The center of the universe. That’s the kind of life he wanted—no more second-guessing, no more self-doubt. Just confidence.

He pictured the way he’d walk into those clubs now. The eyes that would follow him. The murmurs of approval. The envy. He was the guy who owned the room. The man whose mere presence commanded respect.

The "loser" version of Derek was slipping away. That guy—the one who worried about what people thought, who cared about being kind and relatable—he was nothing but a fading memory. Now? He was the one people wanted to be. He was the one everyone would want to follow, because he was untouchable. The money, the parties, the women—it wasn’t just about being successful. It was about making sure everyone knew you were better than them. Every single person who tried to hold him back had to go.

The image of himself standing in the mirror shifted once more. His shoulders squared, his posture perfect. He walked toward the door with purpose, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged to the world—he had the power to take anything. This night, he thought, was going to be the start of something bigger. Something that the “old Derek” would’ve never dreamed of, but the new Devon? He was born for this.

The parties were calling him. The clubs were waiting. There would be drinks, there would be fights, and there would be power plays. Every step would be calculated. He was going to make everyone see him. He would be the center of every conversation, every post, every headline. He was going to be that man—the one who had it all, who owned the room, who didn’t ask for permission.

Devon, staggers into the bar, his muscles rippling beneath a tight, sleeveless shirt that screams "look at me!" He's a walking stereotype, a real-life Ken doll with a personality straight out of a frat house nightmare .His voice, once meek and timid, now booms through the crowded room like a foghorn, demanding attention and leaving a trail of annoyed glances in its wake. "Another shot, barkeep!" he bellows, slamming his fist on the counter. The bartender, a seasoned veteran of drunken antics, rolls his eyes but pours the drink. Devon downs it in one gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing like a cork in a stormy sea.

As the alcohol courses through his veins, Devon's mind drifts back to his pathetic past. Derek, the faggot, the loser, the punchline to every joke. But not anymore. Devon's antics escalate with each passing day. He's a walking, talking embodiment of toxic masculinity, a sweaty, sexist, rude, crude, and utterly obnoxious specimen. At the gym, he grunts and roars like a wild beast, his muscles glistening with a sheen of self-importance. He drops his weights loudly, ensuring everyone knows he's there." Yeah, that's right, bitches!" he bellows, flexing his biceps for a group of admiring (or is it terrified?) girls. In the locker room, he doesn't bother with modesty, changing in the open and cracking crude jokes about his "package." His laughter echoes off the tiles, punctuated by the sound of his own flatulence. "Sorry, not sorry!" he cackles, high-fiving his equally disgusting gym buddies.

Devon stumbled back into his apartment on the 7th day, the sharp sting of alcohol still lingering on his breath, his pulse quickened by the adrenaline of yet another night spent dominating the city’s party scene. It was the ninth night, the final night, and a strange, unsettling feeling twisted in his gut. Tonight was supposed to be the night he returned. The night he could shed the persona he’d become, the facade that had replaced the man who once struggled with his identity.

But as he stepped through the door, the flickering light from the living room cast long shadows across the floor. His gaze fell on the lifeless body—his body—lying there, sprawled across the hardwood floor like a discarded mannequin. It was unnervingly still, unnervingly familiar.

Devon stopped in his tracks, a cold, sharp unease crawling over his skin. The body looked... wrong. Not just in a lifeless sense, but something deeper, something more visceral. As he approached, his eyes narrowed in distaste. It didn’t look like him—not anymore. It looked weaker, softer—more gayer than he remembered. The subtle arch of the hips, the rounded softness of the chest, the faint curve of the jawline. He didn’t even know why it bothered him. He'd spent so much time in this new persona, this new body, a persona built on power and dominance, but now? Now, this... this body on the floor disgusted him.

It felt too much like a reminder of who he used to be. A person he had worked so hard to leave behind.

He clenched his fists, his chest tightening in anger as he surveyed the lifeless form. His stomach churned at the thought that he was this—soft, delicate, uncertain. That version of him? He could barely stand to look at it. It was the body of someone who had never been able to command a room. Someone who let himself be overlooked, let himself be passed by.

That body. That weak, vulnerable, feminine body. It wasn’t him anymore. No, he was someone different now. He was strong, athletic, commanding. He was demanding attention with every step.

The man who had stood over this body before, the one who had hesitated about losing it, was long gone. This version of Devon, the one who’d stepped into a new skin, was better. This was the body that felt more in tune with who he was—who he’d become. Powerful. Untouchable. This body commanded respect.

But the body on the floor? The one that was supposed to be his old self? It felt alien. Disgusting. The softer, almost delicate features clashed with the hard-edged, masculine confidence he’d built for himself. He almost couldn’t remember a time when he had ever felt like that man—unconfident, lost, wondering why he didn’t fit in. The very idea of returning to it felt like a betrayal. He had worked so hard to become someone worthy of respect. He didn’t want to be that vulnerable, fragile man again.

His mind raced, angry thoughts bubbling to the surface. He didn’t need that version of himself anymore. It wasn’t the person who could thrive in this world, not the one who’d fight for the success he deserved. No, this man—the one sprawled on the floor, pathetic and forgotten—was a weakling.

The disgust in his chest grew, twisting into something dark and irrational. He wasn’t going back to that. Never again. He couldn’t. That person had been buried so deep within him—he refused to go back to someone so soft, so effeminate, so... gayer. It made his stomach turn just to think of it.

With a huff of frustration, he turned away from the body. The idea of returning to that form, that weakened state, repulsed him. He’d worked too hard to get to where he was now, too hard to build the kind of strength and power he had. The parties. The followers. The adoration. That old version? He didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. And as he looked at that lifeless shell, he knew deep down he would never return to it.

Not now. Not ever.

He stepped away, and a sudden clarity washed over him. There was no going back. That version of him was gone—and it was better that way. He couldn’t afford to be weak, to be soft. He had new goals now. New ambitions. He would continue to rise, continue to be the man others looked up to, envied. The one who lived life without apology.

He turned his back on the body once more, shutting the door behind him.

With each passing day, Derek’s transformation grew more apparent, and it wasn’t just physical anymore—it seeped into his every action, his every thought, until there was no trace left of the man who had once hesitated, who had tried to balance his identity with the weight of the world’s expectations. The balance that was supposed to guide him had been cast aside in favor of the loud, unrelenting version of himself that seemed to dominate his every waking moment.

The first day was subtle. He took extra time in front of the mirror, adjusting his outfit like it was an armor meant to protect him from the vulnerability that used to haunt him. A tight, designer shirt that accentuated his newfound muscles, joggers that just barely clung to his sculpted legs—everything was tailored for attention. The subtle hints of arrogance started to appear, a smirk replacing the thoughtful expression that used to line his face. But it didn’t stop there.

By the second day, Derek’s behavior had already started to shift. In the gym, he wasn’t the guy who quietly pushed himself to improve. He was the guy shouting across the room to his buddies, flexing in the mirror between sets. Every move had a purpose now: to be seen. To be admired. And if he didn’t get the attention he craved, he’d make sure to demand it. Every word that left his mouth felt like it was meant to reaffirm his newfound “dominance.” He would talk about his achievements—real or fabricated—as if the world was waiting for his next big move. He loved when people looked at him with that blend of awe and envy.

By the third day, the shift was undeniable. Derek was slipping into the full-blown character of the “bro” that so many others aspired to be. The kind of guy who grinned in the mirror and said, “I’ve got this,” before checking his phone for validation. Conversations with anyone outside his circle became about showing off his success, his physical gains, his status. “Yeah, man, you gotta get on that grind, like, hard. It’s all about leveling up. Everything else is just distractions,” he’d say, as though the entire world revolved around him. After a month, Devon had transformed into an insufferable, self-absorbed prick.He strutted around campus like he owned the place, his Trump hat perched atop his perfectly coiffed hair. His daily routine consisted of flexing in the mirror, taking shirtless selfies, and posting long-winded TikToks about his "woke" political views and workout regimens. At the bars, he'd aggressively hit on girls, groping and grabbing without consent. Any guy who dared to check him out or challenge his bullshit would quickly find themselves in a drunken brawl, Devon's fists flying wildly. He was the epitome of a Gen Z douchebag, a walking stereotype of entitled privilege and toxic masculinity. His presence alone made people want to puke. Devon entered the gym, his muscles bulging beneath a tight tank top that read "Gym God" in glittery letters. He immediately began shouting at the other bros, critiquing their form and offering unsolicited advice. "Yo, you're doing it wrong, bro! Let me show you how a real man lifts!" He dropped to the bench press, grunting loudly as he pumped out a few reps. Between sets, he pulled out his phone and started a TikTok live. "What's up, my fitness fam? It's your boy Devon, your favorite gym god, going live from the iron paradise!" He flexed and posed, his face red and sweaty. "I'm crushing these weights, just like I crush haters and hoes! Who's ready to get swole with me?"

Devon continued his live, his voice booming through the gym. "You see these gains, fam? This is what dedication looks like! I wake up at 5am every day to make sure I'm the biggest, baddest dude in the room!" He snatched a protein shake from a nearby bro's hand and took a swig. "Oops, my bad bro! I'll buy you another one…or not. I'm Devon, I do what I want!" Laughter echoed from the TikTok comments as Devon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He spotted a cute girl on the elliptical and walked over, leaning in close. "Hey there, gorgeous. Wanna work out with a real man tonight?" The girl rolled her eyes and increased her speed, but Devon just laughed it off. "Ah, playing hard to get.I like that. Catch you later, babe!" He turned back to his phone.

After his workout, Devon headed to the locker room, his body emanating a thick, musky stench. He stripped off his sweaty clothes and farted loudly, the smell lingering in the air. "Damn, Devon, take a shower!" a nearby bro gagged. Devon just smirked. "That's the smell of a real man, bro. You'll never be able to handle it." As he was getting dressed, a guy walked by and glanced at Devon's bare chest. Devon's face twisted into a snarl. "Hey, fag! Keep your eyes to yourself, or I'll rip them out of your skull!" The guy quickly looked away, and Devon laughed cruelly. Later that night, Devon was out at a club, already drunk and belligerent. He spotted a group of girls and staggered over, grabbing one's ass. "Whoa, hey there, beautiful. Wanna dance with a real man?"

Devon's grip on the girl's ass tightened as he pulled her closer, his breath hot and heavy on her neck. "Come on, baby, let's get out of here." He slurred, his words dripping with desperation and entitlement. The girl, already intoxicated, stumbled along with him, her judgment clouded by alcohol and the promise of attention from the handsome, muscular guy. In the elevator, Devon couldn't keep his hands to himself, groping and squeezing every inch of her body. "Fuck, you're so hot," he grunted, biting at her neck. They stumbled into his room, and Devon pushed her onto the bed, his intentions clear. "Tonight, you're mine," he growled, tearing at her clothes. The girl, too drunk to resist, lay there passively as Devon had his way with her, his movements rough and selfish.

[ericppp]

Thorn of Success – Spin-off

I really enjoyed @thesuitaskin 's story "Thorn of Success". I like the twist and the downfall of the friendship of two best friends. Then I got the idea of "what if" scenarios. After reaching out to @thesuitaskin (and getting the seal of approval), I wanted to share a "what if" scenario that could have happened after the split. Hope you like it. --------------------------------

A month has passed since the creation of Alex 2.0. Eric has fully embraced the life of the former boyfriend of his ex-best friend’s sister. He’s been hitting the gym and keeping up with the alpha gym-bro persona. He also gets to attend all sorts of parties where he can pick up anyone who wants to get a taste of him.

However, Eric felt something missing despite the glitz and glamour of Alex's life. Soon, he realizes that it was Mat.

One day, he stops by Mat's place when he was alone. He rang the doorbell and Mat eventually opens the door. Mat was shocked! He was not expecting Alex to drop by, especially after the break up.

“Hey, Mat!” Greeted Alex. “Is your sister home?”

“No, she left for college a week ago.” Mat explains. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

“No, not at all! It’s just that I think I left one of my shirts here. I kinda want it back”

“Oh. I can try to text her first and ask her.”

“Nah, there’s no need for that. I know my way around this place.”

Mat gave a skeptical look.

“Come on, Matty. For old time’s sake.”

“Old times sake? You mean being an asshole whenever you’re around?”

“Okay, maybe not that. But please, it will only take a few minutes. It’s not like I haven’t been in her room before.”

Mat was still unsure about this. He feels like something’s up.

“Okay, how about this. I give you 50 bucks and treat this like it never happened.”

Mat thought about this for a bit before saying, “Make it a hundred and you got yourself a deal!”

“Fine!” said Alex before pulling a hundred from his wallet.

Mat sighed and eventually gave in.

Alex couldn’t believe it was able to persuade Mat. Then, once behind closed doors and once behind Mat, he injects Mat with the antidote of the serum that he put on him.

Mat screams in pain! He tries to say something (or rather shout a bunch of curses) to Alex but he couldn’t. He dropped on his knees and eventually dropped entirely on the floor. Mat felt his brain is on fire! All the memories came rushing back in like a flood gate was just opened. Once his mind has settled. He looks up at Eric/Alex. His eyes were filled with rage.

Then, Mat lunges at the Eric/Alex while screaming, “YOU! F*%& YOU!”. He attempted to tackle Eric/Alex but fails due to the size difference. Instead, he threw several punches before eventually breaking down.

“F&*% you Eric! Err – Alex or whatever you are now!” Shouted Mat. Several weak punches to the torso later, he said, “I hate you for erasing my memories! I hate you for leaving me out of OUR invention! I’m angry that you set me aside like some toy!”

After a long pause, he says “I hate that I missed you!” They were both shocked at this. But Mat eventually says, “I hate that I missed my best friend... my brother.”

The real Eric shows through Alex by saying, “I’m sorry Mat. I am so sorry.” He was able to release all that guilt.

Eric reached for his pocket then shows Mat their old invention. He says,  “I’ve been working on it, adding some features. It now has the ability to turn me back to my old self”.

Mat was surprise to see this thing again, and was even more surprised with the new developments. Eric continues and says, “You didn't deserve how I treated you. I was an ass!” He offers their invention to Mat and explains, “You should have be the one that becomes Alex, not me. I don’t deserve this”.

Mat refuses.  “Eric, I can’t accept this. I can become Alex now.”

“What?”

“People already believe that you are gone, Eric. If you suddenly show up again, people will start asking questions, people like your dad.” Mat then looks Eric directly in the eyes before asking, “ Will you be ready to get back to that awful life?”

Then, Mat and Eric talks for a bit and they thought of a way to share Alex's essence, instead.

In the next few days, they meet up in secret at Alex's place where they made modifications on the device. They hoped that they can have a physique close to Alex's. Eric would eventually drop by after school.

Now, the day has come. They are now in the phase where they can run some tests. To do this, Eric was drained of the Alex Essence. Mat says, "It's good to see you again, buddy!"

Eric smiles at him.

Then, they connected both of themselves to the modified device. The machine starts to whirr. They both felt something rushing into their bodies. Suddenly, the machine stopped and disconnected itself from their bodies.

“Wait… That was it?” Asked Mat.

“Not sure. It wasn’t like this last time” said Eric.

They didn't feel anything different. They though that the machine must have short circuited or something. When they tried to pick it up at the same time, they bumped both of their heads together and found themselves stuck to each other.

“Eric! What’s happening?” Asked Mat in a panicked manned. “Get off me!”

Eric tried to pull himself free but failed. “I can’t!”, he exclaims!

Suddenly, with an unexpected strong force, Eric was being absorbed into Mat. As more of Eric is sucked in, Mat felt his body changing. Pain and ecstasy surged through his body. He turned into a humanoid blob. From within, his bones cracked as he grew a few inches in height. A rubbery sound can be heard as the body tightens. Well defined muscles started to appear all over. Features started to show on the face. Suddenly, where once was two guys stood, the new Alex is now basking at his glorious body

He looked like his usual self but had that after glow effect. He now had the IQ of both friends, realizing the potential he now has.

“Oh, man! This feels amazing!” the new Alex exclaims! “I feel different yet so me!” He walks towards a near by mirror and admires himself, which includes flexing his muscles.

He picks up the device and checks the code and schematics. There was no indication that this was the outcome. This was only supposed to turn Mat and Eric into jocks. In the end, he grew to accept be fond of this outcome.

Later that same day, Alex found out that he can un-merge at will, become the 2 nerds he once was. Mat and Eric did this for several times, where they will meetup and transform into Alex. Living the life though parties, gym, and hook ups.

Soon, Mat and his Family noticed the changes in his behavior but the ultimate wake-up call was when he found himself getting hard at his own sister. Upon realizing this, he contacted Eric and told him that they should meet up. Eric replied that they should meet up at Alex's place.

Upon arriving to Alex's place, he checked if the coast is clear. He called for Eric but no response. He found him at the basement standing and staring at the dark corner. Mat said, "Eric? There you are! We need to talk. Something weird happened. I think we need to..."

He was interrupted by Eric's laugh which had a sinister tone to it. Then he heard Alex's laugh from his mind. A chill went down his spine.

"Oh Matty, that was all me" said Alex through his mind.

Then Eric turned around. "It was all me", he said with a mixture of Erics and Alex's voices.

Mat was horrified at the sight. Eric's face was half his and half Alex. His hair had blonde inserts as well. And the shocking of it all was the black eyes. The Eric/Alex hybrid explained that he was the one that influenced Eric to make up with him. He was the one that screwed up the device so they can merge.

Mat tried to escape but Alex also had control of his body except his head.

"I know what you're probably thinking" said Alex/Eric hybrid. "How did I, Alex come back from the dead?" Mat did not respond but his eyes tell yes. "Well, honestly... I don't know but it was slow. At first, everything was dark. Then, I saw light. I watched your friend take over my life. I tried to scream but he didn't hear me. But by some twisted turn of fate, I got through to him. Little by little, I took over pathetic little Eric's mind, making it my own. After we injected you that serum and cut ties with you, I thought I was victorious. But somehow, I was not satisfied. I felt that my revenge was not yet complete. I felt that making you forget was an act of mercy but screw that shit. I wanted more. I wanted to take everything."

Eric/Alex walked behind Mat and pressed himself against him. Then the Alex voice in Mat's head said, "Now, it's time for me to take it all." Mat tried to protest but Alex took control of his body. His eyes also turning black in the process.

Soon, the two merged again, turning into a blob of flesh before molding into Alex, their final form. "AHHH" said Alex, satisfied with the result. "I am finally whole. I am finally free. I am ME!"

[ericppp]

Fat to fit (Shapeshift - Weight Change)

[ericppp]

An Author’s Choice

The blog has reached 1,750 stories and it’s time to celebrate. To be honest, the author loves each one of his stories and is so happy to know that there is people that enjoy reading them. While all the stories are special, there is no denying that some of them were more fun to write. Here is a  small collection, from the most popular to the author’s favorite tales.

Author's most loved stories:

Uncle Nick

Experimenting

Flamboyant

Girl Power

Samuel

A New Man

Unperfect Match

A Special T-Shirt

Identity

The Right Move

A Cat and Mouse Game

The Intern

Blog's most populars:

Vignette 72

The pendant

First with the family

Closer to his son

Don't touch anyone

Instant possesion

Virtual reality

The councellor

Lost memory

The wrong decision

Abandoned

Social Worker

Interactives:

Gone (Outline)

The school reunion (Outline)

The Masquerade (Outline)

Clothes makes the man (Outline)

[ericppp]

Prologue

From KorKor to GongGong.

JunHao couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen. Once, he had everything—a loving girlfriend, a thriving business, and a body that turned heads everywhere he went. Now, all of that was gone. The debt he owed the Chinese mafia hadn’t just taken his money or his livelihood. They had taken him.

It all started years ago when his business began to crumble. Desperate to stay afloat, he’d taken a loan from the wrong people. Rumors of the Chinese mafia’s brutal, unorthodox debt collection methods had been whispered around town, but JunHao never imagined he’d become one of their victims.

At 35, JunHao had been the epitome of masculinity. Years of waking up at dawn to lift weights in his makeshift gym-esque courtyard had sculpted his body into a oriental masterpiece. His biceps, thick and powerful, could split the sleeves of any shirt. His abs, chiseled and defined, were a testament to his discipline. And his manhood—well, his girlfriend used to blush just thinking about it. JunHao was proud of his natural endowment, which had always made him feel invincible, as if he were destined for greatness.

But that was before. Now, at 70 years old and trapped in a frail, withered body, he was a shadow of his former self.

Determined to confront the man who had taken everything from him, JunHao arrived at Mr. Chen’s opulent mansion. The doors were opened by two towering young men, their muscles bulging against their tailored suits. Their chiseled jaws and cocky smiles hinted at their borrowed origins. JunHao knew these weren’t their real bodies—probably stolen from aspiring athletes or struggling gym rats who couldn’t pay their dues.

The guards dragged JunHao through the mansion’s marble hallways, past walls adorned with priceless artwork. The air was thick with the scent of testosterone and power. Finally, they arrived at the courtyard.

And there he was—JunHao's old body, lounging in a hot tub like a god.

Mr. Chen, now inhabiting JunHao's former body, looked like a vision of strength and virility. His light, sculpted chest glistened with water, the ridges of his abs catching the sunlight. He grabbed his growing cock and let out a sexy, alpha groan. A black necklace with the Chinese Mafia's logo now rested against his broad chest. He oozed confidence, his powerful legs stretched out lazily as if he owned the world.

When he saw JunHao, his lips curled into a smug smile. “JunHao!” he boomed, his voice deep and commanding—JunHao's voice. “Come to admire your handiwork?”

JunHao's heart twisted in his chest. Hearing his voice come from someone else, especially someone who was desecrating everything he’d worked for, was unbearable.

Mr. Chen stood, water cascading down his muscular frame. He flexed his biceps, their size seemingly even more pronounced than when JunHao had owned them. “This body,” Mr. Chen said, running his hands over his chest and abs, “is a masterpiece. A gift from you to me.”

He laughed, grabbing his stiffening crotch with an audacious smirk. “And this? This is a real treasure. Your little secret, huh? What they say about Chinese people, isn't true apparently. Don’t worry, I’m putting it to good use now. Let’s just say it’s… thriving in the right hands.”

JunHao's face burned with shame. He’d always been proud of his virility, his ability to satisfy his girlfriend and leave her breathless. Now, Mr. Chen was flaunting it like a trophy, using it in ways that made JunHao's stomach churn.

Mr. Chen stepped out of the hot tub, water dripping down his thick thighs. “You know, JunHao, I’ve never felt more alive. This body—it’s a machine. The stamina, the strength… And let’s not even get started on the bedroom. Let’s just say the boys can’t get enough.”

He flexed again, this time making a show of clenching his pecs. “I don’t know how you kept this gem hidden for so long. If I’d known what you were packing, I’d have taken it sooner.”

JunHao couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped to his knees, his frail body trembling. “Please,” he begged. “I want my body back. I’ll do anything.”

Mr. Chen chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. “Anything, you say?” He gestured for one of his guards to get him another bottle of beer. Taking a long sip, he let some spill down his chest, then wiped it off with a slow, deliberate motion. “You couldn’t handle this body anymore, old man. Look at you—pathetic.”

He stepped closer, towering over JunHao. “But I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a new body—not this one, of course. This beauty is staying right where it is. But I can get you something… better than the sack of bones you’re in now. A younger body. Maybe even a little attractive.”

JunHao's heart leapt. “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” Mr. Chen said with a grin taking of his sunglasses seductively. “On one condition.”

JunHao's hope faltered. “What condition?”

“You’ll become my personal servant,” Mr. Chen said, leaning in close. “Every day, you’ll oil this body, shave this chest, and make sure it looks its best. You will also be my own personal cum dump. You should know how virile I am now and my precious liquids aren't to be just spilled on the ground. You’ll clean my mansion, pour my drinks, and watch as I live the life you gave up. And maybe—maybe—I’ll consider giving you a slightly better body in return. A body that will please my sexual needs more.”

JunHao's stomach kept being churned. The thought of serving Mr. Chen, of watching him flaunt what was once his, let alone serving and pleasuring a body that was once his, was unbearable. Yet what choice did he have? To live the rest of his days as an old, broken man was equally unthinkable.

“So,” Mr. Chen said, flexing his biceps one more time for emphasis. “What’s it gonna be, JunHao? Serve me, or rot in that pathetic shell of yours?”

JunHao looked up at his former body, now radiating power and confidence, and felt his world closing in.

"Okay."