oliverwondertf

[oliverwondertf]

The Last Time of Many

(Original story posted April 7th 2023) This story has been mildly Updated!

My boyfriend Simon and I had hired a man to come and re-paint some of the walls in our apartment. We’d considered doing it ourselves but it didn’t exactly go well the last time we tried a couple years back so we thought it best to get a professional in this time. He was very punctual, arriving perfectly on time and getting straight to work with no hassle. I could only assume he was trying his best to make a good impression seeing as he was part of a small new family business who did all sorts of home renovation work.

I watched closely from the doorway as he tapped up any edges that wouldn’t want painting over before pulling out his painting gear and cracking open a tin of white paint. I tried not to stare too much by wandering off elsewhere in the house but couldn’t help constantly coming back to peek around the corner at him as he worked. But I wasn’t focused on how good of a job he was doing. Of course not. How could I be when my eyes were glued to those biceps! Watching how they stretched the sleeves of his shirt. The same shirt that was tight enough to show off his modest pecs and undoubtedly hairy belly that were hiding underneath. Not to mention those tight blue shorts that left very little to the imagination. He was gorgeous. I was already picturing how incredible it would feel to have the heat of his beefy body pressed against my own. The mere thought caused me to shiver with delight.

It seemed my boyfriend was thinking the same thing. “Now that’s a great ass!” He blurted out while standing right beside me, inches away from the painter as he bent down in front of us. Yet the man we’d hired didn’t even flinch at the comment. Fortunately that was because nobody could hear or see Simon other than myself. It was a long story but a few years back he’d gotten himself turned into a ghost after messing with some weird magic ritual shit. At first we weren’t exactly sure what to do or how we’d continue being together. Especially if we couldn’t touch or even talk to one another in public without me looking clinically insane. Or at least that was until Simon discovered a *new ability* that his ghostly form had bestowed…

I gave Simon that look I’d given him so many times before. Immediately an almost sinister grin spread across Simon’s face as he watched me glance between him and the burly man a few times. We’d done this enough times for him to know exactly what I was signalling.

“Mmmmmm… you don’t need to tell me twice babe.” Simon muttered, licking his lips as he readied himself to use his ability.

The painter, who’s name was John, was blissfully unaware of what we were plotting. He simply continued gliding the paint roller back and forth across the wall as Simon crept up behind him. He even circled the man a couple sides like a predator scanning its prey. “Ohhh yeah. This’ll do nicely.” He stated as his gaze fixated momentarily on the bulge in the front of John’s shorts.

“Hey uhh…You know where that draft is coming fro-OOOOMMMMHHHAA…” John was swiftly cut off as Simon started pushing himself inside the gentle giant’s body from behind. That was always his favourite way to do it. I've seen it happen so many times now. Simon says it’s because entering from behind makes it feel like you’re slipping into a costume but in the best way imaginable. I only wished I knew the feeling but at least I got to reap some of the benefits afterwards…

“WHAATT THE F-FUUUCCKKK!…” John managed to roar, his voice shaky as Simon began his takeover. Slowly pressing his smaller invisible body inside John’s much larger frame. Gradually filling out John’s limbs with his own spirit and taking control of them one by one. Those thick legs were first on the list so Simon could stop John from falling or stumbling around in all the panic. Next were those strong arms as they suddenly stopped flailing around, instead stretching out to the sides for a moment as if Simon were putting them on like a jacket. After that was Simon’s favourite part. He thrust his ghostly hips and with one mighty slam he found his ghost cock filling out John’s fat fleshy one and causing an instant hard-on to tent the front of John’s shorts. The sound that escaped John’s mouth as his cock was taken over sounded both primal and mourning at the same time as he lost control of his manhood. Once that was done however, Simin felt himself settling comfortably into his new ass and torso before finally pushing his head inside. Silence fell as John’s groans seized at last as Simon took the driver's seat…

“How does he feel?” I asked as I watched the man before me stretch his neck a little before looking down at himself with a lustful smirk. Without even saying a word he yanked off John’s shirt and tossed it at me. I would’ve stopped to give it a sniff if I wasn’t so focused on the show in front of me. A show I’d seen many times before with many different men. Simon pinching, groping and smelling his newly acquired form. Feeling it out and getting used to all its shape and all the unique sensations it came with.

“Fucking amazing!” He finally replied. “So tall and thick. Nice and hairy. Great beard. Not to mention a fat cock by the feel of it.” He reached down and gripped the obscene bulge, shaking it a little to tease me. And by god did it work as I felt my dick throb at the sight. “Annnnd just before I forget…” He snatched up John's phone before marching over to the mirror and taking a hot picture of his new stolen body.

“Now sending that to you. Don’t forget to add it to the folder of dudes I’ve possessed.”

“Will do… but first how about you get over here and prove to me just how fat that cock is, big guy.” I winked and I certainly didn’t need to tell him twice. Simon sauntered towards me with heavy footsteps as he adjusted to his new weight. However it didn’t take long for him to grab ahold of me and press me against the wall before smashing our lips together. The aroma of John’s pine scented deodorant mixed with a faint manly musk perforated my nostrils while he pressed his bulge against my own. Fuck… it was making knees weak. I loved it when he got so dominant like this. Though it wasn’t surprising considering how he towered over me in this body.

When the two of us finally parted, our eyes made contact once again. Even though they were John's eyes I could still tell that it was my boyfriend behind them, staring back at me lovingly. “So. How long do you think we should keep this hunk?” Simon asked while taking a hold of my hands and guiding them across his new body. “A day? A week?…” He moved my hands over his furry belly, knowing just how much the weight of it would turn me on. “Or Forever?…” He added. Needless to say I was surprised to hear that last part.

“Forever? Do you really think that would be possible?” I asked, not quite sure what to make of such a hypothetical.

“Why not? I’ve never had any trouble keeping control of a body before. Plus I always wished I could’ve been a bigger dude like John here when I was alive.” Simon explained while sliding my hands up towards his hairy chest where he encouraged me to knead his soft fuzzy pecs a little. “Think about it. Wouldn’t it be nice for us to just live normally again rather than me jumping from man to man. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love possessing dudes but I also love just being alive with you and actually seen by everyone.”

I didn’t really know what to say. On one hand it seemed like a pretty big decision. To just hijack a whole new life permanently. But then again the thought of Simon living out the rest of his days with me as this big lovable bearish hunk was certainly appealing to say the least.

“Hey, we don't have to decide now. I know there’s a lot of complicated shit we’d have to deal with like this dude's wife and family. So for now let’s just have some fun and talk more about it later, yeah?” He smiled before kissing me again, softer this time. Sure it seemed crazy but the more I thought about it, the more I think all that hassle would be worth dealing with if it meant waking up to that adorable bearded mug every morning.

“But maybe as a test run you could try calling me John instead of Simon as we fuck.” He chuckled before pulling me along towards the stairs. As I followed behind him I couldn’t help but stare at that amazing new bubbly ass he’d inherited. Practically jiggling with every step he took. God I hoped he was gonna let me mount that…

[oliverwondertf]

Dylan Harper had never been a man of presence.

He was the kind of guy people’s eyes skimmed over in a crowd — slight frame, short haircut, the kind of posture that folded in on itself like a question mark. He spent most of his days behind a desk in a mid-tier consulting firm, organizing data, avoiding conversations, eating his turkey sandwich in the break room while pretending to read.

But today… something was wrong.

He was in the back of a rideshare, heading home just like any other evening, when it began. At first, it was subtle: a tingling in his arms, like his skin had been lightly sunburned. He rolled up the sleeves of his cardigan and frowned. The hairs on his forearms were standing on end — but there were more of them than usual. Thicker. Darker. Spreading.

"What the hell...?" he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Then came the heat.

It surged through his chest and neck like a fever, swelling his muscles, tightening his skin. He gasped and unbuttoned his shirt collar, only to find a growing patch of coarse, black hair erupting over his pecs. His narrow chest — once soft and unimposing — was pushing outward, thickening with firm muscle, draped in a forest of fur.

His hands were trembling.

Dylan pulled out his phone, panic bubbling in his throat. He hit the front camera. What he saw didn’t match who he was. His jaw was squarer. His cheekbones more pronounced. His eyebrows looked thicker, more defined. Worst of all — or maybe best, depending on your perspective — a thick beard was creeping over his cheeks like ivy in fast-forward.

“No, no, no, no…”

He hit Record. His voice shook.

“Okay—uh—my name is Dylan Harper,” he said, almost pleading. “I work in accounting. I don’t know what’s happening right now. I was just riding home from work and—something’s happening to me. My body’s—it’s changing. I feel like I’m burning up, and I’ve got hair growing all over my chest and face, and my voice is—”

He coughed, and it came out as a growl.

“Jesus—my voice is changing too. Please—someone has to help. This isn’t right. This isn’t me.”

He moved the phone to show his chest. His once-flat torso had swelled into something broad, masculine, dusted with an ever-thickening pelt. His collarbone was hidden beneath it. His nipples were larger, darker, firm with muscle behind them. He gasped as a burst of heat filled his arms — his biceps were swelling, tearing the sleeves of his cardigan.

Dylan looked horrified.

His fingers shook as he tried to upload the video.

Upload failed.

His phone buzzed. The Photos app opened.

“Wh—what the hell? No, no—”

The screen lit up, and the video started to play. But it wasn’t the one he recorded.

On-screen was the same face… but not the same man. He was shirtless now, glistening slightly with sweat, beard thick and perfectly shaped. The chest hair that once terrified Dylan now framed him like a badge of pride. He leaned into the camera with a cocky smirk and a slow rumble in his voice.

“Hey there, stud,” he said, fingers brushing through his beard. “Name’s Dirk McLean. Big, bad, bearded, and damn proud of it.”

Dylan froze.

On the video, Dirk rolled his shoulders, his pecs flexing visibly beneath a mat of dark fur. His eyes burned with confidence, voice honeyed with flirtation.

“Just got back from the gym, thought I’d show you boys what a real man looks like. You like chest hair? I got a damn forest. Wanna touch? Bet you do. I know you’re watchin’ this with one hand already.”

“No! That’s not me! That’s not—I didn’t say any of that!” Dylan shouted at the phone, his hands trembling.

But something in him… shifted.

A numbness rolled over his thoughts like fog. The fear drained away. His mouth parted. His eyes lost focus. And then…

He found himself holding the phone again, like before. But this time, he wasn’t watching the video. He was recording it.

And he was saying it all—word for word.

“Hey there, stud,” he purred into the lens. “Name’s Dirk McLean. Big, bad, bearded, and damn proud of it.”

He grinned wide, deep voice laced with flirtation as he rubbed his fingers through his dense beard, slowly sliding down to rake across his hairy chest. He let out a satisfied growl.

“Just got back from the gym, thought I’d show you boys what a real man looks like. You like chest hair? I got a damn forest. Wanna touch? Bet you do. I know you’re watchin’ this with one hand already.”

He winked.

Dirk stopped the recording, smiling lazily. His thumb hovered over the send button — not to family, not to coworkers. Not even to anyone he’d known before.

He opened Grindr.

There was a guy nearby, profile name “MuscleChaser69.” Dirk didn’t hesitate.

Sent.

As he leaned back into the leather seat, stretching his now-massive arms behind his head, he felt no trace of Dylan Harper in his mind. The meek office drone, the nervous wreck in a cardigan — gone. His memories were foggy, faded like a bad dream. All he knew now was Dirk McLean: bold, flirty, hairy, hot as hell.

He scratched his beard, admiring himself in the reflection of the window. That smirk never left his face.

And when his phone buzzed with a “🔥” and a message saying “Damn, stud. U free tonight?” he just chuckled.

“Damn right I am.” he sent.

[oliverwondertf]

Alien Next Door

The late afternoon sun slanted across my front porch in warm, honeyed rays when I answered the door and found Mr. Lenny - my next-door neighbor and rival dad - standing there utterly naked. His skin gleamed pink in the light, every contour of his body laid bare. He wore the same sheepish, almost-boyish grin he always did when trying to best my father, only now his bravado was entirely unclothed. My gaze flicked down to the undeniable evidence to his arousal, then back up to his face, which quivered with a strange mixture of embarrassment and want.

"I don't know what to do with this," he confessed, his voice low and rough as he wrapped a trembling hand around his stiff cock. A little electric shock of pleasure arced through him, making his spine arch and a soft groan float into the quiet are between our houses.

"Jesus Christ. Come inside." I seized his forearm, surprised by how warm and soft his skin felt beneath my fingers. He shivered as I led him past the threshold. I parted the curtain for a quick glance down the block: no neighbors peering from windows, no one gossiping in their yards. At least for a moment, we were alone.

Mr. Lenny and my father has always been locked in this toxic, testosterone-fueled contest. If Dad tinkered under his car's hood, Lenny would install a better engine. Dad planted begonias, and Lenny answered with exotic orchids in bloom. They'd paint their houses bold new colors, then swap insults across the fence as though they were school kids. The final straw had come when Lenny - drunk on pride - called me a fag in front of the entire block.

"Don't you dare say that about my son," Dad had roared from the back yard.

"Whatever, Frank," Lenny sneered over his shoulder.

"My boy's proud of who he is," Dad's fury was so thick I could taste it, "at least my son loves me," he muttered under his breath, then called Lenny a "piece of shit." I pressed my cheek to the curtain, praying he hand's noticed me eavesdropping.

How had it come to this? It started only hours before, when I'd come home from college to visit. I was crossing Lenny's freshly cultivated lawn - still wet from an early morning watering - when a tiny, saucer-shaped ship had materialized overhead and scorched the blossoms into smoking husks. I'd stared in horror as the crafted skidded to a stop in the grass. Lenny charged outside, red-faced and roaring invectives at me: "You worthless faggot!"

I'd bent down to inspect the little alien pod when it began to hum and tremble in my hand. Lenny kept shouting until a thick, pearlescent ooze burst free, lurching towards him like a wild animal. Before I could blink, the slime was clinging to his mouth, snaking between his lips.

"Do not worry, human," a calm, disembodied voice issued from the fluid. "I will take care of him. In return, I ask only for your secrecy."

I nodded. Lenny's struggled grew more frantic as the goo worked its way inward, filling his cheeks and throat. I watched, breathless, as the slime coursed up his neck in rippling waves. His limbs twitched, then buckled. He fell to all fours, head vibrating, making guttural moans that shivered through the front yard. A filament of pinkish slime rolled over his eyes, and then he collapsed.

Moments later, Lenny began to twitch and tremble, his body convulsing as if charged with an electric current. His limbs jerked unpredictably and his eyes fluttered, until, with a sudden jolt, he found himself standing upright on the lawn. The transformation was palpable; his posture was straighter, his gaze steadier, and an unmistakable aura of newfound confidence radiated from him.

"Greetings, human," he said, voice gentle and measured. He flexed long fingers, testing his new anatomy. "I apologize for the dramatic entrance. I am stranded - crash landed, you might say - and require temporary habitation within this vessel."

I stared, still felling the echoes of panic and awe. "So you're inside him now?"

"In him," it confirmed, nodding. Its eyes flicked down, and a curious, amused smile spread across its lips. "This human meant you harm. Perhaps we can improve his personality in the process."

A thrill of wicked excitement sparked inside me. "Honestly, It's be kind of hot if you just stayed in him. An alien inhabiting my sexy neighbor sounds...wild." I shrugged, heart racing.

The creature cocked its head as if contemplating my suggestion. Then it grinned, a slow, knowing curve of the lips - and, with a faint hum, a fresh wave of energy ripple through Lenny's body.

That was when I first met this creature - now It followed me as I led it cautiously toward my bedroom, every step echoing on the hallway wood floors.

Once inside the dimly lit room, the alien sighed and glanced downward. Its cheeks flushed a soft rose when it started understanding what this might mean.

"I can't seem to make it go down," it murmured, voice hushed and oddly vulnerable, as the full weight of its throbbing cock bounced in front of me.

"Even when I shake it, a small wave of satisfaction washes over me, but it never quite reaches the shore of fulfillment. I'm at a loss for what to do next." He began to sway his hips, sending them into a rhythmic motion, swinging back and forth with a loose, easy grace.

"See?" He paused, euphoric grin spreading across his face, as he looked up at me with eyes blazing.

"Look. I can help you with it. Don't worry," I murmured, moving closer with purpose. My fingers wrapped around his length, and he shivered violently, my touch igniting a storm of electric pulses through his body. He clutched my wrist with an intensity that matched his deep, guttural moan.

His confession came as a husky whisper, "I've never felt this way before." His eyes locked onto mine, a primal, insatiable lust burning in their depths, begging for more. Seeing my neighbor like this, Mr. Lenny bare and unabashed, his rugged body at my mercy, sent a wave of heat coursing through me. I pressed him against the wall, his breath hitching from the contact. He pulled me closer, his body molding to mine, his hands mirroring my movements as if dancing to an unheard thirty. His touch was electric, his hand slipping into my pants, fingers wrapping around my aching length. My eyes fluttered closed, a gasp escaping my lips at the jolt of pleasure.

"Fuck, yes," I moaned, my hands exploring the expanse of his chest, tracing the lines of his body. I turned him, his palms flat against the wall, my body pressing against his, my cock nestled against his ass.

"This is new," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. "What are you doing with that erection?" I slapped his hand, a sharp sound that echoed through the room. He jumped, not from fright, but from excitement. "I wish you to do more," he rasped, his body arching back towards me. I could see his muscles tense as my fingers traced the curve of his ass. I grabbed his waist, my cock pressing against his entrance, pushing inside him. The pressure was intense, his body yielding to mine until suddenly, I was enveloped in his heat. He moaned, his body trembling, his cock jumping at the invasion. I reached around him, my hand wrapping around his length, stroking him in time with my thrusts.

"Wow, this human interaction is incredible," he groaned, his body writhing under my touch. I could feel his body pulsing around my cock, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Can you..." I hesitated, my voice trembling with pleasure and uncertainty. "Can you act like him?" I asked, my body shaking with need.

He grunted, a low sound that sent vibrations through his body and down to my cock. You mean treat you like he did before?" he growled.

"Yeah, but like, still beg me to fuck you. I don't know. I'm kind of - " I was interrupted by his wicked grin.

"Fuck me like you mean it, faggot," he rasped, his body tightening around my cock. "You just gonna let me get away with all the shit I've done?" His words sent a way of heat coursing through me, my fingers tightening around his waist and cock, my body aching with need.

He tapped into ap rival region of his brain where Mr. Lenny still lurked. The memories and attitude crashed onto his face like a convincing costume. I started jackhammering so fiercely that I didn't notice his cock was dripping, each thrust flicking pre-cum on the wall like a filthy paintbrush.

"That's it.," he growled, voice thick with lust. "Show me you're a real man. Fuck that ass like you own it." He was grunting like a wild beast, and I couldn't tear myself away. I gripped him so tightly, my fingers dug into his flesh like claws, desperate to leave bruises.

Just as my balls tightened, ready to explode, he flipped the script. He shoved me off, my cock popping out of his ass with a wet sucking sound, making him groan like a starving beast. He pushed me back onto the bed, climbing on top, my cock sliding back into his hungry hole, guided by his firm hand. Spreading his cheeks, he engulfed my cock again, and then he was riding me like a man possessed - which he was. He pinned my arms above my head, his breath hot on my ear.

"You're gonna fill this fucking ass," he snarled, his hole tightened around me, making me gasp. Every struggle against his grip only mane his fingers dig deeper into my skin. I was lost in the sensation of his ass grinding against my hips, my cock a mere plaything for his pleasure. His face was a landscape of raw, carnal need, eyes burning into mine. The thought of the alien beneath, puppeteering this man's body, drove me to the edge. His lips crushed mine, and as our tongue battled, I felt my cock erupt, pumping hot cum deep into his ass. Each wave of pleasure was met with his body squeezing me, milking for all I was worth.

"You really know how to use that body," I moaned, as he arched his back, playing with my cock buried deep inside him. He started to rise off me, but my cock was still throbbing, leaking desperately as I watched him. I stopped him abruptly, grabbing his cock while I remained pulsing within him. I tugged and stroked it vigorously as he lifted his arms, inhaling the raw, primal scent of his own body after he'd ridden me so hard. He ground feverishly against my grip, my cock sliding relentlessly in and out of him. My fingers tightened with each wave of pleasure that surged through me, and I watched Mr. Lenny's face twist with the unmistakable signs of impending orgasm. Suddenly, he collapsed onto me, my fingers locked around his cock as his load erupted violently onto my chest and stomach, accompanied by a primal scream.

He lay atop me, panting heavily, both of us marveling at the chaotic mess we'd created. When he finally peeled himself off and collapsed onto my old bed, I heard a distant door creak open. Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door burst open, and there stood my dad, eyes wide with horror at the sight of our naked neighbor speared out beside me, my own load dripping from his exposed ass.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered under my breath, trying to maintain my composure. "It's not what you think."

"What the hell?" My dad's face flushed an angry shade of crimson, his eyes narrowing with disbelief.

"I hesitated, a twisted sense of humor almost coaxing a chuckle out of me. The truth was absurd: that there was an alien inside our neighbor and that he wouldn't be a problem anymore. I knew that explanation would sound far-fetched, so I chose to keep that secret locked away.

"All that time you called my son a fag, and you were - what? In the closet?" His voice was thick with accusation.

"Dad, can we at least put some clothes on before you start yelling?" I pleased, felling the awkwardness prickling my skin as I glanced at the two of them. The room was a mess of tangles sheets and scattered clothing, and I had already hastily grabbed a blanket to shield my exposed body. With a frustrated huff, he turned and stormed out of the room, allowing us a moment to privacy to get dressed.

"Well, the was unexpected," the alien remarks, standing up and stretching with a series of fluid, graceful movement that emphasized the sinewy lines of his form.

"I need to think of a way to explain this, but you are going to go back home." I tossed his clothes at him. As he began the process of getting dressed, I playfully pinched his firm backside. "But I loved this," I continued with a mischievous glint in my eyes, slipping into my own clothes. "We should definitely do this some more."

"The next time I experience and erection, I will ensure to seek your assistance," he replied, pulling his shirt over his head, the fabric hugging his sexy dad bod.

"Make sure you knock on my door clothes next time," I chuckled, fastening the last button and drawing him close with a teasing grin. "I like the idea of taking all of this off," I said, giving his shirt a playful tug. He seemed to catch the undercurrent of my excitement, his eyes sparking with renewed enthusiasm.

"I'm an adult now, in college, I can do what I want," I asserted, grabbing a bottle of water, though my dad glared at me from across the counter.

"How could you let him into this house? We had a rule that that piece of shit never set foot in here." His finger jabbed the air with anger.

"Is that what you're upset about? Him being in the house? Not the fact that we were upstairs together?" I challenged, my voice wavering between defiance and uncertainty.

"Well, yes, that too, but you could have had sex at his place. I don't care who you sleep with. I have my opinions about him, but if he makes you happy, then I'm happy." His words seemed genuine, yet his face betrayed a flicker of disgust that Mr. Lenny was the one I chose to sleep with.

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry I brought him inside. Next time I won't do that." I took a drink of water, nodding, unsure if I was relieved or guilty.

"Good, now help me make dinner," my dad said, his voice softer as he turned towards the refrigerator. Although his anger appeared to have subsided, the tension still hung thickly in the air like an invisible fog. I walked over to assist him, a quiet laugh escaping my lips as I marveled at the fact that I had managed to keep the secret the alien goo had entrusted to me.

Besides, I was eager to keep the goo inside Mr. Lenny, using him as my possessed sex puppet. To keep him inside that sexy daddy I would never tell a soul about the alien next door.

[oliverwondertf]

Spinoff: Fiancè Needs His Groomsmen Pt. 1

A collaboration with @vindictivenerdcels that reached out to me through his other account, inspired by @thesuitaskin Untouchable Fiance series

Austin observed Nick from the distance like a hawk eyeing its prey. Every move of Nick's muscle, the dangling cross pendant, the way he grunted with each reps, the strength that body capable to produce, everything filtered through the lens and perspective of his now-wonderfully informed brain when it comes to all things workout and building physique. That is one delicious body to be taken over, he thought to himself as he stopped watching his supposed-best friend like a creep from a hidden point of view in the gym and walked to approach him.

"Hey there bro, you seemed to be in the zone already,"

"Oh hey there dude, you just arrived?Fashionably late today, don't you? The future Mrs. Hill kept you preoccupied?"

"Nah, it was future Mrs. Hill very own bestfriend that kept me longer in bed, it took quite some times to make the beast softened after all," Austin said with a smirk and a gentle grab of his crotch, which caused Nick to deviously grin and playfully punched Austin's arm

"You slick bastard. You know you can ruin that strong girlhood bond if you fuck all of her bestfriend's behind her back," Nick replied with a hint of sarcasm to Iris friend circles

"Well, what do you suggest I do to satiate their sex drive? Introducing my jacked douchebag of a best friend to them as my replacement?"

"Obviously, meathead! That's a start I know you haven't even think about until now. I mean, come on man, as I said it so many times, you gotta stop playing around and start sharing the ladies that hit on you to me or Adam. We have no issues pulling chicks but I'm not gonna say no if you pass me some hot chicks my way. And you, you can focus all your love and attention to Iris and her family,"

"HAHAHAH fuck you, dude! Stop teasing me to talk about that dweeb and his best friend. They disgust me, fuck, you just made me shivered with the thought of those two dweebs probably fucking each other while thinking about me,"

"Yeah dude, that story you shared about them scrolling through your IG sounded like a total nightmare. Fucking pervs,"

"Well, enough yapping. I'm about to hit chest today, so, see you around?"

"You don't need me to spot you? My schedule's free till the evening actually,"

"Nah, just lightweight workout for the day. Iris wanted to check out some vendor later today so I don't want to be pushing too hard,"

"Okay then. Oh yeah, totally forgot. I can do the fitting this Saturday, so you don't need to split my session's and Adam's, my brother postponed his visit,"

"Sweet, will tell Mr. Wendell about it so he can prepare his team for us. See ya later then, dude,"

Yup, all goes very sweetly according to his plan. Hopefully Benji will enjoy his time inside that incredibly jacked form of Nick's older brother, Mike. As for the fitting session.....that's the grand trap that will capture the two oblivious hunk unaware that they are literally like a pair of fish that swims into the net. As he started his set, his mind raced to the possible scene of seeing those jacked bodies of Nick and Adam seized by his best friends instead and how they will fool and toy around with Eli, a hardening meat started to beg to be released from the confine of the cotton briefs as it creates a rather prominent bulge in his pants, which Austin just stared with a smirk as he admired his overall form

---

Behind Eli's back, Owen actually used Austin's more flexible time to develop yet another set of pills. If the previous pills helped to jailbreak other people memory by integrating one's form to the neural system of the one taken over, he took it one step further this time. As far as he knows, he's the only one with the power to possess another people. He saw telekinetic, animal mind control, super strength or pyrokinetic folks in the past when his now-dead parents brought him to the "Gifted Meetings", or so they described it, but no one owned the kind of his power per his recollection.

The soul is a very sacred spaces and maybe his desire to have a loving parents caused him to develop such power in the first place, after all his mother was blessed in manifestation and foresight as her power so maybe this possession skill of his is the same kind of power as her manifestation but more directed towards something and definitely more potent due to its focus. The desire to live like others with complete set of family and sheltered from the cruelty of the world led him to have this ability and now, he finally materialized its full potential by staying inside Austin Hill for the past few months, much longer than his previous possession of Mr. Evans, the history teacher back in his highschool or Jamal Brooks, his college wide receiver, that only lasted around a week or two.

For him, the key has been the pills that he still took once per week, but he found the idea of making others experienced the same sensation as him to possess others to be thrilling so he used the profit Austin gained from crypto and stock to fund his exploration to create the possession pills. It sounds to be quite an extraordinary — even impossible — feat to achieve but as if proving his mother's powers, he indeed managed to create the pills as his dreams and just mere flashes of thoughts shown him to whom he should talk to, what ingredients to pick and what kind of steps he should take. The pills finished earlier this month and he's been making calls to some surprised friends that received a very odd phone call from the one and only Austin Hill. The surprise turned into intrigue as he explained his detailed plan to the flabbergasted friends, but of course they agreed to join forces and help Owen/Austin with that kind of reward on the line

Benjamin has been the first to demonstrate the efficacy of the pills. As he posed as a UPS delivery person, he downed the new pill right as he knocked on Mike Moretti's front door.

Not wasting his time, Benji lunged right away at Mike's body as soon as he opened his door and instead of stumbling and falling together to the ground, as planned, Benjamin indeed slipped into Mike's body with ease, the body was so shocked it failed to react appropriately to the invader. Benji, as Mike, quickly ripped open the package he previously brought filled with the memory pills. He grabbed one pill out from the tube and downed it dry in one go, Mike's supplement usage eased him to down the big pill with no help of water whatsoevers.

The metallic bitterness hit instantly, and within seconds, a slow surge ignited behind his eyes. His breath caught. His knees bent slightly—not from weakness, but from the sheer force of the incoming neural flood. Images, names, memories came in waves. Friends. Codes. Muscle memory. How Mike lifted. How he fucked his wife so incredibly to the point of them having their 5th child and would be 6th if she didn't stop him . How he thought. How he ran his business, everything became accessible for Benji as he quickly made the phone call to Austin to confirm the success of the possession

"Well, call your brother then and deliver the news that Angelo is too sick or whatever, make it convincing as fuck and ensure him that he can stay in town and you will come visit the other time, no need to visit you, okay?"

"This is the last time I'm calling you. I don't take orders from anyone, I'm Mike fucking Moretti," he said with a teasing growl

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy that thick Italian sausage, you dweeb. Just do your job and I will not mess up with you,"

---

"Where are you going this early? It's Saturday, I'm making breakfast,"

"Not your business, fag, and I'm not eating your soyboy cooking anyway,"

"Hey, that's not nice, and I know where you are going anyway,"

"And so, why do you ask then? I'm not obliged to let you know my errand or who am I going to meet,"

Eli stammered. That sounds like Austin, yes, but there's also this bubbling Owen that seemed to rose to the surface, is Owen frustrated with him? Eli thought

"I--- I just---"

"Anyway, just do the fucking laundry and prepare for Iris to come later. I know you will probably sink your nose to my gym gear before tossing it to the washing machine, just don't let me see you doing that shit when I come back and do wash it clean, will ya? My Alphalete gear smelled ripe because you probably didn't wash it right, thank fuck I'm the face of the brand so I can just request a new set, but I want what I have now to be clean, you hear me?

"O---okay, Austin,"

As Austin entered his car, he called Peter and Ron to prepare themselves as he is on his way to the tailor. Then, as he starts to drive, Adam calls him

"Hey there dude, sorry for such last minute call. I somehow cannot start my car and I'm actually in my family's cabin by the lake, no sane Uber will pick me up over here. Can I postpone my session to next week?"

"I can pick you up," Austin said as he gritted his teeth, slightly pissed off with the situation as his mind already wandered to all the adjustment he needed to do

"Wait--- what? Are you sure? Man, so sorry for the hassle, okay? I promise I will make it up to you, if Mr. Wendell charged you extra, let me pay for it,"

"No worries, I'll handle him. I'll be in your place in around 45 minutes,"

As he takes a sudden U-turn, he sends a voice note to Ron

"I'm picking you up in 10 mins, we're going for a quick road trip,"

---

"Dude, that's hella quick, I thought I would have some times to cram in some work before you pick me up. And oh, who's that tailing you?"

"See, told you he forgets you," he said to the dejected Ron that stands behind him as he just swallowed the pill, "Well, he's been called Ron all his life. But he's about to be called Adam soon,"

"Oh.....okay, he has the same name as me?"

"Even better. Now Ron!"

Frozen in his seat as he's left puzzled on what Austin said and the sight of the pale fat fuck that sprinted to his direction, Adam blinked a bit too late as he witnessed the way Ron's obese body seemingly sinking into him. He's left speechless, his mouth opens but he cannot say a thing as the invading force caused him to be practically paralyzed from head to toe. He let out a painful groan as more and more of Ron submerged into him and seemingly aligned his form inside of his much leaner physique. His eyes darted to the smirking Austin that approached him with what seems to be a tube of supplement. Austin takes one out and it glows like a shiny metal. As Ron seemingly take more and more spaces inside of him and started to reach control over his vocal chord, Adam's eyes went wide as he listened to himself chuckling bitterly

"After all the session I taught you back then, fuck you for forgetting me! I'm taking my payment now you meathead!"

He tried to reply to the statement that escaped his mouth, trying to plead sorry as he remembered Ron now as the Math prodigy that helped him survived the mandatory Math classes he should take back then by being his tutor for free, but it's a bit too late as Ron already controlled his nostril too and caused Adam's psyche to panic as he momentarily suffocated in the uncertainty. Soon after, he lost his sight and eventually grip of his own physical form, cornered to his brain that he valiantly tried to protect from the invading force. He witnessed in his subconscience how Ron tried to fit himself to the controlling seat of his body but Ron's massive form failed him to be in the controlling seat as it's already molded to fit the real Adam and the real Adam only. But that's when Adam heard

"Chuck me the pills, I'm fucking ready!"

Adam watched in confusion then as he heard the gulping sound and then a loud, whirring noise and a bright blast hit him very hard. He let out a crackling scream that falls on deaf ear as he's no longer the conscious and soon not even a subsconcious part of his own physique. The noise and the blast also revealed a rather surprising transformation as he witnessed Ron's psyche already shifted to resemble him through and through, no longer fat and totally resembling Adam even to every single detail of his five o'clock shadow.

With a smirk as he stared back at the surprised Adam, his impostor seated himself in the controlling seat of his brain, all connected to the whole nervous system and memory bank that belong to Adam. In the outside world, Austin witnessed live for the first time how his pills take effect in real time and he's more than pleased seeing how seemingly effective the whole thing is. It's not even 5 minutes since the initial takeover, and Adam is already a changed man inside

"Ohh Austin......he really is a goody two shoes per your explanation. So positive, a very prominent advocate for wellness and mental health, a very nice sweet guy. He's a changed man from his college days, but too bad he's a dick to me and to be honest, we can let that rotten former college jock personality out a bit more, don't you think? I'm not building my muscle all this year for nothing,"

"As tempting as it sounds, you better stay in character. We cannot let people suspect a thing for now. Plus, it's too early and you still need to retain control, I'm afraid acting out of the ordinary will make the brain detected something off. It's pills after all, not the same as my power,"

"Uggghhh fine........"

---

When they finally arrived back in town, they go straight to the tailor. Hopefully Peter stick to the plan and keep himself hidden from anyone's sight, Austin muttered under his breaty. It's going to be pretty reckless of him to tackle Nick all by himself in such a public setting. Even worse, Pete might be beaten to a pulp by Nick and that's not a sight he wished to see. As they walked in to the shop, Mr. Wendell welcomed them

"Your friend is waiting inside already, I already measured him and he's probably changing his clothes or tried out some things with my assistant Jason,"

Austin and Adam entered the room that Mr. Wendell pointed at and found quite a sight to behold. Nick just finished putting on his white tee but his cock dangled out freely with the blonde, dainty guy presumably to be Jason kneeled right next to it with his face splattered by cum

"Oh, there you two, I'm fucking bored waiting so I called him in and just make him use his hour. You paid him by the hour, right?"

"Nick---"

"Yeah?"

"What the fuck is this? Are you trying to get me blacklisted?"

"Oh calm down will ya. Jason here won't say a word to Mr. Wendell, right? You are not going to make your uncle have a heart attack and also break your parents heart because of your slutty mouth, correct?"

"Y---yes, sir,"

"See, told you. After all, I will not fuck that mouth of his if you're not late, Austin. Now, cum rag, clean up and call your friend to come here, it's fitting time for them," Nick said coldly as he put on the casual dress shirt given by Mr. Wendell for sizing and material options

"Y--yes sir, on it,"

As Jason walks out from the room, Austin quirked his eyebrow

"Pete? Are you there?"

"Who's Pete?"

"Drop it, Pete. It will take quite a tremendous coercion to even make Nick let a fag gets close to his cock, let alone him blowing his load for anything but a chick,"

"Well, guess I do need that mind merge pills after all. Do you bring it with you?"

"How the heck you made it?"

"Him? Oh he's easy as fuck. He was busy listening to this shitty men's right podcast with his earbuds as he exited his car. I just jumped right in from behind, no witness, no camera, no resistance, just a smooth takeover,"

"Oh......that's nice. Wait......did you hear that? Someone's groaning from outside, should we check?"

As the three men walk out from the private fitting room, they are surprised with the sight in front of their eyes as the store blind closed in full so no one from the outside can see the debauchery that happened inside. Mr. Wendell, in all his bonafide DILF glory with his suit tattered on the floor, is getting serviced by his three assistants, Jason, Franco and Dominic. As Mr. Wendell opened his eyes, he makes eye contact with Austin & co. and let out a chuckle while Nick grinned from ear to ear

"What did you do, Nick?" asked Austin rather sternly

"Oh well......about that----"

-------

Part 2 and (maybe) 3 will be released by @vindictivenerdcels

[oliverwondertf]

The Ghost Hunter's Guilty Pleasure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[oliverwondertf]

Stealing Brock's Reflection, Part 1

(Inspired by @verus-veritas and his Stolen Reflection story. Loved the swap method of a mirror storing reflections. Turned out longer than I expected so gonna break it up into parts. Loosely a prequel to that story, so Mr. Kessler's body will end up back in that mirror eventually! Got some plans for that 😈)

Ethan Shepherd sat next to his best friend, Tyler Rourke, playing video games. While it was fun, there was an air of melancholy about the pair of 18 year old boys. The two had both lived in this same apartment complex for years, and been as close as brothers, going to high school together. Sadly that was coming to an end as Tyler's family was moving away soon. Packed-up boxes surrounded them as a constant reminder of the soon-approaching move date.

"Man, I'm gonna miss you," Tyler said as they finished the round they were on.

"Yeah, I'm gonna miss you too. It's gonna be so lonely here. Dad's pretty much never home and I don't really have anyone to hang with," commiserated Ethan.

The moment was interrupted by a loud "Hey dork! Where's my old weight bench?" from down the hall.

"Bet you won't miss him," Tyler teased Ethan whole rolling his eyes before shouting back, "Probably still in the storage unit!"

The source of the voice was Brock, Tyler's older brother and total jock. He considered Ethan and Tyler to both be total dweebs, and Tyler found Brock to be an insufferable sweaty, smelly jock. Ethan, contrary to what Tyler had said, harbored a major crush on Brock, one he kept hidden as he knew nothing could come of it.

"Ugh, I hate going down there," Brock complained. He passed by Tyler's room, dressed in a tanktop and gym shorts, sweaty and unchanged after his earlier workout.

"You still stink, Brock!" Tyler called out after him, only to get flipped off by Brock as he exited the apartment to make his way to the basement storage units of the complex.

Ethan was grateful Tyler hadn't noticed the deep breath he had taken as Brock passed by and he got a whiff of that sweaty jock musk. His dick was already half-chubbed from that alone.

********

An hour or so later, Ethan entered his own apartment after wrapping up with Tyler. To his disappointment, Brock hadn't returned from the basement for Ethan to ogle at one more time. He wasn't sure how many more times he'd get to enjoy Tyler's company and view that Brock offered before the move, so he tried to savor every second.

On the counter top was a note from his Dad-- with one of the usual excuses for his absence. "Hey E, work needed me out of town, will be gone a few days. Fridge is stocked and pizza money is in my desk drawer. PS I need you to get my old suitcase from storage. Thanks!"

Ethan sighed. His father's work often kept him late, and when it didn't it would take him out of town. At this point Ethan was pretty used to the apartment being empty, but without Tyler to help him fill the time, he could see it getting real lonely.

Deciding to stave off the inevitable depressing silence of the empty apartment, Ethan figured he'd go take care of his dad's request. The walk to the basement storage units wasn't a long one, thankfully. Opening the metal door at the base of the stairs, Ethan entered, nose assaulted with the smell of the dust of the ages. The complex had been around for years and years, and some of this stuff had clearly been here since the first tenants moved in.

As he walked towards their storage unit he caught an unmistakable whiff of jock sweat and he paused. There was the unit Tyler's family owned, unlocked, but Brock's weight bench still sat there, unmoved. "Odd," Ethan thought, curious what would have distracted Brock from bringing the bench back up to the apartment. He glanced around and noticed something strange in the unit across the hall, the one marked "Kessler". For some reason its lock had been cut off by some bolt cutters.

The light had caught an odd mirror and Ethan thought he saw Brock standing there, causing him to nearly jump. But when he glanced away, he was alone still. "What in the world..." he pondered.

He stepped closer to the unit with the mirror, ignoring the other odds and ends. There was Brock, clear as day, yet Ethan couldn't see where he was. He glanced more directly at the mirror and started when Brock's eyes met his. Apparently Brock was startled too as he did the same. Like, exactly the same. "Wait..." Ethan spoke and saw the Brock in the mirror do the same. Testing the insane theory he was developing, Ethan raised an arm above his head. Mirror Brock did the same, showing his hairy pits.

"No way!" Ethan said, excitement growing. He didn't know how this was possible but he was already growing excited at the things he could do with Brock's reflection. He slipped his shirt off, mirror Brock taking off his tanktop and revealing his muscular torso. Ethan took out his phone to snap a picture, imagining Brock at the gym taking a selfie for him.

Ethan continued to stare in awe at the perfection that was Brock, shirtless and all for him. Ethan flexed, normally embarrassed of his skinny arms, but Mirror Brock followed and his muscles bulged enticingly. "Oh fuck me," Ethan whispered softly. He slid his hands down his smooth stomach and mirror Brock slid down his defined abs. Ethan couldn't resist slipping his hands into his pants and nearly came right there as mirror Brock seductively grabbed his crotch as well.

"BROCK!" came a shout from the entrance to the basement and Ethan was shocked out of his reverie. In his haste, he stumbled against a box and reached a hand out to steady himself, touching the mirror. He felt a jolt, something he couldn't describe, unlike any simple static shock he'd ever felt. In the mirror, his scrawny 18 year old body looked back at him. He felt a wave of disappointment. Seems like his fun was already over.

He sniffed, and caught a sudden strong whiff of sweat, like the source was right under his nose. Odd, had he really gotten so sweaty so quickly? Aware that someone else had apparently come down here, he reached to grab his discarded shirt. His hand met damp fabric and he looked in surprise at none other than Brock's sweaty tank. It was then he saw how meaty his arms were, and suddenly a lot clicked. "Holy shit, I'm-"

"There you are, Brock!" came a voice from the hall. Ethan looked up to see Tyler's dad. "I know you wanted to get your weight bench but stop goofing off and bring it up. We still need you to help pack."

"Uh, sure thing... dad," Ethan said, unsure of what to do.

Mr. Rourke turned and grabbed a box from the storage unit and looked expectantly at Ethan. Ethan grabbed the weight bench, surprised at the relative ease that Brock's body had with the task. He followed all the way back to the Rourke's apartment, where he set the bench down.

"OK, your brother is helping your mom with packing up the kitchen. I need you to help me get the furniture ready for the truck, whenever they finally get here," Mr. Rourke said authoritatively.

Ethan simply nodded, and got to work. It took about an hour of hard physical labor but everything got done. Ethan marveled at the pure strength he had as Brock, and tried to contain how excited he had been hearing his own body grunt as he hefted heavy furniture around. He was drenched in fresh sweat, almost intoxicated by it.

"Thanks for your help, champ. Honestly expected more complaining out of you but you really stepped up there. Hope this change sticks around, Broccoli," said Mr. Rourke, using an affectionate name Ethan KNEW Brock despised. "But kid you really gotta shower. Get to it."

"OK, will do Dad," Ethan said, feeling oddly warm at the fatherly praise. He stomped over to Brock's room to grab some fresh clothes.

Once inside, he paused. It was the first time he'd been in Brock's room. He was usually a huge jerk about it to Tyler and Ethan, even though they hadn't ever tried to go in his room. He surveyed the place. The air is thick with Brock’s scent, raw sweat, cheap Axe body spray, and a lingering funk of unwashed gym clothes that clings to everything.

The centerpiece is the unmade bed, a full-size mattress sagging under a tangle of gray sheets, stained with sweat and who-knows-what-else. The sheets smell like Brock’s body, all musky, primal, with a faint whiff of cum from nights he didn’t bother cleaning up. A pair of red boxer briefs, crusty with dried sweat and maybe a quick jerk-off, dangles off the edge of the bed frame.

In the corner sits Brock's weights, a set of dumbbells for his use at home. Brock had apparently situated it so the full length mirror hanging from the bedroom door could be used to check himself out while pumping iron.

Ethan sat down on the bed, feeling it creak under Brock's bulk, and stared at his hands. "Holy shit, I'm Brock. I'm Brock!" he whispered to himself in shock. He peels off the sweaty tank top and shoves it to his face to inhale deeply. He loves the way Brock's facial hair brushes against the fabric as he immediately grows fully hard at the scent of his best friend's brother. He lies back and slips off the gym shorts, leaving him alone in Brock's bed with just his underwear on.

Ethan gaped at the bulge in Brock's tight boxer briefs, the way his huge legs stretched out the fabric. The waistband had caught as he pulled off the shorts and Brock's massive muscle ass was teasingly visible. The abs and pecs formed a beautiful trail down to that big Brock bulge. Ethan twisted and buried his face in his new pits to get that potent musk right from the source and involuntarily moaned. His free hand ran up and down Brock's muscles, and he gasped as he brushed against the jock's perky nipples. He began playing with them as he sat up and looked in the mirror. He ran his other hand up and down Brock's powerful frame, moving his huge body in a more sensual way than he'd ever seen it. "Ugh, you smell so good, Brock," he said, voice low and husky as he turned to take another whiff of his pits. He paused and the flexed his arms, licking the massive peak of his biceps. He slid the underwear all the way off at this point, with Brock's massive cock springing free and standing at attention.

"God you're huge!" Ethan whispered to himself as he wrapped Brock's big hand around the stolen cock. Brock was uncut, unlike Ethan's original cock, and Ethan took his time discovering the pleasures of his new foreskin, rubbing the copious precum Brock produced all over it. He looked back in the mirror, seeing Brock all hot and bothered, then flexed again, giving himself a little show.

It was finally too much for Ethan and he gasped as Brock's sizeable balls pulled up and his orgasm arrived. It was mind-blowing and better than anything Ethan had ever experienced. And Brock came a LOT. When the orgasm finally subsided, Brock's broad and muscular torso dripped with his spunk. Ethan scooped some into his hand and licked it up, relishing the warm stickiness of Brock's cum- though it tasted just as bad as you'd expect for a careless jock bro, it was 100% Brock's which was all Ethan cared about.

He paused then and looked back at the mirror. There he lay in Brock's body, absolutely covered in cum, and he felt some of that post-orgasm clarity kick in. This whole situation was ABSURD! Here he was in his best friend's brother's body and he's acting like a desperate whore. He wiped his chest down with Brock's sheets, then scrambled to grab at least enough covering to go down the hall to the shower as was expected. He slipped on a pair of lounge pants and a blue jacket that he didn't bother to zip up. As he made his way through the Rourke household, thoughts of what in the world he would do lingered over a deeper feeling, one he was scared of. One of satisfaction with this change.

[oliverwondertf]

Stealing Brock's Reflection, Part 2

Part 1 here

Ethan took a deep breath as he started the shower up. His face was screwed into a perplexed expression as he tried to process what was going on. Even still, he couldn't help but be distracted by the sight of his massive pecs. They were so BIG now...

Ethan shook his head to clear it and then stripped off the rest of Brock's clothes before entering the shower. The warm water was a relief, helping release tension Ethan hadn't even realized was there. He grabbed Brock's Axe body wash and began to lather up as he thought through things.

He couldn't deny he was loving this. Every second in Brock's body had been pure euphoria. But Ethan had no idea why this happened. Well, obviously that strange mirror had SOMETHING to do with it. But Ethan had read enough fiction to realize magic typically has some hidden cost likely to spring up somewhere. He couldn't ask the owner of the storage unit as Old Man Kessler had vanished some time ago. And he doubted the landlord, Mr. Gawne, would take too kindly to him asking about another tenant's storage.

And where was the real Brock? He'd never come back up from when he went down to the storage space. It must have something to do with that mirror, and the fact that Ethan was now Brock. A small part of Ethan thought to himself about how it wouldn't be so bad if the real Brock never turned up.

"Hurry it up, Brock!" came an insistent knock at the door, clearly Tyler's voice.

"Sorry man," Ethan apologetically shouted back (a distinctly non-Brock way to respond).

"Uhhh... ok just wrap up," Tyler responded, clearly off guard.

Ethan finished rinsing off and stepped out of the shower. He paused a moment as he lifted his arm to apply deodorant, and took another quick whiff of that heady Brock smell before covering it up with some Old Spice.

He hurried back to Brock's room covered by his towel and closed and locked the door. That encounter had brought Tyler to the forefront of Ethan's mind. Tyler was his best friend, and Ethan didn't want to lose his friendship with him due to becoming his actual brother. Shouldn't that make them closer? Ethan resolved to figure out how to tell Tyler what had happened. He slipped on a simple and comfortable outfit of grey sweatpants and a purple t-shirt. Brock's body filled out anything he wore, even something this casual. Ethan bit his lip, and then pulled out his phone to take a picture of his ass filling out those pants. Right as he did, he realized that he had Brock's phone instead of his own. He paused, then took the picture anyways and texted it to his old number just in case.

He stepped out into the Rourke household, trying his best to blend in. It wasn't too hard due to all the time he'd spent in this apartment over the years, so he wasn't stumbling around to find anything. His stomach grumbled, his huge jock body demanding fuel, so he made his way to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Rourke were hurriedly putting on shoes and grabbing keys.

"Brock, glad we caught you," said Mrs. Rourke. "The real estate agent called and said there's some signing the seller forgot that we need to be present for. Your father and I are going out there now and we'll probably have to spend the night in Gravesford. You and your brother need to be packed and ready in case the movers come tomorrow before we get back. Would you let Tyler know where we are when you see him?"

"Sure thing, Mom," Ethan said, the phrase foreign to his tongue. His own mother had left before he could even remember. Mrs. Rourke leaned in and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"So helpful today," she commented, before rushing out the door with her husband.

Ethan turned to the fridge and poured a glass of milk into one of Brock's many shaker bottles, and added a generous helping of protein powder. He started to guzzle it down, when he heard Tyler's door open.

"You've been weird all afternoon," Tyler said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, confronting who he thought was his brother.

Ethan sat down the protein shake and looked Tyler in the eyes, mind scrambling.

"You've been weirdly quiet and mostly left me alone. Plus, since when do you apologize for taking too long in the shower? You got some stupid prank planned?"

"I'm not Brock," Ethan blurted out, then face palmed.

"What does that even mean?" Tyler asked with a blank stare.

"It means what it looks like. I'm not Brock, at least not up here," Ethan pointed at his head. "I'm Ethan."

"Oh that's rich," Tyler chuckled. "Gotta say Brock, this is a new one. Not sure how you thought it would go."

"In 9th grade we got caught by Mrs. Gretchen trying to skinny dip at the hot springs on the school trip to Yellowstone. We swore we'd never tell another soul," Ethan said, cutting right to the chase.

Tyler's eyes bugged out, clearly trying to figure out how his jerk older brother had found that out. He knew there was no way Ethan would have told someone, ESPECIALLY not Brock. The gears in his head turned for a moment longer before he finally accepted it.

"Ethan? What the hell man, how are you Brock?!" Tyler asked.

Ethan gave him the quick version of encountering the mirror in the storage unit and how he'd suddenly found himself in Brock's body.

"This is honestly so awesome," Tyler responded as Ethan finished his story. "Brock's a total insufferable dick and has been for years. But now my best friend is in his place? This is gonna rock."

"Well, I'm glad you're on board. I... I really like being in Brock's body. Dude's a fucking TANK," Ethan said, compulsively flexing his massive arm.

"Yeah but now I actually like the guy driving the tank," Tyler chuckled. "E, since you're in the driver's seat, wanna get some dumb payback?"

"Doing what?" Ethan asked.

"Let's make him wear something dumb he wouldn't be caught dead in.

--------

The pair of best-friends-turned-brother hopped into Brock's car, shoving aside protein bar wrappers. Tyler complained about the constant sweaty smell in it but Ethan just smiled as he put on Brock's aviators. "Give me a smile, 'Brock'," Tyler said, holding up his phone for a picture. Ethan made a face and flexed his arm as Tyler took the photo.

"Imagine, I'm actually looking forward to spending time with that brute," Tyler said with a fond look at Ethan.

Ethan just laughed as he parked the car at the parking lot of a local strip mall. The pair immediately made their way to the thrift shop to see what finds they could put on Brock's body. Initially, they were pretty disappointed by the selection when Ethan found just the thing. He held up a t-shirt with the word "macho" bedazzled on it with sequins.

"Oh, his fragile masculinity wouldn't let him even think of wearing that," Tyler commented as he rushed Ethan to the changing room. Ethan slipped the shirt on and added Brock's aviators for good measure as he took a selfie before stepping out to show Tyler.

"Honestly, it doesn't look bad on you at all," Tyler said.

"I know! I feel like this body could rock anything I wanted!" Ethan reveled. "I'm definitely buying this, though."

The pair paid and as he pulled out his wallet, Ethan noticed Brock's gym ID- for the gym in this same strip mall. He turned to Tyler and showed it to him. "I gotta get in a workout to put this body through its paces," he pleaded with Tyler.

"Alright, I guess we can swing by his gym before we head home. Brock's never taken me with him before, I hear they have killer massage chairs."

The front desk was run by a young athletic man who gave Ethan a familiar smile. "Hey Brock, didn't realize you were coming in again today."

"Wanted to show my little bro the place before we move," Ethan said, slipping into Brock's speech patterns easily. "Plus wanna have a nice pump."

"Well enjoy your workout, and nice to meet your brother!" the receptionist said, waving them in.

"OK, you do your thing. I'm heading right to the massage room," Tyler said before splitting off. Ethan looked around the gym, not too crowded at this later hour, and couldn't decide where to start. He made his way over to the barbells, where he snapped a quick selfie to commemorate his first workout as Brock.

"Fuck, I never wanna go back," he said.

After getting a nice pump, he slipped his shirt off and stood in front of the wood paneling of the gym's sauna and marveled at the sheen of sweat across his muscles. Already, that Brock smell was drifting up, causing a chub to form in Ethan's pants. "I'm Brock," he said quietly to himself. "I'm Brock!" he repeated with more confidence, flexing both arms in emphasis.

"Yeah you are," Tyler said, having caught Ethan's display. Ethan blushed a bit. "I'm ready to head home, I'm beat."

"Yeah let's get out of here," Ethan agreed, slipping his shirt back on.

--------

Brock struggled down the basement stairs, swearing under his breath. This body of some old guy was awful to be in. He cursed himself for not realizing that stupid mirror was behind his horrible evening stuck as some frail, unfit old man. He hoped that somehow the mirror would fix all this. He'd left hoping to get away from the creepy thing but now it was his only lead on getting back to himself.

He shuffled through the storage units before reaching Mr. Kessler's. He hurriedly stepped in, expecting to see his old reflection just as it had been the last time he had seen the mirror.

To his shock, the reflection of his dweeb brother's scrawny friend Ethan stared back at him. "What the HELL? Where's MY body?"

Answers were not forthcoming, and he accepted a grim fact- even Ethan's scrawny little body was probably a better option for now than this horrible old body. He reluctantly touched the mirror, the old man reflection returning to it as Brock's body shifted into Ethan's. "I'm gonna find out what the hell he did!" he vowed, rage filling his eyes.

[oliverwondertf]

Stealing Brock's Reflection, Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

"Fuuuuuck yes," moaned Ethan as he lifted Brock's arm to flex, bushy pits on full display. He was alone in Brock's room, surrounded by that aphrodisiac jock smell. He and Tyler had gotten home from their outing a short while ago and each headed to their rooms to wrap up the day.

Ethan, of course, wasn't tired quite yet. He'd been pent up since the workout at the gym, smelling Brock's musk the whole time since. Finally alone, he'd wasted no time throwing off his shirt and revealing that glorious new body of his.

"You love these fucking pits," he said as he stared at the mirror, long-time fantasy of his playing out before his eyes. He took a big whiff, then licked the precious sweat from Brock's wiry hairs. It tasted salty and oh so wonderful.

He stood up and made a double-bicep pose, the obscene bulge in his gym shorts becoming prominently displayed. "You like my huge jock cock?" he smirked to the mirror, twitching his dick for good measure.

"How about these massive tits?" he continued, bouncing both pecs. He slipped off his shorts, tossing them aside. Brock's erection looked vacuum sealed in the sweaty boxer briefs he was wearing. The view didn't last long, as Ethan slipped those off and immediately brought the crotch of the underwear to his face.

He took another big sniff before sighing contentedly. "That's what a man smells like," he cockily told the mirror. "And it's 100% me."

His hand ran down his sculpted chest and abs, before pausing at Brock's blonde bush. He smeared some of that groin sweat on his hand and brought it up for another sniff. It was as potent as ever, and Ethan kept his hand there as his other hand wrapped Brock's underwear around his cock. He grunted as he started to jerk off to his reflection, giving into primal urges. He rutted into his own hand, intoxicated on his scent and drunk on the image of himself flexing.

At long last, he fully flexed his huge arms, abs, and pecs and couldn't hold any longer, cum spraying from Brock's dick. As before, there was a lot of it, much coating the mirror even though Ethan tried to catch it in the underwear. In his haze he took the cum-filled underwear and stuffed it in his mouth, afterglow mingling with the salty damp taste of ball sweat and jock cum. He rubbed his cum-covered hand over Brock's abs, enjoying the feel of it smearing over the well- muscled torso.

"I can't go back," he said, realizing the truth in his mind. Sure, he could probably return to the mirror and get his reflection back. But he knew that wasn't an option for him mentally any more. He was committed to being the new Brock. His old life could get declared missing for all he cared. Not like his dad would notice for weeks anyways.

Ethan studiously made sure to clean up his post-sex mess, though he noted the effort it took to clean up how much cum Brock produced likely influenced why there were so many cumstains on Brock's things. He tossed the used gym clothes in the hamper, then glanced at the packed suitcase in the room.

In all likelihood, the move was happening tomorrow. If Ethan went with the Rourke family, then there pretty much was no going back. He felt strangely at peace with that.

His solemn reverie was interrupted by a loud knock at the door, followed by a shout of, "Where is he, Tyler?!"

It took Ethan a second to recognize it, but that was clearly his former voice! For the sake of not getting arrested, he slipped on a pair of yellow lounge shorts, not bothering with underwear. With haste he hurried out of the room. Tyler had also just left his room and glanced in Ethan's direction. "That's totally your voice- er, your old voice," Tyler commented. "What's going on?"

"Let's find out," Ethan said, feeling a surge of confidence strengthened by his resolve from earlier.

He opened the door to see his skinny 18 year old body in the apartment hall, face contorted with rage. "Keep it down, Mr. Gawne doesn't take kindly to noise complaints," Ethan said with a smirk before grabbing his former body and pulling it inside.

"You! Why do you have my body?!" seethed Ethan's body, confirming Ethan's suspicions.

"Quite frankly, it doesn't matter," responded Ethan, towering over his former body. "Here's how things are gonna work: this is MY body from here on out. I'm moving with MY parents and MY brother tomorrow. You can chill out and leave and figure out what you want to do, or I can MAKE you leave us alone."

Brock in Ethan's body stuttered, not used to NOT being the physically dominant presence in a room. He turned to Tyler. "Dude, why are you just standing there? Don't you believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you," Tyler confirmed from where he stood across the room.

"And you're just gonna let this douchebag steal your brother's body?!" Brock practically shouted.

Tyler gave Brock a level gaze, the face of his best friend contorted in a rage foreign to it, but all too familiar as Brock. "Yeah, Brock, I am. Ethan was already my best bro, but now that bond is blood. I like him being Brock way better than you ever were. Even mom and dad see it; Ethan charmed them both all day today before they left. So they aren't gonna ask questions."

Ethan's former face looked stunned by this revelation. Brock couldn't process it. His own brother willing to sell out his body? To trap him in this scrawny dweeb with no future? For the first time in his over two decades of life, Brock began to feel the tiniest prickle of regret for his treatment of Tyler.

"Anyways, I don't care what you do with him, 'big bro'," Tyler said before turning and heading back into his room to close the door with finality.

"But- but-" Brock stuttered in impotent anger.

"But nothing," Ethan said authoritatively. "I'll give you a little bonus if you leave quietly. One last chance to be close to your body. I really have been craving someone to properly worship these muscles since I became you."

"I'm not a fag!" Brock cried.

"That tent says otherwise," Ethan said, bemused.

Brock turned beet red, covering Ethan's small bulge. "C'mon, you'll have plenty of time to think on the way back to your apartment," Ethan said.

He effortlessly picked up his own previous body and threw it over his shoulder, Brock gasping from within it. He marched down the hall to his own apartment and stepped inside, throwing Brock down onto the ground of Ethan's room before lying out on the bed in a way that showed his impressive member straining against his shorts.

Brock, overwhelmed by Ethan's body's hormones and his own deeply repressed attraction, cracked. He reached a trembling hand out and gingerly touched his former chest. Ethan responded by flexing his pecs. Brock then ran his hand down Ethan's abs, marveling at how they felt and looked from this angle. Fuck, he'd been so hot.

Ethan sat up and flexed his arms. "Worship my biceps," he commanded.

Brock complied, running his hands over the huge bicep peaks before leaning in and licking them. Ethan lifted his arm straight up, exposing his hairy pits further, a new wave of his jock musk pushing out.

"Show these pits how much you fuckin love them," he commanded Brock.

Irresistible, Brock leaned in, getting Ethan's former face buried in the pit hairs that were once his. He inhaled deeply before sticking out his tongue and desperately lapping up that godly jock sweat.

"You're such a little slut for my pits," Ethan said derisively, before pushing Brock away. Brock looked hurt to be pulled away from worshiping his former body, but that swiftly changed when Ethan slipped off his shorts, thick jock cock springing free, surrounded by his trimmed bush.

"Now worship MY fucking dick," Ethan commanded, pointing at his erection standing straight out.

Brock fell to his knees and Ethan grabbed the back of his head, shoving him into his crotch to the side of his dick. Brock took a huge whiff of ball sweat and caught the scent of lingering cum from Ethan's earlier masturbation sessions. He flicked his tongue out, lathering up Ethan's hairy thick balls.

Ethan grunted in satisfaction, before pulling Brock back again. "Open wide," he said, and then brought his head down onto his cock.

Brock was barely ready as his own former cock invaded his mouth. Ethan was slowly pushing it further and further down his throat to find his limit, and to push just past it. Brock sputtered as he nearly choked on his precious pride and joy, tears welling in his eyes, part from the choking and part from the loss of this huge fuckstick.

Ethan pulled back but left the tip in Brock's mouth before releasing his head. "Show me how much you love this big fuckin dick, you little cock sucker."

Brock still couldn't resist, nose so close to such a potent source of that jock musk, and began to eagerly, messily, bob his head up and down on Ethan's stolen cock. Ethan let out a low, slow moan as he leaned back and enjoyed the sensation. "This is all mine now," he said as he made eye contact with Brock. Brock looked like he was about to pull off Ethan's dick to respond, but Ethan firmly planted his hand on the back of his head and pushed him back down on it.

This continued for a while, before Ethan finally let Brock pull off his dick. He grabbed some lube from the night stand and grinned at the mixed look of lust and fear in Brock's eyes. He slicked up his fingers, and then pushed Brock face down into the bed. He started with one finger, slowly and surely sliding it into his own former tight asshole. Brock involuntarily moaned, Ethan's smaller dick stiffly jutting out and twitching.

Ethan simply grinned, and then slid in another finger as he moved back and forth, seeking the prostate to make Brock melt like the little bitch he was. Soon, Brock was moaning as Ethan fit three fingers into his ass.

Satisfied, Ethan pulled his hand away, and wasted no time lathering up his dick and applying a generous amount to Brock's eager hole. He ran the tip around the entrance, teasing. "God just put it in!" Brock whined, ashamed how badly he wanted it.

"What's my name?" Ethan taunted, and Brock made a pitiful sound. Ethan smacked his ass and asked again "I said, what's my name?"

"Brock," Brock said, need for dick overcoming his resistance.

"That's right," Ethan said, finally sliding his dick into the eager hole before him.

Brock gasped, thinking he'd be ready from the finger fucking but his former dick was so fucking thick. Ethan was slow but relentless as he pushed deeper and deeper, until he buried his cock to the hilt, pausing there. Brock took heavy breaths, he felt absolutely impaled, and with shame he fucking LOVED it. His own cock filling an emptiness he never realized was there until this very moment.

Ethan then began rocking his hips back and forth, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he got more and more rough. Brock felt it against his prostate and moaned more, face down in the bed. Ethan gazed at the mirror of the room, and saw a fantasy fulfilled. Brock's broad frame absolutely railing Ethan's thin body, but this time he was looking from Brock's point of view.

He roughly grabbed Brock's hair and lifted his head to make him gaze in the mirror. "Watch while I fill you up, 'Ethan'," he grunted.

He felt his orgasm finally arrive, and his stolen balls tightened up as loads of Brock's cum flooded. His dick twitched multiple times inside his own ass, warm hot cum blasting out. The sheer volume Brock's cock produced forcing it to leak out back down his cock. The feeling of it filling him up was too much for Brock and he involuntarily started to orgasm without touching his smaller dick while being forced to gaze at the reflection of his humiliation.

Ethan pulled out, his sperm leaking out of Brock's hole. He grabbed a pair of his own underwear and wiped his dick off with it before shoving it in Brock's face. "Little souvenir. Don't come around again, 'Ethan'."

Brock just lay there, fully broken, unable to even muster a response. Ethan left him that way before heading back to the Rourke apartment. He entered and Tyler came out into the living room upon hearing his return.

"He's dealt with," Ethan said confidently.

"Good," Tyler replied, rubbing the sleep in his eyes. "The move is tomorrow and then we won't have to deal with him any more."

"I'm excited," Ethan said, breaking out into a grin.

"Me too! Hey, I was thinking. Since you're gonna be slipping into his life, it's maybe best if we start referring to you as Brock from now on."

Ethan nodded in agreement. "I'd like nothing more."

Tyler moved up and wrapped his brother in a hug. "Welcome home, Brock."

********

Brock looked in the hotel mirror of his room. His younger brother and best friend Tyler had already gone down to grab breakfast. Their parents had put them up in a hotel while the move to the new house finished up. He grinned, fully accepting his new role. He flashed a pic of his hot fucking body to add to his new Grindr profile.

"Get ready, gay boys. Brock is officially on the menu," he chuckled to himself.

Epilogue

Brock (the original) hurried down the stairs to the storage units. He'd wallowed for a few days now, but finally rage had taken over. He wasn't going to let that twerp Ethan get away with stealing his fucking life. He'd take that stupid magic mirror all the way out of town if he had to.

He stopped in horror, however, at the sight of the mirror smashed to pieces. Something had happened over the last few days and now... now he couldn't ever be Brock again. His anguished scream echoed in the dank basement.

[oliverwondertf]

“What’s the pin, man?” The hunky Shane asked as he kept fingering with the small smartphone in his massive palm.

“Fuck you! You really think just because you’ve stolen my body that I’m also going to let you access my phone like that - with all my vital information in it?!” The real Shane snarled from his new frail and weak body.

“Why actually yes. Unless you want me to live out on the street and turn your life into one of male prostitution, which to be honest I don’t mind that much. With this body and its massive member down there I’ll definitely become a hit with all the locals around here.” The imposter grabbed his pecs and gave his growing bulge a squeeze while smirking at the other man. “… But think of all the implications it would have if you get this body back. Your life would be ruined and no one would ever look at you the same.”

“You’ll return it to me?” The real Shane hopefully asked.

“Perhaps…” The fake one said, not paying attention as he was busy stroking and pinching his own naked nipples.

“…..” The real Shane sighed before speaking up. “It’s 1234.”

“That’s a good boy. I promise everything will be aaall right from now on.” The fake one smirked, unlocked the phone and began scrolling through the apps.

Out of vision from the real Shane the imposter found an old forgotten app Shane had downloaded years ago; Swappen, the one that had caused this whole mind switch in the first place, and dragged it towards the thrash bin. A message popped up as he tried to release it, warning him that the timer on an active swap was currently ongoing and that deleting the app now would most likely seal them inside their new bodies forever. Grinning from ear to ear, “Shane” accepted the condition and watched as the app vanished from existence. He was so hard right now underneath the pink towel that covered him.

“Now then little man, why don’t you join me in the hotel room and show me exactly what this body likes. You make it real good and I might consider returning this body to you earlier…” “Shane” lied as he stood up and walked away, massively failing to cover up the protruding leaking member sticking out in front of his towel.

“Y-yes Sir!” The former Shane said before following the broad-backed hunk back to his suite. He was determined to do anything to get his former life back, even if he had to worship his own body for the next few weeks or so… weeks which would eventually turn into months and years…

[oliverwondertf]

The Mad Scientist's Bet - Leon Draisaitl

(A 5.5k words collaboration of AI-edited story + Original writing by the amazing @mrcavanaughtf! Be sure to check out his blog and Patreon for some incredible stories!)

The Edmonton Oilers’ arena thrummed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of ice and sweat as fans poured in for a pivotal playoff game. Leon Draisaitl, the team’s German-born superstar, was the center of it all. At 6’2” and 209 pounds, his muscular frame moved with a predator’s grace, his broad shoulders and chiseled abs a testament to years of relentless training. His dark brown hair, swept back and slightly damp, framed piercing hazel eyes that gleamed with unshakable confidence. A square jaw, often dusted with playoff scruff, gave him a rugged, almost cinematic handsomeness. As he laced up his skates in the locker room, his cocky smirk was unmistakable.

“It’s all mental,” he boasted to a teammate, tapping his temple. “Willpower and focus. This body? Just a tool. Anyone could do what I do if they adopted my mindset.”

The more seasoned of his teammates chuckled at his narcissism, but they couldn’t deny his brilliance—52 goals in the 2024-25 season, the Maurice “Rocket” Richard Trophy, and a legacy as one of the NHL’s greatest. His ego had been earned, to say the least, and there were more than a few guys in the Oilers locker room that were secretly envious of him and the wealth of success he’d enjoyed. The team’s rookies hung off of his every word, desperate to soak up any nuggets of wisdom he might bless them with.

Meanwhile, out in the arena stands, Henry, a 31-year-old fan, watched the team’s on-ice warm ups with an intensity that burned hotter than devotion. His frail 5’8” frame, sunken cheeks, and thinning blond hair made him invisible in the crowd, but his obsession with Leon was a dark, pulsating force. For years, Henry had devoured every game, every interview, memorizing Leon’s plays with a scholar’s precision. Something about the German athlete captivated him beyond belief, gripping him with the strength of a thousand men and only tightening its grip with every new thing Henry learned about him. It was as if Leon had somehow imprinted upon Henry; crazy as it sounded, he knew that he was destined to cross paths with his celebrity crush sooner rather than later.

His fixation had spiraled into something perverse months ago when Henry had bribed a janitor to sneak into the Oilers’ locker room, stealing a sweat-soaked jersey from Leon’s stall. Night after night since then, he’d bury his face in the fabric and breathe in deeply, inhaling the musky, intoxicating scent of his idol while stroking himself, whispering Leon’s name in a fevered mantra. He was wearing that stolen jersey tonight, silently relishing in the knowledge that while every other fan in the stands would be wearing a store-bought jersey, he alone could claim possession of the real thing. It was of course considerably baggy around his diminutive frame, especially when compared to its original broad-shouldered and barrel-chested owner, but it was absolutely his most prized possession. He’d even had apprehension about wearing it to the game, terrified that some other fan might spill their drink onto it and wash away Leon’s still-lingering scent. Still, the thought of being so close to Leon while wearing it was simply too arousing for him to resist. He’d been half-hard ever since entering the arena.

Henry’s envy and desire had become a twisted knot, and tonight, clutching a stolen VIP pass, he would be closer to the ice than ever, his heart pounding with a mix of adoration and resentment. He was already fantasizing about making eye contact with Leon and his crush - against all odds - being reciprocated. Sure, Leon had a long term girlfriend that he showed off at NHL red carpet events (she was probably up in the WAGs box at that very moment, waiting for the game to begin just as he was) but Henry never paid her much attention. He knew deep within his wretched soul that he and Leon were fated to be together, one way or another. The thought of him and Leon making it onto the jumbotron’s kiss-cam awoke butterflies in his stomach. He’d be the envy of every single girl and gay guy in not just Edmonton but Germany too!

Unbeknownst to both men, they were fated to become pawns in a sinister game orchestrated by Dr. Elias Voss, a disgraced sports scientist with a gaunt face and wild, sunken eyes. Exiled from academia for his persistent unethical experiments, Voss had become obsessed with proving that physicality and genetics, not mentality and willpower, shaped destiny. He despised athletes like Leon, who credited their minds over their bodies, and saw Henry (who Voss had found through a Leon Draisaitl fanpage Henry ran) as the perfect counterpoint—a pathetic fan with an obviously submissive mentality and whose devotion bordered on madness. 

In his underground lab, Voss had perfected a neural transfer device, a tangle of wires and glowing electrodes designed with a sole purpose: to swap consciousnesses. His scientist peers had told him that it couldn’t be done; they’d laughed behind his back and sometimes even to his face. Nobody had offered him support when the university he lectured at fired him and the research grants dried up. None of that mattered now though. They wouldn’t be laughing when he proved them all wrong. 

Getting the two men down to his lab was more of a challenge than the work that had gone into developing the neural transfer device. He’d eventually been forced to pay a quite large sum of money to hire two men off the dark web willing to kidnap the hockey superstar. They got their hands on Draisaitl as he attempted to avoid the crowds by entering the arena through a back alley, silencing his protests with chloroform and hiding him in a laundry trolley that they then transported down to Voss’ lab hidden through a secret door in the arena’s basement. Henry, loitering near the VIP entrance, had been much easier to capture through the promise of a fake “meet-and-greet” with his idol, only to feel a needle prick his neck the moment they were out of view of the public.

Now that all the pieces were in their correct places, Dr. Voss’ experiment could finally begin…

—

A short while later, in Voss’s dimly lit lab, Leon slowly regained consciousness. He knew immediately that something was very wrong: he was strapped down to a steel table and definitely not in the Oilers locker room where he was supposed to be. The German hockey player’s muscular arms strained against the restraints and his hazel eyes blazed with fury as he searched for the someone to blame for his current situation.

Henry, trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration, was bound beside him, his frail body dwarfed by the cold metal. Each man had part of the neural transfer device fastened to their skulls like harsh and unforgiving crowns. Their crowns were linked to each other by a series of wires, as well as to a computer terminal a short distance away.

Voss walked from his spot at the terminal to his patients and loomed over them. His voice was a venomous hiss when he finally spoke: “So good of you to join us, Mr Draisaitl.”

“You’re going to fucking regret this,” Leon seethed. He recognized the middle-aged man as a sports scientist that the Oilers medical team had consulted with on the regular some years prior. The last he’d heard there had been some scandal and the Oilers had cut ties with him. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your miserable life in prison!”

Voss just laughed. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Maybe not. You don’t know what I have planned for the pair of you yet.”

“The pair--” The crown on Leon’s head severely affected how much he could twist his neck to the side, so he could only just make out the fact there was somebody beside him, also strapped down and clearly panicking. “You must be fucking stupid if you think you can get away with whatever it is you’re planning. I’m a goddamn NHL superstar, people will notice if I go missing!”

“Ah, there’s the ego! Yes, the self-made superstar. We should all bow down before you, hm?” His cruel laughter echoed around the room. Leon’s blood boiled. Henry, meanwhile, was attempting to shuffle on the metal table to get a better look at his idol, to absolutely no avail. He couldn’t believe he was finally so close to Leon, alarming circumstances be damned! 

“You, Draisaitl, think your mind makes you a god,” Voss continued in sneering fashion as he leaned in close to adjust the neural transfer device around Leon’s head. “You claim anyone could match you with your ‘willpower.’ Let’s test that. I’ll put this wretched fan’s consciousness in your perfect body and see who wins tonight’s game.”

Leon laughed, his square jaw tightening, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re deranged. Do you hear yourself? Talking about-- what, switching our bodies? You’re absolutely insane.” Voss didn’t say anything, instead pulling his thin lips into a tight smile that sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. The hockey player didn’t believe there was any truth to what the mad scientist said - how could there be? Body swaps? C’mon, that was the stuff of trashy sci-fi books! - yet there was the slightest seed of doubt springing to life inside him. “This loser can’t touch me, even if he’s in my body. He doesn’t have my mind. He’ll choke under pressure. I’d bet my career he can’t outplay me or win the game.”

Voss’s lips curled even further into a sadistic smile, his eyes glinting with malice. “A bet, then. If the fan wins, you stay swapped—forever. If he fails, I’ll reverse it. I’ll even turn myself into the police. Do we have a deal?”

“You’re fucking insane,” Leon repeated. There was the slightest hint of fear in his voice, which was a rarity for the typically brash and boastful hockey player.

“Ah, not feeling so confident all of a sudden?” Voss challenged. He knew precisely how to get under Leon’s skin and was more than happy to take advantage of it. “Perhaps you don’t believe your own words. You know that I’m right: that it’s your genetics that make you great, not your mind.”

Leon’s gaze flicked towards the silent party in the room. He still couldn’t see much of the other man, just enough to identify that the fan was staring at him with unsettling intensity. “Fine, you have your deal,” Leon spat out, his arrogance unshaken. “He’s got no chance.”

Henry’s heart raced, his sunken cheeks flushing. While many of his fantasies had been about dating Leon, he also harbored more unusual desires, ones that actually excited him even more. He’d spent years dreaming of being Leon, of feeling that power, that body. The thought of inhabiting his idol’s form sent a shiver of perverse thrill through him, his arousal barely concealed. Leon was right, Dr. Voss did indeed sound insane with his proclamations of being able to switch their bodies, but if there was even a chance that it was possible, he was on board. He didn’t care about the stakes; he only wanted to be Leon, to live inside that perfect physique, even for a night.

Satisfied with getting confirmation out of Draisaitl (not that it would have stopped him from going through with the experiment anyway), Voss returned to the terminal and did his final checks on the neutral transfer device. It was the most complex piece of technology ever invented and he’d only ever tested it once before, on two homeless drug addicts. It had worked, although both individuals had spent considerable time vomiting in the immediate aftermath and one had suffered a heart attack and died an hour later. Voss had performed considerable tweaks to his invention since that trial run and he had full faith that he’d successfully ironed out those bugs, but you could never have 100% certainty when it came to experimental science. 

Voss whispered a quiet prayer and activated the device, sending a surge of electricity tearing through their minds. Leon’s vision blurred as his consciousness was ripped from his athletic frame, sent hurtling through the wires of the neural transfer device, before finally slamming into Henry’s frail, wheezing body. His muscles felt like jelly, his lungs tight, his joints aching as he struggled against the restraints keeping him pinned down against the cold metal table. Beside him, Henry gasped as his mind flooded into Leon’s body, every nerve igniting with strength and vitality. 

Then, both bodies suddenly went limp. Voss waited with bated breath. His hired help, hidden further back in the shadowy corners of the room, watched on in curiosity. Finally, after ten long seconds of complete silence, the neural transfer device let out a singular sharp beeping sound and information began flooding onto the monitors in front of the scientist. Voss didn’t need to check any of it though. He already knew what it would tell him: it had been a success.

The swap was complete.

—

Henry opened his eyes—Leon’s eyes—and marveled at the world through his new form. Dr. Voss was already beside him, staring intently at him as he carefully lifted the metal crown away. Henry gave the older man a hesitant nod of confirmation before casting his gaze south at the body he now occupied. His arms were thick with muscle, veins pulsing under taut skin. His chest was broad, his abs a sculpted masterpiece. He flexed his fingers, feeling the calloused strength of hands that had scored 50 goals. Voss set about undoing the straps that had kept Leon’s powerful body pinned down, continuing to eye his patient carefully as he did so. Henry didn’t pay the man much attention, he was far more interested in getting a look at his new flesh.

As he sat up, Henry peered into the cracked mirror that Voss held aloft for him. It reflected Leon’s face: chiseled jaw, piercing hazel eyes, dark brown hair slick with sweat. Henry ran his tongue over his teeth, savoring the slight German accent as he whispered, “I’m Leon Draisaitl.” His voice, deep and resonant, sent a jolt of arousal through him, his new cock twitching in his pants. He could already tell it was bigger. There was so much Henry wanted to do to familiarize himself further with Leon’s body, but he remained conscious of the other two men in the room. Checking out his new junk could wait for when he had some more privacy. Instead, he lifted a muscled arm high above his head, inhaling the faint musk of his own sweat, and nearly moaned. It was the scent he’d worshipped in the stolen jersey, but now it was his own, raw and overwhelming. His fingers traced the contours of his biceps, lingering on the heat of his skin, the power beneath it. Every movement felt electric, his body a symphony of strength and grace. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before!

Voss undid the shackles on his feet, finally giving Henry full range of motion in his new body, before shoving a hockey bag into his arms. “Game’s in two hours,” the doctor barked. “Prove me right, or you’ll be back in that pathetic husk.” He jerked his head towards Henry’s former flesh, where Leon continued to thrash violently against his restraints.

Henry nodded, barely listening. He was much too consumed by exploring all the sensations his new physique was providing him. As he dressed in Leon’s gear - first the tight compression shirt that perfectly hugged all of his new muscles, then the bulky padded pants, and finally the blue and orange Oilers jersey, complete with the “A” patch identifying him as one of the team’s alternate captains - he paused to bury his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply, his erection straining against the protective cup.

Meanwhile, Leon, trapped in Henry’s body, finally gave up his futile attempts to wrestle himself free from his restraints. Horror washed over him as he understood what had happened. His limbs were weak, his breathing labored, his vision blurry without Henry’s glasses. “This is a fucking nightmare,” he muttered, his voice reedy and unfamiliar. He attempted to fight back as Voss finally unshackled him from the steel table, only for the two hired thugs that had abducted Leon in the first place to reappear and put a stop to his weak flailing. They looked like they could break the new him in half! He was utterly helpless as they forced him into a wheelchair. His hands, small and bony, trembled as he had a brief moment to touch his sunken cheeks and his thinning hair before his wrists were once again strapped down, this time to the arms of the wheelchair.

Flanked by his goons (although they were less useful now that Leon was trapped in such a weak body), Voss pushed the wheelchair into an elevator that would take them to a hidden viewing room above the arena with a one-way glass offering a perfect view of the ice. “Let’s see your ‘mind’ triumph now,” Voss taunted, locking the door.

—

On the ice, Henry was an absolute revelation. His years of obsessive study were paying off: he knew every play, every feint, every angle Leon favored. The puck felt like an extension of his will, and his new body moved with a fluidity he’d never known. His skates carved the ice with precision, his powerful thighs propelling him forward. He’d been a subpar skater at best in his own body (not for lack of trying - the lessons had almost bankrupt him) but as Leon, he moved across the ice like he was in his natural habitat. He was as smooth as a knife through butter or a ballet dancer on stage. The combination of his meticulous studying of how Leon played the game and the genetically superior body he was now in drove Henry to heights he had never anticipated he could be capable of.

Leon’s teammates, unaware of the swap, shouted encouragement as he weaved through defenders, his stick-handling flawless. Adrenaline surged, his muscles rippling under the sweat-soaked uniform, the scent of his own exertion driving him wild. Between shifts, he’d duck his head, pretending to adjust his gloves, and steal another whiff of his armpit musk. The heady mix of sweat and testosterone made his head spin. That was his musk - for now, at least - and he was obsessed. His erection throbbed, but he channeled the arousal into his play, each goal a release of his pent-up desire.

Leon watched from above, his frail hands clenched into fists, his heart sinking with every minute that passed. “He’s… better than me,” he whispered, disbelief turning to rage. Henry wasn’t just mimicking him; he was outperforming him, landing impossible shots, outskating opponents, and racking up three goals and two assists. The crowd roared “Draisaitl!” and Leon thrashed about as best as he could in his wheelchair, his weak voice drowned out by the arena’s din. “That’s my body!” he screamed, tears of frustration burning his eyes.

In the final minute, with the game nail-bitingly tied at 4-4, Henry stole the puck from a clumsy opponent and charged down the ice at full speed. Once he had a clear lane to the goal, he unleashed a blistering one-timer—Leon’s signature move, but sharper, more precise. The puck sailed past the goaltender, and the arena erupted. The whistle blew: Oilers win. 

Henry’s teammates mobbed him, dousing him with Gatorade, their hands rough and admiring as they slapped his back and shoulders. Henry grinned, his hazel eyes glinting with triumph and a darker, malicious glee. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rinkside glass—Leon’s face, slick with sweat, radiant with victory—and felt a surge of power unlike anything he’d ever known.

All of this was officially his to keep.

As the crowd dispersed, Voss wheeled Leon, still in the wheelchair, to a secluded hallway near the Oilers locker room. Henry was waiting there for them, one hand under his jersey and pads to feel up his abs which were glistening with sweat. Henry had never had abs before and right now he couldn’t get enough of them. 

At the sight of his body, Leon was overcome with rage and desperately attempted to lunge forward, temporarily forgetting about his restraints. His weak limbs betrayed him; there was no way he could get free. “Give me back my body, you fucking creep!” he spat, his voice cracking.

Henry laughed, the mocking sound making Leon flinch. The hockey player’s body swaggered closer, towering over Leon, his hazel eyes gleaming with cruelty as he leaned down to come face-to-face with his idol. 

“Your body? Oh, Leon, this is my body now.” He flexed his arms, the biceps bulging underneath the layers of his hockey gear, and lifted an arm to inhale deeply, his lips curling into a smirk. “God, you smell so good. I used to jerk off to your sweaty jersey, but this… this is heaven.” He ran a hand down his abs, lingering near his crotch, where his erection was visible even through all the tight pants. “Get a load of this power, Leon. Every muscle, every inch—it’s mine. And I’m better at being you than you ever were.”

Leon’s face twisted with rage and despair. “You’re nothing! You’re a parasite!”

Henry leaned in, his breath hot against Leon’s ear. “I’m the star now. I crushed your game, just like I’ll crush every aspect of your life. Your girlfriend, your teammates, your legacy—they’re all mine.” He took his time to undo one of the straps around Leon’s wrist and then grabbed hold of the frail limb, forcing the other man’s hand against his sweat-slick pecs. “Feel that. That’s what you lost. What you’ll never get back.”

“Please! You can’t do this to me!” Leon croaked through a sob, unaware that Voss was stepping closer behind him, syringe in hand.

“You lost the bet,” Voss said, his voice triumphant. “I was right: the body indeed molds the mind.” He jabbed the needle into Leon’s neck, and the world went black for the former Edmonton Oiler.

—

When he returned to the locker room, Henry was pleased to discover that he was alone, the team having apparently gone off to celebrate somewhere. He stripped off Leon’s uniform slowly, savoring the reveal of his new body. The jersey came first, peeling away to expose his broad shoulders and sculpted pecs, glistening with sweat. He ran his hands over his chest, fingers tracing the hard ridges of his abs, the heat of his skin electric under his touch. His pants followed, revealing thick, powerful thighs and a large, heavy cock that pulsed with arousal and begged for his attention. He stood naked, the air cool against his sweat-damp skin, and inhaled deeply, the musky scent of his exertion overwhelming. It was the smell he’d worshipped every night in the jersey, but now it was his own, raw and primal, a drug that made his head spin.

He stepped to a mirror, marveling at Leon’s face—his face. The chiseled jaw, the hazel eyes, the dark hair plastered to his forehead. He smiled, the slight German accent making his cock throb as he murmured, “Ich bin Leon Draisaitl.” He’d learned German back in his old body (another aspect of wanting to be closer to Leon) but it had never flown forth from his lips so naturally. He would make it a mission now to advance from conversational to fluent; he had to embody every bit of Leon Draisaitl, Germany’s favorite hockey player, after all.

His hands roamed lower, cupping his balls, then finally stroking his cock, the sensation amplified by the power of his new body. It was every bit as joyous as he’d anticipated it to be. He took his time, teasing himself, imagining Leon’s despair as he worshipped the body he’d stolen. The musk, the strength, the perfection—it was all his, now and forever.

In the shower, hot water cascaded over his muscular frame, steam rising as he lathered his body, his hands lingering on every curve and contour. He massaged his pecs, his thighs, his ass, each touch a sensual act of possession. This body, this beautiful body, was so much bigger than the meagre shell Henry had been confined to before the experiment. Thirty-one years in a body that had never quite fit right and now here he was, making himself comfortable in the flesh he would be spending the rest of his days in. He could feel the power in each of his muscles as he ran his hand over them, utterly entranced by the sensations as he tensed and flexed experimentally. It would definitely take some time to get used to, but at least he had already proven that he’d be able to operate the new machinery without any issue. His achievements out there on the ice were beyond anything Henry had thought he could ever be capable of; being in Leon’s body had unlocked something inside of him.

With all the exploration he was doing of his new body, it was hardly surprising that his cock begged for attention and Henry was more than happy to give it. He gripped it, stroking slowly, then faster, his moans echoing in the tiled room. He pictured Leon’s girlfriend, Celeste, her curves pressed against him, and his teammate Brett Kulak, a rugged defenseman whose rough hands he craved. The thought of claiming them both - maybe even at the same time - pushed him over the edge, and he came hard, his seed spilling into the water, a perverse consecration of his new life.

—

In the weeks that followed, Henry leaned into his role as Leon with hedonistic abandon. On the ice, he was unstoppable, breaking records and earning adulation. Off the ice, he indulged in excess—parties, alcohol, and sex, anything that would allow him to revel in the power of his gorgeous new body. His obsession with his new form never once faded; he’d spend hours in front of mirrors every day, flexing his big muscles, sniffing his own musk, and jerking off to his reflection all while whispering to himself in carefully practiced German. His new deep voice and subtle accent was a constant aphrodisiac.

His bisexuality fueled his conquests. He seduced Celeste first, showing up at her apartment with a bouquet of roses and Leon’s charming smile. She melted under his touch, begging him to fuck her almost as soon as he pressed his lips to her neck and began kissing down to her collarbone. Blissfully unaware that the man in her apartment wasn’t actually her boyfriend, Celeste let herself get carried bridal-style into the bedroom, where her hands worshipped his muscular body before they fucked long through the night on her silk sheets. Henry reveled in her moans, knowing he was stealing Leon’s love, his cruelty masked by Leon’s hazel eyes.

“I don’t know how, but that’s the best you’ve ever fucked me,” she whispered once they’d finally finished after hours of passionate lovemaking. She’d settled into his arms without even a moment of hesitation, feeling safe in her man’s strong embrace. Henry just laughed. Hearing such high praise was music to his ears. It was yet another triumph he could hold over the Leon he’d so easily replaced.

Next came Brett, the defenseman, whose rough kisses and calloused hands thrilled him. Henry hadn’t even had to work to seduce Brett: it had emerged pretty quickly that his teammate had been secretly crushing on Leon for some time. Their encounters were raw and so much more physical than what he had with Celeste, fueled by Henry’s malicious delight in defiling Leon’s legacy. As soon as they were alone in the team’s sauna, Henry pinned Brett against the wall, their sweat-slick bodies grinding together. Henry murmured filthy promises in the other man’s ear, the German accent driving Brett wild. “Fuck, Leon, you’re unreal,” Brett growled, and Henry smirked, knowing he was rewriting Leon’s life with every thrust. He hooked up with others—teammates, rivals, models—each conquest a middle finger to the real Leon.

Even Leon’s best friend and Oilers team captain, the legendary Connor McDavid, didn’t seem to notice anything too amiss. He’d briefly commented upon “Leon’s” extra dash of confidence but easily accepted the justification that Leon was riding the momentum of his record-setting season. The pair of them got beers after every game and trained together every morning, all without Connor ever suspecting that his friend had been replaced by an obsessive fan neither of them would have been able to pick out of a crowd even if their lives depended upon it. Henry had even managed to get Connor drunk enough one night that the other man no longer laughed off the flirtatious comments and instead responded with shy interest. That night had ended with Connor on his knees between Henry’s legs, sucking Leon’s cock for the first (and certainly not the last) time.

While Henry was living a charmed life in his new flesh, Leon’s fate was far crueler. Voss, thrilled by his experiment’s success, kept him prisoner in the lab, Henry’s frail body a living tomb. Sedated and malnourished, Leon’s mind began to fray, his once laser-sharp focus dulled by pain and despair. Voss taunted him daily, showing him clips of “Leon” breaking records, seducing Celeste, partying with teammates. Henry even stopped by on a few occasions to further torment the athlete he had replaced, sometimes flexing his muscles and jerking off, other times regaling him with wild stories about the parties he’d been hosting at the new mansion he’d just moved into.

On one particular occasion, Leon broke down in tears the moment Henry entered the room. Rather than showing any empathy, Henry just laughed. “Please,” Leon begged. “You gotta get him to reverse this. I can’t live like this any longer!” He actually got down on his knees, bowing his head in total submission. Seeing him like that, Henry was struck by just how low the hockey superstar had sunk. What an almighty fall from grace!

“Sorry, bud, that’s not in the cards,” Henry replied dismissively, speaking through a cruel smile. “Now, I thought you’d like to know that Celeste told me how much better I am in bed than I used to be.” Leon flinched, the words as wounding as a slap to the face. “Yeah, she’s a real keeper. I can see myself marrying her. We’ll have a big ceremony, of course. I hope Brett and Connor don’t get too jealous.” The mention of his best friend prompted Leon to snap his head up in surprise, meeting Henry’s gaze finally. “Oh yeah, I’ve got Connor hooked on this as well.” Henry grabbed at the bulge in the front of his pants, more than happy to have an excuse to grope his thick cock. “He’s still a bit of a rookie when it comes to sucking cock but don’t worry, I’ll train him well…”

It wasn’t only Henry that contributed to the deconstruction of Leon’s mind; the scientist responsible for their switch in the first place was just as culpable. “In the end, your mind really was worth nothing,” Voss sneered at Leon on a daily basis. “The body won, just as I knew it would.” Leon’s desperate defiance grew weaker over time, his fighting spirit eventually left in tatters.

One night, soon after Leon had given up fighting, Voss finally grew bored and decided it was time to bring the experiment to an end. It had been long enough that he knew none of the side effects from his trial run were present; swapping Leon and Henry had been a complete success and now that he knew his neutral transfer device worked, he was already drawing up schemes of what to do with it next. A new, younger body for himself, perhaps? With no more need for the former Leon Draisaitl, Voss injected the utterly defeated man with a lethal dose of barbiturates, watching as Henry’s frail body convulsed, then stilled.“

A fitting end for a failed mind,” Voss muttered, dumping the body in an unmarked grave. Nobody would ever miss him. The new and improved Leon Draisaitl was still very much alive, after all. It was Henry, an easily forgotten loner with an obsessional crush, who had instead perished, with nobody ever to become aware that it was actually the undignified end of a man who had once been a bonafide NHL superstar…

[oliverwondertf]

The Do-Over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nationality: American Ethnicity: Caucasian

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

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

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

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

Age: 23 Name: Michael Chad Johnson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Location: Virginia Residence Style: Mobile Home

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

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

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

|🖊️|💪|🕹️|

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

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

|📱|💪|🎼|

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professional Thirst Trap & Aspiring Rapper * CHOICE ACCEPTED *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[oliverwondertf]

MALL DAD POSSESSED...

Babe, check out this sick dad I just found at the mall!

He was waiting outside a women's fashion store, probably waiting for his wife. I think he thought he was too much of a man to go in. He kinda gives off sexist and homophobic vibes. Doesn't he?

Well, let me know if he's hot enough for me to wear home.

I think he'd look great on his knees in front of you. Maybe licking your shoes clean after your long day. I bet this guy would be mortified to see himself do that. He'd definitely hate to have a horny gay teenager possessing his body.

Anyway. I should probably go if I don't want to run into his wife and kids.

I'll find something slutty for him to wear home if you want him, but in the meantime, I'll have to find some way to entertain myself. Maybe I'll take his ring off and hang out at a gay bar. I might even wear him on stage and dance for everyone. I'd love to show off this sexy dad bod.

See you at home babe!

[oliverwondertf]

The Taste of Others

🇬🇧 ("Il Gusto dell'Altro" Versione Inglese)

It’s been many years now since the day I was cursed. It was 1968, and I was in a small café when I made a simple mistake: I cut in front of a woman in line to place my order before her. I had no idea she was, in fact, a witch. She cast a curse on me — one so bizarre it seemed like a joke... until it actually came true.

From that day on, every time I eat something, my appearance changes. My face, my body, even my ethnicity transform according to what I consume: if I eat sushi, I take on the appearance of a Japanese person; if I drink tea made with herbs grown in India, I become Indian; a slice of Sacher torte turns me into an elegant Viennese gentleman. My body adapts to the culture and origin of the food.

And that’s not all: the quality of the food affects my physical appearance too. Fresh, wholesome ingredients make me look young and attractive. But if the food is cheap or heavily processed... well, let’s just say I become someone no one wants to look at twice.

You can imagine how inconvenient this is. I can’t eat in public. I have to avoid running or biking with my mouth open, because accidentally swallowing a bug can lead to... unsettling results.

But the most astonishing effect shows up during moments of intimacy. If, during oral sex, my partner reaches orgasm and I ingest even the tiniest bit of his semen — whether on purpose or just by reflex — my body undergoes a complete transformation: I become his exact double. Not just physically, but in voice, movements, even down to the tiniest details like scars, moles, and imperfections.

This morning, I started my day with a piece of fine dark chocolate. A little while ago, I had a few spoonfuls of low-fat yogurt... and you can see the result for yourself.

[oliverwondertf]

Humble Party

After four years of college. Graduation is right around the corner. There is one frat house has a party. They call it a Humble Party. The party is really a secret.

It looks like a normal party , but there's a lot more, too. Those who attended are swarn to secrecy what really happened.

It's for the members of the fraternity to think those who helped him make it through college.

So pretty much nerds are invited. Who help the jocks make it through their 4 year of school. But there's a personal exchange before the party starts.

It's to keep the jock's humble and show their appreciation and respect for those how helped them

Each jock has one particular person to thank. And with a showing of appreciation and exchange is made.

The exchange is to show their thankss And to keep them humble on who the are. The sign of respect they are willing to make this exchange.

My name is Neil. I tutor and helped one particular jock for the last four years was named Jon.

So at the party Jon and I are supposed to do an exchange. The show is appreciation and show.How humble he is for my help.

At the party we exchange bodies and lives for the night. He becomes me and I become him.

Just so they can experience the other life even for one night. And us their's.

We are taken to a special room in the basement.

There's are two cabinet machine down there. One takes one side, other one takes the other. And a swap is made.

Jon becomes me, and I become Jon.

After the swap was supposed to exchange clothes. And for the next few hours, we get to be the other person.

There are many rules we have to follow. And that is to respect the other person. Especially when we're in their body.

Nothing to embarrass them or make them look foolish.

Jon and I swapped bodies, and then we went up to his room, where he gave me a different change clothes to wear.

It was my chance to experience life as a good looking jack. He even gave me his letterman jacket that he earned back in high school to wear.

It was amazing how well it went it went at the party.

Standing there in Jon's body. Wearing his pride and joy letterman jacket.

Everyone was having a great time. It started out as a picnic in the back yard and then moved inside as the sun went down.

It was just the temporary experience for the night , but it was a great experience.

As the party was winding down, each jock would disappear with his counterpart, you could say. They would switch back. And evening would be done.

I went upstairs to Jon's room.And that's all I remember.

The next morning, I woke up in Jon's room,my head spinning. I got to my feet and I was trying to pull myself together. My mind was still in a haze.

It's when I able get to Mt feet. I am still in his body.

Did something happen. when we were to swap back.

I'm totally confused about what is going on right now. I seem to know more about Jon than I ever have. As I became him. Permeability.

I seem lost and confused but I went and got undressed and took a shower. That was some party last night.

I went downstairs and I couldn't find anybody around. Everybody must be off at their classes or something.

I don't know, it was like that.It was happened and I headed off to class myself. Jon's class. As the day went on I became more and more him

The mannerisms were perfect, my speech, everything. Nobody could tell the difference between me and him.

Hus frat buddies are not permitted to talk about the party. The whole thing is a secret.

But I don't understand why am I still in his body. Why is my own life slipped away. And his is taking over.

I even ran into my old self. Across campus, and he acted like he was Neal.

He even said it was a great party and it had a fun time swapping bodies. I know , I am not supposed to talk about. But I enjoyed the experience of being you.

Good-looking muscle jock. An experience I'll never forget.

But to me. It was the opposite, like we never swapped back. I was the nerd in the jock's body. His life is over writing my.

I went on being him. Day after day.

Formal dinner at the Dean's home with members of the athletic department.

As far as everyone thought, I was Jon.

Each day, I become more hymn unless my old self.

Trust me, i'm getting to enjoy this body and face. As I get up in the morning and look in the mirror.

Maybe because we went upstairs instead of back down at the end of the night. Maybe Jon planned this way..

But why would he want to be me. Or maybe something happened. And this is the results.

Graduation day came. I cross that stage as Jon receiving his diploma. A short time later my old body crossed as Neal. None the wiser till anything that happened.

I guess i'm not living Jon's life. I'm going out to dinner with his family to celebrate. I guess I say my family since I know everybody and everything about them.

I never saw Neil after that day. I watched him drive away, and that was it.

It's time went on.I totally forgot about my pass To me I was always Jon.

Like the party never happened. And it was always this way.

[oliverwondertf]

Swap Kink Accepted!

“Yea, Worship your former muscles babe! Fuck these arms are huge. And rock solid. And now they’re MINE. Mmmm yes, feel them. Feel how strong I am now. How does it feel to be so skinny now? I bet you haven’t weighed so little in years!”

“No, babe…I feel so tiny in your body.”

“Not gonna lie, babe, at first I thought this swap kink of yours was pretty weird, but now that I’m in your body, FORMER body, I am already loving it. I always loved your muscles and your cock, but now that they’re mine, I love them even more. I know you’re a modest guy, but I think people will start noticing a big change. Can’t wait for people to notice. The thought of them calling me narcissistic, self-absorbed, ‘douche’ makes me so hard. And you’re gonna worship me too, right? Of course you are. That’s what you wanted, bitch. To take everything that was yours and make it mine. And I’m never giving it back, babe–feels too good. Hell, I think I’m gonna invite some other guys over to worship along with you. Hope you can keep up with them.

[oliverwondertf]

The Pact

Evan was twenty-five but was often mistaken for a younger age. His soft cheeks, smooth jaw, and slight frame earned him nicknames like “kid,” “cutie,” or worse—“boytoy.” No matter how old he got, men saw him the same way: a harmless, delicate twink to be used and left. His hookups treated him like a temporary indulgence, not a man worth keeping.

Each glance in the mirror reminded him of what he lacked—broad shoulders, stubble, muscle, presence. He wanted more than to be looked at with lust; he wanted to be desired, respected… maybe even feared. Hair on his chest. A beard thick enough to scratch. A cock that made guys moan just from a glimpse. A butt that strained denim and left impressions on bedsheets.

One sleepless night, scrolling the dark corners of an obscure forum, Evan found him. The warlock's profile was subtle: a simple message—“I grant wishes, but all power has a price.”

They exchanged cryptic messages. The deal was simple: Evan would get everything he wanted—strength, hair, raw masculinity, magnetism… in exchange for twenty men over twenty years. Handsome men. Powerful men. One per year, delivered to the warlock without question or explanation. If he failed, even once, his punishment would be cruel and irreversible: he would become a woman—curvy, docile, and powerless to change back.

Evan’s hands trembled as he typed: “I accept.”

A surge of heat slammed into his chest. He gasped, falling back onto his bed. His skin itched and tightened, prickling with growing hairs as his once-smooth body darkened with a thick forest of masculinity. His chest broadened, bones creaking as muscle layered itself over his frame. His arms thickened, veins rising, his forearms dusted with dark hair. He moaned aloud, voice deepening as his throat swelled and his jaw squared off. Stubble pushed through his cheeks like wildfire, meeting to form a rough, manly beard.

His cock—once modest—throbbed and lengthened, pulsing with new weight. His balls hung lower, fuller. He grunted, hips grinding the sheets as his ass filled out—round, powerful, meaty. Something worth being grabbed, spanked, worshipped. His new reflection stared back at him: the man he had always wanted to be. Hairy, masculine, smoldering. He looked like sex incarnate.

And he felt it. Every breath was heavier, hungrier. He stripped completely, admiring the wet trail of sweat along his hairy abs. A sly grin crossed his face, his lips full and seductive. He could already hear the men who once used him now begging for his attention.

He’d pay the warlock’s price. Twenty men? That was nothing. He had twenty years of frustration to work through—and now, the power to take what he wanted.

[oliverwondertf]

Stolen Reflection

(AI-Generated)

Jacob’s life was a patchwork of false starts and fleeting hopes. At twenty-four, he was still adrift, a young gay man trying to carve out a place in a world that seemed to push back at every turn. His jobs never lasted, either too dull or too demanding, and his dating life was a string of awkward encounters that fizzled before they began. His small apartment in the aging complex on the edge of town was his only constant, a cramped sanctuary that came with its own burdens. Rent was a monthly battle, and the man who collected it, Stuart Gawne, was a force of nature Jacob could neither escape nor ignore.

Mr. Gawne was the landlord from hell. At forty-five, he ruled the complex with an iron fist, his temper as sharp as his hazel eyes. He was strict, demanding rent on the precise day it was due, and his deep voice, laced with a thick Scottish accent, could cut through walls.

“You think I’m running a bloody hotel, lad?” he’d snap, pounding on Jacob’s door if payment was even an hour late. “Pay up, or you’re out.” His irritability was legendary among the tenants, his condescending tone a weapon he wielded freely.

But for reasons Jacob couldn’t fathom, Mr. Gawne seemed to harbor a particular resentment toward him. Random inspections were a ritual, the landlord barging into Jacob’s apartment with a scowl, citing vague complaints about noise or clutter. Once, he’d leaned in close, his stubble glinting in the light, and accused Jacob of disturbing the building with loud sexual hookups. “I’ve got tenants complaining about your… escapades,” he’d said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Jacob’s face had burned as he stammered a defense. “I haven’t had anyone over in years, Mr. Gawne. I swear.” It was true. His bed had been empty for over two years, his love life reduced to fleeting fantasies. The accusation stung, not just for its falsehood but because it came from the man who haunted his thoughts day and night.

Reporting Mr. Gawne for harassment was the logical move, but Jacob couldn’t bring himself to do it. The truth, buried deep beneath his frustration, was that he was hopelessly attracted to the older man. Stuart Gawne was a study in rugged perfection. Tall and lean, he kept his body honed with daily morning jogs and calisthenics, his frame a blend of muscle and sinew. Dark hair blanketed his chest and arms, a stark contrast to his pale skin, and his short brown hair, streaked with gray, framed a face that was unfairly handsome. His salt-and-pepper stubble sharpened the intensity of his hazel eyes, which seemed to see right through Jacob. That Scottish accent, rich and commanding, sent shivers down his spine, even when it was laced with venom. Every barked order, every curt word, only deepened Jacob’s inexplicable crush.

He’d lie awake at night, his mind spinning vivid fantasies. He’d imagine Mr. Gawne finishing his morning jog, sweat gleaming on his hairy chest, bounding up the stairs to Jacob’s apartment. In these dreams, the landlord would kick open the door, his deep voice growling Jacob’s name as he pinned him to the couch, taking him with a ferocity that left Jacob breathless. Jacob would run his hands over that furry body, feeling the heat of his skin, the flex of his muscles, the scratch of his stubble. But reality was crueler. Those nights ended with Jacob alone, stroking himself to the image of Mr. Gawne, guilt and longing twisting in his gut.

—

It was a Saturday afternoon when the chaos began. Jacob was sprawled on his couch, halfheartedly scrolling through job listings, when he overheard Mr. Gawne’s voice in the hallway, sharp with irritation. “A bloody raccoon in the storage space? Are you kidding me?”

A tenant had reported the intrusion, and Mr. Gawne, never one to trust others with his domain, stormed off to investigate. Jacob peeked through his window, watching the landlord stride toward the basement entrance, his broad shoulders tense under a fitted polo.

Down in the underground storage, the air was cool and musty, the dim lights casting long shadows. Mr. Gawne moved with purpose, his flashlight slicing through the darkness as he navigated the maze of locked units. A faint scurrying drew him to one door, secured with heavy chains. Muttering curses, he retrieved a bolt cutter from his toolbox and snapped the lock, shoving the door open.

The unit was a cluttered trove of oddities: old trunks, dusty stage props, a sequined cape draped over a crate. He stepped inside, his boots crunching on the concrete, and nearly tripped over a box. His hand shot out, grabbing a velvet cover to steady himself, and it slipped to the floor.

Beneath it stood a large, ornate mirror, its golden frame gleaming in the flashlight’s beam. Mr. Gawne straightened, expecting to see his own reflection: the chiseled jaw, the hairy chest, the man he’d sculpted through years of discipline. But the face staring back wasn’t his. It was old, weathered, with sagging skin and watery eyes. He gasped, stumbling back, his heart pounding. 

“What the hell is this?” he muttered, his accent thick with shock. 

He reached out, fingers brushing the mirror’s surface, and a pulse of light flared through the room. When his vision cleared, he looked down, horror seizing him. His hands were gnarled, his body frail. He screamed, a weak, reedy sound, and bolted from the unit, leaving the mirror behind.

Jacob’s POV

I woke from a nap, my head fuzzy and my body heavy with the weight of another aimless day. The afternoon sun slanted through my apartment window, and a commotion outside pulled me to my feet. I leaned against the glass, squinting at the scene below. A police car sat in the lot, its lights flashing lazily. Two officers stood by an old man, frail and wild-eyed, who was shouting and waving his arms. His voice carried faintly, frantic words about a “magic mirror” in the storage space and how he wasn’t who he appeared to be.

“I’m Stuart Gawne!” he cried, his voice cracking. “I’m the landlord! That’s not my body!” The cops exchanged weary glances, one scribbling notes while the other tried to calm him, clearly thinking he was out of his mind.

I pressed my face closer to the window, curiosity sparking. A magic mirror? Down in the storage? It sounded like nonsense, but the old man’s desperation was palpable. I grabbed my sneakers, slipped them on, and crept downstairs, avoiding the chaos outside.

The entrance to the underground storage was unguarded, and I slipped inside, the cool, musty air enveloping me. My footsteps echoed as I ventured deeper, passing rows of locked units, their metal doors glinting dully. Then I saw it: one unit with its door ajar, a bolt cutter lying on the floor like a discarded clue. My pulse quickened, and I stepped inside, my breath catching.

The unit was a hoard of strange relics: crates stuffed with sequined costumes, a top hat perched on a shelf, a wand that looked like it belonged in a magic show. I froze, a memory clicking into place. This was Old Man Kessler’s unit. He’d been a retired magician, a quirky tenant who’d vanished three years ago. The story was whispered among the residents. Kessler had been caught on a security camera entering the storage area, but he never came out. A college jock had emerged minutes later, claiming he hadn’t seen the old man. The police found nothing, and the case went cold. As I scanned the room, a chill ran through me. That old man outside, the one claiming to be Mr. Gawne… he looked eerily like Kessler. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

I moved deeper, my foot catching on a crate. I stumbled, catching myself on a box, and when I straightened, my heart stopped. There, in the dim light, stood Stuart Gawne. His tall, muscular frame filled the space, his hazel eyes locked on mine, intense and unyielding. I froze, my throat tightening, and raised a hand in a shaky wave.

“Uh, Mr. Gawne? What are you doing here?” I stammered, but he mirrored me exactly, his hand lifting in sync.

Confused, I lowered my arm, and he did the same. I took a step back; he followed. I bent to pick up a crate, and he mimicked me, his movements fluid, precise. My eyes caught the golden frame, ornate and gleaming, and it hit me. This was a mirror. But why was it showing him?

I stepped closer, my breath shallow. “This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered, touching my cheek. His reflection copied me, his fingers brushing that salt-and-pepper stubble. I stuck out my tongue, winked, and there he was, the stoic landlord, smirking playfully. My crush roared to life, a heat spreading through me.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, testing it further. I tugged off my T-shirt, tossing it aside, and watched, jaw dropping, as his reflection peeled off his polo, revealing that perfect, hairy chest. Dark curls spread across his pecs, trailing down to sculpted abs, and I stood there, awestruck, my fantasies unfolding in real time.

“What are you?” I said, circling the mirror. I ran my hands over my chest, and he did the same, his rugged fingers gliding over that furry expanse. I tugged at the air, pretending to pluck at chest hair, and seeing him mirror it sent a jolt through me. My cock twitched, desire flooding my veins. 

“This is insane,” I breathed, but I couldn’t stop. I slid a hand down, grabbing my crotch, and watched him grip his own, his jeans bulging. I shoved my sweatpants down, kicking them away, and he shed his jeans, standing in boxers that hugged his thick thighs. My own cock was average, forgettable, but in the mirror, his was a masterpiece: long, curved, nestled in a dark bush of hair. My mouth watered, my body burning.

I gripped my cock, stroking slowly, my eyes glued to his reflection. “You’re so fucking hot,” I murmured, and he matched me, his hand pumping that gorgeous member, his hairy legs spread wide. One hand roamed his chest, tugging at fur, while drool glistened on his stubbled chin. It was everything I’d dreamed of, every late-night fantasy brought to life. “Yeah, just like that,” I said, my voice thick with lust.

I stepped closer, desperate to see his face, to catch every detail of that flushed, orgasmic expression. His cock pulsed in his hand, thick and veined, and the sight pushed me over the edge. “Stuart,” I moaned, my voice breaking as I came, cum splattering the mirror’s surface. His reflection erupted too, load after load coating the glass, his face red and rapturous, a vision I’d only imagined in my darkest moments.

Panting, I leaned forward, my hand pressing against the mirror for support. The moment my skin touched the surface, the glass pulsed, glowing with an otherworldly light. A blinding flash exploded through the room, and I staggered back, shielding my eyes. When the light faded, I lowered my arm and froze. My own face stared back from the mirror, my scrawny frame, my plain features. Disappointment stabbed at me.

“Guess all good things end,” I muttered, but my voice stopped me cold. It was deep, resonant, laced with a Scottish accent. 

“No fucking way,” I said, and looked down. A hairy chest, sculpted and broad, stretched beneath my gaze. My hands, now strong and veined, led to that curved, perfect cock. I ran my fingers over my face, feeling stubble, and swore again. The shock was too much, and my new cock twitched, firing another load across the cum-streaked mirror.

I was Stuart Gawne. His body, his musk, his everything. “This is real,” I said, scratching my stubble, inhaling the rich scent of my armpits. “I’m him.” I grinned, my hazel eyes gleaming in the dim light.

On the floor lay his polo, his jeans, and I rifled through the pockets, finding his keys, wallet, and smartphone. A fancy watch on my wrist showed only twenty minutes had passed. But the police would be here soon, led by that old man who was probably the real Stuart Gawne. I wasn’t giving this up.

“You’re mine now,” I said to my reflection, a mischievous grin plastered on my new handsome face.

End of POV

Five minutes later, the old man, still insisting he was Stuart Gawne, dragged the two policemen down to the underground storage area. His frail hands trembled with desperation, his voice thin and frantic as he pleaded his case. 

“It’s here, I swear,” he panted, his watery eyes darting between the officers. “The mirror stole my body! I’m Stuart Gawne, not this… this husk!”

The policemen followed, their patience fraying, one muttering under his breath about wasting time on a lunatic. The old man led them to the unlocked unit, his steps unsteady as he reached for the velvet cover draped over what he believed was his salvation. “You’ll see,” he said, his voice cracking with hope. “It’s right here.”

He yanked the cover down, and his face crumpled, a choked gasp escaping him. The mirror was shattered, its golden frame surrounding a pile of jagged shards that glittered on the concrete. The bolt cutter lay nearby, its blades glinting accusingly, clearly the tool used to destroy the artifact. The old man staggered back, his hands shaking as he pointed at the wreckage.

“It was here,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “It… it took me! I was me, and now I’m… this!” He clutched at his sagging face, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. The officers exchanged looks, their expressions hardening. This man was delusional, possibly dangerous, and the broken mirror only confirmed their suspicions of vandalism.

“Sir, you need to calm down,” the older officer said, his tone firm but tired. “You’re not making any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense!” the old man cried, his voice rising to a wail. “That mirror swapped me! I’m Stuart Gawne! I own this building! You have to believe me!”

Before the younger officer could respond, a deep voice cut through the silence, smooth and confident with a thick Scottish accent. “Gentlemen, everything alright down here?”

They turned to see a man standing in the doorway, his presence commanding the dim space. Tall, muscular, and undeniably handsome, he strode forward, his fitted polo hugging a hairy chest, his hazel eyes warm but authoritative. His salt-and-pepper stubble gleamed under the flickering lights, and his short brown hair was neatly tousled. He extended a hand, his grip strong as he shook theirs.

“Stuart Gawne, landlord of this complex,” he said, his smile disarming, his accent rolling off his tongue like a warm invitation. “What’s the trouble?”

The younger officer blushed, caught off guard by the man’s charisma, and fumbled with his notebook. “Uh, we got a call about a disturbance, Mr. Gawne. This… gentleman claims there’s some kind of magic mirror down here. Says he’s you.”

Jacob, now fully inhabiting Stuart Gawne’s body, raised an eyebrow, his expression a perfect blend of concern and amusement. “Is that so?” he said, glancing at the old man with a pitying shake of his head. “Poor bastard’s been causing trouble for a while now.”

The old man’s eyes widened, horror dawning as he saw his own body standing there, alive and smug. “That’s me!” he screamed, lunging at Jacob with surprising strength for his frail frame. “You thief! Give me my body back!” His gnarled hands clawed at the air, but the police reacted swiftly, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. The younger officer snapped handcuffs on his wrists, and the old man thrashed, spitting incoherent pleas. “I’m Stuart Gawne! He’s a fake! The mirror… it swapped us! You have to listen!”

“Enough of that,” the older officer said, his voice sharp as he tightened his grip. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

Jacob stepped forward, his posture relaxed but commanding, his accent rich and convincing. “Thank you, officers,” he said, crossing his arms, his biceps flexing under the polo. “This old bastard’s been stalking me for months. Obsessed, you know? Kept saying he wanted my life, my face. Broke into the storage and smashed that mirror, as you can see.” He gestured at the wreckage, his tone steady, authoritative. “I’ve been meaning to report him, but I didn’t think he’d go this far.”

The older officer nodded, scribbling in his notebook. “Sounds like breaking and entering, harassment as well. You want to press charges, Mr. Gawne?”

“Aye, I do,” Jacob said, his hazel eyes narrowing as he glanced at the old man, who was now sobbing quietly. “He’s been a menace. Scaring my tenants, causing trouble. I’d like a restraining order too, keep him away from this building and me for good.”

The younger officer hesitated, glancing at the old man, whose rants had dissolved into incoherent mumbles. “He keeps saying he’s you, sir. You sure you don’t know him? Maybe an old relative or something?”

Jacob chuckled, the sound deep and warm, disarming the officer’s doubt. “Do I look like I’m related to that? No, officer, he’s just a sad old man with a fixation. I’ve seen him lurking around, watching me. Gives me the creeps, to be honest.”

The older officer sighed, closing his notebook. “Alright, Mr. Gawne. We’ll take him in, process the charges. You’ll need to come by the station later to give a formal statement.”

“Happy to,” Jacob said, flashing a smile that made the younger officer blush again. “Appreciate you handling this so quickly.”

As the police hauled the old man out, his cries echoed through the basement, growing fainter until they were gone. Jacob stood alone in the storage unit, the shattered mirror at his feet, his new body thrumming with a mix of triumph and exhilaration. He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, feeling the scratch of it, and inhaled deeply, the musky scent of his new skin filling his lungs. 

“You’re mine now, Stuart,” he murmured, his accent natural, as if he’d been born with it. He grabbed the bolt cutter, tucked it under his arm, and headed upstairs, his heavy boots echoing with purpose.

—

The landlord’s apartment was on the top floor, a corner unit with wide windows and a view of the city’s edge. Jacob unlocked the door with his new keys, the click of the lock sending a thrill through him. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and stood still for a moment, taking it all in. The space was masculine and orderly, with dark wood furniture, a leather couch, and a faint scent of musk that matched his own. It was Stuart’s world, and now it was his. He wandered through, trailing his fingers over the surfaces, each touch grounding him in this new reality. A shelf held whiskey bottles, their labels worn from use. A framed photo showed Stuart with a group of friends, all laughing, his arm slung around a man Jacob didn’t recognize. A diploma on the wall bore Stuart’s name, a testament to a life Jacob now owned.

“Bloody hell, this is real,” he said, his voice deep and rich, the Scottish accent rolling effortlessly. He opened the closet, finding rows of clothes that fit his new frame perfectly: polos, jeans, a leather jacket that he slipped on, admiring how it hugged his broad shoulders. He caught his reflection in a hallway mirror, his hazel eyes gleaming, his stubble glinting in the light. “Look at you,” he said, grinning. “Stuart Gawne, you handsome bastard.”

The bedroom called to him, and he stepped inside, the air thick with that familiar musk. He threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the sheets. They smelled of him, deep and earthy, and he inhaled deeply, his body stirring. 

“Fuck, you smell good,” he said, his voice low and husky.

He humped the bed slowly, the silk grazing his hairy chest and thighs, each thrust igniting his senses. His cock, thick and curved, pressed against the fabric, and he let himself go, grinding harder, his breaths coming in short gasps. The pleasure built, raw and overwhelming, and he came, cum soaking the sheets as a guttural groan filled the room. He lay there, panting, his hairy chest heaving, the afterglow wrapping him in a warm haze.

Across the room, a full-length mirror stood against the wall, its surface gleaming in the soft light. Jacob rose, stripping off his clothes until he stood naked, every inch of Stuart’s body exposed. He approached the mirror slowly, his heart pounding with a mix of awe and hesitation. The reflection was Stuart Gawne, every detail perfect: the hairy pecs, the sculpted abs, the thick cock nestled in dark hair. He squeezed his pecs, feeling the muscle flex, and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, his short hair.

“This is me now,” he said, the Scottish accent rolling out naturally. “Stuart Gawne, in the flesh.”

His fingers drifted lower, fondling his cock and balls, the sensation sending shivers through him. “You’re mine,” he said, his eyes locked on the reflection. “This body, this life, this identity. All mine.”

He reached out, his hand hovering over the mirror’s surface, a flicker of fear tightening his chest. What if it was another trick? What if touching it sent him back to his old, scrawny self? He swallowed, his hazel eyes narrowing with determination.

“No going back,” he said, and pressed his palm against the glass.

The surface was cold, solid, unyielding. The reflection didn’t waver. It was him, hairy, fit, and handsome, forever. An exhilarating grin spread across his face, his stubble stretching, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Well, Stuart,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, “looks like I’m you for good.” He stepped back, flexing his arms, watching the muscles ripple in the mirror. “Time to enjoy my new life.”

He turned, grabbing a pair of Stuart’s boxers from a drawer and slipping them on, the fabric hugging his thighs. Tomorrow, he’d head to the office, manage the tenants, maybe even jog through the streets, letting the world see the new Stuart Gawne. For now, he sank back onto the bed, his body heavy with satisfaction, and closed his eyes. This was his, every inch absolute perfection. His body, his life, his reflection.