marcusspace

[marcusspace]

Perfect Match - Part 3

(AI-Generated - Part 3 of 3)

[ Read Part 1 HERE ]

[ Read Part 2 HERE ]

Days after the tenth swap, an awkward haze lingers. Back in our own bodies, I sit with Katie and Mitch in the cafeteria, the hum of coworkers around us. Their hands brush under the table, fingers tangling briefly, but it’s stiff, forced. Their eyes don’t meet, drifting to plates or distant corners. There’s no spark, no fire between them anymore, just clumsy motions, like strangers fumbling through a script. I think back to Mitch in my body, how he and Katie glowed together, their banter sharp and alive, a fierce chemistry that burned brighter than anything. Now, in his own skin, he’s just a guy she can’t quite reach, and it stings to watch.

Mitch breaks the silence one lunch, voice low over his coffee. “I talked to a tech guy about the headbands,” he says, glancing between us. “He figured out how they tick. Frequencies, safety protocols, all that.” I lean in, curious. He explains: if we trick the headbands into thinking a swap happened without actually transferring our minds, we could stay put. Permanently. 

My breath catches. He’s serious, proposing we switch bodies and lives for good. I’d become Mitch, keep his body, his name, his world, even after the program ends. Katie’s eyes soften, a quiet nod urging me on. I’d wear his suits, grow his beard, feel that perfect cock every morning. The thought sends a thrill through me, warm and electric. 

“It’s a lot,” Mitch admits, “but we’d make it work. Me and Katie, we’d have your back.” Their certainty, their trust, pulls me in. I can’t say no. The idea of staying in his skin, a body I’ve shaped and savored, drives me forward.

The next two months blur with planning. We huddle in Mitch’s apartment, papers strewn across his coffee table, diving into the headbands’ mechanics. Mitch sketches diagrams, his tech friend’s notes scrawled in margins. We manage to design head caps, thin metallic shells to slot over the headbands during the swap. They’ll let the devices activate, ping the system as complete, but block the mind transfer, basically bouncing our consciousness back to our current bodies.

The catch is the timing. The caps must be activated at the start of deep REM sleep, after the headbands verify our identities but before the swap kicks in. We can’t do it ourselves, not unconscious. 

Katie volunteers, her voice steady. “I’ll handle it,” she says, eyes flicking between us. “You trust me, right?” We nod, but my stomach twists. She’ll decide who wakes where, holding our futures in her hands. Mitch squeezes my shoulder, a silent pact, and we push on.

—

The final swap arrives, one year to the day I signed the agreement with Mitch. I wake in his body, sunlight spilling across his hairy chest. I linger in bed, hands roaming the wiry hair I’ve grown to love, thick and wild under my fingers. My gaze drops lower, his cock already hard, a familiar ache.

I wrap a hand around it, stroking slow, savoring the heat, the slick glide of precum. His body hums, sensitive and alive, and I push him to the edge, groaning as cum spills over his abs, pooling in the hair. I swipe a finger through it, tasting the salt on his beard, a ritual I might claim forever or lose by tonight.

I shower, soap clinging to his chest, and hit the gym, his muscles flexing under heavy weights. At work, his colleagues chat me up, some knowing it’s me, others just sensing “Mitch” is different. “Gonna miss you, man,” one says, clapping my back. I smile, but my mind’s elsewhere.

Lunch with Katie and Mitch, in my body, is tense. We pick at our food, words sparse, the weight of tonight pressing down. Katie’s eyes dart to Mitch, then me, a flicker of something unreadable. He’s quiet, my slimmer frame hunched, like he’s bracing for loss. I want to say something, ease the strain, but my throat’s tight in Mitch’s gravelly voice. We part with stiff nods, the day dragging until evening.

I take a long shower at Mitch’s place, steam curling around his broad frame. Water streams through his chest hair, catching in the beard I’ve let grow full. I dry off, flexing his arms in the mirror, admiring the scruffy jaw, the body I’ve molded. I brush a hand through the hair on his pecs, slow and deliberate, memorizing every strand.

Clean clothes hug his form, a crisp shirt and jeans I picked, and I head to our apartment. Katie’s cooked dinner, a rare spread of pasta and wine, and we sit, the air thick with unspoken stakes. We talk through the plan again, voices low. 

“Caps go on when you’re deep asleep,” Katie says, holding one up, its metal glinting. “I’ll watch, make sure it’s right.” 

Mitch and I nod, our eyes locking across the table. “We trust you,” he says, and I echo it, heart pounding.

We move to my room, the bed made fresh. Mitch and I sit side by side, headbands humming as we sync their frequencies. The caps rest in Katie’s hands, delicate but heavy with purpose. I look at him, my face staring back, and we share a nod, a final tether. “Ready?” I ask, his voice steady. “Yeah,” he says, my voice softer. 

We slot the caps over the headbands, their cool weight settling against our scalps. We lie down, shoulders brushing, breaths falling into rhythm. Katie sits beside us, her presence a quiet anchor. 

“Just sleep,” she whispers. “I’ve got this.” The headband’s hum fills my ears, a steady lullaby, and I close my eyes, Mitch’s body heavy beside me. Sleep pulls me under, slow and deep, my mind adrift with hope and fear.

—

Morning light filters through the blinds, soft and golden, teasing me awake. My body feels heavy, solid, sprawled across the bed in a way that’s not my own. The sheets cling to my skin, coarser than I remember, carrying a scent that’s sharp and musky, familiar yet thrilling. 

I blink slowly, letting the fog of sleep lift, and the room comes into focus. My room, the one I’ve always known, with its tidy shelves and faint coffee aroma. But something’s different. My limbs stretch longer, heavier, as I shift under the covers. A slow grin tugs at my lips as realization creeps in.

I slide out of bed, the floor cool under feet broader than mine used to be. My steps carry a weight, a power, as I move to the bathroom. The light flicks on, bright and stark, and I pause, breath catching.

The mirror reflects Mitch’s face, green eyes sharp beneath tousled hair, beard thick and scruffy along a jaw I’ve sculpted. His chest hair spills wild and dark, curling over pecs I’ve packed with muscle. I stare, drinking it in, and a low laugh rumbles out, his laugh, deep and rough, bouncing off the tiles. Our plan worked. 

This is me now. Mitch, for good.

My hands lift, slow and deliberate, tracing the contours of his face. I tug at the beard, feeling the coarse strands pull against my fingers, a texture I’ve grown to crave. My palms slide down, flattening against his chest, the hair prickling under them, warm and alive. I press harder, feeling the steady thud of his heart, the solidness I’ve claimed as mine. 

His scent rises, sharp sweat and deep musk, sinking into me with every breath. I inhale deep, letting it fill my lungs, knowing this is how I’ll smell every day, a mark of this body I’ve been gifted.

Then I feel it, a familiar ache stirring low. I glance down, and his cock juts up, massive and hard, straining against the navy briefs. Morning wood, just as he promised, a gift I’ll wake to every day. My hand drifts there, brushing the bulge, and a shiver ripples through me, his nerves lighting up under my touch. I grip it, slow and teasing, marveling at the heat, the thickness I’ll never tire of. This is mine now, a ritual I’ll savor each morning, this perfect piece of him I’ve made my own.

I turn to the sink, reaching for a razor, but pause. The beard’s full, wild, framing his face in a way that’s pure Mitch. I lather up anyway, just to feel it, dragging the blade slow across his jaw. The scrape hums in my ears, each stroke revealing the sharp line beneath, a daily dance I’ll master. I rinse, patting his face dry, and flash his smile in the mirror, wide and charismatic, teeth glinting under the light. It’s effortless, a charm I’ve borrowed and now own, a grin I’ll wield every day.

The door creaks, soft and tentative. Katie and my former self, Mitch in my body, peek in. Their faces glow, smiles wide and unguarded, eyes bright with relief. 

“Morning, Mitch,” Katie says, voice warm and sure, testing my new name. He echoes her, my old voice soft but steady. “Hey, Mitch.” 

The sound hits me, a final seal, and my body answers before I can think. Cum spills hot and sudden, soaking the briefs, a shudder tearing through me. I grip the sink, panting, their laughter a gentle hum behind me. “Guess you’re happy,” Mitch says, and I nod, breathless, still tracing my chest hair with one hand. 

This is me, waking as Mitch, smelling like him, shaving his beard, flashing his smile, every day from now on. The truth sinks deep, sensual and sure, as I stand there, my new self reflecting back at me.

—

Epilogue

The wedding reception hums around me, a soft glow of lights and laughter spilling across the dance floor. Two years have passed since that final swap, and I stand here as Mitch, rooted in a life I’ve claimed as my own. The suit I wear tonight hugs my broader frame, charcoal fabric stretching over shoulders I’ve packed with muscle, a thicker, more powerful version of the body I inherited. My beard, grown bushy and bold, brushes the collar, a wild frame for a face I’ve come to love in the mirror each morning.

I catch my reflection in a glass panel nearby, green eyes glinting with a charisma that’s mine now, a smile I’ve mastered flashing back at me. This is me, fully settled, every inch of his skin a home I’ve built.

Katie moves through the crowd, her white gown trailing behind her, radiant as the bride she’s become. George, once Mitch, lingers near the bar in my old body, slim and quiet, his hand resting on a glass as he watches her with a tender smile. They’re expecting a baby soon, their lives entwined in a way that feels right, a family blooming from the chaos of our swap. I’ve drifted from their lives, my world expanding as Mitch, but tonight pulls us back together, a reunion steeped in history. I sip my drink, the burn of whiskey warm in my throat, and feel the weight of my new life settle over me, sensual and sure.

She spots me and weaves over, her steps light despite the gown’s heft. “Dance with me, big guy,” she says, voice teasing, her hand already tugging my arm. I set my glass down, letting her lead me to the floor.

The ballad swells, slow and steady, and we fall into a gentle sway, her hands resting on my shoulders, mine at her waist. Her touch is familiar, a thread from our old life, but my body under it is foreign to her, broader, rougher. She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief, and runs a finger along the edge of my beard, tugging lightly at the thick strands.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, voice low and playful. “All this hair. You’re a damn bear now, you know that?” Her fingers trail down, brushing the curls spilling from my open collar, tickling the thick chest hair I’ve let grow wilder since the swap. I laugh, the sound deep and rumbling, vibrating through my muscled chest. 

“And these arms,” she adds, squeezing my biceps, her hands barely spanning the girth. “Thick as tree trunks. What happened to my skinny best friend?” Her tone dances between mockery and awe, a jab wrapped in affection.

“Left him behind,” I say, grinning, flashing that charismatic smile I’ve honed. “This suits me better.” She rolls her eyes, a classic Katie move, but her grip tightens, pulling me closer as we sway. The scent of her perfume mingles with my own, a sharper musk I’ve embraced, sweat and spice clinging to my skin from years of gym mornings and late nights. I breathe it in, reveling in how it marks me, how it’s mine now, a daily gift of this body I’ve shaped.

She leans in, her cheek brushing my beard, and her voice drops to a whisper against my ear. “You’re still you under all this, right?” Her breath is warm, stirring the hair on my neck, and I feel a shiver ripple through me, his nerves alive under her touch. 

��Always,” I murmur back, my hands sliding up her back, feeling the satin of her dress against my rougher palms. “Just better, more complete.” 

She pulls back, smirking, and pinches a tuft of chest hair peeking from my shirt. “Too hairy though,” she teases, tugging until I wince, then laughs, bright and free. “But it works. You’re still my Mitch.”

Her words sink in, soft and poignant, tethering me to her even in this new skin. I glance across the room, catching George’s eye. He nods, a quiet acknowledgment, his slim frame relaxed in a way Mitch never was. He’s found peace in my old body, a life free of the bravado he once carried, now wrapped around Katie and their future child. 

Meanwhile I’ve taken his old world and run with it, piling on muscle, growing the beard thicker, leveraging his charisma into a promotion that’s landed me a corner office. My mornings start with that massive wood, a ritual I stroke slow and sensual, cum soaking my briefs as I savor the body I’ve made mine. Grindr buzzes with matches, guys drawn to this rugged bulk, but I’m picky, waiting for someone who fits this life I’ve built.

Katie’s hands slide to my chest, pressing flat against the hair and muscle, and she tilts her head, studying me. “I used to call him a hairy dumb brute,” she says, voice soft now, almost wistful. “But you wear it better.”

Her fingers linger, tracing the contours I’ve carved, and I feel a swell of pride, warm and deep. She accepts me, teases and all, her best friend still here beneath the new flesh.

“Thanks for everything,” She says, voice soft, but laced with emotion. “And for always being there for me.” She smiles, genuine and bright, and steps back.

“One more twirl, then I’m stealing my husband,” she says, spinning me slow, her gown flaring. I let her go, watching as she glides to George. They melt into each other, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, a perfect fit.

I stand alone, the ballad fading, feeling the heft of my body, the scratch of my beard against my collar, the musk that clings to me. This is my life now, fully embraced, every hairy inch and thick muscle a testament to who I’ve become. Katie’s jabs echo in my ears, playful but loving, and I flash that smile again, wide and sure.

I’m Mitch William Halstead, now and forever, and this is just the beginning of my new life.

~ The End ~

[marcusspace]

Perfect Match - Part 2

(AI-Generated - Part 2 of 3)

[ Read Part 1 HERE ]

The day after the first swap dawns strange and electric. I meet Mitch at a quiet coffee shop near his place, and it’s surreal seeing my own body across the table, animated by his restless energy. My slim frame looks foreign with his broad gestures, his loud laugh spilling from my softer voice. We both took the day off to dive into this mind-swap experiment, eager to stretch its limits. 

He tells me about his morning in my body, how he stumbled around our apartment, poking through my bookshelves and kitchen drawers. “Katie bolted to her room and locked the door,” he says, grinning. “She wouldn’t even look at me...” I chuckle, picturing her sulking behind her sarcasm. Classic Katie.

We spend the day exploring our borrowed skins. We try new foods, marveling at how flavors shift on each other’s tongues. Coffee tastes bolder in his mouth, richer and earthier, while he says my taste buds make everything sharper, almost too intense. 

At the gym, he guides me through his routine, teaching me to hoist weights I’d never dream of lifting. My reflection in the mirrors mesmerizes me: Mitch’s broad shoulders flexing, his hairy chest heaving under a tight tank top, sweat beading on his stubbled jaw. His buddies swing by, clapping me on the back, and I fumble through their bro-talk, mimicking his charisma as best I can. They don’t notice, but I feel like an imposter, thrillingly so. I love it, this power, this presence.

Mitch seems to enjoy my body too, though his eyes flicker with something unspoken, a shadow I can’t place.

Evening creeps in, and alone in his bathroom, I can’t resist. I strip down, facing the full-length mirror, Mitch’s body laid bare before me. The hairy expanse of his chest, the thick trail down his stomach, the muscled thighs: it’s a feast for my eyes. 

“Oh, what I wouldn’t do to stay in this body for another day…” My hands roam, teasing, until I grip him, stroking slow and deliberate. His reflection groans back at me, deep and raspy, as I push him over the edge, cum splattering the sink. I collapse into his bed, headband on, buzzing with anticipation for next month.

—

After the swap, Mitch and I stay in contact. Weekends find us hiking trails or grabbing beers, our phone calls stretching late into the night. He’s straight, I know, and I’m just a friend, but his company fills a space I didn’t know was empty.

At work, he starts joining Katie and me in the cafeteria. She rolls her eyes, her usual jab at his “gym-bro personality,” but there’s less venom now, a softening I can’t ignore. Maybe seeing him in my body, stripped of his loud exterior, somehow cracked her armor. She doesn’t say it, but I feel it.

The second and third swaps blur past, intoxicating rituals. I wake in his hairy muscular body, that familiar bulge straining under the sheets. My hands take care of it, slow and worshipful, savoring the heat, the weight. Showers become sacred, water cascading over his hairy chest as I soap every inch, fingers lingering on his pecs, his abs, the coarse hair between his thighs.

I dress him in sharper clothes, shirts that hug his frame, ties to make him look smarter, jeans that show off his ass. At his desk, I tackle his assignments, quieter than he’d be, and his colleagues notice. Some know about the swap, others just squint and ask if “Mitch” is under the weather. I smile, letting them wonder.

During lunch, I watch Katie wrangle Mitch in my body at the company cafeteria. It’s comedy gold. He craves a milkshake, lunging for the cup, and she snatches it away, snapping, “You’ll wreck his stomach, idiot.” He fires back in my voice, mimicking her snark with a pitch-perfect “Oh, relax, princess.” They bicker like siblings, her sharp tongue clashing with his playful jabs, and I sit in Mitch’s skin, quietly soaking it in. Their banter hums with a weird warmth, a bond I didn’t expect.

By the sixth swap, I’m bold. I text Mitch a favor weeks ahead: don’t shave for a month. “Please let it grow wild,” I say, craving the full, untamed Mitch. He agrees, and when I wake in his body, it’s a revelation. I slip out of his bed, the sheets clinging to his heavier frame, and pad to the bathroom, flicking on the light. His reflection stares back, transformed. 

His chest hair spills thick and wiry, a dark forest curling over his pecs, trailing down his stomach in a dense, rugged line. I run my hands through it, fingers catching on the coarse strands, tugging gently. It’s wilder than before, untamed and alive, prickling against my palms with a texture that sends a shiver through me. His beard frames his jaw now, full and rough, a scruffy cascade that brushes my knuckles as I stroke it. I tilt his head, studying every angle in the mirror, the way the hair frames his green eyes, accentuates the hard line of his jaw. It’s primal, raw, and I can’t get enough.

I linger there, shirtless, letting my hands explore. I press my palms flat against his chest, feeling the hair shift under them, the muscle beneath flexing as I breathe. My fingers trace lower, following the trail to his navel, then back up, circling his nipples until they harden under the touch. His skin hums with sensitivity, every sensation sharper in this hairier state. I tug at the beard again, pulling it lightly, and a low rumble escapes his throat, my voice now but deeper, rougher. It suits him, this ruggedness, and I decide then: this is how I want him, natural and free.

I turn to his closet, pulling out the charcoal suit I bought him a week back. It’s crisp, tailored, a stark contrast to his usual faded tees. I slide into it, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, tapering down his waist. The tie knots snugly against his throat, and I smooth it down, feeling the weight of the wool against his hairy chest. I step into his polished shoes, catching my reflection again. Mitch looks sharp, commanding, a version of him I’ve crafted.

I head to his office, striding through the halls with a quiet confidence. Colleagues do double-takes, nodding approval. “Looking good, man,” one says, and I grin, knowing it’s my doing. I sit at his desk, tackling his work with a calm focus, the suit a second skin now. It feels right, like I’m not just borrowing him but shaping him into something more, something better.

When we swap back, I watch him in the days after, pride swelling in my chest. He keeps some of the beard, the chest hair, wearing that suit to work more often. People compliment him—his boss, his gym buddies, even strangers in the cafeteria—and he flashes that charismatic grin, unaware I’m the architect. I sit across from him at lunch, Katie at my side, and feel a quiet thrill. He’s mine in a way, refined by my hands, and I savor every glance and compliment he gets.

The eighth swap shifts everything. The day after the swap, Katie and Mitch sit across from me at lunch, silent and stiff. No bickering, just awkward small talk, eyes darting anywhere but each other. The air crackles with tension, thick and unspoken. Katie’s annoyance has faded, replaced by something softer. Mitch, usually boisterous, speaks low and gentle, almost shy. I watch, puzzled, sensing a current I can’t name.

The tenth swap unravels it all. I decided to skip the gym, opting for a jog through town in Mitch’s body, his legs pounding pavement with a power that thrills me. Sweat beads on his hairy chest, soaking the shirt I’ve dressed him in, his beard damp against his jaw. 

Seeing as I was close by, I veer toward our apartment, breath heavy in his broader lungs, and fish the spare key from the flower pot. My fingers, rougher in his skin, fumble with the lock. The door creaks open, a soft groan of hinges cutting through the quiet. I step inside, the familiar scent of our place, coffee, lavender from Katie’s candles, mixing with something new, warm and intimate.

Then I see them. Katie and Mitch, in my body, sprawl across the couch. She’s curled into him, her dark hair spilling over his chest, my chest, her cheek pressed against his shirt. His arm drapes over her shoulders, heavy and protective, fingers laced with hers where their hands rest on the cushion. They’re asleep, breaths slow and synced, a tableau of closeness that stops me cold. The room feels smaller, the air thick with their presence. My heart stumbles, a dull thud in Mitch’s ribcage. I stand there, rooted, watching the rise and fall of their breathing, the way her fingers twitch slightly in his grip. My eyes trace them, the soft curve of her shoulder against him, the way my own slender hand looks so natural in his grasp.

The pieces click, slow and heavy. The glances, the softened tones, his push for this swap. He loves her. This was his bridge to her, through me.

Katie stirs first. Her eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep, then widen as they land on me. A scream rips from her throat, sharp and jagged, shattering the stillness. She bolts upright, clutching the blanket to her chest like a shield. Mitch jolts awake, my own face twisting in confusion, then panic as he follows her gaze. 

“Shit,” he mutters, voice cracking in my throat, scrambling to sit up. Katie’s face flushes crimson, and she ducks under the blanket, hiding her embarrassment. Mitch runs a hand through my hair, a nervous tic, and stammers, “Dude, it’s not what it looks like. I swear.” His green eyes, my eyes, plead with me, wide and frantic.

I lower myself into the armchair across from them, Mitch’s bulk settling into it with a creak. “Explain,” I say, voice steady but firm, rumbling deep in his chest. The air hangs heavy, charged with tension and something softer, something raw. They exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Katie peeks out from the blanket, her cheeks still pink, and nods at him. He swallows hard, throat bobbing in my slimmer frame, and they turn to me, trusting me with their truth.

Mitch starts, voice low and thick. “I’ve loved her for years, man. Since I first saw her snap at some asshole in the cafeteria. She’s fierce, never backs down.” He looks at her, a flicker of awe in my borrowed eyes. “Tried flirting, asking her out. She’d just shut me down, every time.”

Katie shifts, pulling the blanket tighter, and picks up the thread. “He’s right. I couldn’t stand him,” she says, voice soft but edged. “Too hairy, too loud. He reminded me of my stepdad, this abusive mess I grew up hating.” She pauses, eyes flicking to me. “But I liked guys like you. Slim, clean-shaven. Then you came out, and that was that.”

I lean forward, elbows on Mitch’s knees, feeling the weight of his body grounding me. “So the swap,” I prompt, piecing it together.

Mitch nods, slow and deliberate. “It was my shot. In your body, I could get close to her… but I didn’t plan it, though. I swear!”

Katie chimes in, her voice steadier now. “And I got you, sort of. Your body, anyway. And it just worked...” She looks at him, a faint smile tugging her lips, and my chest tightens, not with jealousy, but something else.

“When?” I ask, needing the timeline. 

Mitch rubs the back of his neck, a gesture I recognize in my own skin. “Eighth swap. We were fighting over the kitchen trash, how to sort it. You know.. dumb stuff. Tension was crazy, and then we kissed,” he trails off, glancing at her. 

“Just kissing though,” she finishes, eyes dropping to her hands. “Some cuddling after, but nothing more.” 

Mitch jumps in, earnest. “It didn’t feel right, using you like that. You’re her best friend, man. My friend too.”

The room quiets, their words settling over me like a warm fog. I lean back, Mitch’s broad shoulders pressing into the chair. I saw it coming, didn’t I? The way they softened, the orbit tightening over months. I’m shocked, yes, but not betrayed.

“I’m happy for you,” I say, and mean it. They’re my closest friends, tangled in a love I helped bloom. “But why not just date outside the swaps?”

Katie sighs, long and weary. “We tried. Dates, dinners, the works. But the body,” she says, grimacing, gesturing vaguely. “Too rough, too musky. I couldn’t get past it.” 

Mitch nods, eyes distant. “And I liked being you. Quiet, no pressure to be ‘on’ all the time. Felt free, like I could finally leave my past behind.” His dad’s death, the bullying, the mask, it all dissolved in my skin.

I get it, every word sinking deep. “What now?” I ask, voice soft in his gravelly tone. “We’ve got two swaps left and then the headbands are gone.” 

Their hands find each other again, fingers lacing tight. They look at me, then each other, eyes shadowed with a sad, forlorn glint. “We don’t know,” Katie whispers, and Mitch squeezes her hand, silent. Hours stretch on, the three of us talking, unraveling their story, my role in it.

I leave them there, jogging back to Mitch’s place under a darkening sky. In his shower, I soap his hairy chest, hands wandering, stroking him off with a slow, lingering release. I strap on the headband, collapsing into sleep, mind churning with their love, their dilemma, my own tangled feelings, and no answers in sight.

~ End of Part Two ~

[marcusspace]

Perfect Match - Part 1

Finally hit 5k followers! Thank you all for the support, especially during these hard times I've been going through! As thanks, here's a story I've wanted to do for a long time, but only had a draft for. It features one of my favourite actors Beau Mirchoff, and the hot GIFs of him that I've always wanted to do a story on. It's in three parts, so buckle up, bring some tissues, and I hope you enjoy! /Verus

(AI-Generated - Part 1 of 3)

It’s another casual Monday. Katie and I are sprawled across a table in the company cafeteria, halfway through our break, picking at lukewarm sandwiches while she rants about the latest TV series she’s binged and the parade of disappointing men in her life. We’ve been inseparable since middle school, a bond forged through sleepovers, shared secrets, and one awkward teenage romance that fizzled when I realized I was gay. It broke her heart back then, but she rolled with it, her sharp wit and endless sarcasm keeping our friendship alive. She’s lounging in her chair now, her dark hair a messy bun, complaining about the bags under her eyes and how she looks like “hot garbage.” I just smirk and tell her she’s fine, because she always is, even when she’s whining.

Across the room, a burst of noise pulls my attention. Cheers and laughter erupt as Mitch strides into the cafeteria, fist-bumping his work buddies like he’s the king of the damn place. He’s all charisma, loud and unapologetic, his larger-than-life personality filling the space. My eyes lock onto him, drinking in every detail: the way his broad shoulders stretch his slightly wrinkled button-up, the flash of his stubbled grin, the messy light brown hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.

He’s only three years older than us, but his body screams discipline, sculpted from hours at the gym, a stark contrast to my softer frame and Katie’s wiry build. I’ve been crushing on him since my first day at this tech giant, despite barely crossing paths with him outside a few stilted hellos. He’s in a different department, a world away, but right now, his green eyes catch mine across the cafeteria. He winks, all charm and confidence, and I feel heat crawl up my neck.

Next to me, Katie gags dramatically, clutching her throat like she’s about to puke. “God, spare me,” she mutters, loud enough for me to hear. She’s never hidden her disdain for Mitch, calling him cringey, obnoxious, a walking stereotype of a hairy, loudmouth womanizer. She knows I’m into him, has known for years, but she refuses to get it. 

“He’s a sweaty gym bro who probably doesn’t own an iron,” she’s said before, wrinkling her nose at the thought of his post-workout musk clinging to his clothes. She swears it’s revolting, but I’ve never minded it. My mind drifts, picturing him in the gym locker room, shirtless, sweat glistening on that hairy chest, muscles flexing as he towels off. I’m lost in it until Katie kicks my shin under the table. “Horny jail, dude. Go directly there,” she snaps, and I laugh, flustered.

Lunch ends with a bang. An announcement echoes through the cafeteria: our company’s been chosen to test a groundbreaking mind-swap device. It’s wild—two people, one day a month, swapping bodies for a full year. Twelve chances to live as someone else, all to “build empathy” between couples or friends.

They roll out the details: evaluation tests, signed agreements, strict security protocols. Then come the briefcases, ten of them, each holding a pair of sleek metallic headbands that look like high-tech sweatbands. Only twenty employees can join, and we’ve got until next week to pick a partner.

Katie scoffs, muttering about how gross it’d be to let someone else “drive her meat suit.” I’m still processing, intrigued but overwhelmed, wondering what Mitch thinks of it all. Probably cracking dumb jokes with his crew, I bet.

—

Friday rolls around, and we’re back in the cafeteria. Katie’s griping about her workload, some colleague ditching for the swap program, leaving her buried in extra tasks. Rumors say six pairs have already signed up, but I’m still on the fence, no partner in sight. Then Mitch drops into the seat next to Katie like a bomb, flashing her a grin she pointedly ignores, rolling her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out. He looks a little hurt, but he shakes it off, turning to me instead.

“Hey, man,” he starts, voice warm and easy, launching into small talk about the weather, our jobs, how we’ve barely spoken despite years here. “You and Katie should hit the morning gym with me sometime,” he adds, and I stumble through a reply, too distracted by the chest hair peeking from his collar and those damn green eyes. My heart’s hammering, my crush in full throttle, and then he blindsides me. “So, this mind-swap thing. Wanna be my partner?” Katie chokes on her coffee, spluttering, while I sit there, jaw slack.

He scribbles his number on a napkin, tells me to think it over by tomorrow, and saunters off with another wink. Katie’s incredulous. “You’re not seriously considering that clown, are you?” But as I watch his broad back and perfect ass disappear, a thrill sparks deep in my gut.

That night, I’m a mess on our couch, torn between Katie’s warnings and my own fantasies. She’s pacing, strangling a throw pillow, ranting about how Mitch-in-my-body would trash our apartment, crack stupid jokes, and make my body stink with his “gym-bro stench.” I barely hear her, too busy imagining twelve days in Mitch’s skin, feeling his strength, his heat. He’s straight, sure, and I’m nothing to him, but this? This is the closest I’ll ever get. So I call him, voice shaky, and we set a meetup for tomorrow. Katie glares, but I’ve already made up my mind.

—

Saturday morning, I meet him outside his gym, the air thick with the promise of something unspoken. He’s fresh from a workout, shirtless under an open hoodie, sweat still clinging to his skin.

“C’mon, let’s walk,” he says, slinging a muscled arm around my neck, pulling me close as he laughs, that bright, infectious sound echoing in my chest. His scent washes over me—clean sweat, sharp and deep, a low note of musk that’s dizzying, nothing like Katie’s griping made it out to be. I breathe it in, letting it settle, addictive in its rawness. We don’t rush. He guides me down the street, past the gym, toward a quiet park nearby, his arm lingering longer than necessary before he finally drops it, brushing my shoulder as he does.

We find a bench under a sprawling oak, the late morning sun filtering through the leaves, and settle in. He stretches out, legs spread wide, his worn sneakers scuffing the dirt.

“So,” he starts, grinning, “this mind-swap thing. Pretty wild, huh?” I nod, pulse quickening, and he leans closer, elbow nudging mine. “Gotta admit, I’m curious what it’d be like in your head. What’s the weirdest thing I’d find out about you?” His tone’s playful, but there’s a glint in his green eyes, a tease that makes my stomach flip.

I laugh, nervous, and counter, “Probably that I’m allergic to shellfish. You’d hate that—puffy face, itchy throat, the works.” He chuckles, a deep rumble, and scratches his stubbled jaw. 

“Good to know. I’d keep you away from shrimp, then. Me? I’m good with food, but dust gets me sneezing like crazy. Hope you don’t mind a little chaos in my place.” I picture his apartment, messy but lived-in, a far cry from my tidy room—and smile.

The conversation drifts, slow and easy, the air between us thickening with something unspoken. “What about shaving?” I ask, eyeing the dark stubble on his face, the chest hair curling from his hoodie. “You do that often?” 

He grins, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Nah, man, I’m lazy. Face maybe twice a week, chest once a month. Too much work. You?” 

I shrug, admitting, “I shave my face every other day, keeps it smooth. Not much to deal with elsewhere.” He nods, appraising me, and there’s a flicker of curiosity in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine.

We keep going, peeling back layers. “Any weird habits I should know about?” I ask, half-joking, half-desperate to know more. 

He leans back, arms crossed, smirking. “I crack my knuckles all the time, heard it drives people nuts. Oh, and I sleep like a log, sprawled out, probably drool a little. You?” 

I hesitate, then admit, “I talk in my sleep sometimes. Nothing deep, just gibberish.” 

He laughs again, loud and bright, and I feel it in my bones. “That’s gold. Can’t wait to hear what you’re muttering in my voice.”

The talk turns to the swap itself, and the air shifts, charged with a quiet eroticism. “What’s it gonna be like, you think?” he muses, voice lower now, his knee brushing mine on the bench. “Waking up in my body. Feeling everything I feel.” 

My mouth goes dry, and I manage, “Weird, probably. Stronger. Hairier.” 

He smirks, flexing an arm. “Yeah, you’ll get the full gym-bro experience. What about me in yours? Lighter, maybe. Less bulk.” I nod, imagining him in my slimmer frame, and the thought’s intoxicating—his mind, my skin.

We sit there for what feels like hours, the sun climbing higher, our words slowing as the intimacy builds. He’s asking me about my favorite coffee, my weekend routines, listening with a focus I didn’t expect. I ask about his gym playlist, his go-to meals, and he answers with enthusiasm, funny tangents about protein shakes and bad karaoke nights. It hits me then—he’s not the dumb, shallow slob Katie painted him as. He’s genuine, warm, a damn good listener beneath the bravado. Sure, his grooming’s a mess, that stubble uneven, his clothes a rotation of faded tees and wrinkled button-ups, but it’s endearing, not a dealbreaker. My crush swells, heavier now, rooted in something real.

Then he leans in, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “One thing, though. Mornings? I always wake up with this killer wood, man. Huge. Gotta jerk it out before I can even function properly.” My face ignites, a flush spreading fast, and I feel my jeans tighten as the image sears into my brain. He notices, grinning wider, and slaps my back, the contact lingering. “Just a heads-up,” he adds, winking, and my face flushes red like a tomato.

We don’t stop there. The afternoon stretches on, and he opens up more, his voice softening as we wander from the park to a nearby coffee shop. Over steaming mugs, he tells me about his family—his dad’s death in a car accident when he was six, the way his mom spiraled into depression after, leaving him to fend for himself more than a kid should.

“She’d just sit there, staring at nothing,” he says, stirring his coffee absently. “I’d make her laugh, do stupid stuff like cartwheels in the living room or bad impressions. Anything to see her smile.” His eyes go distant, then clear. “School was rough after that. Kids picked on me, called me weak. So I flipped it by starting working out, got loud, and made tons of friends. Guess it just stuck.” He shrugs, but there’s weight there, a vulnerability that catches me off guard.

I tell him about my own quieter childhood, my parents’ support when I came out, and he listens, really listens, nodding like it matters. By the time we part ways, the sun’s dipping low, and I’m reeling from how much more there is to him than I ever guessed.

—

Monday morning, we meet the program manager in a sleek office, nerves buzzing. The agreement’s a stack of papers—legal jargon, safety clauses, a full year’s commitment. We sign, pens scratching in sync, and they hand us each a small box. Inside are the headbands, intricate and metallic, cool to the touch. 

The manager explains: wear them before sleep, tune them to matching frequencies, and during deep REM, our minds will transfer via a secure wireless network. “You’ll wake up in each other’s bodies,” she says, voice clipped. “By evening, strap them on again to swap back. Non-compliance means termination… or worse.” Mitch and I exchange a look, half-thrilled, half-tense, and nod. The boxes feel heavy in our hands as we leave, a shared promise sparking between us.

That evening, I’m in my room, setting up. I’ve tidied everything—fresh sheets, clean clothes laid out, notes scribbled for Mitch about my routine: Coffee, black, no sugar. Don’t touch the shellfish in the fridge. Outside my door, Katie’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, glaring daggers. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she says, voice dripping with mock betrayal. “That meathead in your body? I’ll strangle you if he starts cracking those dumbass jokes.” I grin, adjusting the headband’s frequency to match Mitch’s.

“You’ll survive,” I tease. She snorts, stepping closer. “Yeah, well, you’d better not stink up his place with your nerd sweat... and have fun, I guess.” We laugh, the tension easing, and she ruffles my hair before heading to her room. “Night, weirdo,” she calls.

I strap the headband on, the hum soft and steady, and lie back, letting it lull me into darkness.

—

Morning creeps in like a slow burn. The sheets rasp against my skin, coarse and unfamiliar, clinging to me with a weight I’m not used to. The air hangs warm and thick, pressing into my lungs. Sunlight spills through the blinds, slanting across the room in golden streaks that don’t align with my usual view.

My arms rest heavy at my sides, solid and dense. My legs stretch long, toes brushing the edge of the bed where mine never reach. A scent curls into my nose, sharp and musky, raw and alive, stirring something deep. It takes a sluggish moment for my mind to catch up. Yesterday slams back. The headband. The swap. Mitch. I’m in his body.

I shift slightly, feeling the mattress dip under a frame broader than my own. My hand moves, hesitant, sliding across my stomach. The skin beneath my fingers is taut, warm, layered with a coarse trail of hair that prickles against my palm. It’s not my smooth, softer belly. It’s his, firm and sculpted, a landscape of muscle I’ve only dreamed of touching. I press harder, marveling at the solidness, the way it resists, the faint flex beneath.

My hand climbs higher, roaming over a chest thick with power. Hair curls under my fingertips, wiry and dense, tickling as I trace the contours of his pecs. I linger there, brushing a thumb over a nipple, and a jolt sparks through me, sharp and unexpected. His body hums with a sensitivity I’ve never known, every nerve awake and eager.

I open my eyes, slow and deliberate, letting the grogginess fade. The room swims into focus. Weights stack haphazardly in the corner, glinting dully in the light. A faded poster of some grunge band peels from the wall, corners curling. A gym bag slumps by the door, spilling a worn towel. Mitch’s space, chaotic and lived-in, surrounds me. I’m really here.

“Holy shit…”I lift my hands, staring at them. They’re bigger, rougher, knuckles scarred from years of lifting. I flex them, watching tendons shift under tanned skin, feeling strength coil in every movement. I reach up, tugging at the wiry hair sprouting from his armpit, damp with a faint sheen of sweat. I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. 

“Fuuuck you smell so good, Mitch…” His scent floods me, rich and primal, a mix of clean sweat and something darker, more potent. It’s him, but sharper through his own senses, sinking into me like a drug. My head spins with it, pulse quickening.

I shift again, and that’s when I feel it. A deep, throbbing pressure pulses low, insistent and undeniable. My gaze drops. The navy-blue sheet tents over a bulge, massive and straining, pushing against the fabric with a force that makes my breath hitch. Mitch’s voice echoes in my memory, that cocky grin as he bragged about his killer morning wood. My mouth goes dry. My hands tremble, itching to explore. I’ve wanted this, him, for years, and now he’s mine to feel, to know.

“No way…” I can’t wait any longer. I grip the sheet with both hands, peeling it back in a slow, deliberate slide. It falls away, pooling at my thighs, and there he is. Mitch’s cock rises before me, a glistening monument of flesh. A dark, unruly tuft of hair crowns the base, framing its thickness. The shaft curves slightly, veined and heavy, slick with precum that coats it in a glossy sheen, catching the light. It’s breathtaking, more beautiful than any fantasy, pulsing with a life of its own. My heart pounds, loud in his broader chest.

I reach out, tentative at first, brushing my fingers along the underside. The contact sends a shockwave through me, raw and electric, rippling up his spine.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck…” I gasp, the sound low and rough, his voice spilling from my throat. It’s overwhelming, how sensitive he is, how every touch ignites a fire under his skin. I wrap my hand around him fully, fingers barely meeting around the girth. The heat sears into my palm, the slickness easing my grip as I stroke, slow and exploratory. Pleasure unfurls, deep and primal, spreading through his body in waves I can’t control.

It’s not just the act. It’s him. I’m feeling what he feels, living his morning ritual, and it’s unraveling me. My other hand slides up, roaming his chest again, tangling in the hair, pinching that nipple harder. A groan rumbles out, thick and guttural, vibrating in his ribcage. My hips twitch, instinctive, rocking into my hand as I find a rhythm. “I’m feeling what you’re feeling every morning, Mitch…”

Every sensation is amplified. The weight of his balls shifts as I move, heavy and full, brushing against my thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, thick and corded, flexing with each thrust. I drag my free hand down, gripping his hip, feeling the power there, the way his body is built to move, to dominate.

“I’m stroking your cock, Mitch. And it feels fucking amazing…” I stroke faster, firmer, chasing the heat pooling low. His cock throbs in my grasp, slick and insistent, precum dripping over my knuckles. I tilt my head back, sinking into the pillow, and let another moan escape, louder this time, raw and unrestrained. The sound of his voice, deep and needy, stokes the fire higher. I’m lost in him, in the strength of his frame, the roughness of his skin, the primal pulse driving me forward. “You’re so hairy, so hard, so perfect, Mitch!”

It builds, slow and relentless, a tidal wave gathering force. My toes curl tight, digging into the sheets. My ass clenches, muscles tightening as the pleasure coils sharper. My back arches, lifting off the bed, every sinew taut and trembling.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuck!!” The climax crashes over me, fierce and unyielding. I explode, a hot, endless rush, cum surging from his cock in thick, powerful ropes. It splatters across his hairy abs, streaking up his chest, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. The first wave fades, and another follows, just as strong, painting his skin with more, dripping down his sides. 

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming with your cock, Mitch! Fuuuck!!” I groan through it, a long, broken sound, his voice cracking with the intensity. My hand keeps moving, milking every pulse, drawing it out as his body shudders beneath me. A third wave hits, weaker but still searing, splashing across his stomach, mingling with the mess. My muscles lock, spasming, chest heaving as the last trickle spills over my fingers, warm and sticky.

I collapse, breathless, sinking into the mattress. My breath comes in ragged gasps, filling his lungs with air that tastes of him. My hand stays wrapped around his cock, slick and softening, trembling with faint aftershocks. The other trails through the cum on his chest, smearing it into the hair, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. I’m drenched in him, coated in his release, and it’s surreal, intoxicating.

I lift a hand to his face, brushing the rough stubble along his jaw, tracing the curve of his lips. “I’m Mitch, and this is my body now…” I murmur, testing the name. His voice rolls out, deep and smooth, laced with a rasp from the groans. A laugh bubbles up, his laugh, loud and rough, shaking his frame. It jostles a final, tiny bead from his cock, glistening on the tip, and I shiver, still buzzing.

I lie there, reeling, every sense flooded with him. The weight of his body anchors me, solid and real. The scent of his sweat and release hangs heavy, a primal mark of what I’ve done. I’ve felt him, lived him, erupted as him, and it’s more than I ever dreamed. The morning stretches ahead, but for now, I stay still, wrapped in the afterglow, in the skin of the man I’ve craved for years.

~ End of Part One ~

[marcusspace]

Claiming Privileges - Jaxon

(AI Generated - Inspired by the movie "It's What's Inside" and series "The White Lotus")

Your best friend has connections, the kind that get you into places you don’t belong. He’s buzzing about an exclusive beach party at Jaxon’s, a name that carries weight in circles far above your own. You hesitate, feeling like an outsider, but he insists it’s a quick stop, promising free food and top-shelf drinks. After some discussion you finally agree, pulling on a worn shirt and shorts that already feel wrong as you step into Jaxon’s world, a glass-and-marble mansion perched on a private shoreline, waves crashing softly in the distance. 

The air inside hums with wealth, the kind that drips from every surface—polished floors, crystal chandeliers, and guests who wear their privilege like a second skin. Their voices blend into a chorus of complaints about rich parents, delayed private jets, and trust funds that aren’t quite enough. You decide to linger near a bar, sipping a drink that burns smoother than anything you’ve tasted, trying to blend into the shadows.

Then Jaxon enters, and the room shifts. He’s twenty-six, younger than you, but his presence fills every corner. He fist-bumps your friend with a flash of perfect teeth, his hazel eyes sliding past you without a flicker of acknowledgment. You’re invisible to him, a nobody in his orbit, yet you can’t stop staring.

He’s shirtless, his lean, muscular torso catching the golden light filtering through massive windows. His abs are a sculpted grid, each ridge glistening with a faint sheen of sweat in the humid beach air. Brown hair falls in tousled waves, swept back carelessly, and his jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, framed by a hint of stubble that screams rugged charm. He moves with a predator’s grace, swim trunks riding low to reveal the V-line dipping below his waistband, every step a performance of confidence and sex. He’s a narcissist, sure, but one so charismatic it’s impossible to look away.

The night unfolds in a haze of music and laughter, the crowd growing looser with each round of drinks. You stick to the edges, watching Jaxon work the room, his laughter loud, his hands lingering on shoulders and waists. Your friend nudges you, whispering about Jaxon’s reputation—parties that last days, women who don’t leave his bed, a life of excess funded by endless wealth. You nod, half-listening, your eyes tracking Jaxon’s every move, envying the ease of his existence.

As the sky darkens, he claps his hands, silencing the chatter. He holds up an ornate wooden box, his voice thick with smug pride. 

“Got something special tonight,” he says, grin widening. “Expensive as fuck, but it’s safe, non-addictive, and it’ll blow your fucking mind.” The crowd leans in, curiosity sparking, and you feel the pull despite your unease.

He calls for a circle, and you’re swept along, seventeen of you settling onto plush rugs in the sprawling living room. Jaxon sits at the center, a high priest in his own temple, opening the box to reveal a powdery substance that smells of sage and earth.

“Breathe deep,” he instructs, passing it around. 

You hesitate, the weight of his gaze and your friend’s nudge pushing you forward. The scent hits you first, sharp and smoky, curling into your lungs like a living thing. Your head lightens, a tingling warmth spreading through your chest. Your body feels airy, as if you’re floating on a bed of clouds, limbs loose and distant. The sensation is strange, intoxicating, and you pass the box along, watching others inhale with eager anticipation.

Jaxon lights an incense stick, placing it in the circle’s heart. Thick, curling smoke rises, swirling upward until it fills the room, stinging your eyes and clogging your throat. Your vision blurs, the world dissolving into a gray haze. Your arms and legs go numb, and for a moment, you’re weightless—no body, no boundaries, just a drifting consciousness. 

The smoke clears, and reality snaps back with a jolt. You blink, disoriented, heart pounding. Across the circle, your own face stares back, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Screams erupt as guests point and shout at each other, their voices a chaotic jumble. You glance down, and your breath catches. The shorts, the shirtless torso, those perfect abs—they’re Jaxon’s. His musk, a potent mix of sweat and expensive cologne that teased your senses all night, now clings to your skin.

You’re in his body.

A younger guest leaps to his feet—Lachlan, a cute college kid with dark, wavy hair and a lean frame, dragged here by his sister. His brown eyes flash with Jaxon’s smug grin as he laughs.

“Surprise, fuckers,” he says, his tone pure Jaxon. 

He explains it all: the drug’s an ancient Native American concoction, some mystical shit that swaps consciousness between bodies. You’ve all jumped into someone else’s skin, a random shuffle of souls, free to explore your new flesh until the effect wears off in seven hours. 

“Have fun,” he adds, winking. “Don’t break my shit, though. I’m not liable.” The room erupts into panic and glee, some guests fleeing, others laughing as they test their new forms.

The first hour is surreal. You stumble through the mansion in Jaxon’s body, marveling at the power in his arms, the way his legs move with effortless strength. His skin feels alive, taut and warm, every muscle flexing under your command. You catch your reflection in a glass door—his sharp jaw, piercing eyes, that arrogant smirk—and it sends a thrill through you.

Your own body, meanwhile, is in the hands of a trust-fund drunk, chugging vodka and slurring about how boring and broke “you” are. Your friend’s vanished, swapped into another guy and off with his girlfriend.

You’re still awkward, afraid to push Jaxon’s perfect form too far, when a hand slides across your back, warm and possessive. You turn, and there’s Lachlan with Jaxon inside, grinning that infuriating grin, his sister’s body trailing behind, her hand in his. 

“Bedroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Come with us.” The vibe feels wrong, the sexual undertone unsettling, but it’s not really her, just another swapped soul. Jaxon doesn’t care who you are though; he wants his body in the mix. You promised your friend to play nice, with his job depending on it, so you nod, following them through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls.

The bedroom reeks of Jaxon, his musk and sex saturating the air, a heady blend that makes your borrowed skin tingle. A massive bed draped in silk sheets dominates the space, a full-length mirror looming across the room, reflecting the opulence. Jaxon and the woman move with deliberate slowness, peeling off clothes like it’s a ritual. She slides her top over her head, revealing smooth curves, while he unbuttons Lachlan’s shorts, letting them drop to expose his borrowed frame. Their lips meet, a soft, wet sound filling the room as they kiss, hands roaming with lazy intent. 

You stand there, unsure, until Jaxon glances over, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Get over here,” he says, patting the bed beside them.

You ease his shorts down, and his cock springs free. It’s curved, thick, gorgeous, the tip glistening with precum. The heft of his balls brushes your thighs as you move, a shiver rippling through you. You catch his reflection in the mirror, and time slows.

Jaxon’s body moves at your command, every muscle flexing as you will it. You lift a hand, tracing the hard planes of his abs, fingers lingering on each ridge, warm and taut under your touch. You pinch a nipple, a sharp spark of pleasure blooming in your chest, and your other hand rises to his face, cupping the strong jaw, lips parting to reveal pearly teeth in a smile you control. The thrill is intoxicating, a heady rush of power and beauty, your breath catching at the sheer perfection of it.

Jaxon’s voice cuts through, low and teasing. “Liking it, huh? Bet you’d do anything to keep that body.” His tone hardens. “Save some for me, though. Get over here.” 

You climb onto the bed, settling beside them, the silk cool against your skin. He’s on top of her now, Lachlan’s lean form moving with a rhythm that’s all Jaxon, slow thrusts that make her gasp. You watch, entranced by the flex of his borrowed muscles, the way his borrowed skin glistens with sweat. 

Then his hand suddenly darts out, fingers wrapping around your cock—his cock—and you jolt, a gasp escaping your lips. The sensation is electric, a raw, pulsing heat that floods your senses. Jaxon’s body is a live wire, every nerve tuned to pleasure, his cock so sensitive it feels like it’s been craving this touch all night.

His grip is firm, knowing, the kind of touch that comes from a man who’s mastered his own body. He strokes you slow, letting the friction build, his palm gliding over the slick tip where precum beads and smears. Your breath hitches, Jaxon’s deep voice groaning from your throat as the pleasure coils tight in your core. His cock throbs in his hand, thick and heavy, each stroke sending waves of heat through your borrowed frame.

You feel the tautness of his abs clenching, the way his thighs flex as your hips lift, chasing the rhythm. The sensitivity is overwhelming, like every touch is amplified, his body a temple of lust that responds to the slightest pressure.

Your hands fist the sheets, silk slipping between your fingers, and you glance at the mirror, seeing Jaxon’s gorgeous form writhing under his own touch, his hazel eyes half-lidded with need.

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear, Lachlan’s voice laced with Jaxon’s arrogance.

“Look at you, so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, and the words hit like a spark, igniting the envy and desire you’ve buried all night.

His strokes grow slower, more deliberate, teasing the edge of release, his thumb circling the head of your cock with maddening precision. The pleasure is almost too much, a deep ache that radiates from your groin to every inch of Jaxon’s frame. You feel the weight of his balls, heavy and tight, the way his ass clenches with each thrust of your hips. His body is a machine built for sex, every muscle attuned to this moment, and you’re lost in it, groaning louder, the sound raw and primal in his voice.

He grins, eyes locked on his own body in your control, reveling in the narcissistic thrill of watching himself unravel.

The woman moans beside you, her gasps a distant echo, drowned by the pulse thundering in your ears. Jaxon’s hand never falters, each stroke a calculated torment, drawing out the sensation until you’re trembling, every nerve in his body alight. 

You hate him, his wealth, his perfection, his shameless ego, but the jealousy burns hotter, fueling the fire in your gut. You want this, his life, his privileges, and the thought makes you buck harder, chasing the edge.

“You’re loving my cock, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and you can’t deny it, the truth pulsing through every shudder.

The pressure crests, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing through Jaxon’s frame. Your abs clench, ass tightening, and cum erupts, thick ropes splattering across his chest and abs in hot, heavy spurts. The release is shattering, Jaxon’s body quaking as pleasure floods every inch, leaving you gasping, his voice ragged in your throat.

Jaxon laughs softly, dipping his fingers into the mess, licking them clean with a smug grin. 

“Taste me,” he says, offering some to the woman. “Fucking delicious, right?” 

She nods, tongue darting out, and he smears more onto Lachlan’s cock, slicking it before plunging back into her with a slow thrust. 

“Now I’m inside you,” he murmurs, smirking with narcissistic thrill of fucking her with his own cum as lubricant.

You’re still trembling, the afterglow electric, but the sticky cum on your chest feels gross. You slip away to the bathroom, washing it off, then linger, hands tracing his reflection—his sharp jaw, his piercing eyes, the body you’ve borrowed for now. The sensation of his skin under your fingers, still tingling from release, keeps you there, lost in the mirror’s spell.

When you return, the woman’s gone, and Jaxon lies on the bed in Lachlan’s body, propped on an elbow, watching you.

“Just us now,” he says, voice thick with intent. “I want a taste of my flesh.” 

You should recoil, but a dark thrill pulls you forward. He sits up, pulling you close, his lips brushing yours softly, then pressing harder. His tongue slips in, exploring your mouth with slow, possessive strokes. 

“God, I taste so good,” he murmurs, licking his lips, savouring the taste of his own mouth.

He pushes you onto the bed and hits a button, and a massive ceiling mirror slides into view, reflecting his flawless body sprawled beneath you. His hands worship his own form, kissing your neck, inhaling the musk of your pits, licking the sweat from your abs. He fondles your cock, lapping at the underside, teasing the foreskin with his tongue.

“Fuck, I really taste amazing,” he says, wiping precum from his lips.

Then he grabs your legs, lifting them, slicking himself with more precum. You open your mouth to protest, but he thrusts in, Jaxon’s ass stretching around Lachlan’s cock with a slow, consuming fullness. You groan, squirming, expecting pain, but there’s only pleasure—deep, pulsing pleasure. He’s no virgin here, his body pliant from past indulgences.

He fucks you hard, relentless, his eyes flicking between your face and the mirror.

“Look at me,” he growls, admiring his own flesh under your control. “My body's so fucking perfect.” The rhythm builds, and he leans down, tongue plunging into your mouth. He cums with a groan, hot seed flooding you, and you follow, Jaxon’s cock spurting another load across your chest. 

Exhausted, you collapse, his sweaty weight pinning you, and sleep claims you in his musky embrace.

—

Midday sun pierces the blinds when you wake, its harsh rays slicing through the haze of sleep. The room reeks of sex, Jaxon’s musk thick and heady, clinging to the silk sheets tangled around your legs. You’re alone, groggy, your body heavy yet strangely alive, every nerve tingling with a restless energy. You shift, and the mirror above catches your eye. Jaxon’s face stares back, his sharp jaw, tousled brown hair, and piercing hazel eyes locked on you. 

Confusion creeps in, slow and cold. The seven-hour mark passed hours ago; you should be back in your own body, your own life. But the reflection doesn’t lie. You run a hand over his abs, the skin warm and taut, expecting the sensation to fade, but it’s real, undeniable. You’re still him, trapped in this perfect, sex-crazed vessel.

Panic claws at your chest as you stumble from the bed, grabbing a silk robe that smells of his cologne. Your bare feet slap against the cool marble floor as you hurry outside, Jaxon’s powerful legs carrying you with an ease that feels foreign yet thrilling. 

The scene beyond the mansion is chaos. Police swarm the grounds, their radios crackling with static, while guests huddle in clusters, faces pale and voices hushed. Forensics officers kneel by the pool, scraping residue of the drug into evidence bags, their gloved hands meticulous.

You freeze as a stretcher rolls past, the sight stopping your heart. It’s your own body—pale, waterlogged, lifeless, strands of wet hair plastered to a face that’s no longer yours. The drunk who took your skin drowned, his reckless night in the ocean sealing your fate.

The realization unfolds in slow, agonizing waves. The swap ended, but your body’s death left you stranded, your consciousness anchored in Jaxon’s flesh. The real Jaxon, wherever his soul went, is gone, vanished into some void when the drug’s magic unraveled. You’re him now, to everyone else—his parents, his friends, the world. The thought is a knife, twisting with both horror and a strange, forbidden thrill. You feel his body’s pulse, the constant hum of arousal that lingers in his skin, his cock twitching faintly even now, as if it’s always ready, always hungry.

The police approach, their questions sharp, assuming you’re Jaxon. “What happened last night?” they demand, but shock locks your tongue, the truth too wild to speak. You mumble something vague, Jaxon’s voice steady despite the storm inside you.

His parents arrive, their faces stern but protective, flanked by preppy lawyers who move with calculated efficiency. They whisk you away, the interrogation ending with a mere two weeks of community service—a slap on the wrist for a man like Jaxon. 

Back at his mansion, you collapse onto his bed, the silk sheets cool against your skin, his musk wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. Maids flit in and out, offering food and drinks, their deference a stark contrast to your old life.

You lie there for days, the weight of your new reality settling in slow, heavy waves. Jaxon’s body feels too alive, too potent, every movement igniting a spark of desire. You touch his abs absentmindedly, fingers tracing the ridges, and your cock stirs, thick and eager, as if it’s wired to respond to the slightest thought of pleasure. It’s intoxicating, this constant edge of arousal, but it’s also a cage, a reminder of the life you’ve stolen.

A week later, Lachlan visits, his dark eyes glinting as he shows you a video—Jaxon’s recording of that night, your swapped bodies tangled in lust, now posted online for the world to see. He’s not angry. 

“I loved it,” he says, stepping close, his voice soft with confession. “I’ve wanted you for years, since we met at that winter gala.” His lips brush yours, warm and lingering, and he plans a date before driving off. 

You’re left flushed, Jaxon’s cock hardening instantly, the sensation overwhelming in its urgency. You try to focus, but his body demands release, a need that feels as natural as breathing. You sink back onto the bed, hand already drifting to your groin, the promise of Lachlan’s touch fueling the fire.

A month later, you’ve sunk deep into Jaxon’s world, his life wrapping around you like a second skin. His friends notice a change—less arrogance, a quieter confidence—and they welcome it, their laughter and invitations pulling you into their orbit. The mansion is yours, its luxury a constant seduction: marble baths, gourmet meals, a garage full of cars you don’t yet know how to drive. You have access to anything; personal trainers, designer clothes, and even private stylists.

But it’s Jaxon’s body that consumes you most. It’s always ready, always craving, a sex-crazed machine that hums with desire at the slightest provocation.

Every night, you lie beneath that ceiling mirror, the same one that watched your debauchery, and let your hands roam. You trace his abs, slow and deliberate, feeling the muscle flex under your touch, each ridge a testament to his perfection. Your fingers graze his nipples, sparking a jolt that travels straight to his cock, already thick and pulsing.

You cup his face, staring into those hazel eyes, and slide a hand lower, wrapping around his cock with a reverence that feels almost sacred. The strokes are unhurried, precum slicking your palm as you build the heat, savoring the way his body responds—thighs tensing, abs clenching, a low groan escaping his throat. The mirror reflects it all, Jaxon’s golden skin glowing under the soft light, his beauty a drug you can’t quit. Pleasure coils tight, and when you cum, it’s a quiet, shuddering release, warm across his chest, the afterglow lingering for several minutes after. 

You lie there, spent, gazing at his reflection, the bittersweet truth settling in. This is your life now, a world of wealth and privilege, a body that’s both a gift and a curse. Jaxon’s gone, his soul erased, and you’ve taken his place, his desires now yours to feed. The thrill is undeniable, a quiet ecstasy in every touch, every glance, but it’s laced with loss, a life you’ll never reclaim.

You close your eyes, Jaxon’s rich musk filling your lungs, and surrender to the man you’ve become, horny, perfect, and forever privileged.

[marcusspace]

Never Wanted Kids

Brooklyn looked up at her boyfriends domineering stature. A cold look remained on Louis’ face…except it wasn’t Louis giving Brooklyn the cold shoulder.

“I don’t know why you followed me to the gym BROOKLYN. You’re pregnant and can’t do shit. You’re just holding me back from getting a good pump. Kinda like that night we got you knocked up.” Louis taunted the pregnant woman sitting on the bench in front of him.

“Brook…you don’t have to be like this. I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson…just please give me my body back.” The docile women replied quietly not trying to give away their truth out loud to avoid looking absolute insane.

The pair had been dating for years and Brooklyn always made it clear she never wanted kids, but that never stopped Louis from finding ways to go in unprotected. When that wasn’t enough he switched out her birth control until one day he got what he wanted. Brooklyn was devastated and rightfully felt violated. Something snapped that day for her.

He wanted a kid so badly then she was gonna give it him. Days turned to weeks turned to months of research before she finally found the pieces to exact her revenge. One night she prepare the ritual while Louis slept, while the results weren’t immediately apparent Brooklyn went to sleep that night hopeful the next day would be the response to the nights’ magical ceremony.

That brings us to today. The woman 7 months pregnant woke up with none of the aching back pains she’d been feeling but instead an aggressive sexual vigor. As she swung her feet off the bed she was propelled up by a foreign strength.

She didn’t need a mirror to confirm the new truth she lived. She grimaced with satisfaction knowing she was done with the misery. She went to the restroom to go examine the body she long observed but now could fully take advantage of. As she callously took off any clothing she was wearing she stood in front of the master bedroom en suite mirror and began stroking the very thing that impregnated her.

She knew the show would be in eye line for “Brooklyn” when she woke up. Adding grunts and moans to put on an even more primal display of the swap that just occurred. She could feel a climax coming when a scream came from her side. The realization that her boyfriend was aware of his situation and what was going on in front of her was enough to do the trick.

Rope after rope coated the mirror and nearby sink. She got some on her finger and satisfactorily walked out of the restroom nude to greet her new baby momma. As a shocked Louis tried to question what Brooklyn did she silenced him with the finger she wiped the mirror with. Like he forced her to do what he wanted she channeled that energy now.

“Lick it clean.” Brooklyn demanded.

As Louis tried to protest and move away, Brooklyn used all his former strength to keep her in place. He was stuck and he knew it. Resigned to his current situation he obliged.

Louis continued to beg and plead with her to give him back his body but that didn’t stop Brooklyn from going to the gym and test her new body. If he wanted a kid he could have it but that doesn’t mean she was going to sacrifice the life she wanted to have. Freedom, youth, and now….it may be different but so much sex. She may not have the same equipment but she still have things anyone can work with. Looks like she’s going to make ‘Louis’ bisexual now. She wasn’t going to let the limits of one abusive man stop her. She thought as she gallivanted across the gym restroom half naked after her post-workout shower.

All the energy spent crying and pleading forced Louis to crash once the couple returned home. Plenty of time for Brooklyn to pack a go bag and leave this chapter behind. Being ripped away from her life sucked but not as much as having that kid wouldn’t have.

[marcusspace]

Just Feels Right

Cameron always had a bit of a daddy fetish, but the more he explored it, the more confused he became. At first he met up with other guys, but the reality wasn't what he had fantasized. Then he tried to style himself as the daddy but it kind just felt awkward and forced.

After several months of hopeless searching, he turned to Daddyhunt to see if he could find someone else in the similar situation. There he met Derek who was an older guy, but loved to be treated like a boy by younger guys. They gradually got to know each other and wrote to each other everyday. Eventually, they decided to take things to the next level and agreed to meet.

Their first meeting was a cold and stilted occasion. They'd spent too long talking online and they had completely different impressions of each other that clashed with the reality. They had a great connection, but both felt an awkward dynamic. Derek felt large and cumbersome in comparison to his daddy, and Cameron cared too much about what others thought and how they would misidentify their roles in the relationship. People thinking he was the boy was somehow humilating for him.

The relationship cooled after their first meeting. Perhaps they both just had the wrong impression - it was a fantasy after all. Desperate, Derek researched potential solutions and on a whim, ordered a swap potion. They agreed to meet at Derek's house for a second date and debated the potions long and hard before deciding to give it a try.

Almost instantly, both started feeling nauseous and feverish. That feeling would continue for the rest of the day as their bodies changed. Cameron grew taller, heavier, hairier and his skin lost some elasiticity and gray fleck appeared in his hair and beard. Derek became more slender, thinner, rejuvenated. With both being more or less incapacitated from the changes, they feel asleep in the early evening.

At around 6am Cameron woke up, unable to sleep any longer. His fever has subsided and he stood up to go pee. At the point, he looked down and saw the changes. The floor was much further away and his body covered in dark hair. He walked to the bathroom to pee from his bigger, uncut cock.

He explored his body and fell in love with his new self. He loved the dusting of hair on his torso, but it looked like Derek definitely trimmed it. He was already looking forward to growing out his body hair everywhere. No more shaving for him. Even though it seemed Derek shaved his back hair, for example, Cameron wanted to let himself go, and who knows, maybe even expanding that belly.

He couldn't remember the last time he was voluntarily awake at 6am, but he just wasn't tired anymore. That being said, a feeling of legarthy meant he didn't feel fully awake and found Derek's coffee machine. He wasn't a coffee drinker ordinarily, but thought it might be something Derek would do and fitted to his new daddy self. He slipped a coffee and felt hiy body perking up and more at ease as waited for Derek to stir.

Thinking it through, he soon realized it could take a while since he was never an early riser, so after he finished his coffee, he woke Derek with a kiss.

Derek was feeling sleepy in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time, but welcomed the good morning kiss. The mixture of coffee breath and the beard scratching against his cheeks made him feel warm inside. "Good morning, sleepyhead" said Cameron, the first time hearing the deep powerful voice from his mouth.

The two both felt increasingly at ease in their new bodies, but Cameron had one thing on his mind. His boner would not subside and he needed release. From a cuddling position on the bed, he gently but firmly pushed Derek's heard down to his crotch and Derek got to work. Cameron's deep moans turned them both on. Then, Cameron flipped Derek's smaller body over and began to eat him out. He loved the feeling of his beard scratching against his bare ass cheeks. Before long, his girthy cock was inside his former body and couldn't contain himself as he soon came inside. He definitely had a stronger libido now and probably needed release at least once or twice a day.

Somehow that ejaculation inside Derek cemented something inside them and they both knew that this was here to stay. Derek jerked himself to a finish while carressing Cameron's furry chest.

As they cuddled afterwards, Cameron also told Derek that he needed to shave everything from the ears down today. He felt slightly hypocritical since he had that body until yesterday, so it was his fault. But he wanted Derek to have his body perfect for him. When eating him out, there was some light stubble around his ass that spoiled the experience. He wanted his boy perfectly shaven at all times. Only Daddy should be hairy. Derek replied with "Yes, Daddy" and giggled.

Cameron groomed Derek to be the perfect twink for him. He worked out hard, they threw out all his suits and bought a more appropriate, younger wardrobe. At the same time, Cameron bought himself some tailored suits, shirts, pants and shoes. He wore a shirt most days and generally loved the aura of an older man. Cameron settled into the life of having his boy on hand to take care of him and his cock whenever needed. When he came home, he'd sit in his chair and wait for Derek to come and take off his dress shoes while he sipped a whisky, before fucking or getting sucked. Such was their daily routine. He'd put on a few pounds from the drinking and all the red meat he'd been eating. His doctor told him to cut down and take care of his cholesterol at his age and he got a massive boner right there and then.

Derek meanwhile loved being 20 years younger again. Passers by immediately saw that he was a boy with a daddy fetish and that turned him on so bad. He blossomed and lived care-free with keeping his daddy his only concern. Cameron required him to send him updates multiple times a day and gave him tasks to do, like ordering him to walk around shirtless and show everyone what a twink he was.

Things finally felt right for both of them. For Cameron, it now made sense why things never felt quite right. Now, he felt no attraction whatsoever to other daddys. Lately he'd started wondering if Derek needed a brother too. He went back on the app, this time setting up his profile as a daddy in his 40s and turned himself on with his own arrogance as he wrote up his profile:

"Experienced suited daddy seeking additional boy. I have plenty of sperm to go around. Be cute, lean, shaven, obedient. Boys over 23 need not apply."

[marcusspace]

Prison visit

Hi, my name is Logan. I come from a quite boring family that includes my dad, my mum and my little brother. Unfortunately our family is now somewhat broken, because my dad decided behind our back to steal some money from the company he was working for. It wasn't a small ammount for all I know, so he was locked up and we all had to got to the trial.

We all had to dress up to represent our family. I hated the moment when the judge sentenced my father for several years in prison. All I could think about was the fact that I was the one, who had to take care of our family now. Which meant that I had to leave the army.

Me and my brother skipped the first few visits, because mom said that dad had to get used to being in prison and he didn't want to be seen in a bad mood. But the first visit was quite nice. Maybe except for the attack. Some prisoner bumbed into momand they both fell on the ground. It must have been a mental patient, because he started crying and screaming, that his body was stolen. Creepy, right?

Mum must have been shocked. She even missed a few turns when we were coming home from prison. I left her to relax and cooked dinner for us. When I went up to get her, the door to her bedroom were wide open and I couldn't believe what I saw.

Mom stood in front of the mirror, naked and fingered herself. Screaming in pleasure.

She turned her head slightly and smiled. I immediately left, hoping she didn't notice me.

I got my brother and told him that mom was too tired to join us.

The following days were really strange. Mom was walking around the house only in her bra and panties. I didn't wanna look, because it's my mom but ut was unavoidable.

One night, I think I heard male and even another strange female voices coming from my parents bedroom.

I eventually had to start taking care of my brother, because she didn't seem concerned, that he didn't have any food to eat etc.

I woke up in the morning to a weird feeling on my body. I opened my eyes and froze. My mom sat on my bed, my chest and boxers were uncovered and she had her hand on my stomach.

I couldn't let out a word, what was happening?!

Mom:"I have such a handsome young son. You really take care of your body, don't you? My son a soldier. How PROUD I am."

Me:"Mom, what are you..."

Mom:"Ah, don't you worry. I am just taking care of my LITTLE boy. But looking at the bulge you're packing, it seems you're not so little. Haha"

Me:"Mom... Stop it."

Mom:"Oh, come on. Don't you tell me you don't like these perfect tits. That you never wanted to touch them. And this pussy. God, you're really gonna enjoy this. And I can't wait to enjoy that dick" she said as she squeezed her tits and touched herself over the pants she was wearing.

As she finished, she quickly sat on top of me, I still couldn't react. She then pressed something against my chest, which hurt real bad. I passed out.

I opened my eyes and realised I sat on top of someone. "What the fuck?" I saw my own face smiling at me, My old hands were now placed on my hips. And I felt something below me... hardening

My body:"So, how do you like those tits... MOM?"

Me:"What the hell?!? What did you do?"

My body:"I gave you a gift. You can enjoy those tits and that tight wet pussy you like to peek on. You dirty WHORE. And unless you want to be fucked by your own body, I suggest you get off, because I am more then ready to shoot."

I moved and fell on the ground. I look down and indeed. My muscular chest was replaced by a pair of big boobs. My mother's boobs. I am my MOTHER

Me:"Mom, why are you doing this? Why me?"

My body:"Ah, you're so naive. I am not your mom, Logan. Or I should call you Cristine, now. Or better yet, MOM."

He started flexing and laughing at me

My body:"The chicks are gonna love this. I can't wait to fuck someone as a man again. Being a woman sucks."

I still sat there in shock, watching my body posing, flexing and enjoying his new reflection.

Only then I noticed the phone next to the mirror. My body noticed it.

My body:"Oh this? That's for me to have a memory. And also an insurance if you won't behave. I recorded what I did in your mother's body and If you won't behave I won't hesitate to use that as evidence to get you in prison. Unless you want to join your father and mother in prison, I suggest you behave. Now, go cook something, woman. I am hungry and now I got a job to do."

I got up from the floor, looking back at my body, feeling up my body.

I need to get help somehow

Prisoner's P.O.V.

Getting this kid's body is like a gold medal. After many years in my overweight body and then being that woman, this is by far the best thing yet.

I took out his phone to snap a few photos.

This kid has an amazing body. I can't wait to put it to test.

A message came to his phone number from LOVE<3. I browsed through the messaged. Fuck, this kid is gay. Nevermind, gonna turn him straight and dump this fucker. There won't be no more gay shit under my watch.

"Jeez. He's like a sculpture. If I had looked like this before, I wouldn't have to steal from all those people. This is amazing. Let's get this body showered and ready for Stacy."

At Stacy's house

Stacy:"Fuck. I can't believe it worked again. I was worried, that you would stay in that woman's body. I couldn't picture us like that back together."

Prisoner:"Don't worry, my darling. I found myself a great body for you to suck and enjoy. Wait till you see the dick that this kid has. Not only it is big, but the head of the cock is so strange, but hot at the same time."

They started making out. The tongues moving from one mouth into another. But there was a problem, that has never happened before.

Prisoner:"Wait. Something is wrong."

Stacy:"It happens sometimes. Remember that you're in other man's body and you're still not used to it."

Prisoner:"It's not that. This kid is gay. I think I can't get hard for you."

Frustrated and bored, the new Logan rested in the living room of his new body. The "mother" was walking around suspiciously, but careful.

Prisoner:"This is bullshit. I can't be gay forever. I need to find a better body to swap."

The younger brother rushed in with his way too loose Spiderman costume to hug his brother, who now wasn't used to it and pushed him off of himself.

Kyle:"Why did you do that?"

Prisoner:"I don't want another man to touch me."

Kyle:"You're funny, Logan. If you wouldn't have a boyfriend, i would believe you."

Prisoner:"Right."

Kyle:"Ok, so byeee."

Prisoner:"Where are you going dressed like that? It's not Halloween."

Kyle:"To Johnny's. We are having a costume party sleepover, while his older brother is gonna look after us."

Prisoner:"Who is the brother? Do I know him?"

Kyle:"Yeah, you do. You played football together. He's in university."

Prisoner:"Hmm. Interesting." I just hope it's not another gay jock like this one.

Prisoner:"Kyle? I have a cool deal for you. Wanna hear it?"

Kyle:"I bet mom won't know a difference between me and Logan. I can pretend to be him easily without her noticing. But I wonder why would Logan do that. It's nice of him that he gave me his body to try the costume, but he went to that party instead of me. I was looking forward to that."

Kyle pulled up the zip of the costume and started doing Spiderman poses.

Kyle:"Hell, yeah. Wait till the boys see how my costume first better then everybody else's!"

[marcusspace]

Homophobic gym teacher

I hate PE. I hate it so freaking much that I’d rather have history with Mr. Douglas every day than to run in front of Mr. Mills every day. He hates me, ever since I came out as gay at school I received mostly good feedback from others. Even my bullies were kinda nice about it. Thank God I live in the twenty first century. But one person didn’t really take It well.

I browsed through his instagram a few times. And while I looked for the perfect photo of him flexing his biceps, showing his abs or anything that would help me for my jerk off session, I found out that he was quite hardcore republican. How a person like this could get into education is beyond me.

As always I finished jerking off while looking at his regular bathroom gym photo. Man, what I would give to fuck him. Why do jerks always have the perfect body?

My phone buzzed. I snapped back into reality. Jack, my friend who is also gay, but not out yet, texted me.

“Hey, are we gonna ditch school tomorrow? I can’t hear any more of that Mills bullshit while we climb the rope”

“We’re gonna be rope climbing? Ah fuck me. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“My thoughts exactly. So? Are we skipping school?”

“I can’t man. I gotta keep up my attendance after missing so many days thanks to Mr. Mills”

Next day, 2:29 PM

I stood next to the rope, waiting for Jake to finish his turn. Mr. Mills stood below him, screaming. Jake couldn’t get to the top. Mr. Mills told him to get down and screamed at him some more. What an asshole. It was my turn. The bell rang. “Fuck yeah. No more rope climbing for me.” My classmates, me included, turned to head to the lockers.

Mr. Mills: ”González? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Me: ”Sir, the class is over and it’s Friday.”

Mr. Mills: ”The class is over when I say it is over. Get on the fucking rope and stop talking back at me. The rest of you can leave.”

I got close to the rope. I grabbed it and squeezed the rope between my feet. I started pulling myself up and immediately felt the pain of lifting myself. I knew I was weak, I didn’t really need some wannabe teacher slash gym freak to remind me and scream at me what a lazy piece of shit I am. I tried to ignore him. I gave myself a goal to just finish it and leave, but Mr. Mills stood directly below me to comment on my fat ass slowing me down.

I was almost at the top, a wave of happiness swept over me. “Shit, I’m gonna make it!”

And right then I slipped. And instead of locking my feet, I just let go off the rope.

THUD

“I survived. Fuck. I fell from the freaking rope. My head was hurting so hard. My head? But I thought that I fell on my back? Ahhh the pain.”

I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry from the fall. I tried blinking several times and my vision was slowly getting better. I lifted my arm to grab on my head, but as I did it didn’t feel right. I looked at my arm. It was bigger. As in full of muscles.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, but instead of my young squeaky almost too feminine voice a low baritone came out of my throat.

“How the fuck…?!” I looked to my left. There was my body getting up from the ground

Me: ”Mr. Mills?”

Mr. Mills: ”Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Is that you González?”

Me: ”I… Yes. How… How did this happen?” Mr. Mills: ”Does it look like this happens to me a lot?”

Me: ”But… it’s scientifically impossible”

Mr. Mills: ”I bet this was caused by those covid vaccines to make you immigrant fags take over our lives.”

Me: ”Yeah… right. Cause everyone wants to be a stupid republican”

Mr. Mills: ”Shut your mouth or…” he was interrupted by the janitor telling us to leave so he can lock the school. Mr. Mills gave me his car keys and I gave him instructions how to find my locker. We decided to meet each other in his car and to figure out what to do after that.”

After many unsuccessful attempts I found his Chevrolet and entered the passenger’s seat. Few moments later, I realized that I’m gonna be the one driving so I switched seats and got behind the wheel for the first time in my life. His car was amazing, it smelt great and was clean. How should I even drive this thing? I don’t drive a car. I’ll get us into trouble.

I stopped overthinking about the car. “I am in my teachers body. The one who bullied me almost every day. I am an adult male.” I looked into the rearview mirror. “Fuck, I am in one of the hottest man’s body around. And I am wasting it just worrying here. I flexed and squeezed my new biceps. Fuuuck. It’s so huge. I checked if no one else was around and lifted up my shirt.

“Oh my gooood” I slammed my head into the seat. “This is so hot!”

My new abs and pecs now uncovered were the most perfect ones I have ever seen. The ones I jerk off to every night before sleep. And now it’s here. All for me.

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Mills in my body approaching the car. And behind him ran Jake. They entered the car.

I tried to improvise: „Why is your friend here?”

Jake: „Holy shit. So it is true. Mr. Mills would never react so calm. Is that really you in there, Daniel?”

I turned at Mr. Mills who now had a very irritated face. “I didn’t say anything, he figured it out.”

Jake: „I didn’t believe it at first, but Daniel never swears like this. And your vocabulary isn’t exactly rich so I knew really quickly where I heard the phrases before. Damn, I’m good. So? What are we gonna do? We should test it out somehow. Shit, Daniel you should get drunk tonight!”

Mr. Mills: „No! There won’t be no drinking, touching or anything with my body. This is definitely temporary and we will be back by tomorrow morning.”

Me: „If you think so…”

I drove Jake and my body home. Mr. Mills had to give me a speed course of driving, but his muscle memory helped me out way more than I thought. We set up some ground rules. No drinking, no drugs, no permanent changes to our bodies, no photos and no sex. He left the car while saying something about a fag in his body, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I speeded to get to his house asap.

I didn’t really explore the house as much when I arrived. I went straight to where I thought was the bedroom and immediately started taking off my clothes. His black speedo was PACKING and getting tighter every minute, but I really wanted to make this first exploration as perfect as possible. I lifted up the shirt, touching my new hairless and fatless stomach. I flexed and sets of abs appeared. I touched every last one of them. My hand continued up to my new large pecs.

“God damn, Mr. Mills. These are some perfect man titties.” I squeezed them. They looked so tight in all the photos, but when I wasn’t flexing them, they were quite soft. Must be amazing to lay on these. I played with them some more before taking off my shirt and releasing my new hairy pits. I took a long whiff off them. “I smell like a proper MAN now!” I licked it as well, enjoying the salty taste of Mr. Mills’s pits. I looked at myself in the mirror. My new dick was hard as a rock and waited for me to take care of it.

I headed to the shower and turned on a hot water. “Your body is probably not used to a hot water, am I right, Mr. Mills? I bet you are one of those cold water freaks who bathe in the icy waters.” I hated his voice before, but right now as I was controlling it, I began to like it so much.

The water poured all over my large body, from the perfect face, over my massive pecs, hairless abs and right to my beautiful dick. “Nice dick, Mr. Mills!” I said and chuckled over the fact that I just said that.

I suddenly got a mischievous idea. I came out of the shower and texted Jake.

Jake: „I can’t believe I’m doing this. I am just squeezing Mr. Mills’s pecs and touching his abs. Can you believe it, Daniel?”

Me: „It’s wild, right? But I got an idea. Wanna make it more interesting?”

Jake: „Interesting how?”

Me: „Stop touching me you lazy fag” I said in an authoritative voice and Jake moved his hands away from me quickly.

Jake: „Why did you do that? I got scared.”

Me: „I bet you are scared, you little fag. I know you just came over so that you could jerk off you little dick and watch me enjoy myself.”

Jake: „Daniel?”

Me: „Daniel won’t save you right now. You will do as I say. Ok?”

Jake finally caught up to my roleplay scenario and started acting as well. And by the look of his face I knew that he was really into it.

Jake: „Yes, Mr. Mills. I will do whatever you say.”

I sat down on the couch watching. “I want you to admire my body and say how hot I am and how horny it makes you.”

Jake got his hands on MY body and got a bit nervous: „You have sexy abs, Mr. Mills.”

Me: „You think that’s enough? That they are just sexy?”

Jake: „I think they’re the hottest abs I have ever seen”

Me: „How about my biceps. You like them?”

Jake: „They are SO big. I want you to squeeze my head in them. I want to lick your armpit hair. I want to kiss you.”

Me: „That’s a good boy. How about you show me how good you are, you fag?”

I moved his hands over to my new hard crotch.

Jake smiled and licked his lips

I fucking love being in this body.

And I bet Jake’s ass is gonna love this body even more.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/petew21-blog/780674479706734592/homophobic-gym-teacher-part-2?source=share

[marcusspace]

Tight Fit pt. 2

Bruce POV:

I was in the mall the other day, which was pretty rare for a dude of my size and again. I’m a pretty average Joe. I have a construction-based job, the manly build, and I’m in my 40’s. I walked into this store that I’ve never seen before, which is strange since I know this mall like the back of my hand. The only employee there told me that all the clothes will fit a person, regardless of size. Which to me sounds like a win-win since buying clothes in my size is already a hassle. She points me to the dressing room, and I strip my pants, and she trades them for a pair of shorts and has me a shirt that was left over from the previous customer. I laugh and tell her it wasn’t going to fit, but she was gone. So I put on the tight shorts over my fat, hairy legs, expecting to rip them. However, they slid right on up around my legs and sat comfortably on my ass. I don’t notice the change happening on my legs as I strip my shirt and try on this shirt that looks like it’s for kids. The shirt was a very tight fit at first, but I just like the shorts. I can feel my body being snug inside the shirt. I look in the mirror and see a young man staring at me. He was wearing all the clothes I’ve just tried on; it freaked me out till I looked down. That kid wasn’t my reflection; that kid was me. Feeling the thrill of being young again, I didn’t care too much about the magic clothing. I grabbed my old clothes and left them at the empty counter and walked out. 

[marcusspace]

Tight fit

Matthew’s POV:

”No, no, this can’t be happening,” I said as my new, deeper voice still sounded foreign to me. You see, I went to a clothing store in a mall I always go to. I’ve never seen the store before, and it caught my attention. The only employee I can see told me that each piece of clothing would fit, so there was no need for size checking. She handed me a pair of pants and told me that they would suit me. I grabbed the rugged pair of pants that were clearly too large for my smaller frame and slid off my pants and even my underwear since my pants were very tight. I put on the large pair of jeans, and surprisingly, they began to fit. It felt like each leg felt perfectly, and as I zipped it up to my crotch, I felt like it really was meant for me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I don’t recognize my body in the reflection. Instead, I see the face of a chubby and stockier man. I noticed my belly and chest were growing, so I took off my shirt. Showing me my new body covered in hair. I realized it must’ve been the pants, so I took them off and tried to put on my old jeans, but my bigger size ripped them. So, I guess I’m stuck like this. I left my old shirt with the lady at the counter. 

[marcusspace]

Brotherly Swap part 2

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of confusion and excitement for Tim. He took Brad's place at school, basking in the attention and adoration that came with being the star quarterback. He strutted through the halls with Brad's cocky swagger, his newfound muscles and height turning heads and opening doors. But with every step, he felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Brad was stuck in his nerdy body, enduring the torments of high school that Tim had once known all too well.

But every time he looked in the mirror, the guilt receded, replaced by a growing sense of entitlement. This body was his now, and he had every intention of making the most of it. The first order of business was to break up with Brad's girlfriend, Rachel. She had been clinging to him like a barnacle, and Tim knew she was just a status symbol for Brad. So, he called her up, his voice a smooth blend of Brad's charm and Tim's tact, and ended things as gently as he could manage. Rachel was devastated, but Tim felt a strange sense of liberation.

With Rachel out of the picture, Tim threw himself into the jock lifestyle. He started making lewd comments in the locker room, playing it off as brotherly banter. The other guys didn't seem to suspect a thing—they just laughed and slapped him on the back, their eyes lingering on Brad's now-his body in a way that sent shivers down his spine. He liked the way they looked at him, the way they talked to him, the way they touched him. It was intoxicating.

In the showers after practice, Tim would watch the water cascade over his new body, tracing the lines of muscle and power that Brad had never appreciated. He'd catch glances from his teammates, especially from Josh, the tight end with the piercing blue eyes and the body of a Greek god. Josh had always been friendly, but now there was something more, a heat in his gaze that made Tim's heart race.

"Dude, your ass is looking tight today," Tim called out one day, his voice still unfamiliar in Brad's deep timbre. The locker room erupted in laughter and good-natured ribbing, but there was an unmistakable flicker in Josh's eyes that told Tim he had struck a nerve. He turned around, giving a cheeky wink over his shoulder before rinsing off. The tension in the air was thick with unspoken desires.

After the shower, as the guys toweled off and slapped each other's backs, Tim found himself drawn to the tight end's locker. The sight of Josh's water-slicked body was a feast for the eyes, and Tim couldn't resist the urge to let his gaze linger on the bulge between his legs. The glances grew more frequent, the tension palpable, until one day, Tim leaned in close as they both reached for their towels. "You know, I've always wondered," he whispered, "what it would be like to touch someone... like you."

The words hung in the air, the locker room suddenly feeling much quieter than it had moments before. Josh stiffened, his eyes meeting Tim's, now filled with a mix of shock and something else—desire. Tim felt a thrill run through him, the power of his new body coursing through his veins. He had Brad's charm and Brad's body, and he was going to use it.

They agreed to meet at a secluded spot by the football field after school, where they could be alone. Tim, now Brad, felt his heart racing as he approached, his body thrumming with excitement. He had never been with a guy before, but the fantasies had been enough to keep him company through many a lonely night. And now, here was Josh, the object of so many of those fantasies, looking at him with a hungry gaze.

"What's up, Brad?" Josh asked, his voice low and gruff.

Tim, now Brad, smirked, his hand casually resting on the locker. "Just wondering if you're free after practice," he said, his eyes lingering on Josh's bare chest.

Josh's gaze flickered with curiosity. "Yeah, I guess," he said, his voice a low rumble. "What did you have in mind?"

Tim's heart pounded in Brad's chest. This was it—his chance to live out the fantasies he had never dared to speak. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice a seductive drawl that seemed to come so naturally in this body. He led Josh out to the football field, the setting sun casting long shadows across the grass.

They sat down on the bench, the cool metal sending a shiver through Tim's new body. He could feel Brad's nerves, but Tim's mind was racing with excitement. He leaned in close, their legs brushing together, and whispered, "You know how everyone thinks Brad's straight?"

Josh's eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion creeping into his features. "Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "What about it?"

Tim, now Brad, took a deep breath, his heart hammering against Brad's ribcage. "Well," he began, his voice a low murmur, "What if I told you Brad's not so straight after all?"

Josh's eyes widened, his gaze dropping to Tim's crotch, where Brad's cock was starting to stir. "What are you saying?"

Tim leaned in closer, his hand brushing against Josh's thigh. "I'm saying," he murmured, "that I want to know what it's like to be with you." He watched the other boy's expression shift from shock to something darker, something more primal. "I want to explore... everything."

Josh's eyes searched Brad's face, looking for any sign of a joke or a trick. But Tim's gaze remained steady, filled with a hunger that was undeniably real. "You're fucking with me," Josh said, his voice strained.

Tim, now Brad, shook his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Why would I do that?"

Josh's heart thudded in his chest, his eyes searching Tim's—face for any hint of deceit. "You've always talked shit about gay guys," he said, his voice tight with tension. "Why the sudden change?"

Tim, now in Brad's body, leaned back, his smirk never wavering. "Maybe I realized I've been missing out," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around them. "Maybe I've been watching you, and I can't help but want to know what it's like."

Josh's eyes searched Tim's, looking for any hint of a lie. But all he saw was desire, raw and unbridled. He swallowed hard, his own cock straining against his sweatpants. "Why me?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tim leaned in even closer, his breath hot against Josh's neck. "Because you're the only one I've ever wanted," he murmured, his hand sliding down his pants. "I've seen the way you look at me—I know you feel it too. Should we take this back to my house?"

In Brad’s room, surrounded by objects from Brad’s life. There sits Josh and Tim. With trembling hands, Tim unzipped Brad's pants, revealing his stepbrother's cock. It was already hard, the tip glistening with precum. Josh stared at it, his own cock throbbing in response. He knew he shouldn't—Brad was his best friend, his teammate—but he couldn't help the need that was building inside him. He reached out, tentatively touching Brad's shaft. Tim's eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure, and he let out a moan in Brad’s booming voice.

Tim's hand guided Josh's, showing him how Brad liked to be touched. The sensation was overwhelming—his own hand on another man's cock, his own body responding with a hunger he had never felt before. They began to kiss, clumsily at first, as Tim tried to navigate the unfamiliar sensations. But soon, they found a rhythm, Brad's tongue dancing with Tim's, his teeth grazing Tim's lower lip.

Josh's hand was rough on Brad's cock, just like Tim had always imagined it would be. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through his body, making him gasp into the kiss. He broke away, panting, and whispered, "Worship me," his voice a plea. "Worship my body."

Without hesitation, Josh leaned down, his mouth closing around Brad's cock. Tim's eyes rolled back in his head as he felt the wet heat envelop him, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. He threw his head back, his hips bucking upwards as Brad's name left his lips in a strangled moan. It was all so wrong, but it felt so right.

Josh took Brad's cock in hand, his tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and taunting. Tim's eyes watched in the mirror, his own hand reaching up to cup Brad's hairy armpit. The sensation was indescribable—the roughness of the hair, the smell of sweat and musk, it was intoxicating. He never knew he had such a kink, but now that he had Brad's body, he was discovering new desires he never knew existed.

"Suck me," Tim urged, his voice Brad's but filled with a need that was entirely his own. Josh looked up, his eyes hooded with lust, and took Brad's length into his mouth. Tim felt the wet warmth, the pressure of those perfect lips, and it was all he could do not to come right then and there. He bit back a moan, his eyes sliding shut as Brad's body responded to the sensations.

Josh's hand pumped the base of Brad's cock as he took him deeper, his tongue playing over the sensitive flesh. Tim could feel his orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure in his belly that was so intense it was almost painful. He reached down to touch himself, his hand finding Brad's balls, rolling them gently. The sensation was exquisite, his body singing with the promise of release.

Tim leaned back, his eyes still locked on the mirror. He watched as Brad's body writhed in pleasure. And then, just as he felt the orgasm cresting, he heard it—Josh's voice, raw and needy, calling out Brad's name. The sound sent Tim over the edge, and he came with a roar, sending ropes of hot cum into the Josh's eager mouth. Brad’s alpha cum. Josh swallowed it all like the needy slut he is, why wouldn’t he want to taste every drop of juice from Brad’s perfect cock.

As the pleasure subsided, Tim's eyes snapped open, his gaze falling to the doorway. There was Brad, his eyes wide with horror, his hand clutching at his own tiny erection as he stared at the scene before him. Tim couldn't help but laugh—the tables had turned, and now it was Brad's turn to watch.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Tim taunted, his voice still deep and filled with Brad's confidence. "I always knew you had a thing for guys."

Brad's eyes, now looking out from Tim's face, were a mix of anger and confusion. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he whispered, his voice high-pitched and unsteady.

Tim, still in Brad's body, just smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, come on," he said, his voice deep and teasing. "You're telling me you've never thought about it?"

Brad's mind was racing, his body trembling with a mix of anger and arousal that he didn't know how to process. His cheeks red with embarrassment, he began to storm back to Tim’s room in anger.

[marcusspace]

Brotherly swap - part 1

In the quiet solitude of his dimly lit bedroom, Timothy McAllister sat cross-legged on his twin bed, surrounded by the silent guardians of his imagination—shelves crammed with comic books, action figures, and forgotten school textbooks. The digital clock on his nightstand blinked 3:42 AM, a silent sentinel to his nocturnal habits. Tim, a self-proclaimed nerd with glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a penchant for graphic t-shirts, was lost in the realm of his favorite anime series. His eyes darted across the screen of his laptop, his heart racing with every clash of swords and whisper of a forbidden romance.

A sudden noise jolted him out of his fantasy world—the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh, muffled by a closed door. Curiosity piqued, he tiptoed out of his room, his socks making faint squeaks against the cold, hardwood floor. The noise grew louder as he approached the staircase, each step bringing him closer to the source of the mysterious sounds. The thirst that had plagued him earlier was forgotten, replaced by a burning curiosity that compelled him downstairs.

The kitchen light spilled out into the hallway, creating a stark contrast with the shadows. Tim peered sneakily, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. There, at the kitchen island, stood Brad—his stepbrother, the epitome of jock perfection with a body sculpted from football and a swagger that made heads turn. Brad must’ve just stumbled home after a night of partying and heavy drinking. Brad is standing naked in the kitchen, clearly thinking everyone is asleep, his hand was moving rhythmically, fisting his impressive uncut 9-inch cock. The sight of Brad's muscles flexing, his abs rippling with each stroke, sent a jolt of arousal through Tim. He felt a pang of envy for the power Brad's body held, the ease with which it drew attention and desire.

Tim's mouth went dry as he watched Brad's hand work over his shaft, the precum glistening under the soft glow of the pendant lights. He couldn't help but think about the fantasies he'd had—fantasies where he could experience Brad's body for himself, where he could feel the strength and virility that seemed so far out of reach. But this was real, and Tim knew he should look away. Yet, he remained frozen, his own hand inching down to his crotch, his cock hardening at the sight of Brad's unabashed pleasure.

With a jolt of reality, Tim realized he could be caught staring. He bolted back upstairs, his cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. His tiny cock strained against his pajama bottoms, demanding attention. He rushed into his room and slammed the door, his thoughts racing. He felt so ashamed—how could he be turned on by his own stepbrother? It wasn't just the taboo; it was the stark contrast between Brad's jock body and his own lanky, unathletic frame.

Tim flopped onto his bed, his hand trembling as it found its way into his pants. He couldn't stop thinking about Brad's cock, the way it had filled his hand so completely. He began to stroke himself, imagining what it would be like to have that kind of power, that kind of presence. He thought of Brad, sweaty and spent after a grueling football practice, his muscles begging for relief. The fantasy grew more vivid—Brad, helpless and needy, turning to Tim for comfort.

Tim's hand moved faster, his breath hitching in his throat as he pictured Brad's face contorted in pleasure. In his mind's eye, Brad's handsome features were a mix of surprise and gratitude as Tim took him into his mouth, his tiny cock forgotten in the face of his stepbrother's overwhelming manhood. The fantasy was intoxicating, a heady blend of the forbidden and the desired. His hand was a blur, his strokes becoming more erratic as the image of Brad's cock grew larger and larger in his mind.

With a strangled moan, Tim came, the sensation of release flooding through him like a tidal wave. He didn't bother to clean up the mess, too lost in the aftermath of his climax to care about the sticky residue on his hand and stomach. He lay there, panting, the room spinning slightly from the rush of adrenaline and embarrassment. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy and he succumbed to sleep, his last thoughts a jumble of Brad's body and his own secret longings.

The next morning, Tim woke with a start, his body feeling... different. He sat up, and the world tilted alarmingly. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand encountered something unfamiliar—his own hand, but it was larger, more muscular. His eyes shot to his reflection in the mirror opposite his bed, and what he saw took his breath away. He was in Brad's body.

Tim couldn't believe it—his fantasy had come to life. He rolled out of bed, his new muscles protesting the movement with a delightful stretch. He stumbled over to the mirror, his legs unaccustomed to the bulk of Brad's muscular frame. His eyes widened with wonder as he took in the sight of Brad's reflection. The broad chest, the rock-hard abs, the powerful arms, and the proud erection that jerked in response to his touch. He tentatively reached down to grasp Brad's cock, his heart racing as he felt its heavy warmth in his hand.

Tim couldn't resist exploring further. He flexed the bicep, watching the muscle bulge and dance in the early morning light. He ran his hand over the flat expanse of Brad's stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs, the trail of hair that led to his groin. He stepped closer to the mirror, his gaze lingering on the reflection of Brad's face, now his own. He touched his cheek, the stubble rough against his fingertips. His hand trailed down to Brad's chest, feeling the thump of a heart that was now his, the thrill of power surging through veins that had never felt so strong.

With one hand, he began to stroke the cock that was now his own. It felt alien, yet incredibly arousing. The sensation was magnified, as if his own desires had been amplified by the sheer size of his new member. His other hand roamed over the landscape of Brad's body, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, the firmness of his ass. He couldn't believe the sensation—his fantasy was playing out in real life. He was the jock now, the one with the power to turn heads and command attention.

Tim's eyes remained glued to the mirror as he jerked off Brad's cock, watching the way it moved in his hand, the way his new body responded to his touch. He felt a thrill of power as he manipulated it, watching the shadows play across the muscles he had once envied from afar. The hand that was once so inexperienced now moved with surprising confidence, guided by Brad's own body's instinctive knowledge. He felt the beginnings of another orgasm build, a warmth spreading through him that was more intense than anything he had ever felt before.

Suddenly, he heard a noise from downstairs—Brad's voice, but it was high-pitched and panicked. Tim froze, his hand still wrapped around Brad's cock. What was going on? He had to find out. He stumbled to the door, his legs unsteady in this new form. His heart thudded in his chest as he descended the stairs, trying to process what was happening.

As he approached the kitchen, he could make out Brad's frantic cries. "What the fuck?! What did you do to me?!" Tim peeked around the corner, his eyes widening in horror and fascination. There was Brad, his body now in Tim's place, flailing around the kitchen in a pair of Tim's oversized glasses, looking utterly lost. Tim had to stifle a laugh—his stepbrother was now the one out of his element.

"I... I don't know what's happening!" Brad's voice, coming from Tim's smaller body, was a high-pitched squeak that seemed to echo off the walls. He stumbled around the kitchen, bumping into chairs and knocking over a vase. Tim felt a twinge of pity, watching Brad struggle with his new reality.

But the pity quickly turned into a giddy excitement as he realized that he was no longer the nerd. He was the jock, the one who could bend the world to his will. The one who could get whatever he wanted. And what he wanted, more than anything, was to live out his wildest fantasies in Brad's body.

Tim took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, his new body moving with a grace that was both alien and thrilling. Brad's eyes went wide with shock as he took in Tim's new form. "What the fuck, Tim?" he squeaked.

"Well, well, well," Tim said, a smirk playing on Brad's full lips. "Looks like we've swapped places." He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight of Brad in his own skin—so small and fragile. "I guess the universe has a sense of humor after all."

Brad looked up at him with a mix of fear and anger. "Make it stop," he demanded, his voice still not his own. "This isn't funny!"

Tim just chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Oh, but it is," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "It's more than funny, it's a dream come true." He strode over to Brad, towering over him. "Imagine all the things I can do with this body." He flexed his bicep, watching Brad's eyes follow the movement with a mix of awe and dread.

"You can call me Brad now," Tim said, his voice a commanding rumble. "And I'll call you Tim. It's only fair, right?"

Brad's eyes darted around the kitchen, his mind racing. He had to get out of this situation, had to get back into his own body. But how? He had seen enough sci-fi movies to know that the geeky protagonist usually had some kind of ace up their sleeve, but all he had was Tim's scrawny body and a head full of football stats.

Tim, now Brad, took a step closer, his new body exuding confidence with every movement. "Come on, little bro," he said, his voice a mockery of Brad's usual cocky drawl. "Let's not make a scene." He reached out to pat Brad's shoulder, his hand swallowing Tim's delicate frame. "You'll get used to it."

Brad shrank away, his eyes darting to the floor. "What do you want?" he whispered, his voice barely recognizable as Tim's.

Tim, reveling in his newfound power, leaned in closer, his breath hot against Brad's ear. "Oh, you know what I want," he murmured, his hand drifting down to Brad's crotch. "But first, let's go get you cleaned up. You can't face the day like this."

With surprising gentleness, Tim guided Brad to the bathroom, watching as his stepbrother's body moved clumsily in the unfamiliar confines of Tim's smaller frame. He couldn't resist the urge to run his hand along Brad's ass, feeling the firm muscles that he had so often envied. Brad flinched, his eyes flashing with a mix of fear and anger. "Cut it out!" he snapped.

Tim just smirked, his hand lingering. "Don't worry, I know you're straight," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm not, and now I've got your body. So let's make the most of it, shall we?"

Brad's cheeks flushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe what was happening. "This isn't right," he protested weakly. "We can't just... swap lives like this."

Tim, now in Brad's body, grinned. "Why not?" He leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've had your fun with the cheerleaders and the football games. It's my turn now." He stepped back, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "And don't worry, I'll take good care of your body." His hand drifted down to cup Brad's crotch, his eyes never leaving Brad's face. "In fact, I've got a whole new set of rules for it."

Brad felt a surge of anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "You can't just—"

Tim cut him off with a wave of Brad's hand. "Oh, but I can. And I will. Now, let's talk about your old life." He leaned against the sink, Brad's body looking eerily relaxed in Tim's usual slump. "What was her name? Your, um, my girlfriend, I mean."

"Her name is none of your business," Brad spat back, his voice unsteady.

Tim chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Well, now it is," he said, stroking Brad's cheek with the back of his hand. "I mean, I'm going to be living your life now. It's only fair that I know all your little secrets."

Brad's eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists. "What are you saying?"

Tim, now Brad, leaned in closer, his grin wicked. "I'm saying," he began, his hand tracing the line of Brad's jaw, "that from now on, Brad here is going to be exploring his... let's call it his 'alternative' side." He watched Brad's face contort with disgust, his new body flushing with excitement at the thought. "You're going to be the one going to prom with the hottest guy instead of the prom queen."

Brad's eyes widened with horror. "You can't do this to me!"

Tim, now in Brad's body, chuckled darkly. "Why not? You've had your fun with the ladies. Now it's time for me to have some fun with the... boys." He winked, his hand sliding down to Brad's waist, the touch electric and unwelcome. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to give you plenty of stories to tell."

Brad's mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare. He had to find a way to reverse the swap, to get back into his own body before things went too far. "We need to find out how this happened," he said, his voice shaking with fear. "There has to be a way to fix it."

Tim, now in Brad's body, just shrugged. "Why bother?" he said, his tone laced with nonchalance. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He flexed his new biceps, watching them bulge in the mirror. "I've got everything I've ever wanted."

[marcusspace]

This jock really should have watched what he was drinking. He thought it was just another shot of vodka his friends had poured for him, but I’d replaced it with my own experimental concoction when he wasn’t looking. Just one gulp later, and my consciousness was being transmitted straight into him!

He was clearly drunk, so his friends just thought he had passed out or dozed off for a few seconds. In reality, he was desperately trying to fight me off mentally as I slipped into him. I could feel myself coming alive in his body, taking over each muscle. Each fibre. Each nerve. By the time the transfer was complete, I was a whole new person. Ethan Haynes. That was my new self. This cocky rich jock who had taken a vacation in Bali ended up with a lot more than he bargained for it seemed.

As soon as I was up, I played the part of hunky fuck boy. His friends didn’t even seem to notice that I was there, playing his role perfectly. That right there is a pic of me acting all cocky while I flex my pecs for some of the hot girls walking by.

Little do his friends know, as soon as they head back to the resort to call it a night, I’m going to head out and explore the local gay scene. It would be such a shame to let the locals in Bali miss out on this hot white jock. His straight virginity ass is just too perfect to not be filled!

[marcusspace]

Lust

It’s so hard living in a gayborhood in a big city. All the “important” and “popular” influencer gays were everywhere. Which was great for me to yearn for from afar but terrible for my self perception.

They were all perfectly plumped and muscle bound after countless hours in the gym and doctors office. I lusted after so many of them but they’d never look at me. I’m too normal for these guys.

One of my favorites was Alex.

I mean look at him. You would too. He was the epitome of a short king but damn was he built in the perfect way. He’s the kind of person that makes you question how you’re not living in the same world at the same time. And you can tell he knows he’s desirable. He’s become popular on OnlyFans capitalizing on his sculpted body.

One day I got caught slipping and he began teasing me from afar. First it was a wink or moving close to me as I struggled on my sets. Then it was doing squats showing off the goods. Eventually I wanted to cave and just approach him to tell him how hot I thought he was but I turned around and he was gone. I figured I missed my window and went to the lockers to get my stuff.

There he was. Taking selfies leaving nothing to the imagination. I felt feral and as I approached him he hushed me.

“I know what you want” he calmly replied to my eagerness.

“But I’m the only one that gets to fuck me. I want you to be a good boy and takeover my body. I’ve been eyeing this hunk that would be perfect for a collab. I think he’s straight but I can fix that.”

The plan trauma dumped onto me. I stood there confused and shocked by what he just divulged onto me.

“Ugh look the condensation is I can pull other people’s spirits into my body but I gotta go somewhere so I seek another vessel for myself while you’re in here. Two spirits in one body is way too cramped.”

The pieces were finally clicking and before I could ask anything, he hushed me again.

“Do you want to have sex, yes or no? It’s that simple, so be a good boy and answer.”

I nodded like a puppy big and doe eyed. Before I knew it I was being ripped from where I stood and then looked at my former light complected twink self seemingly asleep on the ground. I looked down at my new caramel colored hands, veins bulging out of my forearms.

I used my new calloused palms to squeeze my inflated and sweaty glistened chest. Lightly squeezing one pec at a time before tightly squeezing both at once. This is crazy!

I heard my phone buzzing in my bag amid my exploration. It was Alex from a random number telling me to join him at a nearby address. He works quick.

“Get here now if you wanna get down and be fast or I’ll punish you like a bad boy.”

My new junk was stirring in my tiny black underwear. I quickly rinsed off and changed clothes before hauling ass to the address. As I approached the condo, I nearly knocked when I got another text.

“The doors open. Come in and get down to your underwear.” It read.

I obliged and got down to my new crisp and clean white underwear. As I looked up I saw it l him. Alex was 5’6” and well off in his normal body but the hunk he now inhabited was 6’4, white, and stacked with muscle. While I wondered if that body was potentially doing steroids his creamy palm approached my comparatively tiny waist and yanked me closer.

I took a picture of us together in a nearby mirror. He then picked up my free hand and placed it down his shorts.

That has to be a tree trunk.

“How am I supposed to take all that?!” I whispered under my breath

“Because I’m telling you to.”

I blushed and nodded eagerly again

[marcusspace]

Escaping Holiday Responsibilities

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and all the boys. And who can forget about singing Hanerot Halalu after lighting the menorah. There’s symbols and entities representing all of the holidays. But outside of the season we enjoy our peace and quiet. Sometimes though a season is so rough you can’t really blame an entity for wanting to get away.

I may or may not be Santa Claus. I’d say the best perk about the gig is that when the time comes you’re almost guided to your successor who then dons the classic look. So it’s a give and take. I mean having the power to fulfill lists of gifts you desire is great, but acquiring the look of a tubby bearded old man isn’t all that. The coolest thing though is you may not know it, but just because you don’t write a list doesn’t mean you don’t have holiday desires. I can still deliver gifts based on the list you make in your hearts. Cute as hell right? I’m basically a mind reader!

Before all this Claus business, I was unemployed and recently divorced when I received the call to step into the good ol boots. So a gig is a gig. I took it and ran, but that was like 30 years ago. So now once I retire I’m actually gonna look old and ragged.

So there I was last night delivering gifts at this random place in Chicago. Doing my best to stay quiet, delivering gifts as low key as possible when CRAAAAAACK! I stepped on a large glass ornament I somehow missed. I thought I was in the clear after no one came to check what happened and as I headed on my way out a baseball bat swung at my head.

I took the hit like a champ but when I turned around to see I saw a man standing there in black sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt with the bat ready to swing again.

“Ho ho hey hey wait. I’m literally Santa.” I whisper yelled while showing snowy crystals come out of my glove.

Right as he began to swing again I pulled more tricks out of my hat.

“I know your name is Russell O’Connor. You got a gunmetal tricycle as a 4 year old because you thought the red ones the store had were tacky and wanted to look tough!”

That’s when he stopped mid-swing.

“How-how did you know that pervert? Have you been watching me for years?”

I began to hear his inner list….a young man now in his mid-20s regretting his life decisions to get a girl knocked up as a teen? Interesting. He desires to get away from the so-called mess he made.

“I can offer you a way out of the mess you made. If that’s what your true hearts wish is this Christmas?!” I pleaded to not be beaten once again.

“How do you know what I want freak?”

“Bro I’m Santa, I know when you’ve been like bad or good and whatever. Listen do you want to get away from the mess you made or what?”

“Yes okay but like how are you going to do it? You’re not going to kill me or anything?”

“Honestly no one’s really ever wished for this so I gotta be able to do it somehow. That’s the Santa magic!”

“Okay let’s go for it. Do it! Get me out of here!”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my gloved hands together and then pulled them apart. As I pulled them apart a spark started forming but I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I tried to hold it steady but before I knew it, the spark grew too wild to control. The energy then turned white and exploded.

There was a ringing and we both yelled but then black.

When I woke up I found myself pushing up from a bed? That’s weird I don’t remember finishing all my deliveries. I reached up to scratch my beard but instead of my long luscious white beard a more close shaved beard grazed my hand. Wait where are my gloves? And my beard?

I looked down at the bed I didn’t recognize before looking back up to walk over to a nearby restroom with the night light on. The dim glow painted a picture I couldn’t believe. Surely I’m dreaming?

I fumbled around the foreign room before locating the light switch, only to have the bright lights confirm what I was seeing. I raised both arms and posed….

“No fucking way!?” The cursing surprised me, being a Claus the job prevents your mouth from ever even forming a curse word.

I’m Russell? But the Santa step down process just returns you to your normal self not swaps you with someone? How did this? Could my desires have matched with his conflicting my magics intent?

I lifted the shirt barely hiding anything of my new body I now resided in. Woah…I wasn’t much of a gym person in my former life but maybe there’s reason to be. I mean look at this beef? I reached my muscular hand up to my new proud chest and squeezed. Ahhh grazing my new nipple I revealed a new found sensitivity I never previously had. Looks like that’s going to be fun, I nearly salivated.

I can do adult things again and live a life again! No more having to spend months working to achieve someone else’s dreams. Or maybe I’ll fulfill other dirtiest dreams. I mean this body should go to work somehow.

I’m sure OnlyFans would love to see how thick I am everywhere. It’s time to be a family man settle down the right way and make a good living by selling the best gift I’ve ever given myself.

My new tool hardening nearly pulling down my sweatpants waistband itself. I grabbed it before taking a peak at my new equipment. Ohhhhh looks like I’ll still be delivering gifts to quite a few people in different ways with this beer can.

[marcusspace]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[marcusspace]

Cum Locked Into a Marine:

Are you in the military but feel like you joined the wrong branch? well there’s a way to swap branches, only catch, you have to swap bodies with someone in that branch and live their life, you can always swap back but only after both parties have finished their contract, so if you have 1 year left on yours, and you decided to swap with a fresh boot, you gotta finish the rest of their contract

Not many people wanna swap with a guy fresh out of boot camp but I did.

I’ve spent a year in the navy and didn’t like it one bit, when I joined I was hoping to join a brotherhood but the comrodery wasn’t there , when I was in A school, the base I was at for training was actually a joint base with the army, navy, Air Force and marines

Something that always upsetted me is when ever we’d see the marines, they were fine as fuck, for no reason, hands down the best looking fucking branch, no homo.

Even when I got to my ship and did a deployment with the marines onboard, they always looked hot and way fitter, if I would have join them instead of the navy, I’d definitely have abs but a lot of the navy struggles to stay within height and weight regulations

So I decided I wanted to swap with a marine, I made an account for the Body Exchange Program (or B.E.P. For short) and went to the subsection for military swaps and clicked on the marine branch to see what bodies were available

One thing I loved about the B.E.P. Is while the swaps are basically contracts and ment to last for the agreed time, they’re a couple ways to get out of that aswell… The B.E.P. Isn’t actually ment for long term swaps, so the only real way to do so is by breaking the TOS (terms of servicing). if both parties end up ejaculating while swaped, they end up locked in each others bodies

A lot of them had high standards in order to swap with them but I did find one Private named Matt Cummings. his profile says he’s only been out of boot camp for a week now and hates it, willing to swap with anyone from any branch as long as their not old.

I’ve only done 1 out of my 5 years so it didn’t bother me basically losing a year and having to restart a 5 year contract, especially if it ment I got to look hot as fuck and be a marine

Luckily I was only about 3 years older so I sent a request and after a little talking he agreed saying “I’d love to be in the navy and see more countries than just being deployed and stuck in 1”

Since we were in the same time zone this would actually be somewhat easy, we just set the time to swap to 3 A.M. when we’re both sleeping, and since we both actually had the next couple days off, it’d give us time to adapt and try to figure out our new lives

He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this, promising it’s not like how I think it is. And I told him yes I’m sure…

Unfortunately he was one of the few profiles on here that didn’t have a profile pic so I was a bit worried about walking into this blind, but checking out the basic stats on his profile made me a bit more confident, 5’10 and 140. At the very minimum I might lose like 2 inches of height but atleast I lose about 40 pounds of weight also haha

I woke up the next day in a bed that didn’t belong to me and a dorm room that didn’t look familiar to me. Needing to piss I flung the blanket off me and saw that I was in nothing but my underwear, I rushed to the head (bathroom in military talk) and lowered them to piss and was kinda shocked, nothing too special about the dick, I mean about the same size as my actual body, but maybe a bit longer, ok, more than a little, I had to be atleast 3 and a half inches soft now, bro probably had like atleast 2 inches on me hard, I don’t know yet, so I’ll assume im about 6.5 or 7 inches hard maybe more now. What had me shocked tho was that I’m now uncircumcised! This is awesome man! I always wanted to be uncut. I just woke up and I’m glad this guy wanted to swap, definitely lucked out.

After I got done pissing and shooked my dick, I went to the sink to drink some water straight from the facet, after I got done drinking I stood up water dripping down my face onto my chest and onto my thin 6pack… if you could even call these abs, I’m not sure, maybe inbetween toned and abs status. Finally taking the chance to look in the mirror, I believe I lucked out, this guy seems to be one of the finer looking ones

While admiring my new self in the mirror I started to get hard and decided to check out the goods, pulling my underwear down my initial assessment seemed to be right, definitely bigger than my original body, so definitely atleast 7 inches. I decided to save playing with myself for later, hate to be a cliche and immediately go to touching myself after a swap, I’ll save it for later when I decide to act like a true marine and go get day drunk!

I tried finding some clean clothes but everything that wasn’t a uniform item was kinda just thrown onto the floor so I don’t know which piles are clean and which are not… I decided to take from the pile that smelled the lest like B.O. and get dressed

Once dressed I grabbed a backpack I saw laying around and left the onbase housing and found a store that happened to sell some IPA’s in there. I got a 6 pack and headed back to my room. on the way to the store and on the way back I was getting looks from everyone like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, can’t be the alcohol can it? I mean no way, I tucked it into my bag. I mean, ya bro didn’t check the back of my CAT card to see my date of birth, so it’s technically underage drinking, but no one knows I have beer in my backpack nor does that explain the looks I was getting on the way to the store in the first place

I shrugged it off and just went back inside to my room. Once in I started drinking right away after I found some good shows to watch on this guys phone, I don’t know his password but the finger ID works, I’ll have to message him and ask him for the code later

It was taking me longer than usual to finish these due to not liking the taste anymore, and they were fucking me up more than usual making me a bit nauseous, I guess it makes since, this Matt guy has only been in for a week, probably didn’t have a taste for alcohol yet, not to mention different tastebuds in general, dam that sucks, this was one of my favorite brands too!

It took me almost 3 hours but I was finally on the last one, on a scale of like 1-10 I was probably a 6 on the drunk scale, trying not to throw up, which is ironic sense I use to black out and wake up never throwing up once throughout the night

When I get drunk I like to start cleaning or working out drunk, makes everything a bit more fun, I decided to do laundry, sense I can’t tell what’s clean and what’s not, I decided to just wash everything on the floor

Once I put everything in the washer I had a thought, technically I don’t know if the clothes I put on today were clean or not, and after spending some time in them today, technically they are dirty “fuck it” I said outloud and stripped completely naked tossing my clothes into the washer too before starting it

I went back and sat on the couch buck ass naked, it always felt weird walking around naked, so the fact that I’m doing it now in a slimmer body, balls swinging? Was kinda erotic, I started to get hard but the hornyness turned into fear when I herd a knock at the door

I remained still hoping they’d just go away, but then herd the sliding of the lock and the door open

“Aye Private FuckFace, I gotta talk to you. A sergeant and 2 corporals came in with him and closed the door behind them. For some reason I forgot that I was totally nude and thought it’d be a good idea to just start playin a movie again and pretend like I didn’t hear them

They walked around the corner into the living room to see me naked on the couch making them freeze and recalculate for a few seconds

I tried to not look up at them and continue watching my phone

“Well what do we have here” the sergeant said walking up to me

“Uh, uh, nothing much sergeant, just watchin a movie, you?”

“Me? What do I have? Let’s see, I’m given the task of coming to scald you for going out in public today and not shaving, what is this? Like my 3rd time telling you in the last week since you’ve been here that you have to shave EVERY DAY. And now I have YOU sitting on the couch, buck ass naked with beer cans on the table” he yelled knocking my partially full can over

“So that’s what we’re doing now? Underage drinking in base housing, not shaving. Sitting in the couch naked, legs open, not even trying to cover yourself, you know I told you if you kept fucking up I was gonna cum on your fucking face Private Cummings, I wasnt joking” he said unbuckling his belt

It didn’t register with me the first time, but it did the second, I’m so fucked up right now that I totally forgot that I was nude, fuck. Wait did he just say he was gonna fuck my face!?

I went to get up off the couch but he pushed me hard when I got half way up, sending me back on the couch.

“Now you know the rules to this, you can try to get out of this but I doubt you’ll be able too” he said nodding to the two corporals as he pulled his 5 inch hard dick out

I went to get up a second time but the corporals went behind the couch, each grabbing an arm and holding it back so I can’t go anywhere

“Suck” he said dick inches away from my mouth

“Fuck that” I screamed trying to spit on his dick as a sign of disrespect

Due to my slow reaction time the moment I tried to build up saliva and spit out on his dick, he just Jammed it in my mouth the second I opened it

I didn’t dare move, I’m not gonna fuck him up by hitting his dick but I’m not sucking it ether

I quit trying to fight to get up and just fell back into the couch more trying to get the dick to come back out my mouth

“Private FuckFace you are to suck my dick until I cum in your mouth, do you understand? That’s an order soldier” the sergeant said yelling at me

The moment he said “that’s an order” it’s like the combination of my boot camp instincts and this Cummings guy’s kicked in and I just quit resisting giving in and sucking his dick

Like a good soldier does, I gave it my all trying to do a good job and I suppose I did cause he yelled “I’m about to cum” I sped up a bit just so I can be done with this gay shit, the moment he started to blow his load in my mouth I quit sucking, but he wouldn’t pull out

I looked up to see my sergeant looking down on me, saying “you know the rules, now swallow, Private”

The moment I swallowed my sergeant nodded again and the corporals finally let go, they came back around the couch laughing

“Oh my god sergeant did he actually do it? Haha” one of them said laughing

“Yep, he swallowed it, which by Marine Social Code, means you, private fuck face, are officially my bitch now and have to do whatever I say whenever I say it” the sergeant said with a smile

“Bro what the fuck is wrong with y’all, fuck that I’m not nobodies bitch, you just mad a private has a bigger dick then you dude” I said standing up

“Private I told you, you know the rules, if anyone is able to take you by force and make you swallow their cum, your their bitch now, you could have gotten out of the hold we had you in, you just decided to say fuck your training, I feel like becoming a bitch all of a sudden right? Just accept it for what it is and do what I say like a good little bitch”

One of the corporals decided to tap the sergeant and ask him a question

“So uh, sense he’s your bitch now, do we get any sort of compensation for helping you? I mean he did put up a fight in the beginning and make us put some effort into holding him down, for someone that decided to become a bitch, he should have known he shouldn’t fight with his superiors” one of them said

The sergeant smiled and said “perhaps… Private go ahead and suck these two’s dicks aswell, take as much time as you’d like”

“No dude what the fuck is your problem I’m not doing that gay shit I’m a marine” I said angrily

“Private, you will suck these two men’s dick, that’s an order” the sergeant said

Once again it was like something in me was triggered and I proceeded to get down on my knees to make it easier for them to stick it in.

“ and you might be a marine but your a fresh marine, ment to be made into whatever the fuck we want you to be, if we want you to be the bottom bitch of the whole platoon, guess what your doing? Suckin dick just like we want you too” the sergeant said as I was giving one of the corporal the works

Both the corporals were bigger than the sergeant, so my only assuming is that the sergeant likes to get drunk with his power and assert it whenever he can, like now

After I got done blowing the first corporal, just like the sergeant did… he ordered me to swallow after cumming in my mouth. laughing, he pulled out and let the 2nd corporal take his turn

This time I didn’t need any instructions and just knew to swallow that way his dick come out my mouth faster, I hated every second of this, I thought the marine corps was the straight bad ass branch but I guess their even worse than the navy somehow

As I swallowed the 2nd corporal’s load I moved my eyes and glanced over at sergeant to see a pissed off expression

“What sergeant, I’m just doing what you told me to do” I said feeling the urge to please my superior officers

“I told you to suck their dicks, I didn’t necessarily say to let them cum in your mouth and swallow it, did i” he said rubbing his hands against the sides of the his temple

“Your point” i asked

“My point is now that you swallowed their cum, your all of our’s bitch now…. man you must really love this don’t you? It’s ok private, I knew from the beginning you must be a little gay from our first encounter, with that being said, we’ll round up the rest of the platoon and make sure you have plenty of cum to swallow and dicks to suck by the end of the week, I’m sure the rest of the guys will be ecstatic to find out they can get free blowjobs whenever they want and not have to go out into town to get it. Good work private” he said now smirking a little bit

“Ok I’ll leave the rest to you two” sergeant said and then walked out

Once the sergeant walked out the corporals both started dying laughing

“Hold up just stay right there private, ima make a call to the E-4 Mafia and get you some more dicks to suck tonight” one of them said pulling out their phone and started reading aloud the text he was sending to a group chat

“E-4 mafia, new platoon bitch is with me right now, drunk as fuck, giving out free blowjobs and swallowing, hit me up if you’d like to get in on this day one, goal is to get him to swallow every guy in the platoon by the end of the week” and send he said

Guys, come on now, this isn’t cool, y’all are gonna make me get a STD or something, you really want that? I said panicking

“Really only a problem for the ones after/if you get one private, but I think most would say it’d be a fair trade off in the hopes of having a platoon wide bitch, it’s gonna be a long 4 years for you dude haha” he said sitting down on the couch keeping an eye on me to make sure I don’t escape before his buddies show up

For some reason thinking about what just happened has me getting hard, the sergeant can go kill himself for all I care, but just like my new marine body, these corporals are starting to look kinda hot

The one that send out the group chat noticed I got hard and addressed me

“You find this hot Cummings” he said with a sly smile on his face

“I got something for you private, just go ahead and close your eyes and start stroking your dick dude, slowly”

I do so, and next thing I know I hear the corporal searching his bag behind me untill he found something, I herd a bag open and he asked me

“ do you like poppers private”

“I love them! What type of popper tho? Like jalapeño poppers?” I said starting to sound excited from the sound of food, drinking on a empty stomach wasn’t my brightest idea

As I’m still stroking my uncut cock I feel the corporal grab the back of my head and go

“ no these ones” he said as he forced my face into the bag inhaling chemicals

It suddenly felt like my dick was about to explode and so I let go immediately but it was too late

My dick started to twitch for a few seconds before I shot my load all over myself

“Noo!! What the fuck was that I yelled”

What I thought you said you liked poppers? I just figured I’d help you get off since you’ll be helping a lot of guys tonight he said with that same sly smile

My whole life has been turned upside down, I was hoping if I could make it pass the next few days the B.E.P. Would swap us back knowing I never cummed, not wanting the swap to be locked in

But now I’m stuck as this private Cummings guy for sure, since the corporal wanted to mess with me and make me cum myself, locking me in this body for years to come

#edit, I’ll try to make a patreon next week where y’all can see the pictures I really want to use for these stories 😏