justyouraverageanonbloghere

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

becoming lando

The race was over, but frustration lingers in the air like static electricity. Lando sits alone in his motorhome, still in his racing suit, unzipped just enough to reveal the black Nomex shirt clinging to his chest, damp with sweat.

His breathing is steady, but his fingers twitch slightly as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone, reliving the mistakes, the missed chances, the seconds that had cost him victory.

He doesn’t see me. They never do.

I hover just behind him, my presence a mere ripple in the air. A whisper of movement, an unseen breath brushing against the back of his neck. Slowly, deliberately, I press forward, sinking into him like mist creeping through an open window.

The moment I make contact, he stiffens, his back arching slightly, a shudder rolling through his body as though caught in the grip of an invisible chill.

He draws in a sharp breath, leaning his head back slightly. His body tenses, every fiber of his body reacting to the intrusion.

I begin with his arms. Slipping into them is like donning a second skin, like putting on gloves, the sensation electrifying, as if my essence is threading through his nerves, intertwining with his very being.

His fingers twitch in response—at first uncertain, like an involuntary spasm, and he drops the phone. But then I will them to move. Slowly. Deliberately.

His hands lift, and I flex his fingers, spreading them wide, then curling them into fists before releasing. He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

His hands move on their own, dragging slowly across his chest, fingertips grazing the damp fabric of his Nomex.

I can't hold back.

The feeling of his racing suit, smooth like silk, warm, and the tight nomex shirt, damp with sweat, clinging to his skin.

It feels so good and I feel his warmth surging through me.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“What the hell—” he murmurs under his breath. His voice is hoarse, strained. He tries to shake off the foreign sensation, but it’s too late.

I continue, pressing deeper. My presence slide through his thighs, into his legs, taking hold, fusing with his movements. His knees lock, then weaken, a wave of dizziness making him sway.

His fingers curl against his chest as I traced them along the fabric, feeling the rise and fall of his breath—our breath. His mind grows hazy, sluggish, as I weave myself through him.

"No... I—"

A jolt of warmth shoots through his thighs, his calves tightening involuntarily. His fingers clenched into the fabric of his suit, gripping at nothing.

He tries to stand, but his legs feel strange, unsteady, as if the signals from his brain weren’t reaching them properly. His body was warm, his pulse strong, and I feel every beat as I mold deeper into him.

The tingling in his limbs spreads, a heat pooling in his chest as his mind fights against the fog creeping in.

I am not just taking his body. I am taking his control.

Lando grits his teeth, his jaw tightening as he fights back. He tries to lift his arms of his own accord, tries to plant his feet firmly against the floor, but his movements are sluggish, delayed, like he is moving underwater.

“N-no… what is this…” he exhales, shaking his head sharply, trying to clear the haze forming behind his eyes.

The warmth spreading through his limbs is no longer just post-race exhaustion—it is me, filling every inch of him, overriding his senses, dulling his resistance.

His lips part as another breath shudders out, hazel eyes blinking rapidly as the haze thickens behind them.

He stumbles forward, catching himself against the dresser, his reflection coming into view. And I feel it—the sharp jolt of realization as he sees himself, sees the way his hands trembled as they move against his will.

“What…” His voice is hushed, breathy, confused.

I savor the sound. The richness of it.

The slight rasp from the strain of the race. Hearing his voice echo through me makes me being tingle as another ripple of heat pulses through us.

He tries to lower his hands, but I hold firm, guiding them instead over his chest, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the curve of his ribcage.

The Nomex shirt clings to him, still warm, slightly sticky from sweat, the fabric pulling and shifting beneath our touch.

Lando inhales sharply. His chest expands beneath my fingers, heat pooling deep inside him.

His pulse quickens.

I am not rushing.

Seeing his reflection, close and real, increases the sensation.

The sight makes me ache for him.

So pretty.

His hazel eyes, wide and dazed. His racing suit, clinging to his body, the faint sheen of sweat glistening against his neck. His lips, parted, breath shaky, as if caught between disbelief and surrender.

I drag our fingertips up, brushing them over his collarbone, feeling the heat trapped in the hollow of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, another shaky breath escaping his parted lips.

His lips.

I move his hand up, fingers grazing over them, feeling their softness, their warmth. Lando gasps. His body gives a weak jerk, as if trying to pull away from himself.

He is still resisting. But it is fading.

I take my time adjusting, settling into the way his body moves—the way his muscles flex, the way his weight shifts.

His lashes flutter. A quiet, broken sigh left him as I pressed deeper.

The haze in his mind thickens, his thoughts slowing, slipping further from reach.

I feel the last of his resistance, the way his body trembles beneath my control. His muscles tense as I keep stroking his chest, feeling the heat radiating through the damp fabric of his suit. The Nomex clings to him, slick with sweat, molding perfectly to the contours of his body.

His heartbeat pounds beneath my palm, faster now, as if his body is trying to fight back even as his mind begins to slip.

Lando tries to speak—his lips part, a small breathy sound escaping, but no words come. His throat works in a slow swallow, and I can feel it—the effort, the desperation—but his voice is lost, drowning in the haze overtaking his thoughts.

His head tilts back, his body arching slightly as another wave of warmth rolls through him. His eyelashes flutter, his pupils blown wide, unfocused.

Still, I take my time.

I run our fingers up his sternum, feeling the heat pooling under his skin. His breaths stutter, short and shallow, as if each inhale takes more effort. His chest rises and falls beneath my touch, the rhythm growing slower, heavier.

Lando’s body is betraying him.

I shift, pressing deeper into his mind, feeling the last shreds of his awareness slipping through my fingers like sand. He blinks sluggishly, lips barely forming half-spoken protests, but they dissolve before they can fully take shape.

It's simply overwhelming.

Waves of pleasure and heat surge through him, and I instinctively let my hand drift lower, when I feel it.

His hard cock bulges underneath the fabric, pressing through his suit, as he's edging on the brink of defeat, yet it feels so good.

I grab him, another involuntary spasm, and I let out a broken moan using his voice for the first time.

We squirm hearing this, breathing deeply.

But I don't stop. I cannot.

I run our fingers along his shaft, feeling it twitch, rippling through the suit's fabric.

His limbs relax. His head lolls slightly, another quiet sigh escaping his lips as his body leans into me—into us.

He’s almost gone.

I lift our hand again, cupping his jaw, tilting his head so we can see his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes—those beautiful, hazy eyes—stare back at us, unfocused, half-lidded, filled with confusion, with surrender. His lips are parted, soft, breathy, and I let our fingers ghost over them, feeling the heat, the life that is now mine.

A final tremor runs through him.

A small, strangled sound escapes his throat—a last attempt at resistance. But his body betrays him again. His lashes flutter, his breath slows, and his weight fully settles into place as the last of his mind melts into nothing.

For a second, my senses blur—his body adjusting to my presence, my mind settling into the shape of him. The warmth of his skin, the faint ache in his muscles from the race, the lingering dampness of sweat beneath the snug Nomex fabric—it all floods into me at once.

I take a deep breath. My breath. His breath.

Lando’s lips are still parted, his expression dazed, his hazel eyes unfocused in the mirror. A thin trail of saliva glistens at the corner of his mouth. His body is slack, his limbs still tingling from the takeover.

The heat threatens to consume us both, and I let it happen.

Our eyes roll as we tilt our head back. The entire body is stiff, rigid, near collapse, when it all settles.

His lips part, a soft, dazed sigh slipping out.

I steady us.

The last tremor fades from our limbs, the final echoes of his mind dissolving into nothing. His body is mine now, completely. The warmth lingers, wrapping around me, through me, soaking into every inch of him. Of us.

I take a deep breath.

His lungs expand under my control, filling with air, with heat. The feeling is intoxicating—the stretch of his ribs, the slow rise and fall of his chest. My chest.

Then, I exhale.

And his voice—my voice—escapes in a slow, shuddering sigh.

The sound sends a deep, electric shiver through me, curling down my spine. God. Hearing it, feeling it, the low, breathy way it leaves our lips—it makes the reality of this moment even richer.

I swallow, just to feel the way his throat moves, the muscles flexing under my control. Another breath. Another shiver.

I lift our hands next, flexing his fingers, feeling the subtle strength in them, the warmth lingering in his palms. The fireproof fabric of his suit brushes against our skin as I roll his shoulders, stretching into this body, adjusting fully to the weight of it.

It takes a second to fully sink in.Then, I look up.

And there he is.

The mirror stares back, reflecting me. Him.

Lando Norris.

His eyes, still slightly unfocused, dazed from what just happened. His lips parted, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his flushed skin. His racing suit hangs open, exposing the black Nomex underneath, the fabric still damp, still warm.

I take a step closer. His reflection moves in perfect sync, every small shift, every breath mine to command.

Slowly, I lift our hand, dragging fingertips along our jawline, then over our lips. So soft. So real.

A slow, satisfied smirk curls onto our face.

"That felt so good," I let out a deep rumble, a mix of a sigh and moan.

My body shudders.

I run a hand through my hair, watching the way the strands shift beneath my fingers, feeling the lingering dampness from his helmet.

Then, my gaze dropped lower.

That’s when I noticed it.

A deeper wetness. Clinging inside the suit, pressed against our skin.

Not just sweat.

A slow realization creeps over me, my fingers ghosting lower, pressing lightly against the fabric. A sharp inhale escapes our lips. His body twitches, a subconscious reaction beyond his control.

Ah.

Lando came into his suit.

Through the struggle, through the takeover, through the sheer intensity of being consumed—his body had responded in ways his mind hadn’t been able to process.

Heat pools beneath the layers of fabric, a sticky, undeniable confirmation of his surrender.

A smirk curled at our lips.

“Oh, Lando…” I murmur, voice barely more than a breath.

A twitch. A flicker of something in the depths of our consciousness. Embarrassment? Shame? The last embers of his awareness trying to surface, trying to deny what had happened.

I stroke our chest again, slower this time.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

A soft, involuntary whimper slips from our throat.

I chuckle, tilting our head, watching the way his reflection quiveres—his body still reacting, still betraying him.

I press a hand against our stomach, fingers trailing lower, teasing, feeling the heat trapped beneath the layers of his suit.

"That’s totally natural. Trust me."

His body shudders, breath stuttering, but he can’t fight it. He was too deep, too lost.

I am in control. And I'm enjoying it.

His body is mine now.

And I take my time feeling it.

I smile. Slowly, deliberately, I lift our hand, dragging a thumb across his cheek, wiping away the saliva. The touch sends a shiver through me—it’s so real, so intimate. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, his body still buzzing with residual energy from the race.

I flex my fingers next, watching them curl and uncurl. Strong, steady, familiar yet new. I roll our shoulders, shifting in the tight embrace of his racing suit. The Nomex clings to us, warm, slightly damp in places, stretching with every small movement.

God, he feels good.

I spread our arms wide, testing the stretch of his limbs, the subtle pull of fabric across his chest. The snugness of the suit only enhances every sensation—the way it molds to his body, the way it moves with me.

"Mm, Lando… you really do look good in this," I murmur, our voice thick with amusement.

The sound of it sends a shudder through me again.

His voice. His voice.

It’s richer than I expected, soft but with that slightly raspy edge from the race. I repeat his name, slower this time, letting the syllables roll off our tongue.

I smirk at our reflection.

"I bet you loved hearing your name all over the radio today," I tease, tilting our head, admiring the way our jawline catches the light. "But I think I love it more."

I lift our hands again, running them along our chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the slick fabric. The heat of his body is intoxicating, the lingering dampness making the material cling even tighter.

I take my time savoring the moment.

The reflection staring back at me is breathtaking.

Messy, sweat-damp curls cling to his forehead, a few unruly strands curling just above his ears. His skin is flushed, glowing with the remnants of exertion, a light sheen of sweat catching the light. His lips—our lips—are still parted slightly, softened in the aftermath of surrender.

The stubble dusting his jaw makes his face even more touchable. I reach up, running our fingers along it, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips.

“God, Lando…” I murmur, watching the way our lips move, the way our voice sounds as it spills into the quiet room. “You’re so pretty. So perfect like this… all dressed up, still warm from the race, still mine."

I tilt our head slightly, admiring the angle of his jaw, the curve of his throat, the way the Nomex clings to our collarbones. The suit is still unzipped just enough to reveal the damp fabric beneath, the black material stretched taut over his chest.

But I want more.

Slowly, I reach for the zipper, teasing it down another few inches.

The second the suit parts further, the scent hits me.

Warm. Salty. The deep, musky smell of sweat and adrenaline, mixed with something undeniably Lando. It clings to his skin, soaked into the fireproof fabric, lingering in the folds of the suit.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, feeling a deep, almost primal satisfaction settle in my chest.

I need more.

Lifting an arm, I bring it close, pressing our face into the crook of it.

I inhale.

The scent floods my senses—heat, exhaustion, the raw, intimate proof that this body raced today, that it fought on the track, that it belongs to me now.

A quiet, pleased hum vibrates in our throat.

“So good…” I breathe, exhaling against the suit.

I hold the position for a moment longer, just feeling—the dampness of the suit, the warmth still radiating from beneath it, the way every inhale makes me dizzy with possession.

And then I lower our arm, exhaling slowly, savoring the way the scent lingers.

A smirk tugs at the corner of our lips.

But I’m not done admiring us yet.

Turning slightly, I let our gaze drift down, trailing over the lines of our body, the snug fit of the race suit, the way it hugs every curve, every muscle.

My eyes land on our hips first, then lower.

I turn us slightly, angling our body just right.

And there it is.

The suit clings to our ass, perfectly outlining the curve of it, the way it shifts as I shift.

I bite our lip, running a hand slowly down our stomach, stopping just above the waistband of the suit.

"God, Lando," I whisper, amused, breathless. “You really are something special, huh?”

Deep inside, I can still feel him.

A flicker of resistance, weak and distant, like a faint echo struggling to resurface.

I grin.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I murmur, tracing a slow pattern along our stomach, dragging fingertips against the damp fabric. “I’m going to enjoy every inch of you.”

Lando is still in there, trapped, silent, helpless.

I move toward the sofa, adjusting easily to his balance, the rhythm of his walk now second nature. Every motion feels right. Every breath, every step, completely mine.

Lowering onto the cushions, I sink into the warmth of the fabric, stretching out our legs, letting them relax. Lando’s boots feel heavy, snug around his feet, still laced tightly from the race.

I reach down, wrapping our fingers around one ankle, pulling it closer. The laces drag under our touch as I loosen them, the tension slowly unraveling. Then, I ease the boot off, lifting it toward my face.

I inhale.

The scent is rich, layered—rubber, sweat, the faintest hint of heat still clinging to the fabric. It’s him. Completely, unmistakably him.

A slow exhale. The warmth spreads through me again, deeper now, heavier. I flex our toes inside the sock, feeling the newfound freedom, the lingering warmth where the boot had hugged tight.

I bring the shoe closer, pressing it to my face, burying my nose and mouth deep inside.

The scent is overwhelming—everything Lando is, captured in this single piece of him. I inhale deeply, greedily, letting it flood my senses, sink into my lungs. It’s rich, intoxicating, unmistakably his. The warmth that had been steadily spreading through me flares hotter, deeper.

A slow, shuddering exhale leaves my lips, muffled against the inside of the shoe.

My free hand drifts downward, tracing over the snug fabric of the Nomex, feeling the shape of his body beneath. The material is soft, yet firm, clinging to his skin, still damp in places from the race. My fingers press a little harder, exploring, claiming.

A pulse of heat surges through me.

My breathing deepens. My grip tightens.

Lando’s body responds to my touch, to my control. Every nerve, every muscle, mine to command.

I sigh again, low and breathy, Lando’s voice spilling from our lips in a way that sends another deep shiver down my spine.

I smirk, my fingers tightening around the shoe as I press it against my face again.

"Damn, Lando," I murmur, my voice breathy, teasing. "You smell so good."

The words send a fresh shiver through me. Hearing his voice—my voice—say it aloud makes the heat inside me pulse even stronger. I let the moment stretch, reveling in it, before inhaling deeply once more.

The scent rushes in, thick and intoxicating.

It clings to the fabric, lingers in the air, fills my lungs. I groan softly against it, my breath warm against the material.

I roll my hips slightly, shifting, adjusting, feeling the tension coil tighter, spreading through my muscles. My fingers trail lower, pressing lightly, teasing.

I smirk against the shoe, letting out a slow, satisfied sigh.

The warmth is almost too much now, thick and consuming, wrapping around me like a second skin. My breathing is heavier, every inhale pulling in more of that deep, intoxicating scent, fueling the fire burning under my skin.

I press my palm lower, fingers teasing, feeling the heat radiate through the fabric of the racing suit. Even through the layers, I can feel it—thick, sensitive, throbbing with need.

A quiet, satisfied moan escapes my lips, my body sinking deeper into the warmth, into the pleasure.

The pressure builds, a slow, intoxicating burn, tension coiling tight in my muscles.

I groan again, tilting my head back against the sofa, lips parting as I let the sensation crash over me.

I welcome the release with open arms.

The release comes in waves, rolling through me, pulsing, spreading warmth through every limb.

I feel the wet warmth against my skin, covering the insides of the racing suit. It clings uncomfortably, the smell reaching my nostrils.

So good.

My breath stutters, then steadies, a deep, satisfied sigh leaving my lips as the tension finally unravels.

Slowly, I let my fingers dip lower, sliding past the unzipped suit, slipping beneath the waistband.

The warmth engulfs me instantly.

A deep, shuddering breath leaves my lips as my fingers brush against bare skin, heat radiating from every inch. It’s soft and smooth in some places, firm and tense in others. The contrast sends a slow, curling pleasure through me, the sensation heightened by the knowledge that this body—this heat, this warmth—is completely mine now.

"You're a mess, Lando." I tease, fondling our erect cock curiously. "So wet."

A slow, satisfied sigh escapes from my lips—Lando’s lips—as I press in further, savoring the way his body responds.

"So warm…" I murmur, my voice breathy, teasing, reveling in the sound of it. "So good."

I inhale deeply, the scent of sweat and heat still clinging to me, making the pleasure even more intoxicating.

I smirk, letting my fingers explore, relishing every shiver, every subtle twitch of muscle under my touch.

I grip our wet cock, my hand moving along its shaft rhythmically, squeezing out more remnants of earlier.

So much to give.

I bring the shoe back to my face, pressing it firmly against my nose and mouth, letting it completely engulf me. The scent is thick, intoxicating—pure Lando.

I inhale deeply.

A slow, shuddering exhale leaves my lips, my body tingling from the sheer intensity of it.

I feel the tip of ny cock burst, more of his precious cum sipping into his suit. The wet stickyness everywhere.

I smirk against the shoe, letting my breath warm the fabric before inhaling again, deeper this time, savoring everything about it.

"God, Lando…" I murmur into it, my voice thick, breathy, dripping with satisfaction. "I can’t get enough of this."

I exhale slowly, watching our reflection in the mirror across the room.

Lando stares back.

Flushed cheeks. Tousled hair. Lips parted, eyes still slightly unfocused, dazed in the aftermath. His suit clings to us, damp with sweat and something deeper, something richer. A physical reminder of how thoroughly I had overtaken him.

“Still with me?” I whisper, though I already know the answer. He is too far gone now, buried so deep that his presence barely even flickered.

But I could still feel him.

I am inside him. I am him.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

becoming sebastian

Taking over someone elses body isn’t always an easy task. Too many variables to take into consideration. Their age, fitness, mental capacity, and innate resilience. Are they exhausted, or well-rested? Even more, when considering taking over athletes. Even the ones not in their prime.

But, using something as a conduit, a tool, may erase most of them. Clothes work perfectly. Especially tight clothes. The immediate contact to skin can make it so much easier to take control.

Luckily, transfering your consciousness into objects was always an easy task me. For years now I trained to pour more and more of myself into clothes—track pants, hoodies, gloves—I got quite good at it.

Yet, I wasn’t fast enough to get the one body I always dreamt of possessing.

Sebastian Vettel.

He retired from Formula 1, and dropped from the face of the earth. Like a cryptid, there were hints and sightings, scetchy at best, and I felt like I have to give up on him.

When the news broke, that he will attend the next race, that he will be putting on a old red bull racing suit and hop into a car, my heart skipped a beat.

That's all I asked for.

A chance.

Even if it didn’t work out, I needed to try it.

i had to use all of my contacts, so much money—wearing other people's skin has many benefits—but I made it work.

I got access to the racing suit. And what a beautiful piece that is.

Running my fingers along the seam, brsuhing across the logos, his name written on the waistline—that alone made me hard—felt so good.

It was like the heat of his body was still clinging to it, his scent—just barely there, after years—wooven into the fabric. Amazing.

I would have prefered to get my hands on the tight undergarments, but they were completely out of reach. Still, getting the opportunity to be worn by Sebastian, even if I can’t take over his body, was worth it all.

I had to ask even more favors for someone to pick up the suit and get it back to the paddock for my scheme to work.

It was odd to be carried around in a suitcase. Dark, barely breathable air, unable to move on my own. Yet I felt good. Being inside the fabric meant I could just relax. Knowing I will eventually meet Sebastian.

My time would come.

And it did.

Media day comes around, and with that Sebastian's upcoming laps on track.

I wait.

Not in the shadows—but within them. Within the fibers of a sleek, high-tech racing suit that clings to the hook inside the changing room. Woven into every thread, every layer, my presence humming quiet and low, like a pulse behind fabric.

The door opens.

He’s here.

Sebastian Vettel. His energy enters before he does—familiar, composed, steady. I sense him before I see him.

Then, there he is: still sharp-eyed, hair tousled, a focused intensity in his every step, even if this is just a ceremonial return.

He looks good, wearing a simple shirt and jeans—his usual attire. Nothing too fancy, just Sebastian.

Without the need for words he strips out of his street clothes, layer by layer. His shirt peels away, revealing lean muscle, toned more by endurance and precision than raw strength.

Then he kicks off his sneakers, and unbuckles his jeans. The noise of the denim sliding down his thighs filling the quiet room around us.

The fabric pools around his ankles before he steps out of it, approaching the white undergarments lying on the table next to me.

Just in his boxers, I can't help but notice the outline of him, his length, idly pressing against the fabric of his Calvin Klein briefs, he licks his lips.

He seems to be excited, nervous, maybe. But he looks so good.

Sebastian lets out a low groan, barely audible, mumbling something more to himself than anyone else. Of course, he thinks he's alone.

I feel the warmth of his body rise as he slides on the tight, flame-retardant underlayer—thin enough to hug every line of him, close enough that his body heat begins to fill the room like a slow fog.

He pulls the underpants up his legs, one at a time, until the waistband settles perfectly—a gentle tug here, a firm pull there—until Sebastian is done adjusting himself.

His length is tenting more insistently now. The rush of adrenaline is getting to him. He rubs his palm against it, along his shaft, letting out a low, needy sound, vibrating deep inside his throat, before closing his eyes for a brief moment, slowly regaining his composure.

He picks up the tight shirt and pulls it over his head. Like the million times he had done this before, he slides his arms into the sleeves, pulls the stretchy fabric down his torso, and straightens it with firm strokes.

"Fühlt sich gut an."

His voice filled the air around us, soft, tinged with excitement and a hint of need.

Hearing him up close makes my entire being vibrate, humming quietly through the seams of his suit.

He takes a few steps around, stretching his limbs, arms over his head, his legs, until he's sure everything fits just right.

And then, it's my turn.

He approaches me—socked feet barely making any sound on the floor.

I feel him.

His fingertips ghost over me, barely touching me, but it is enough to make me whimper internally.

Sebastian lets his fingers dance along the red bull logo, along the sleeves, and back down to his name embossed at the waistline.

My breath catches, anticipation rising through every fiber of my being.

His smile widens, licking his lips as he takes me off the hook and in that instant I truly feel him.

The warmth of his fingertips. The slight tremble of energy before the calm. The trace scent of clean skin and aftershave, faint motor oil still clinging to his palms. He doesn’t know I'm there yet, but my presence coils tight, waiting. Anticipating.

He steps in—one leg at a time.

As the suit—I—glides up his body, I begin to press inward, tightening over his calves, thighs, hips, feeling the way his body moves—fluid, efficient.

The heat of his body radiates through the thin fabric of the underpants. Mingled with his scent, clean, a hint of citrus, and yet, his skin tastes salty, deliciously real.

I am barely able to contain myself, when I settle around his waist, feeling his length imprinting through his pants, rubbing against me, insistently making its presence known. The way it twitches once, firm against my being.

I swallow hard.

Not yet.

I cannot rush this.

Yet, something inside Sebastian is already shifting.

Another low growl echoes through his chest, and then, he reached for the obvious tent forming through me.

He grabs himself, pumping once, twice, letting out a low moan.

"Fuck—"

That does it.

I feel myself slowly dripping through the underpants separating us into his skin.

Not enough to make any move on him. All he feels is a tingling sensation spreading through his calves, into his thighs and further up.

That's what is causing the rush of adrenaline and pleasure surging through him.

Sebastian shakes his head, regaining his composure slightly. But I keep dripping. Tasting his skin, engulfed in his scent, my head swims—it feels so good.

Casually, he puts on the upper half of me. Sliding his arms into the sleeves.

And I can't stop myself.

As the fabric slides up his torso, his arms, I move, just barely, feeling his muscles, pecs and biceps, squeezing here and there, causing him to let out a breathless giggle.

"Das habe ich vermisst."

He growls, letting his hands run across his chest, firmly stroking himself through me.

More and more of me drips through the tight underlayer into him. And that is when he notices something is off.

His expression shifts, his muscles tense as I keep encompassing his form.

I cannot waste any time.

I—deliberately, intimately—press forward. Through his back, his thighs, his chest—everywhere.

My essence phasing into him like silk sliding over skin. There’s a jolt. His body stiffens. His head jerks up.

I feel my will seep in deeper now, threading through the fabric and muscle until Sebastian’s limbs begin to obey my command.

First, the arms. His right arm rises—quietly, almost imperceptibly—elbow lifting, forearm extending, as if guided by an invisible puppeteer. I savor the sensation of his sinewy muscle slipping beneath my control, each fiber warming to my invasion. His biceps flex beneath the skin, strength bending to my will even as the back of his mind struggles to reclaim it.

Then the left arm follows, rising in perfect mirror of the first. His hands hang suspended at chest height, fingers curling and uncurling in slow, deliberate gestures. I test the strength, pressing out each finger, feeling the sturdy bones and tendons align to my subtle commands. I flex his wrists, feeling the snap of resistance give way to obedience.

A shudder ripples through him—his awareness flickering, he is fighting—yet his body remains unwavering under my grip. With both arms now fully mine, I start to stroke our chest.

Fuck—it feels good.

I drag the fingers across the suit, feeling both—the sensation of the fabric, and the firm touch.

"Was...ist das..." He let out a low, strangled moan.

His body stiffens, he feels something—feels me coursing through his body. Into his belly, filling his chest, up his neck and into his head.

Sebastian’s footsteps falter as he spins in a slow, unsteady circle, eyes unfocused. He reaches out with trembling fingers, brushing the cold metal of a locker to steady himself. His breath comes in shallow gasps, each inhale catching on that strange, electric warmth coursing through him.

I glide closer, guiding his hand so that it can grip the edge of the zipper down at his navel. His other hand still presses against the locker’s cool surface as he fights to make sense of the spinning world around him. The zipper hangs there, a silent invitation.

I need more to fully take over.

I need to enclose him inside me.

With a deliberate tug, I pull the zipper upward. It slides smoothly through the fabric channels, closing around him with a soft whisper. As the suit seals him in from neck to ankle, the final threads of his resistance unravel.

He hiccups as the zipper reaches the collar of his suit, fully enclosed in me, I let myself drip.

I lean in, allowing my consciousness to flow through every fold of the suit’s lining and every sinew of his body.

I sink deeper, further, into all of him.

I embrace all of him.

His scent, still fresh yet tinged with sweat from the ongoing take over. The salty taste of his skin, rubbing against the fabric. The soft moans he is unable to hold back. The insistent straining of every muscle—biceps flex beneath the suit, chest filling the tight suit fully.

His strength is his weakness now, as I use it against him.

I keep stroking his chest, as heat rises in his entire body, the suit's fabric is tighter now. I enjoy the heat radiating through the suit, the little sounds he makes with every stroke, but he's not gone yet.

Sebastian is still resisting. Clawing at the fabric, at me, trying to remove me. A desperate groan escapes his lips, he struggles, so much.

I just smirk.

I'm not going anywhere now.

I run his hand lower, across his chest, his tummy and beyond his waistline until I find my target.

His tenting cock.

I find that hot, hard length and begin to tease—slow, deliberate strokes along the silky material. Thumb and fingers trace the outline through the cling of the suit, drawing little shivers up Sebastian’s spine.

He shakes his head in denial, his throat works but a low mumble is all that's leaving his lips.

"Nein...bitte." Sebastian moans as I wrap our fingers around his shaft and start pumping. Once, twice, through the suit, feeling his mind spinning.

His breath hitches in a futile attempt of protest. He tries to tense his legs closed but the navy suit squeaks with every tremor. My teasing becomes more precise—feather-light flicks at the tip, circles at the swollen ridge, each motion designed to demand his full, undivided attention.

Sebastian swallows, eyes unfocus even more. He can’t help but shift his hips into each stroke, as I teases every last nerve.

i don’t know who is the one causing it, but more and more pre-cum swells at the tip of his cock, staining his precious suit slightly.

"Mmhmph." Leaves his parted lips, such a cute sound.

I drag his thumb down the ridge at the tip—deliberate, teasing circles that send fresh jolts through him. His strangled moans grow louder, each one more desperate than before.

As my pace quickens, the damp fabric strains and creaks with every movement. Sebastian’s legs part instinctively, suit slick and dark between them.

Right at the edge of release, I push even further into him.

Going all in.

His body stiffens, lips part in a breathless moan, and a trail of saliva glistens at the corner of his lips.

His eyes roll as he tilts his head back. The entire body is stiff, rigid, near collapse, when I feel him coming into the suit.

His release erupts in thick, warm pulses against the pristine navy of his suit. The fabric balloons briefly with each spurt before soaking in, darkening in a glossy bloom.

The first time I came as Sebastian Vettel.

His knees give a faint, involuntary tremor, but I—he—stand firm at the locker. The hum of the paddock beyond fades into a distant pulse as my awareness deepens within Sebastian’s form. Every muscle, every thought, now settles under my guidance. He’s still there—a dim echo—but the body is mine.

I take a deep breath, feeling cold air fill my lungs. Then another, and another, slowly settling in my new body. Sweat drips down my forehead, I watch them drop to the floor.

That’s when his scent fully hit me. It was intoxicating before, but now, I can't stop. With every inhale through his nose, I take him in. His aftershave, mingled with the scent of cum.

I take a step back, legs still wobbly, before I find my footing. My vision sharpens, and I look down at myself, red bull racing suit tight against my skin, a wet patch outlining my cock, and my toes wiggling inside white socks.

"Fuck—it worked." I grunt.

Hearing his voice echo through me sends another wave of need through me, my cock twitches and a bead of cum slides down my thighs.

I chuckle, trying to regain my composure.

"That felt good."

I take in my surroundings, and spot a small mirror mounted to the wall.

I walk over and cannot believe my eyes.

Sebastian Vettel is staring back at me.

Face flushed, suit a little rumpled, damp in places, and so, so handsome.

I let my fingers caress my new, pretty face. Pink cheeks, so soft, a slight stubble, and his pretty eyes.

There is a sudden knock on the door, and I flinch.

"Seb?" Some voice rings through the wall. "Make sure you're ready in 20."

"Yeah, don’t worry." I try to sound casual, but my voice is huskier than it should have been.

"Come find us in the lobby when you're done."

I hear footsteps as they step away feom the door.

Turning back to the mirror, I smirk back at my reflection.

"I will have so much fun with you."

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

Originally posted at The Male Transformation Blog as part of the Caption This series. -ElFantasmo See that awesome shit? That’s going to be mine, and that makes me a very happy ghost.

Dude’s name is Craig. He just got done moving in, and he’s so tired he passed out on the bed without even putting sheets on it.

I make my way toward my new body, swaggering with confidence. This kid didn’t stand a chance in the long term - I’d seen him drinking and smoking during the move in, and those were the two things I missed the fucking most about having flesh, aside from fucking.

It might not be easy, and part of me hoped it wouldn’t be - hard won is more satisfying for me, and more effective at making my invasion a true transfer of ownership.

I sit down in the bed and scoot myself over so that I’m sitting on his crotch. After a brief moment, it begins, and I start to sink into his waiting flesh. I take care not to line myself up with the rest of him as I adjust my position - I want to posses the living shit out of his cock, first.

I’m sitting up with my legs in between his spread-eagled legs, and a few fidgets later I feel that my spirit schlong has found it’s new fleshly home.

I don’t even have to work at it - my long pent up desires do the deed, and my soul slithers its way into my new member. A quick, powerful punch of physical sensation, my first in 23 years, causes this cock to leap up into cold-steel rigidity.

“Oh fuck yes …” I whisper, overwhelmed.

The sudden erection causes Craig to moan in his sleep, some of my ecstasy bleeding back into the cock that’s still also his.

A glow surrounds the cock as the analogous part of my soul merges with it, and the sight nearly sends me headlong into seizing the rest of him right now. As the light penetrates deep into the core of the penis, my awareness of its size and the sensations its feeling doubles, quadruples - I nearly lose control again, but manage to hold on so this goes according to plan.

“Oh fuck, that feels amazing,” Craig mumbles in his sleep, and I begin to concentrate on my task. Now the glow of alien soul devouring its competition within the flesh has permeated my new cock and spreads to the scrote, letting me sink completely into the pelvis.

Another burst of physical pleasure assaults me.

“Oh fuuuuuuugme running …” I mumble, hearing Craig mumble the same words through his slumber.

Pleasure permeates my being as I feel the merging of my soul and this amazing 8 inch tool complete.

Trying to calm my delighted panting, I move forward. Now, phase 2.

I concentrate, making my hands just substantial enough to be felt while still able to penetrate a millimeter deep into the stolen skin along the sides of my stolen cock.

I tickle and stroke the possessed schlong, feeling untold pleasure as nerves are stimulated both on the surface of and within the epidermis, in places never before touched.

Craig jolts and partially wakes, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding out from a cock he’s rapidly losing to my subjugation.

Craig’s hands plunge below his waistband and wrap themselves around the member in the ways he normally masturbates, and even through the haze of sleep and pleasure he feels himself being touched in places his hands are not.

“Oh Jesus FUCK this is awesome ohGodohGodSHIT thisissogood …”

Craig instinctively increases the speed and pressure of his strokes even as his mind awakens to the sight of his cock aglow with supernatural thievery.

“Waitno, thisisn'trightAAAAAAGH FUCK! What'shappenAAAAGH FUCKFUCKFUCK yes oh yes!”

He knows this is wrong, but can’t bring himself to stop, and I refuse to stop the process. No matter what I do, I’ll be inside of him, but that’s not enough, and I barely hold out on allowing us to come - the time wasn’t right, I needed an absolute stronghold position to launch my total invasion from.

“Give in, Craig,” my hollow voice echoes in the room. “I’ve already won, your cock is mine, give in and drown in the pleasure, let it absorb you, let ME absorb you …”

I feel terror billow up from part of him, but I throw it against the part of him awash in the pleasure I control and am barely able to contain.

“Who the AAAAGH SHITSHITSHIT please no, I, please AAAAGH Godthat'ssofuckin'good …”

Having learned the pattern of strokes he uses when he seeks to wring pleasure from himself, I forcefully insert my spirit hands into his flesh hands, making them my puppet gloves. They shine with the process of my soul absorbing and displacing his inside of them, and the sudden feeling of my own hands on my own cock sends me plunging deep into an orgasm I knew I’d never match again, but would spend my entire new life chasing after.

The sounds Craig makes are more animal than human, his mind becoming a soft and maleable thing under this onslaught.

I slam myself backward with all of my might, amplified by the spasms of sheer pleasure arcing through both my soul and the nearby flesh. Already joined in the ecstasy, the process of soul invading flesh becomes ravenous, and without intent my legs spasm into their new living matter and consume it.

I am one with my new magnificent body, welded together by my desire and the sensations only flesh can provide.

After what seems like a pleasant slice of forever, coherent thought returns through the fog of post-orgasm. I can feel Craig’s psyche surrendering itself to me, exhausted by the war of sensation waged on it by its own body. I sit up and look at myself, a new wave of happiness and pleasure engulfing me. I watch the patterns of light dancing within me as my soul continues the process of digesting its competition. Power thrums through my muscles as formerly alien soul makes this flesh its home, and the previous tenant soul gives up its life energy to its new master.

“I did it! Oh my God, I did it it worked this is actually me!”

I shakily stand as I accustom myself to my body, at once both familiar and spectacularly new.

I run my hands across my chest, gasping and closing my eyes at the sensations that flood from the sensitive skin, still flushed and sweaty. When I look down again, I see whorls of light following my fingertips beneath my torso as I lightly stroke down my abs. Smiling in delighted surprise, I feel the tracks of my strokes teasing out more of Craig’s soul for mine to consume.

Desire for different pleasures blooms in my mind and my torso. My chest is demanding smoke. My smile deepens, and I take a deep breath. My expanding chest releases a burst of light.

The pieces of Craig’s mind I’ve subsumed automatically reach for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter and guide me to the balcony.

Ignoring Craig’s habits and re-asserting my own long-denied addiction, I light the cig and draw the smoke deep within myself, expanding my chest to its limits to allow the smoke maximum access, watching in amazement as the smoke itself causes a cascade of light within me.

After a few seconds I realize I’m holding it in, and chuckle through the exhaled cloud. Old feelings and long buried sensations burst to the surface.

“Craig. Hi, I’m Craig. Man, this is weird.”

I turn to my reflection in the sliding glass door, and let Craig’s muscle memory dictate the next drag. I watch in amusement as my face assumes a “look at me” aspect as I draw on the smoke, waggling the eyebrows a bit and sprouting a charming smile. Oh yeah, he definitely had the whole ‘being macho means being strong and smoking and drinking’ thing going on.

“Nice to meet you, Craig,” I say to my reflection as I let Craig’s mildly cocky attitude take root within me, and make another ‘ain’t I a badass?’ face at myself as I slowly draw on my smoke.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

The story originally created by @captainmalewriter and you can find the link in this continuation post by @permanentswaps

You Will Possess Me Pt. 3

Still laying in bed with his post-nut afterglow after flooding Yosef's hole, Mauro decided to clean himself a bit before trying to get his much-needed rest before his night shift at the club

"Don't you want to shower?" asked Mauro as he stands up while Yosef plopped himself back to bed after a quick client call that interrupted his post-nut recharge

"You go first, I'll join you later," Yosef said with a rather malicious smirk that Mauro failed to see as he already turned his back and headed to the bathroom

So, Mauro opened the bathroom door of his apartment and a gust of chilling wind welcomed him. Well, it's just finished raining outside so this might just be a sunset breeze or something, he thought to himself as he stepped in and get himself ready by taking off his sex-stained wifebeater. But when the wind blows started to get icy as the door closes, Mauro started to get real suspicious. Before he can walk back out, a shivering sensation crept through his asshole that caused him to yelp. It's like as if something is possessing him! He groaned in pain as his body slammed the door in surprise, the sharp pain reaches his prostate and even beyond and practically sent him to a state of trembling shock. Rather than subsides, it really jabbed further and in his desperate bid to save himself, he screamed for help to his recent fuck-buddy as he exited the bathroom crawling for help

Yet, when Yosef appeared in the hallway leading to the bathroom witnessing the splayed and pale body of the Latino hunk that just bred him earlier, he just smirked before kneeling himself so he can get closer to Mauro's writhing face

"Oh, I see that he's in your stomach now Maybe stop resisting and just let him in to take full control, that will definitely make the pain go away much quicker,"

Mauro just gritted his teeth, holding on the pleasurable pain as these ectoplasm seemingly hit all the right spot inside of his body but it still feels like he's ripped away from his body, his eyes darting the most sinister look to the grinning Yosef

"The guy squirming inside of you, he's a small man, but his will is so big, this is a losing game for you, Mauro. Plus, he can definitely wear this thick beer can of a cock of yours better. You are not the best custodian of this meaty dick, you know? Hhhh....I'm bored to see you resisting so--" and just like that, Yosef grabbed Mauro's throat to choke him. Mauro went into a full-body seizure as Yosef practically caused him to lose his breath. That also helped the ghost to reach even deeper into Mauro's psyche. Snapping his head left and right trying to wriggle himself free proven to be futile as Yosef straddled himself on top of him to make the choking and pressure even more effective. When Mauro's body violently spasmed from head to toe and his eyes started to roll back to reveal its white sides, the painful groan quickly switched to echoing deep laughter as his eyes snapped back to normal but there's this sinister twinkle that now shines from his eyes.

The takeover is complete. Realizing the position they ended up with, Yosef grinned as he comfortably slid his still-rather-loose hole to swallow the mushroom head of Mauro's cock. Mauro, no longer in control of himself, can only witness his possessor returning Yosef's horniness by sliding even more inches into the horny and possessed ghost whisperer's hole

"You are one crazy motherfucker, you know?" remarked the possessed Mauro, "honestly, still baffled me how a ghost whisperer/exorcist can fall victim to the very thing that they should be able to control,"

"Well, I'm an elusive and very determined spirit, after all," the possessed Yosef said, lying through his gritted teeth on how he actually managed to overtake Yosef's body, "uuunnghhh.....and now, let's seal you in. You can hear him inside you?"

"Yeah, he's here, weak and imprisoned with no ability to do anything except to witness....ungggh....me....fucking....the...shit.....mmmpphhh...out of you,"

"Let's get rid of that noise once and for all then," With a wicked grin, Mauro lifted Yosef to the couch and then proceed to ruthlessly pistoned his veiny brown 8 inchers into Yosef's fitting hole. Both men simply groaned and satisfied their flooding lust through kisses, spits and screams of ecstasy. When Mauro started to convulse as he is close to spurt, Yosef stopped himself short to slide himself back to Mauro's cock. Instead, he delayed Mauro from fulfilling his gratifying lust by grabbing the pulsing meat with his fist. Mauro roared in frustration and tried to force his way to get back to plow Yosef's ass, but Yosef just pinned the horny beast on the floor with his ass hovering mid-air

"Trust me, the best ones cum in waves," Yosef said, pun intended.

As the cock softened and several mililitre of leakage flows out gently to make his mushroom head slick with pre, Yosef comfortably slide himself down once more to the quickly-erect cock which caused Mauro's eyes fluttered in delight. Yosef then decided to stop playing around and slowly bring Mauro to the finish line as he ensured to clench his hole tight. Feeling his new dick getting clenched by his fuckbuddy's boypussy once more, Mauro then decided to take the matter into his own hands by grabbing Yosef's waist and keeping it in place. Yosef, alarmed by the gravity of the brutal fucking Mauro is capable off, flushed with worry as he found himself locked in place. He tried to break free and moaned like a whore as Mauro's cock hit close to his G-spot

"MMMFFFFUUUCKKKK YOU, DON'T YOU DARE GETTING OUT AGAIN NOW," Mauro threatened with a sadistic glee as he can feel that he's close to cumming

Yosef writhed in pain and delight knowing that this one will be one heck of a huge blast. But even before Mauro shot his load, Yosef already spurted like a geyser, his cock untouched but it's shooting cum all over his own torso, Mauro's and even the cushion cover and the mirror behind Mauro's head. It's one heck of a mess, followed by another mess as Mauro eventually released his tremendous load as it flows out from Yosef's gaping hole and stained the cushion beneath their bodies. Alongside the flowing cum, the real Mauro's soul also expelled from his own body and joining the same fate with the real Yosef, it simply fades into irrelevancy as the soul is not necessarily a soul that can move on to the after life but also at the same time having no vessels to claim as home, making it weaker as the time progresses unless he managed to find a body weak enough to be beaten by his soul.

The ghost inside Mauro just chuckled "Ck....he's gone. Phew.....fuck....again, I don't know how the fuck you found out about this whole....breed and freed scheme or whatever you name this, or how you basically manage to utilize his power for our kind's benefit, but this is brilliant. And....hmmmmm, I have a few friends that are eager to get back to live life once more, do you think we can work together to help them? I bet there's a lot of hot guys willing to get involved in a threesome with Mauro and Yosef over here, don't you think?"

Yosef just smiled. That actually sounds like a good plan, a possible thriving business enterprise if he wants to put in some work. But at this point, he's just trying to live in the moment and cherished the opportunity of getting back alive and having his back blown by hot guys that his old life could only dream of. All thanks to that fucking broken cock ring

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

S(CREAM)

The legend says that the most weak and vulnerable may find themselves visited by the Halloween myth. It blesses those who encounter it the chance to hide behind a mask and conceal their insecurity, however be warned that no one knows what happens after you put it on, or who you might become.

The gym was completely quiet, the only sound being the metallic creaking of the punching bag as it swung back and forth until finally resting. Unlike Jess, it seemed like everyone was having the time of their lives on this Halloween Night. With one final punch, thrown with anger and frustration, Jess put the gloves away and wiped the sweat from his brow. His tank top was drenched, just the way he liked it, signifying that today’s work out was a good one. Unfortunately for him, it was the only good thing that had happened this week. Not only was it his least favorite time of the year, but finding out his girl was cheating on him with some CS nerd was truly the last straw. So there he was, at the gym on a perfectly good Halloween day, using the pain as the motivation for his pump.

Looking down at his shredded body, he couldn’t help but feel not only a sense of pride but of hatred.

“The fuck does he have that I don’t,” he muttered under his breath, imagining what possibly his ex saw in the computer geek. He let out a deep sigh and dropped his shoulders, letting out his tension. In his mind, all he could think about was what he was missing.

To Jess, working out was a way to regulate his emotions, and always had been. When it came to emotional intelligence, or any intelligence for that matter, well let’s just say he isn’t the brightest. Where others had friends to confide in or therapists to talk to, all Jess had was the gym. It was all that could make him feel good, constantly striving to look better so that he’d be better. Though a flawed ideology, it was his raison d’etre, caused by years of internalized fatphobia. In his youth, he was the fat kid that everyone knew but no one wanted to be seen with.

As he got older, it became more and more apparent that if he didn’t change then no one would want him, not as a friend or boyfriend. Jess eventually found his way into the gym, scrounging up the last bits of confidence he had left in himself to begin working out. At first, he was riddled with insecurity and anxiety, but as time eventually passed he lost weight and became more and more fit. Eventually he no longer felt like an outcast and made friends, joined sports, and even got a few girlfriends. However, everything comes with a price, and his transformation came at the expense of his education.

Becoming fitter and hotter were his only life goals, as the memories of fat and alone were a constant reminder on his mind. To Jess, working out and sports were far more important than learning and education. Skipping almost all of his classes to instead hit the gym and get on the field, he barely graduated High School but got a full ride to college through football. Any modicum of academic-wise intelligence he had was stuck at the middle school level, anything past that was foreign to his jocked-out brain.

And although his body was at its prime, those insecurities from his past still lingered and there were times when memories came back to haunt him. For instance, Halloween was his least favorite time of the year, as memories of being picked on or judged for eating candy or not being able to fit into kid’s sized costumes always ruined the holiday for him. Tonight, he had been planning to chill and watch a few movies with his girlfriend and fuck but seeing as that wasn’t happening anymore he desperately needed to get out.

As he wrapped up his workout and began heading out from the empty gym, his phone buzzed to see a text from his bro Andre.

“YOOOO just got some invites to this Halloween frat party, u down?”

“Fuck,” Jess thought out loud, realizing he hadn’t even gotten a costume since he wasn’t even planning on going out. “Idk dude I don’t got anything 2 wear” He texted Kyle back and was instantly replied to.

“Same broooo imma just try n find sumn in my closet n u should too. Cmon don’t u wanna score some pussy tn??”

Jess smirked, sounded like a plan to him, best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Sticking his tongue out like he was ready to eat some pussy, he snapped a picture and sent it with a caption.

“U alrdy know 👅👅 c u tn”

As he walked out of the campus gym, he couldn’t help but notice how dreary it looked out. Ominous signs filled the world around him, grey skies blocked out the light and October winds sending chills down his spine. Flocks of crows cawed as they flew from the tall trees surrounding his journey back to his place. Jess shrugged it off, it was a picture perfect Halloween and for once he was ready to enjoy it to the fullest. Running up the steps to the door of his off campus apartment, he unlocked it with excitement as he imagined the possibilities of tonight.

Ignoring a greatly-needed shower, he went straight to his closet. First things first, he needed to check if there was even a costume he could scrounge up and pass off as decent. Being a straight man, his closet was a mess of forgotten junk and unknown treasures, most likely hiding a couple things he could throw on. He rummaged through it, throwing aside anything that probably wouldn’t fit him anymore and random stuff that he probably should throw away. He searched aimlessly until finally, he reached his hand deep into a back corner of his closet, which was practically just a pile of clothes now, and touched something hard. He felt it, cold to the touch, and his curiosity took ahold of him as he slowly he pulled it out from under the heap.

Before him in his hands was a white mask with a black sort of headdress, marked with wear and tear and an air of mystery. Questions rushed through his brain; What is this? Who’s is this? Why is it in my closet? Did I buy this? Jess stared intently at the mask, it seemed familiar to him somehow, almost as if there was some sort of connection between the two. His finger traced the design of the mask, the way the face seemed almost contorted in pain sent chills down his spine. “Oh shit!” it hit him suddenly, he had seen this mask before in some horror movie his ex liked to watch, but did she get this for him and if so when and why?

He brushed aside his worried thoughts, at least she did one thing good for him. A costume is a costume, and so he began getting ready for the party. Analyzing the mask, he began to think about ways he could wear it but not look too dweeby or stupid. He wanted something simple and sexy, and so he pulled off the sweat soaked tank top he had worn to the gym and brought it to his nose. Taking in a whiff, his eyes shot open as the musk invaded his nostrils, making a mental note to wash it and tossed it to the side.

Placing a chain around his neck, putting a gold watch on, and tossing on some fuck-boy grey sweatpants, his pussy hunter costume was almost complete. He chuckled, from experience once girls see a chain, an expensive watch, and a nice bulge through your grey sweats, they come running. He spritzed some cologne to mask some of his masculine scent that he abstained from washing off, knowing the pheromones would drive the girls crazy. Jess smirked to himself in the mirror, “I’m hot as fuck.” His afternoon pump perfectly accentuated his muscles and under this lighting, even he would fuck him, that is if he was a fag which would never happen. He ran his hands over his crystal cut abs and flexed his biceps, getting one good look at his body before he headed out.

“Fuckkkk, I’m so ready for this shit,” he beamed, ready to put the cherry on top. He grabbed the mask, which surprisingly felt heavier than before and put it on. At first vision was a bit hazy, but quickly, his sight adjusted to his limited vision through the eye holes. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smirked under his mask and said to himself, “Alright sexy, let’s go score some.”

Almost instantly, a foreign voice responded. It was a cold, steady voice and yet there was this air of confidence that caused Jess to stop in his tracks and shudder. “Now now, are we sure you’re ready Jess?”

Jess whipped around, searching for the source of the voice but there was nothing to be found. “What the fuck? Who the fuck is there?” he shouted angrily, albeit a bit muffled through the mask, to nothing but the air.

“There’s no one there, I’m up here,” the voice responded almost menacingly.

Jess shot his face up to his ceiling but again, nothing there.

“No you idiot not up there, up here, in your mind.”

Rolling his eyes under the mask, Jess couldn’t help but laugh at his stupidity for seriously believing an invisible force was speaking to him. “Ooooookay I get it now. Someone put a scary mask in my closet as some dumbass Halloween prank and like there’s a speaker inside for whoever’s talking on the other end right? Fuuuunnnnyyy. Lemme just take this shit- huh why can’t I take this shit off?” Jess flushed red with panic, beginning to erratically pull off the mask that almost seemed glued to his face. “HEY FUCKER stop whatever this shit is okay? Funny fuckin’ prank now lemme take it off!”

The sinister voice returned, “Now why would I do that? It’s too late anyway, I’ve already sealed myself to your face. Which, let’s be honest, I did you a favor covering up that ugly mug of yours for all eternity. This body is… delightful, but that face, well, let’s just say there are some things you just can’t fix in life.”

Waves of anxiety and fear washed over Jess as he began to feel truly panicked. What the fuck was happening to him? His mind raced with thoughts as his instinct to scream for help kicked in but alas, nothing came out. His eyes widened with horror and as if his soul began to slip away, he fought to maintain control of his body.

“Don’t you mean, my body? Don’t be too surprised, what good of an evil entity would I be if I couldn’t read your mind too? Your vessel is mine now Jess, and what a wonderful one it is. You’ve really put in the work to make yourself forget about the fat, ugly little shit you once were.

Jess doubled over, feeling the weakness spread like a plague through his most prized possession, his body. Through a winced voice, he pleaded, “How did you even know…. please just let me go I’ll do anything.”

In his mind, the voice spoke again, “I know everything Jess. Really you can’t expect me to take over your body without learning about you first, that’s just rude. That ex-girlfriend huh, cheaters make me sick… too bad you were such a shitty boyfriend, she had no other choice.”

As Jess stumbled out of the bathroom towards the front door for help, barely strong enough to keep himself up straight, he weakly coughed out, “Fuck you.”

“Now now now, that’s no way to talk to a new friend. I mean it’s true, you were so obsessed with your physique you ignored her for days at a time. Ghosting her for days and responding only when you got horny, putting getting drunk with your boys before being with her, even cancelling on dates so you could get a quick work out in? You’re a man child. And look at you now, all those muscles didn’t help did they?

Jess was crawling on the floor, just making it to the front door as he reached up and weakly began to twist the door knob. He barely had the strength to keep up his muscle packed body, the heaviness overpowering what little power he had left. As the last bit of adrenaline left his system, his dreams of escaping the nightmare disappeared as he lost the strength to move his body. He fell completely flat to the floor, and almost as if he was a puppet tied to strings, his mind watched in terror as his body raised itself to his knees, then fully stood up, making its way over to the living room mirror.

Next Jess watched as his arms moved on their own, grabbing his rock hard bulge through his sweats, causing some pre-cum to gush out and fill his boxers. “Let’s take a pic for the memories,” his own voice said out loud without his willing. Almost instantly, his body took out his phone, flexed, and snapped a quick photo before tossing it to the side.

Jess just observed in shock and fright, lost as to how he could even fight this. Then, both his arms raised up, exposing the musky jungles under his arms to the outside world. “Whew boy, maybe the first thing I’ll do with this body take a shower!” he sneered, not before long however, his body turned to his pits and buried the masked face into it, taking in deep breaths of the must, “or maybe not… I have to say your body is quite a marvel, I never believed such stink could smell sooooo good.”

The mask started to control Jess to feel up and down himself and rub his cockprint, causing the entity to moan out in pleasure, even making Jess who could only watch in horror, feel good. “Now this might be a little sick, but there’s a little thing I like to do after I take over a new vessel,” Jess’s voice explained as he checked himself out the mirror, “How about… I make your worst fears come true?”

Though he could feel tears streaming down his face beneath the mask, there was no sound of crying escaping Jess’ mouth, all he felt was sorrow and despair. “Are you ready? Here’s my favorite part!” His body puffed his chest out and flexed his biceps as a powerful dark energy suddenly surged through his veins. Jess felt only dread as his body began to expand and inflate with fat and muscle outwards, as his once fit and cut physique bulged into this bulky mammoth of a man. His once decent pecs bulged with fat as they became heavy jugs that weighed down his form substantially. Beneath the shadow of his now tits, the abs he had slaved his youth away for slipped away beneath a slight layer of fat blanketing his stomach. Jess screamed and pleaded from within his own mind for the being to stop, that his punishment was severe enough, but the torture was far from over.

“Yeahhh this is more like it! You’re fuckin huge bro,” maniacally laughed the entity controlling his body, “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to stand on a scale again! But really, don’t think you’ll be needing to worry about that.”

It was right, his body was a behemoth now, not fat, but far bigger than he ever was before. Jess was defeated and with the forfeit, his mind began to fade away into the aether.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast. I think there’s a better way for me to finally get rid of you…”

“I think this whole thing got me pretty fuckin horny, how about we give this body for a test drive?” Without hesitation, the entity pulled down his sweats and boxers, revealing his cock in full 9” mast.

Jess’ now meaty hands gripped the rock hard member and began to stroke it back and forth. Precum spouted out of his dick, dripping onto the floor and coating his cock in a thick lubricant. The entity moaned in hunger and pride, supremely pleased by how well his vessel turned out, squeezing Jess’ member and alienating the pressure with each stroke. The waves of pleasure even aroused Jess who even in the depths of his own mind could feel how amazing it was. His body panted, breathing heavy as sweat glistened from his skin. The monster teased the throbbing member, edging it closer and closer to ejaculation, torturing even Jess as he pleaded for sweet release. And that was exactly what the mask would deliver.

“Did you ever wonder why the mask takes the form of a screaming face? It’s the last thing my vessels do as they expel their hosts from their body!”

Jess’ mind was broken down and absorbed into his own cum filled balls and with one final stroke, the entity released his new flesh and bones’s load upon the mirror. With his sweet release, Jess let out a final scream, instantly causing the mask to mold itself to Jess’ final facial expression of pleasure and torture following the sick joke of each new victims’ final faces turning into the mask.

The new Jess smirked, seeing the last remnants of this vessel’s original owner splattered across the now cum-covered mirror. Another successful Halloween if he did say so himself.

A sudden buzz alerted “Jess” as his tossed aside phone vibrated with new messages from his best friend Andre, with around another 20 messages he had missed while having his fun. He took out the device from his pockets and read the latest one.

broooo wyaaaaa u promiz3d yud b hier i’m hella drunk so jyst find me wen ur hier

Jess recalled his agreement to a costume party from earlier in the day, “An extremely juvenile activity, but alas, who am I to break a promise?”

Making his way to the party, he felt the ground beneath his feet for the first time in a long time. Nothing beats the one time a year he gets to have a corporeal form. Walking into party, Jess could feel as drunken heads and lustful eyes turned his way. The music was blaring loud and college students dressed up in ridiculous costumes plagued the room with their youth. Colors and lights flashed before his eyes as he made his way over to what he had in his memories as the human companion named Andre. Placing his weighty hand on the sweaty and shirtless man’s shoulder, Andre whipped around in his drunken stupor to find a large man in a Ghostface mask looking down at him.

“Wow Jess, you should have told me your human friend was this cute,” he lustfully professed aloud.

“WHAT WUZ THAT?” Andre yelled over the god awful ‘Monster Mash’ remix playing at the frat. “Yoooooo wtf waitttt Jess is that you? Did you start bulking mannn?”

Jess shouted loudly to conversate over the terrible music, “Yeah bro, it’s me, in the flesh. Sorry I took so long, had to go out and grab this mask for a last minute costume.”

“OHHH no worriez mannn. Thas a smart idea I just found sum chains and a doggy collar so I wuz like why not say I’m a pet kink for Halloween HAHA!! Don’t judge me bro for real this wuz all I got!” ALRIGHT BRO you ready to score some pussy?” Andre explained drunkenly, pointing sheepishly to the chain and collar around his neck. As he looked up at his bestfriend, a feeling deep inside Andre was telling him something was really off about Jess, but he shrugged it off and blamed it on the alcohol.

Jess laughed, “Yeah sorry dude I don’t think I’m really into that anymore.” A puzzled look was drawn across his best friend’s face. He reached his hand down to Andre’s chain leash and tugged at it, pulling his bestfriend right in front of him as their eyes locked. Andre froze, almost as if time stood still while everyone around him and Jess partied on.

“Who’s a good boy?” Jess questioned in a stern and commanding voice as he stared down hypnotically into Andre’s eyes.

At first there was a slight pause from Andre, a hesitation, but soon from the doggy’s mouth came a sound, “Rrrrruff!”

Jess felt blood rush begin to rush back down into his thick manhood and looked down to see that Andre’s bulge beneath his costume’s leather shorts was begging to be played with. With a smirk beneath the mask, Jess held onto Andre’s chain as they made their way back to his apartment.

This was the best Halloween ever.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

“I got you, you hick son of a bitch.” Dylan said in a thick southern accent, panting in Roy’s body.

Dylan and Roy worked together at mechanics show outside of Biloxi, Mississippi. Dylan was as queer as a three dollar bill and always had been, but had to hide it because of the environment he was raised in. He hated the South, of course, so he tried his hardest to mask any southern accent, and he also had to hide the fact that he was gay but altering his voice a lot. Essentially, he had to make change everything about himself for his own safety. Roy on the other hand was as straight as a pole and he made sure everyone knew, and he had an accent like some antebellum plantation owner. Whenever they’d be working outside and anyone with boobs walked by, he’d take off his shirt, dry is sweat, and say some terrible misogynist thing to her as she passed. Even worse, Roy would give Dylan shit every time he noticed that Dylan was checking him out in any way. And Dylan couldn’t help it; Roy had a hell of a body, partially thanks to working at his father’s garage since he was an early teen. “Eyes off, faggot” was a common expression Dylan heard every day, much to his displeasure. Everyone would laugh along with Roy, but Dylan had another trick up his sleeve.

Dylan was waiting for the moment to hatch his plan, in truth. He figured he would keep his secrets a secret until he couldn’t handle it anymore. The secret was that his grandmother, thanks to their location by the bayou, dabbled in voodoo. Dylan had scavenged through her attic after she died and found a possession potion. The recipe said it’d be permanent so he knew he had to hold off, but now was his chance. Roy was a good looking fella, and he had everything coming to him.

So Dylan mixed up the possession potion and went to Roy’s home out in the boonies. He approached the window and noticed he was alseep naked and ass up, and he climbed in through the window. According to the pictures on the mixture for the potion, you were supposed to just drink it and… get in, really. Just put yourself inside through any orifice. So Dylan disrobed entirely, chugged down the potion, stifled several disgusted coughs and gags, and with a shrug, he plunged his head into Roy’s gaping, snoring mouth. Dylan’s head seemed to shrink in around Roy’s lips and the rest of his body seemed to be being sucked into Roy. Roy woke up with muffled screams and thrashing, The rest of Dylan’s body thrashed with him as he woke in a panic, but it wasn’t stopping its progress. Dylan’s cock was right as Roy’s mouth as Roy tried to grab onto his legs to pull him out but it was no use, the suction was too strong. The last of Dylan’s legs and feet slid into Roy’s mouth with a slurping *pop* and Roy blacked out.

He came to laying on his bed, sporting a massive erection. He looked down at it, “Looks like you liked some of that, buddy,” said Dylan in Roy, in his familiar country accent. “Didn’t think that macho-man Roy had a little freak in himmmuunnngggggaaaaHOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT YOU GODDAMN QUEER, GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY BODY.”

Roy made a little hiccup motion and shook his head, “Look, Roy, you’ve acted like a dick all your life, you’ve gotten everything handed to you, and you aren’t amounting to much anyways, so I figured someone could put this,” he started flexing and worshiping his own muscles, “fine ass bod you got-HANDS OFF MOTHERFUCKER, YOUR ASS IS GRASS IF YOU DON’T GET THE HELL OUT NOW-you’re really starting to bum me out, Roy. No more talking like that, let’s see how sensitive you are,” he reached down and started pumping his cock. “LOOK, LOOK, I’m sorry man, just hands off the goods, I ain’t no faggot-Oh quiet, Roy, you’re certainly about to be-COME ON-just let go-STOP-ooooohhh yeah-FUCK COME ON DON’T-aaahhh-STOPPP-AAAHHHoooooooohhhhh…” 

He climaxed all over his naked torso and licked his hands. Roy was gone, or at least the Roy everyone new before. Better yet, Dylan was gone, and he was about to introduce the world to a whole new Roy. Dylan put on some shorts and a hat, stood in front of Roy’s mirror, and downloaded Grindr. “Let’s see what other closet-dwellers we have in the area…” 

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

Plumbing New Depths

“What the fuck dude! Ohh… I ain’t feeling too good… Did you do something to me? Oh fuck… Oh fuuuuuuuck….”

I smiled a devious little smirk as the sexy, straight (but not for much longer) and seriously hung plumber was slowly taken over by a certain unseen resident of my home. His eyes rolled back in his head as he moaned a low guttural and very sexual moan.

“Oh fuck man… This is weird, I can’t… I can’t even move or stand up… Please man, call 911, somethin’ is very wrong… Oh… fuck… my dick…” and then his voice changed oh so slightly, “My dick is so hard and… fuck, it’s huge!” He smirked at me and winked, before a look of panic and stress overtook his face once more.

“What’s happening to me… Why did I say somethin’ gay like that? That’s so fucked up! Dude, if you did something to me…” the voice changed once more, “I’ll fuck the shit out of you until you’re begging for mercy.”

“NO! Shit… Somethin’s in me dude… Fuck! Get out of me! Get the fuck out! Oh God, I’m gonna nut! No! Nooooooo!” And then the voice changed once again… for the last time.

“Ohhhh Fuck YES!” He said so loud I wonder if the neighbors heard him. He opened his eyes, those amazing blue eyes looking up at me but with someone else now in control. “I think I made a mess in his shorts, you’ll have to spot me some.”

“How about we clean you up in the shower, and see where things go from there?” I replied with a smirk, barely able to withstand the immense desire I had right then to tear all his clothes off and claim my prize for myself.

“All right, I like the sound of that.” He said with a sexy smile as I helped him to stand up and he pulled me in for a kiss, “Least I can do to thank you for getting me a body this… hmm hmm… this damned perfect.”

I slid a finger into his jeans and used it to explore his virgin straight ass, then I said to him, “I can think of a few other ways you can thank me…”

He looked at me surprised at first, but then just melted and moaned deeply. “Oh shit yeah! Shame he never tried that before, seems like this body really enjoys it!”

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

The Ghost Hunter's Guilty Pleasure

The sun was dipping low when Dennis's black SUV rolled up the curved drive toward the old mansion. The front lawn was trimmed to perfection, the ornamental iron gates framing a riot of roses - deep crimson, pale blush, gold - intertwined with ivy that crept up the stucco walls. The mansion itself was a masterwork of craftsmanship: every cornice carved in swirling arabesques, every window sash painted in a soft cream that still bore the original brush stroke. In front, a wrought-iron gazebo stood half-stripped, its peeling paint revealing layers of history; once the restoration was complete, its filigree roof would offer a cool refuge beneath the summer sky.

Dennis stepped out to find the ghost-hunting equipment being hauled inside by his team. Black trunks lay open, revealing rows of EMF detectors, infrared cameras, voice-recording devices. The soft hum of charging batteries mingled with the distant drone of cicadas. He smoothed the front of his royal blue shirt - tailored so precisely it hints at every curve of his torso - then nodded to the owner, a gaunt man with eyes both hopeful and haunted.

"It's supposed to be a bed-and-breakfast," the over said, ushering Dennis inside. His voice echoes faintly in the grand foyer, where a crystal chandelier dangled like a cage of frozen raindrops. "We've never been able to finish the renovation - something always holds us back."

Dennis's gaze drifted upward, taking in the soaring coffered ceilings studded with rosetted. "It's breathtaking," he said, voice calm as the machines around them pulsed with quiet life.

"Thanks - hopefully you'll banish whatever's here so we can open the doors next season." The owner's words barely left his lips when a heavy gilt-framed portrait slipped from its hook and shattered across the Mable landing. The crash rang out like thunder in the a small storm. A handful of crew members rushed forward, sweeping shards of glass into dustpans before anyone could be cut.

"I promise you," Dennis said, watching the men work, "by sunrise, this place will be clear." He glanced at his team - each face lit by the glow of handheld monitors, adjusting dials, calibrating sensors until every instrument lay in perfect readiness for the night ahead.

Night fell quickly in the countryside. One by one Dennis sent his crew away, leaving only himself among the array of blinking cameras mounted discreetly to preserve the mansion's antique paneling. A soft beep told him they were all live. He began his solitary tour, pausing to breathe in each room's distinct atmosphere.

In the master suite, the scent of polished oak and aged leather lingered beneath the heavy velvet drapes. A four-poster bed with ebony-carved posts stood proud, its velour blankets folded like dark waves across the mattress. Overhead the moonlight filtered through stained-glass transoms, painting violet patterns on the oriental rug.

In the library, rows of ancient tomes rose to the ceiling. The pages smelled of dust and secrets; the leather bindings felt cool and worn under his fingertips as he brushed past. Somewhere behind a stack of encyclopedias, the cables of a microphone trailed into shadow.

Even the conservatory held its breath: ferns unfurled toward the glass dome, orchids dropped under the weight of dew, and palms arched like silent sentinels. The warm, humid air felt alive, as though something waited just out of sight. Dennis's exhale misted before him, yet the silence remained absolute.

Returning to the foyer, Dennis studied the forest of tripods and recorder boxes. For an instant, he thought he saw a slender shaft of light refract around the edge of the sofa - a shape, maybe a silhouette - before it winked out. He took a careful step forward, and a sudden breeze flicked the pages of a ledger left on a side table. The curtains fluttered, though no window was open.

A slow smile curved Dennis's lips. He reached into his pocket and pressed a small button on a matte-black box - a signal to activate his most sensitive gear. "All right," he said, voice low and confident, as if addressing a hidden guest, "here's the deal. You get one final ride inside a living vessel - one last romp through pulsing veins and racing thoughts - and then you leave this house alone." His fingers brushed the small silver hoop handing from his earlobe, ensuring it was secure. A soft beep echoed faintly from the earring after he pressed the button, confirming that everything was in place.

Silenced answered him, save for the soft electronic whirr of cameras capturing every corner. He scanned the room, eyes sharp, until a skitter of movement flickered behind the grand staircase. A cool current brushed past him, raising gooseflesh along his forearms. He planted his feet firmly.

"Come and get me," he challenged the emptiness, knowing something watched from the darkness. With deliberate theatrics, he ripped open his shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. He flexed a hand forward and let out a teasing growl, baiting the unseen presence. Dennis loved to play. Tonight would be no exception.

For those on his team, it was no secret how much Dennis relished ghost hunting. Yet, nothing thrilled him more than feeling a spirit invade his body. His rigorous workouts had sculpted his physique into a tantalizing beacon for the restless souls he pursued. Now, he stood defiantly in the foyer, bare-chested, daring the dead to possess him.

"Really? Nothing?" he called out, his voice echoing with a mix of anticipation and disappointment. But then, the air vibrated with energy. Machines erupted with insistent buzzing, bells clanged, and the lights blazed to life on by one, heralding an approaching entity. A chilling breeze surged towards him, crashing into his chest. Dennis's grin stretched wide, just as his head snapped back with a sharp gasp. "Yes!" he shouted with raw exhilaration, his head lolling ecstatically. He clawed at his shirt, ripping it open wider, desperate to grant the ghost more space to invade his flesh with its otherworldly presence.

The spirit surged forth, a fleeting glimpse that left Dennis barely catching the spectral tail as it vanished between the muscular slabs of his chest. In an instant, control slipped away; his arms jerked wildly as the phantom force clawed its way through his limbs, driving his fingers to curl and reach for his own face. A twisted smile spread across his features, but it was a grin that no longer belonged to Dennis. Each contact was electric, and the ghost within him gasped, overwhelmed by the intoxicating rush of life rekindles, a surge of vitality that made his very essence throb with intensity.

"I haven't felt like this in ages," he growled, his fingers delving beneath his shirt to clutch and knead the taut muscles underneath. "And I have never had these before." His fingertips traced around the hard ridges of his flexed abs, making them stand out like chiseled marble. Driven by an overwhelming surge of power, he brought his hands up to grasp his pecs, savoring the sheer strength he now commanded. The flood of emotions and sensations bubbled within him, sending a jolt of raw desire that was impossible to ignore. With a swift, almost savage motion, he tore his belt free and shoved his jeans down, his hands squeezing the insistent bulge in his underwear.

"This feels incredible," he moaned, his head snapping back in a storm of unrestrained ecstasy. He ripped his shirt from his body with a fervor, discarding it like a forgotten relic, and gazed hungrily at the flesh he now possessed. His hands roamed greedily over the taut, sculpted muscles, caressing and venerating them as if they were divine. He staggered slightly, momentarily forgetting the shackles of his pants tangled around his ankles, and when he collapsed onto the sofa, he kicked them off with a forceful swing, his cock straining fiercely against the confines of his briefs. Even as he stumbled through the opulently decorated rooms to a bathroom as exquisite as the rest of the mansion, with its lavish wallpaper and gleaming fixtures, he was still marveling as the unfamiliar body. The ghost inhabiting Dennis scrutinized his reflection, tilting his head to capture every angle of his chiseled jawline. With a curious finger, he traced the mustache Dennis had cultivated, chuckling as the bristles sent thrilling tingles across his upper lip.

His cock pulsed with a life of its own, the spirit nearly mesmerized by the allure of his captivating reflection, and with one decisive motion, he unleashed that formidable organ. It sprang forth, entrancing the ghost as his mustache quivered with electric excitement.

"You're quite the prize, aren't you?" the ghost declared with Dennis's voice, sliding his hands down the ridged landscape of his abs, flexing them under his touch before seizing the throbbing shaft. He groaned, the grip sending waves of almost unbearable pleasure surging through him, a sensation he had been deprived of since his death. He gasped, slamming his hand against the mirror for support as the pleasure threatened to buckle his knees. The guttural sound he emitted was primal, and if one looked closely enough, they might see the specter leaking from his pores, the visage of an ancient man peering through the mortal facade. His chest heaved as he succumbed to the overwhelming bliss, yet the old man grinned wickedly, drawing himself back into the vessel, revealing the striking face in the reflection he had commandeered.

The spirit savagely tore away the last vestiges of his clothing, stalking back into the room where the ghost hunting gear hummed, planting himself defiantly in the center. "You all enjoy the show?" he sneered, glaring at the cameras. "You little fuckers get off on watching your boss get used like this?" he pointed at a camera, posing with both arms flexed, his cock jutting obscenely. The ghost looked down at himself and then back at the cameras, a wicked grin spreading. "You want a fucking show? I'll give you a show."

He seized his cock, throwing himself down on the sofa, the discarded pants a crumpled mess by the side table. He lifted his legs, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other explored his asshole, fingers slipping in his mouth before brutally pushing against his hole with a guttural grunt. His body convulsed, pleasure and pain colliding in a brutal, erotic storm. Legs high, fingers digging at his prostate, he stroked his thick cock, glaring at the blinking camera light.

Whether someone was watching live or Dennis would enjoy the recording later, the ghost ravaged Dennis's body like it was his own. His moans were deafening, drowning out the equipment's hum, threatening to shatter the windows with his ecstatic screams. His fingers dug deeper, stroking faster, until he felt the pull, balls churning, tightening, orgasm imminent. The sofa cushions enveloped him as he thrust harder, something tugging at his ear. The cushion's embroidery caught his hoop earring, and as his body arched in a brutal, sexy spasm, the earring tore off, falling near the discarded pants. His load erupted, painting his chiseled body in glistening ropes, moans so loud they threatened to consume him.

Just as he collapsed back onto the sofa, the box in the pants pocket beeped, the earring vibrating before sending out a crackling spark meant to expel the ghost. But it was too late. The earring was too far from his earlobe, and the ghost was free to reside in his flesh as long as he wanted.

The spirit toyed with the equipment, anticipation buzzing in the air like static, waiting for the pivotal moment that would hurl him out of the borrowed body. But that moment never arrived. Instead, he prowled through every room of his old haunt, pushing Dennis's body to its limits until the first light of darn sliced through the windows. He had driven Dennis to the brink of exhaustion, collapsing into sleep in the master bedroom. The abrupt clamor of Dennis's team roused him, their presence a whirlwind of motion as they dismantled and hauled away the remnant of their ghost-hunting endeavor. One team member tossed his clothes to him, and the spirit, blinking into wakefulness, realized his possession was inexplicably intact. A fierce struggle simmered within, a battle for control, but he held dominance, luxuriating in the newfound freedom of a life reclaimed. He donned Dennis's attire, adopting his mannerisms as he mingled with the team packing up.

"So did it work?" The owner's query cut through as he stepped outside, the house now devoid of all paranormal paraphernalia.

"Yeah, I would whatever was haunting this place won't be a problem anymore." Dennis - or rather, the entity within - replied with a sly smirk.

"That's perfect. I already sent you the money, so we should be square." The owner's handshake was firm and jubilant, and Dennis marveled at the sensation of touch, a thrilling reminder of his corporeal existence. As the owner moved past him, Dennis's gaze locked onto the SUV driver, a colossal figure engrossed in his phone, obliviously waiting for Dennis to join him in the back seat. The spirit, now seated in the driver's seat of his new life, felt a ravenous hunger stir within, his eyes blazing with desire to test the limit of his new, permanent form either with the man behind the steering wheel, or any man he could get his hands on.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

The Ghost Hunter's Guilty Pleasure

The sun was dipping low when Dennis's black SUV rolled up the curved drive toward the old mansion. The front lawn was trimmed to perfection, the ornamental iron gates framing a riot of roses - deep crimson, pale blush, gold - intertwined with ivy that crept up the stucco walls. The mansion itself was a masterwork of craftsmanship: every cornice carved in swirling arabesques, every window sash painted in a soft cream that still bore the original brush stroke. In front, a wrought-iron gazebo stood half-stripped, its peeling paint revealing layers of history; once the restoration was complete, its filigree roof would offer a cool refuge beneath the summer sky.

Dennis stepped out to find the ghost-hunting equipment being hauled inside by his team. Black trunks lay open, revealing rows of EMF detectors, infrared cameras, voice-recording devices. The soft hum of charging batteries mingled with the distant drone of cicadas. He smoothed the front of his royal blue shirt - tailored so precisely it hints at every curve of his torso - then nodded to the owner, a gaunt man with eyes both hopeful and haunted.

"It's supposed to be a bed-and-breakfast," the over said, ushering Dennis inside. His voice echoes faintly in the grand foyer, where a crystal chandelier dangled like a cage of frozen raindrops. "We've never been able to finish the renovation - something always holds us back."

Dennis's gaze drifted upward, taking in the soaring coffered ceilings studded with rosetted. "It's breathtaking," he said, voice calm as the machines around them pulsed with quiet life.

"Thanks - hopefully you'll banish whatever's here so we can open the doors next season." The owner's words barely left his lips when a heavy gilt-framed portrait slipped from its hook and shattered across the Mable landing. The crash rang out like thunder in the a small storm. A handful of crew members rushed forward, sweeping shards of glass into dustpans before anyone could be cut.

"I promise you," Dennis said, watching the men work, "by sunrise, this place will be clear." He glanced at his team - each face lit by the glow of handheld monitors, adjusting dials, calibrating sensors until every instrument lay in perfect readiness for the night ahead.

Night fell quickly in the countryside. One by one Dennis sent his crew away, leaving only himself among the array of blinking cameras mounted discreetly to preserve the mansion's antique paneling. A soft beep told him they were all live. He began his solitary tour, pausing to breathe in each room's distinct atmosphere.

In the master suite, the scent of polished oak and aged leather lingered beneath the heavy velvet drapes. A four-poster bed with ebony-carved posts stood proud, its velour blankets folded like dark waves across the mattress. Overhead the moonlight filtered through stained-glass transoms, painting violet patterns on the oriental rug.

In the library, rows of ancient tomes rose to the ceiling. The pages smelled of dust and secrets; the leather bindings felt cool and worn under his fingertips as he brushed past. Somewhere behind a stack of encyclopedias, the cables of a microphone trailed into shadow.

Even the conservatory held its breath: ferns unfurled toward the glass dome, orchids dropped under the weight of dew, and palms arched like silent sentinels. The warm, humid air felt alive, as though something waited just out of sight. Dennis's exhale misted before him, yet the silence remained absolute.

Returning to the foyer, Dennis studied the forest of tripods and recorder boxes. For an instant, he thought he saw a slender shaft of light refract around the edge of the sofa - a shape, maybe a silhouette - before it winked out. He took a careful step forward, and a sudden breeze flicked the pages of a ledger left on a side table. The curtains fluttered, though no window was open.

A slow smile curved Dennis's lips. He reached into his pocket and pressed a small button on a matte-black box - a signal to activate his most sensitive gear. "All right," he said, voice low and confident, as if addressing a hidden guest, "here's the deal. You get one final ride inside a living vessel - one last romp through pulsing veins and racing thoughts - and then you leave this house alone." His fingers brushed the small silver hoop handing from his earlobe, ensuring it was secure. A soft beep echoed faintly from the earring after he pressed the button, confirming that everything was in place.

Silenced answered him, save for the soft electronic whirr of cameras capturing every corner. He scanned the room, eyes sharp, until a skitter of movement flickered behind the grand staircase. A cool current brushed past him, raising gooseflesh along his forearms. He planted his feet firmly.

"Come and get me," he challenged the emptiness, knowing something watched from the darkness. With deliberate theatrics, he ripped open his shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. He flexed a hand forward and let out a teasing growl, baiting the unseen presence. Dennis loved to play. Tonight would be no exception.

For those on his team, it was no secret how much Dennis relished ghost hunting. Yet, nothing thrilled him more than feeling a spirit invade his body. His rigorous workouts had sculpted his physique into a tantalizing beacon for the restless souls he pursued. Now, he stood defiantly in the foyer, bare-chested, daring the dead to possess him.

"Really? Nothing?" he called out, his voice echoing with a mix of anticipation and disappointment. But then, the air vibrated with energy. Machines erupted with insistent buzzing, bells clanged, and the lights blazed to life on by one, heralding an approaching entity. A chilling breeze surged towards him, crashing into his chest. Dennis's grin stretched wide, just as his head snapped back with a sharp gasp. "Yes!" he shouted with raw exhilaration, his head lolling ecstatically. He clawed at his shirt, ripping it open wider, desperate to grant the ghost more space to invade his flesh with its otherworldly presence.

The spirit surged forth, a fleeting glimpse that left Dennis barely catching the spectral tail as it vanished between the muscular slabs of his chest. In an instant, control slipped away; his arms jerked wildly as the phantom force clawed its way through his limbs, driving his fingers to curl and reach for his own face. A twisted smile spread across his features, but it was a grin that no longer belonged to Dennis. Each contact was electric, and the ghost within him gasped, overwhelmed by the intoxicating rush of life rekindles, a surge of vitality that made his very essence throb with intensity.

"I haven't felt like this in ages," he growled, his fingers delving beneath his shirt to clutch and knead the taut muscles underneath. "And I have never had these before." His fingertips traced around the hard ridges of his flexed abs, making them stand out like chiseled marble. Driven by an overwhelming surge of power, he brought his hands up to grasp his pecs, savoring the sheer strength he now commanded. The flood of emotions and sensations bubbled within him, sending a jolt of raw desire that was impossible to ignore. With a swift, almost savage motion, he tore his belt free and shoved his jeans down, his hands squeezing the insistent bulge in his underwear.

"This feels incredible," he moaned, his head snapping back in a storm of unrestrained ecstasy. He ripped his shirt from his body with a fervor, discarding it like a forgotten relic, and gazed hungrily at the flesh he now possessed. His hands roamed greedily over the taut, sculpted muscles, caressing and venerating them as if they were divine. He staggered slightly, momentarily forgetting the shackles of his pants tangled around his ankles, and when he collapsed onto the sofa, he kicked them off with a forceful swing, his cock straining fiercely against the confines of his briefs. Even as he stumbled through the opulently decorated rooms to a bathroom as exquisite as the rest of the mansion, with its lavish wallpaper and gleaming fixtures, he was still marveling as the unfamiliar body. The ghost inhabiting Dennis scrutinized his reflection, tilting his head to capture every angle of his chiseled jawline. With a curious finger, he traced the mustache Dennis had cultivated, chuckling as the bristles sent thrilling tingles across his upper lip.

His cock pulsed with a life of its own, the spirit nearly mesmerized by the allure of his captivating reflection, and with one decisive motion, he unleashed that formidable organ. It sprang forth, entrancing the ghost as his mustache quivered with electric excitement.

"You're quite the prize, aren't you?" the ghost declared with Dennis's voice, sliding his hands down the ridged landscape of his abs, flexing them under his touch before seizing the throbbing shaft. He groaned, the grip sending waves of almost unbearable pleasure surging through him, a sensation he had been deprived of since his death. He gasped, slamming his hand against the mirror for support as the pleasure threatened to buckle his knees. The guttural sound he emitted was primal, and if one looked closely enough, they might see the specter leaking from his pores, the visage of an ancient man peering through the mortal facade. His chest heaved as he succumbed to the overwhelming bliss, yet the old man grinned wickedly, drawing himself back into the vessel, revealing the striking face in the reflection he had commandeered.

The spirit savagely tore away the last vestiges of his clothing, stalking back into the room where the ghost hunting gear hummed, planting himself defiantly in the center. "You all enjoy the show?" he sneered, glaring at the cameras. "You little fuckers get off on watching your boss get used like this?" he pointed at a camera, posing with both arms flexed, his cock jutting obscenely. The ghost looked down at himself and then back at the cameras, a wicked grin spreading. "You want a fucking show? I'll give you a show."

He seized his cock, throwing himself down on the sofa, the discarded pants a crumpled mess by the side table. He lifted his legs, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other explored his asshole, fingers slipping in his mouth before brutally pushing against his hole with a guttural grunt. His body convulsed, pleasure and pain colliding in a brutal, erotic storm. Legs high, fingers digging at his prostate, he stroked his thick cock, glaring at the blinking camera light.

Whether someone was watching live or Dennis would enjoy the recording later, the ghost ravaged Dennis's body like it was his own. His moans were deafening, drowning out the equipment's hum, threatening to shatter the windows with his ecstatic screams. His fingers dug deeper, stroking faster, until he felt the pull, balls churning, tightening, orgasm imminent. The sofa cushions enveloped him as he thrust harder, something tugging at his ear. The cushion's embroidery caught his hoop earring, and as his body arched in a brutal, sexy spasm, the earring tore off, falling near the discarded pants. His load erupted, painting his chiseled body in glistening ropes, moans so loud they threatened to consume him.

Just as he collapsed back onto the sofa, the box in the pants pocket beeped, the earring vibrating before sending out a crackling spark meant to expel the ghost. But it was too late. The earring was too far from his earlobe, and the ghost was free to reside in his flesh as long as he wanted.

The spirit toyed with the equipment, anticipation buzzing in the air like static, waiting for the pivotal moment that would hurl him out of the borrowed body. But that moment never arrived. Instead, he prowled through every room of his old haunt, pushing Dennis's body to its limits until the first light of darn sliced through the windows. He had driven Dennis to the brink of exhaustion, collapsing into sleep in the master bedroom. The abrupt clamor of Dennis's team roused him, their presence a whirlwind of motion as they dismantled and hauled away the remnant of their ghost-hunting endeavor. One team member tossed his clothes to him, and the spirit, blinking into wakefulness, realized his possession was inexplicably intact. A fierce struggle simmered within, a battle for control, but he held dominance, luxuriating in the newfound freedom of a life reclaimed. He donned Dennis's attire, adopting his mannerisms as he mingled with the team packing up.

"So did it work?" The owner's query cut through as he stepped outside, the house now devoid of all paranormal paraphernalia.

"Yeah, I would whatever was haunting this place won't be a problem anymore." Dennis - or rather, the entity within - replied with a sly smirk.

"That's perfect. I already sent you the money, so we should be square." The owner's handshake was firm and jubilant, and Dennis marveled at the sensation of touch, a thrilling reminder of his corporeal existence. As the owner moved past him, Dennis's gaze locked onto the SUV driver, a colossal figure engrossed in his phone, obliviously waiting for Dennis to join him in the back seat. The spirit, now seated in the driver's seat of his new life, felt a ravenous hunger stir within, his eyes blazing with desire to test the limit of his new, permanent form either with the man behind the steering wheel, or any man he could get his hands on.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

Change of Face

I've been in this guy's body for quite some time now. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Despite my host's personal lifestyle and routine of a model becoming second nature to me, I've forgotten what this guy's name is. Oh well!

But the perks of being in the body of a model are the prime targets of men for me to hop in. And today, I've found him. He was doing a shoot by a lake wearing only those skin tight leather pants and I knew I had to have him.

I gained his trust by asking for tips on how to train my body to be as muscular as his and I used my host's latent knowledge on tips to posing better for photoshoots. As we walked to his hotel, I feigned a dizzy spell.

"You good, man?" John asked me as I started to fumble over my own feet.

"Yeah just-" and before I can finish, I collapsed where John quickly knelt down to check on me.

It was at that moment I subtly ejected myself from my current host and hopped into his body. Due to the position he was kneeling, the cameras of the hotel hallway wouldn't see anything suspicious with John's back facing the security device.

John put up quite the fight but I wormed myself in his brain and filled the rest out.

"Ahh~ This is more like it." I say in my new voice as I open my eyes and see my host body unconscious on the floor. I give a smirk and kneel down to kiss his cheek. "Thanks for housing me for these last few months, bro." I chuckle as I stand tall to reach for John's phone to call the paramedics to pick up my host. They'll have a better job figuring out who he is once he wakes up.

As the paramedics came in the ambulance, I eye fucked the male ones as I watched them wheel my former body away in the gurney. I even caught them oggling at my pecs so much I was starting to catch a boner. Though these leather pants made sure it was seen.

"Sorry. False alarm probably." I say to one of the paramedics with a nonchalant smirk as I sensually adjust my leather clad cock with a gruff groan.

As they wheeled my former body into the ambulance, one of the paramedic guys came to give me his number. I chuckled and gave a wink to him, but not before grabbing him by the collar of his scrubs to slowly lick his bottom lip.

"Dinner tonight?" I ask as I bore into his eyes.

"Y-Yeah...sure!" He says. "Name's Henry."

I smirk and let him go to smooth out his scrubs before taking his hand in mine to gently kiss each knuckle. "I'm John. But you can just call me Shy."

Henry looks wide eyed and nods before hopping back into the ambulance. As it drives away, I turn on a heel and head back to John's- or rather MY- hotel room while casually groping my cock through these sexy leather pants.

"Sorry, John, but I love a man in leather. I'll make sure to not forget your name like my other body." I muse as I enter the hotel to get ready for my night out with that cute paramedic.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

In all honesty

If you guys have any ideas for possession stories, just let me know! My ask box is always open for suggestions.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

I miss you posting! you are my favorite account to post swap/possession with leather pants content :)

Awww thank you for the sweet message 🩵

I have attempted on making new stories, but I keep drawing blanks because I don't know how to not make my stories constantly repetitive 😭

But who knows? Maybe one day I'll get hit with some inspiration to write out another story

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

THIS IS NOT A STORY

Yesterday a person contacted me to do an RP, which I thought was great, because I really like doing it, and I'm always willing. We spent a while talking and planning, and at a certain point, he asked me what boundaries I had. At that moment I said that I had no boundaries, my fault, because I'm used to a lot of people asking, because there are people who are very dark in their fantasies, but they don't do any harm. But nothing I had seen prepared me for what I saw. The disgusting guy, as soon as I started the RP, sent me a photo of a naked child, about 7-8 years old. I vomited instantly.

It's my fault for saying, in a moment of not thinking, that I had no limits. I have a limit there. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE OR CONTACT A FUCKING PEDOPHILE AGAIN. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME ON MY BLOG, YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS COMMUNITY, AND YOU ARE NOT WELCOME ON THIS APP. YOU ARE DISGUSTING.

I have obviously already reported this user and blocked him.

In this community we can be more or less subtle or more or less sexual, but we will never reduce ourselves to THAT.

It's amazing how someone can believe that I'm one of them. I'd love to know if I've given any hint before, I HAVE NOT. IT DISGUSTS ME, and I hope to be able to erase that memory soon.

You've been warned. GET OUT OF HERE, YOU'RE PURE SHIT

I am very sorry for having used this type of expressions, but the disgust I felt at that moment for that person. I had him in front of me, and I am not responsible for my actions.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

“I got you, you hick son of a bitch.” Dylan said in a thick southern accent, panting in Roy’s body.

Dylan and Roy worked together at mechanics show outside of Biloxi, Mississippi. Dylan was as queer as a three dollar bill and always had been, but had to hide it because of the environment he was raised in. He hated the South, of course, so he tried his hardest to mask any southern accent, and he also had to hide the fact that he was gay but altering his voice a lot. Essentially, he had to make change everything about himself for his own safety. Roy on the other hand was as straight as a pole and he made sure everyone knew, and he had an accent like some antebellum plantation owner. Whenever they’d be working outside and anyone with boobs walked by, he’d take off his shirt, dry is sweat, and say some terrible misogynist thing to her as she passed. Even worse, Roy would give Dylan shit every time he noticed that Dylan was checking him out in any way. And Dylan couldn’t help it; Roy had a hell of a body, partially thanks to working at his father’s garage since he was an early teen. “Eyes off, faggot” was a common expression Dylan heard every day, much to his displeasure. Everyone would laugh along with Roy, but Dylan had another trick up his sleeve.

Dylan was waiting for the moment to hatch his plan, in truth. He figured he would keep his secrets a secret until he couldn’t handle it anymore. The secret was that his grandmother, thanks to their location by the bayou, dabbled in voodoo. Dylan had scavenged through her attic after she died and found a possession potion. The recipe said it’d be permanent so he knew he had to hold off, but now was his chance. Roy was a good looking fella, and he had everything coming to him.

So Dylan mixed up the possession potion and went to Roy’s home out in the boonies. He approached the window and noticed he was alseep naked and ass up, and he climbed in through the window. According to the pictures on the mixture for the potion, you were supposed to just drink it and… get in, really. Just put yourself inside through any orifice. So Dylan disrobed entirely, chugged down the potion, stifled several disgusted coughs and gags, and with a shrug, he plunged his head into Roy’s gaping, snoring mouth. Dylan’s head seemed to shrink in around Roy’s lips and the rest of his body seemed to be being sucked into Roy. Roy woke up with muffled screams and thrashing, The rest of Dylan’s body thrashed with him as he woke in a panic, but it wasn’t stopping its progress. Dylan’s cock was right as Roy’s mouth as Roy tried to grab onto his legs to pull him out but it was no use, the suction was too strong. The last of Dylan’s legs and feet slid into Roy’s mouth with a slurping *pop* and Roy blacked out.

He came to laying on his bed, sporting a massive erection. He looked down at it, “Looks like you liked some of that, buddy,” said Dylan in Roy, in his familiar country accent. “Didn’t think that macho-man Roy had a little freak in himmmuunnngggggaaaaHOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT YOU GODDAMN QUEER, GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY BODY.”

Roy made a little hiccup motion and shook his head, “Look, Roy, you’ve acted like a dick all your life, you’ve gotten everything handed to you, and you aren’t amounting to much anyways, so I figured someone could put this,” he started flexing and worshiping his own muscles, “fine ass bod you got-HANDS OFF MOTHERFUCKER, YOUR ASS IS GRASS IF YOU DON’T GET THE HELL OUT NOW-you’re really starting to bum me out, Roy. No more talking like that, let’s see how sensitive you are,” he reached down and started pumping his cock. “LOOK, LOOK, I’m sorry man, just hands off the goods, I ain’t no faggot-Oh quiet, Roy, you’re certainly about to be-COME ON-just let go-STOP-ooooohhh yeah-FUCK COME ON DON’T-aaahhh-STOPPP-AAAHHHoooooooohhhhh…” 

He climaxed all over his naked torso and licked his hands. Roy was gone, or at least the Roy everyone new before. Better yet, Dylan was gone, and he was about to introduce the world to a whole new Roy. Dylan put on some shorts and a hat, stood in front of Roy’s mirror, and downloaded Grindr. “Let’s see what other closet-dwellers we have in the area…” 

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

FUN BEING DEAD -Requested by http://ghostsandmen.tumblr.com/

It turns out being a ghost can be a lot more fun then I thought. Admittedly it was pretty boring for awhile wandering around town, no memories of when you were alive, and nobody being able to see you. That is until I discovered a little a trick. I have the ability to possess people! And I’ve gotta say messing with peoples lives is a whole lot of fun.

I came across this man, Brett. Brett had a perfect little life. He was a real family man, he had a beautiful wife and kids, and he was pretty good looking himself. I had been following Brett around lately because I decided he would be my next host to have some fun in.

I watched him as he was leaving to work one day giving his wife a kiss and saying good bye to his children, it made me sick. I followed him to his job as a CEO at some big fancy corporation. He was pulling into the underground parking lot and I knew this was my opportunity to take him.

When he got out of the car I plunged my self into his mouth, he started to stumble at first. Struggling to keep control of his body but it was useless. He was flailing his arms until finally he had lost all control. The possession was complete. It was kind of like putting on a costume but somehow much more erotic. I blinked a few times when I came to then cracked my neck and started to stretch getting used to his body. I went back over to Brett’s car to look at my reflection in the rear view mirror. I grinned when I saw Brett’s face staring back at me. He was much sexier up close than I thought. I touched my chin an ran my hand along the side of Brett’s masculine jaw. I flexed my new muscles giving Brett’s bicep a pat.Then I got back in Brett’s car and took off to get myself a change of clothes.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do in Brett’s body the moment I possesed him. I drove to the nearest clothing store that sold leather. I changed into a leather jacket that made Brett appear tough and manly along with some sexy tight leather pants that presented a fairly large bulge for everyone to see. I wore the outfit out of the store paying with Brett’s credit card.

Damn I was looking good I thought to myself as I strutted downtown to show off the new and improved Brett. I was getting quite a bit of attention from guys and girls alike. When I would catch someone’s eye I would give them a wink and cocky little smirk to let them know that I knew they were checking me out and I was loving it. Suddenly Brett’s phone started a ringing and I answered.

“Hello-” I began to say but then realized I hadn’t adjusted my voice yet and the voice that started coming out was my normal voice which was much more high pitched then Brett’s. I cleared my throat and tried again, this time giving off a very low manly tone. It was my boss wondering why I didn’t come into work today, I pretty much told him to fuck off and that I would do what I damn well pleased. He didn’t sound to happy when I was hanging up on him, oh well not my problem. Now it was time to have some real fun.

I made my way to the nearest gay club. I swaggered in with this sexy saunter while wearing my new leather outfit. I was getting some very seductive stares. One guy in particular though, a skinny guy with glasses, and a flannel. He was a cute little twink. When I made eye contact with him he looked like he had just seen a ghost, no pun intended. I decided to saunter over toward him, his eyes went down immediately.

Standing in front of him with my thumbs in my pockets. I gave him a “Sup” with a nod.

He looked up at me and nervously piped up, “B-Brett? Brett Edwards?”

“The one and only baby.” I said with that cocky attitude I was having so much fun with in this body.

He gulped and looked almost like he was getting turned on by my attitude, “What are you doing here?” His eyes wandered over my body stopping briefly, but noticeably, at the bulge in Brett’s tight pants, “and what are you wearing?”

“Do I know you or something?” I said because I wanted to get to the point already.

He looked at me confused, “it’s me Kyle? Your brother in law?”

Bingo.

I let out a good laugh, “I’m just fucking with you man!” I exclaimed as I swung Brett’s meaty arm around to give him a good smack on the arm. Kyle let out a small whimper as he rubbed his arm, I guess I don’t know Brett’s own strength. “Hey bartender get us a round of beers for me and my friend over here!” I shouted.

“What’re you doing here anyways?” He began, “and where’s Lisa-”

I interrupted him, “Who gives a shit! I’m having fun tonight, what brings you to this club?” I asked in an assertive tone.

“Uhh, well I’m kind of-”

“You like dick?!” I interrupted again, “No shit? Wow so how many guys have you fucked?”

“I haven’t really-” he was interrupted again this time by me sticking Brett’s tongue in his mouth. He was shocked, but not so shocked that he was trying to stop me. In fact, the longer we kissed the more he got into it. Hesitantly feeling Brett’s big biceps under the smooth leather as we made out.

“Lets get out of here.” I whispered seductively in his ear as I took his sweaty hand and led him out of the club.

I rented us a hotel and we fucked all night. I kept my leather jacket on the whole time I rode Kyle’s cute little butt. When he came I took his cum and rubbed it all over Brett’s muscular body. I even had him give me head and I snapped some pics while he was going at it. Then I sent those pics to Brett’s wife Lisa.

I woke up in bed wearing nothing but my leather jacket. Kyle was naked and cuddled up next to me with his arm around me. I checked Brett’s phone to see that he had 20 missed calls from his wife.

I smiled. This looks like a good place to leave Brett’s body.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

YEAH BROOOO!

Damien you finally fucking mine to play with!

A few minutes ago, this guy Damien was minding his own business until he was ranting on how sexy he was to some girls. You could see the girls didn't like his abrupt attitude.

I was smirking and he caught me, I gave him a challenge if I was to become him and fuck within a hour, he would surrender this body to me. If I lost the bet, he would have my smarts, wealth.

The dumb cunt didn't know that he was being totally lured into my trap.

He agreed, and within a few minutes, I was Damien, I evicted him into my old body, which he was knocked out for hours. When he woke up, he saw me fucking his former team mate Nathan.

"GUESS I WON THE BET BRO, THIS BODY IS MINE!"

From that, I shot my new thick jock loads deep inside of Nathan, who laughed at him with me as we both know Damien has been totally fucked over by this trap.

Nathan taunted him, saying he set this trap up, and he wanted his captain to be gay. Damien tried to attack me, but I grabbed him by the neck and chucked him outside.

"DID YOU SEE THAT NATHAN! THIS BODY STRENGTH IS FUCKING INSANE!!!"

We both laughed as I slid my cock back into his tight hole for a second round.

[justyouraverageanonbloghere]

It took a while until I acted, but this one sure got my attention fast.

We chattet back and forth a while ago, sharing guys we like, exchanging experiences with some of the pictures beeing this guy on a bike that happened to live near Ves. Or as least we assumed as he saw him severl times, even taking pretty good pics of him.

So as I was chilling one day, thinking of what to do I figured, I could give this one a try. I didn't know where he might be found and as I didn't wanta ask, I found the area myself. It's kinda scary how essy that is, but some geotracking guys really came in handy bye giving me the exact spot those pictures were taken.

On top of that I even found more pictures of the guy, scattered about on several pages, confirming that he probably was living there.

So the next day I was up for a ride, contemplating on my way on how would procede further on. When I happened to pass bye a police car an idea popped into my head. Why not see, how those serving the state could be useful.

So I hopped off the bus I was in to look around, getting to know the city until I saw two officers parking infront of a café, one of them hopping of to get some brew, the other one staying in the car.

Why not, I figured, walking towards the car, getting a good look on the beefy, dadlike cop probably checking his phone.

As I got to his car I knocked at the window so he let it down. But I didn't even bothered to speak, took all my force that I gathered walking towards him in a single quick touch on his neck to bolt over like electrical charge, feeling like bouncing in like a flipper ball.

I needed a moment until my view cleared again, showing the inside of the car, reaching out to pull my phone out of the pocket of that confused guy I just left.

"Thanks" I just said before engaging in same meaningless conversation to cover this guys confusion.

"Whatup?" I eventual heared 'my' colleage before he got into the car with two cups of hot brew.

"No problem" I said to my former host, adding "happy to help" before I started the car.

"Did I tell you about that guy?" I asked as we drove away, lying about some reports I got before showing pictures of that motorcycle guy, asking for some assistance in "personal interest".

Long story short, after a pretty interesting shift I had managed to gather the adress of my dude, finishing my day as an officer off bye a rather exciting session with his beefy features, having driven off with a police car. And let me tell you, feeling those beefy, hairy pecs under the uniform, moaning at myself in the back mirror, eventually spreading his excitement all over the stiring wheel really was a session to remember.

Sure the other officers had some questions at me, leaving after shift, but this was quickly sorted out. So I was on my way shortly after, changed into Jeans and shirt, searching for his car, still sticky and smiling.

The adress I found was on the outskirts of town. I stayed in the car to examine the area. So this was it. All veins of my body, or rather the cops body, pumped in anticipation. I loved to do stuff like that! To head out in a whim, up for a surprise, surprising myself with that hot cop-intermission.

So after savouring the fruits so far a bit mire I left the car, walking up the simple front yard to ring. I listened. Was he at home? Then, when I heared heavy steps that I couldn't help but imagine coming from leather boots got louder.

"Yes?"

There he was, standing tall infront of me, even wearing biker gear like he just waited for me to come, scanning me with pearcing eyes.

"I just wanted to head off, so please be quick"

"Sorry to bother!" I replied with a serious tone I acquired on that shift, offering my hand "Hendricks my name. I..." I said before he grabbed it, allowing me to force out of my beefy dad, over from arm to arm, from hand to hand, filling up his body until I opened my eyes with the view of this gritty cop.

And in a whim I pulled him in as it would take some time for him to get straight, placing him besides the door just to open his pants for a second look at his manhood.

"Oh man, this was good" I just said as the cop got clearer bye the minute, looking slightly confused bye the plesures he just received before I send him off with some random excuse.

"Really nice" I commented, looking at myself in the mirror, drawing a finger across my lips before taking the phone I placed on a nearby cabinet.

"He Ves" I texted "up for a hang?" sending a seöfie that surely would hit him unprepared...