the-daily-body

[the-daily-body]

"Alternate ending" - The Wild One

There was unease in Wrightsville - since the biker gang the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club (BRMC) had driven into the sleepy Californian town, the townsfolk had been concerned and worried what trouble this large group of disaffected youths could cause in their normally peaceful place.

The bikers were led by Johnny Strabler, a young man of few words, but revered by his gang. A rebel without a cause. Strong, cool, confident and untouchable - or so he thought.

Having caused commotion at a motorcycle rally in Carbonville, the BRMC had moved on to stir up trouble somewhere else - that eventually led them to Wrightsville. One might think that one knows how this story ends… But this time it's different. ---

It was only about 1 o'clock in the afternoon on the day of BRMC's arrival, when the elderly Chief Harry Bleeker, the only police officer in the sleepy town, entered the Wrightsville pharmacy.

The bell rang like always, but nothing felt normal today, the boisterous gang had only been here for a couple of hours, but it felt like days and the whole town was nervous. This included Chief Bleeker, who now felt like he was on the toughest assignment of his career.

"Hey Doc." Chief Bleeker greeted the pharmacist. Though he wasn't a doctor, he was very knowledgeable in medicine and biochemistry, thus everybody in town referred to him as 'Doc'.

"Hey Chief." Doc replied.

"I need something for my nerves." Bleeker said trying to hide his nervousness.

"Got something right here for ya, Chief." Doc said, almost as if he had expected Bleeker to ask.

Doc attempted to hand Chief Bleeker the bottle, but Bleeker declined with a hand gesture.

"Please give a glass of water, I'll be takin' 'em straight away." Bleeker muttered.

Doc went to get a glass of water for the Bleeker, who opened the pill bottle pouring two pills into his hand, before he put the bottle back on the countertop.

"Seems like our loud and rowdy visitors have done a number on ya, Chief." Doc said as Bleeker swallowed the pills followed by the water.

"Yes…" Bleeker replied glumly, his grip tightened on the empty glass, "never in my time, had I thought that I would end up in situation like this…"

Doc put the pill bottle back behind the counter, not responding to Bleeker's plight.

Bleeker sighed.

"It's like sitting on a tickin' time-bomb. Everyone's on edge - not that I blame 'em - if the situation somehow escalates, I don't think I can handle it."

"Yeah, I don't envy you." Doc replied, resting at the counter looking over Bleeker's shoulder to look through the window facing the street. "It's the calm before the storm, but they are like nomads-"

"Nomads?! 'Locusts' is more like it. If I don't put my foot down, we risk that these hooligans start feeling at home… I've heard of other towns, where that happened… I really don't wanna see that here."

He paused, but when Doc didn't respond he continued:

"Kleiner noticed that I hesitated to act, when those hoodlums made him crash his car. And I think they noticed too."

Bleeker sighed again.

"If I was smart I would be skipping town just like you, Doc."

Doc wasn't pleased with Bleeker's insinuation.

"You know very well, Chief, that I am not 'skipping' town for at least another 3 months. So I will have to live through this, just like the rest of you."

There was a long pause. It almost felt peaceful in contrast to what might be happening on Wrightsville's streets...

Chief Bleeker, lost in thought, began speaking again, Doc was confused at first, but he quickly figured that Bleeker was in a train of thought, now saying it aloud:

"It's their leader Johnny - Johnny Strabler, he strides around the town like he owns it, and his men follow him around like puppy-dogs. He doesn't say much, but he radiates an attitude - I don't know what to call it - a dominance, that makes his crew follow him without question, they're wrapped around his finger."

"Hmmm..." Doc said, breaking the officer's flow of thinking and made him look at him, "listen Chief, I may be able to help you... But it may be a little 'drastic'."

"The situation seems to call for it," Bleeker replied, "but thank you, if you can help in any way, it'll be appreciated."

"Very well, then listen very carefully…"

---

Bleeker left Doc's pharmacy twenty minutes later, and it didn't take long, before he was forced into action against the rebellious youths. A brawl had broken out, outside Bleeker's brother, Frank's, café.

Some townsfolk had already intervened, having incapacitated a biker, who looked like he'd already had way too much, and struggled to get out of the grip of the town's mechanic, while still trying to stand up straight.

"We'll be taking this punk to the cell, Chief," the mechanic said, and headed towards the police station.

Chief Bleeker was forced to step between the mechanic and the biker gang members present trying to calm them down, fortunately it was only a handful - for now.

It didn't however take long, before the BRMC had gathered outside the police station, yelling and screaming, really trying to escalate the situation. Bleeker did his best to stay calm, but he was nervous, and he knew the biker gang could tell.

"Look - I've told you already, your friend is NOT under arrest, he's only in the drunk tank to sleep it off. Once he has sobered up, he'll be free to leave (just like the rest of you)."

Bleeker returned to his office, uncertain if he had actually improved the situation and managed to calm down the rowdy crowd outside. As long as they stayed outside, that would be a good sign at least - unless they started causing chaos elsewhere…

It seemed inevitable, that something bad would happen, soon, very soon - a single spark igniting the powder barrel, and if he was to prevent it… He had to reflect on Doc's proposition. ---

A couple of hours later, Chief Bleeker walked back outside, the crowd was still there, but they seemed to have dispersed a bit. Bleeker pulled together all the courage he could muster, before loudly and clearly addressing Johnny.

"Johnny? Will you please come into the station and pick up your friend, please?" Bleeker tried to sound both authoritative, but also polite at the same time, not knowing if he was successful at either. Johnny didn't say a word, he just raised his eyebrows, and began to walk towards Bleeker, the crew followed his movement. "J-Just Johnny please," Bleeker said trying not to stammer. Johnny turned his head, looking at his gang, then with that smooth and cool voice, he simply said: "Alright, I'll take care of it, guys," and followed Bleeker inside.

Once the doors was firmly closed behind him, Bleeker turned to Johnny, gesturing him towards his office. "Johnny, can I talk with you privately for just a minute, please?" Johnny was silent, but the silence spoke volumes - he was confident and in full charge of the situation, a lone 'octogenarian' cop was no threat to him, so he might as well humour that old geezer, not that anything he could say to him would change anything.

As soon as they were inside, Bleeker took his chance and jabbed a syringe with a clear liquid into Johnny's neck. Johnny instinctively reached for it, but collapsed on the floor, his body convulsing, Bleeker fell down alongside him, holding the syringe firmly in his hand, making sure it was emptied inside Johnny's neck.

When he was sure the syringe was empty, Bleeker managed to get back on his feet, exchanging a final gaze with Johnny, who looked at him with the strongest contempt in his eyes, before his head collapsed, hitting the floor.

Bleeker stood still in the office, still holding the empty syringe in his hand. The unconscious Johnny seemed to slowly shrink, as a visible vapour left every orifice of the youth's body. Carefully Bleeker pushes Johnny's over with his foot making it face upwards. Despite that Doc had told exactly what would happen, Bleeker was still disturbed by the sight, but it also filled him with awe.

Johnny's insides were clearly gone, no bones, no organs, not even his eyes, which were now just empty holes. But his skin remained, stretchy and flexible - and able to be worn. With shaking hands Bleeker undressed what remained of Johnny, discarding all the biker gang leader's clothes in a pile.

He held up the skin amazed at the result. This is crazy, Doc, he thought. Running a hand through the Johnny's hair and over the face, that felt like a deflated balloon, Bleeker flipped the skin over, so he could enter through the mouth as Doc had instructed.

It was a bizarre, yet exhilarating experience. Getting his feet in place was difficult with his aching back, but he had no intention to stop. Taking Johnny's body for himself was a drastic move, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. Sliding the skin upwards his frail legs felt stronger and grounded, once they were covered by Johnny's.

Excitedly Bleeker looked down at his new manhood, it was erect and pulsing with vitality, he had lost long ago. How many girls (and guys) must have felt this? he thought as he stroked it. Not enough, a wicked thought said in the back of his head.

Pulling the skin further up, Bleeker's wrinkled and sun-worn skin was replaced by Johnny's smooth and youthful. There were bruises and scars, for sure, but Johnny was a fighter and had probably been in countless bar brawls and fistfights before. He felt his new abs, there was no denying, that this guy was strong, Bleeker had a feeling that if Johnny got into a fight, he'd always win, maybe then it's only fitting, that his muscles serve me now, Bleeker thought, given that I bested him.

Bleeker thrust down his hand into Johnny's throat and into his smooth, muscular arms. Once it was firmly in place, he twisted and stretched it, feeling an unfamiliar strength, that now worked for him. He flexed, and it responded flawlessly. The other arm followed suit - and Bleeker was now only moments away from a new existence.

Stretching Johnny's mouth a final time, so it could fit over his head. Bleeker completed the transformation. Bleeker massaged Johnny's face and it all fell into place. He felt a jolt of energy causing through his entire body, and he opened his eyes, Johnny's eyes. Looking down himself there was no doubt that it was a complete success, this body was his.

He ran a hand over his impressive new chest, feeling the heat and the smooth, soft chest hair under his fingers. 'Johnny' looked at the clock, realising how much time had passed. He'd need to get going before the gang, his gang, stormed the station.

'Johnny' slipped on his underwear, his jeans, his socks and stepped into his solid motorcycle boots. He pulled the sweaty t-shirt over his head, pleased with how he recognised the smell as his own. He put on Johnny's hat, before setting his sight on Johnny's leather biker jacket. It was Johnny's crown, the very garment, that told the world who he was, and what he represented.

Mine, was all that Bleeker could think as he picked up the jacket, this is going to look so good on me. The leather creaked as Bleeker claimed Johnny's jacket as his own, pushing his rejuvenated arms into its sleeves. There was a very devilish satisfaction in buckling the belt, then slowly zipping the zipper to his chest. Bleeker smiled as he looked down at the "Johnny", his new name, written on the jacket, just above the heart. Mine.

Bleeker caught his reflection in a mirror and grinned, his new reflection - young, strong, confident, handsome, respected, uncontested, feared - and the epitome of cool.

"Yeah," Bleeker said with the youth's smooth silky voice, he flexed a leather-clad arm, it still responded flawlessly "I could get used to this." He grabbed his keys and with a confident swagger walked towards the drunk tank, where a slightly groggy gang member was lying. Bleeker unlocked the door, the rattling metal caused the biker to look up at Johnny. Bleeker smirked, he knew that Johnny would have done the same, no words needed.

Outside the police station it looked like all the BRMC members had gathered, waiting for Johnny and their buddy. "Alright!" 'Johnny' said firmly, looking at the crowd. It was a completely different experience. The gang looked at him with respect and admiration, almost reverence.

"We're outta here!"

He didn't have to say anything else. They would follow him without question. It was a power and respect that Bleeker hadn't felt in decades - if ever. 'Johnny' made his way through the crowd and they followed him like an entourage back to where their motorcycles were parked. 'Johnny' smirked at the sight of Johnny's motorcycle. Johnny didn't show much emotion, but Bleeker was very excited as he mounted Johnny's bike, his bike, but he hid that excitement behind Johnny's cool demeanour - his cool demeanour.

'Johnny' revved the engine, feeling a surge of adrenaline and youth, he hadn't felt in eons. He slipped on Johnny's sunglasses with a faint smile, then he took off - and the gang followed him.

'Johnny' had led the gang out of Wrightsville, he didn't know where he would lead them, but he knew that he had an undeniable power over them, they were his gang now, and they would follow his rules. And if there was ever any sign of dissent, Johnny had several more of Doc's syringes stored safely inside the pocket of his biker jacket. Maybe he could turn some of these delinquent youths into more 'productive members of society' - but for now, he was the Wild One.

[the-daily-body]

My dumb roommate keeps telling me to join his frat this semester, but I’m gay and want no part of that. Can you tell him to quit it with the pestering? I definitely do not want to be some dumb gay bro in a house full of gross straight dudes

"Say the Words"

It starts with a text.

yo pledge night tonight. u promised u’d come check it out at least bro pls. just 5 min. house misses u

You roll your eyes, thumb hovering over the reply. It’s not the first message from Zach this week.

Your Zach.

Or at least, who he used to be.

You remember how he used to laugh. Bright, boyish, and endearingly goofy. That was before the frat house swallowed him whole. Before the endless gym posts and mirrored flex selfies showcasing a body he seemed to worship more than his own mind, before his vocabulary atrophied, his messages devolving into three-word caveman grunts: “hit legs bro,” “u up bro,” “cum thru bro.”

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Not really. He smelled different now. Spoke different. Looked like he’d been carved from the gym floor, broad shoulders and a permanent sheen of sweat that clung like a second skin.

But he still wanted you there. Just to see.

And maybe… maybe you did miss him. Just a little.

The frat house door swings open before you knock.

Zach's already there, shirtless, a sweat-dark tank top tucked into the waistband of his shiny black joggers. As he lifts his arms, thick, bushy pits flash, and he grins like a dumb, golden retriever, his biceps straining under his skin, bigger bigger than you remember; a sheen of sweat making him glisten.

“You came, bro!” he beams, pulling you into a hug.

He's hot, dripping in sweat. The smell hits you, a cheap spray and something else, musky, raw.

You try not to gag, breathing shallow, trying to get used to it. It's a turn-on, his sweaty smell, his goofy dominance.

“I’m not staying long,” you mumble, pulling back.

Zach’s grin widens.

“Just in time,” he says. “They’re starting.”

The common room is hot and packed. At least a dozen shirtless guys press shoulder to shoulder, slick with sweat, grunting, chanting low and loud, like a tribal war rhythm.

You freeze in the doorway.

Zach doesn’t. He slides in behind you, hands on your shoulders, steering you into the heat like he’s done this a hundred times.

“In the middle, yeah? Just listen.”

You swallow hard. The thick air, a suffocating blanket of spilled beer, jockstraps, stale body spray. The stench clings, coating your clothes, your skin, like it's forcing its way into you.

A circle forms. You’re the only one with a shirt on.

The chanting starts low and synchronised:

“Brains out, gains in.” “Brains out, gains in.”

Zach’s hand squeezes your shoulder. His lips brush your ear.

“Just say it once, man.”

You don’t.

But something feels... slow. The room shifts. Your thoughts get sticky, like trying to walk through syrup. You catch yourself staring at chests, at traps, at the hypnotic way sweat rolls down a pec.

You shake it off. You’re fine. You’re fine.

“Pits out, minds off.” “Pits out, minds off.”

Hands reach for your shirt. You resist. But Zach’s already pulling it up over your arms. Your skin drinks in the heat like it was starving for it. The second your pits are exposed, the guys cheer, louder, closer. The scent hits you like a drug.

You smell yourself now. Sharp, earthy, and shockingly... hot. An thick haze of earthy musk. It’s disgusting, yes, but also...

Hot.

Zach leans in, nose brushing your neck.

“Mmm. Now you smell like a bro.”

You try to think of a comeback, but your brain’s… slow. Fuzzy.

“One house, one mind.” “One house, one mind.”

The words echo deeper. Something inside you clicks. You see flashes: you and Zach drinking beers on the roof. Bench pressing together. Showering side by side. Flexing in the mirror.

You never did that.

Did you?

You blink. There’s a red Solo cup in your hand. Someone clinks theirs against yours. You drink. It tastes like stale beer and it goes down easy.

“Bros before hoes, mouth before no’s!” “Bros before hoes, mouth before no’s!”

You laugh. You try to laugh.

But then a hand is on your chin. Guiding it down.

Zach’s. His joggers are tight. Obscenely tight. You should say no. You want to say no.

Your mouth opens instead.

The frat roars.

Zach’s. His joggers are tight. Obscenely tight. You should say no. You want to say no.

But your mouth is already moving.

Just instinct. Heat. Pull.

His scent hits you full force the moment your lips brush the waistband. A humid wave of precum and unwashed skin, soaked deep into the fabric. The elastic is damp with sweat.

The chant doesn’t stop.

“Bros before hoes, mouth before no’s!” “Bros before hoes, mouth before no’s!”

Your hands move like they’re not yours. Tugging his joggers down slow, your pulse pounding with every inch of exposed skin. His cock springs free, heavy, musk-soaked, pulsing with heat. It slaps your cheek. The skin there feels like it’s buzzing.

It smells like the couch you both used to nap on after class.

It smells like Zach’s old room.

It smells like belonging.

You shouldn’t be hard. But you are. Painfully.

You open your mouth, slow, wide, your tongue already slick with spit before you even touch him. The first taste hits your tongue like a drug, sour, salty, earthy. Your vision swims. The musk fills your sinuses, burns behind your eyes.

You blink.

Your knees hurt. Your throat’s slick. You don’t even know how long it’s been.

He moans. Deep, stupid, grateful. A hand on your head. Another around the back of your neck. He smells even stronger now, like his pits are right over your scalp. Like sweat is dripping onto your skin.

You smell like them now.

Like one of them.

Your lips move faster. His cock grinds deeper. He tastes better now. Like you’ve had it before. Like you remember it. Flashbacks hit you:

On your knees in the locker room, Zach panting.

In the backyard after keg stand night.

Quietly, drunk, under a blanket during pledge week.

You’ve always done this. Haven’t you?

Your jaw aches. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You feel high. Your head is fog. All you know is the heat, the salt, the chant pressing against your eardrums...

“One house, one mind.” “One house, one mind.”

He shudders. His whole body tenses. You suck harder. You want him to cum. You need it.

Zach growls your name... or maybe just “bro”... and unloads.

Hot. Sticky. Thick. You swallow without thinking. Without gagging.

And just like that, everything locks in.

Your brain burns. You feel it, memories fusing into place:

The first time you gagged on a frat cock.

The time you got passed around during hazing week.

Sucking off three bros before dawn and crawling into Zach’s bed.

You shake. You pant. You don’t even realise your hand’s in your joggers, already soaked. When did you change into joggers?

The chant shifts.

“Welcome home, bro.” “Welcome home, bro.”

Slower now. Deep. Comforting.

Zach’s arms wrap around your bare chest from behind. His cock still wet against your back. His pits press into your neck. You breathe him in like air.

His lips graze your cheek.

“You made it,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to deny it.

But instead, your voice joins theirs.

“Welcome home, bro.”

And in that moment...

you mean it.

[the-daily-body]

Fill Your Frame

I tried to wait out for the best possible moment. The animals didn't notice us yet. Me and my crew stood deep in the river, waiting for the best possible photography for me to capture. We might have been there for over an hours. The cold water made it especially impossible for us to enjoy the moment. But watching the animals gather to drink at the shore was worth it.

My passion for photography began when I was 9 years old. My father and older brother were very passionate fans of my imperfect photos, but I never stopped trying.

It was when I turned 16 when I told them my plan. To graduate and travel the world, capturing nature, raw and sometimes cruel. I had a dream to become another great photographer just as my idols.

I took the shot. Right when the mother took a sip of water, the drops visualised beautifully.

A man from my crew whispered to me:"Did you get it, sir?"

I smiled, knowing I captured another great photo for my collection. "Yeah, I did." I responded happily. "Let's head back to the camp"

I stood next to a big rock, taking a second look at my photos from the day, while my crew was packing our stuff.

"You might probably want to take that off" a blonde women from the crew said to me.

I was still deep in my thoughts to realise what she was saying to me. "Sorry? I wasn't listening."

"Even though the wet shirt looks great on that torso, you probably might want to take it off. It will be more comfortable to be dry then wet on the way back. Plus, I won't mind taking a peek" she said, undeniably flirting with me.

I smiled and nervously caressed my pectoral as she walked away. I'm glad that I can pull off being in my brother's body and get compliments.

You see, when I told my brother and father my plan to travel the world, they weren't really happy. After my mum's death, they got really over protective. So being a young woman alone in the world was a no-brainer for them.

They tried to talk me out of it, but in the end they agreed to let me live my life. On one condition. I would have to travel the world in my brother's body. Their biggest argument was, that it's gonna be much safer for a man alone in the world. Especially my well built and attractive brother.

So it was my brother's body or nothing else. It wasn't my first time being in his body. We swapped a few times before. He borrowed me his body for a concert, I helped him get out of his duties, helped him with a date. He took my body to find out if the guy I was dating wasn't a creep. That was especially creepy, but my dad backed him up on it. What was funny is that my STRAIGHT brother even made out with that guy. Crazy days.

Anyway we agreed to swap for a year. I would travel the world and take photos in his body, while he would work from home in my body. We agreed that we would respect our bodies, but we wanted to be realistic. A year is a year and our bodies have needs. So we agreed to have only straight sex. Which meant that my brother and I could only masturbate in our borrowed bodies or that my brother would have sex with a guy and I would have sex with a girl.

Both of us are straight, so it would make sense for me to fuck some dude, but my brother was strictly against that.

Anyway back to the present. It has been two months since I left home. I was in a forest with my crew, which included this blonde filtr. For the past two months I only jerked off my brothers body. Almost every night. I am not happy to admit that, but I really like his dick. Its very se sensitive and just perfect.

I love to feel so big. People actually look up to me. And I guess I have to admit that in some places it could really get dangerous for a woman like me. Fortunately I have these massive guns now that scare of anyone who might even think about it now.

"Sir, we have to cross the river again and leave. There is gonna be a rain tonight and this is not a good place to stay." one of the local men told me

"Ok, let's head out people. We'll set up a camp on a higher ground." I said with my brother's voice which immediately set the respect in the group I needed.

The blonde women went ahead of me. I grabbed a big bag with heavy equipment and put it on my shoulder to not get it wet.

The women ahead of me kept looking back at me and when she reached the shore, she playfully squeezed her shirt to get most of the water out and letting me have a look. I felt my dick getting hard, which was surprising to me. I was still into guys, but I thought Mike's body would react only to stuff that I like.

I decided to give it a try tonight.

I showed her my photos from this shooting and starting throwing in some hints.

As I laid in my tent while the rain poured on my tent, the door unzipped and she entered.

I was already naked in my sleeping back. So she gave me a silent show to not wake anyone nearby. She threw away her shirt, trousers and slowly took off her underwear. She got on top of me only with her bra. She pointed at me to get it off and I did in a milisecond. She probably didn't expect that, by the look on her face. Guess she doesn't know that I also do have many years of practice.

She sat on top of my hardening dick. We started making out. I was a little bit nervous. First time having sex in man's body with a woman. She took my dick in her mouth and started sucking it. What a feeling! It felt amazing. But there was a downside. I guess my brother's body is really more into what I am now. And that's definitely not women. My dick was getting soft.

Woman:"Oh, don't worry about it. It happens sometimes."

"Sorry. Give me a second, I guess I'm just tired a bit." I took Mike's dick in my hand and started jerking off. I closed my eyes and imagined my last boyfriend.

Soon my dick was hard again and we were back on. She got on top of me and positioned herself on my dick and I was suddenly in her pussy.

She got up and down and started moaning loudly. Guess the crew will know now...

I grabbed her breasts to make her feel good, but it didn't do much for me, quite the opposite. To avoid getting my dick soft again I closed my eyes and just traced my hands over my brother's muscles as I did everynight when I jerked off.

I was close. Very close. "I'm cumming!"

"No wait!" Too late. My cum was already inside of her filling her. "You jerk. I'm not on the pill"

"What?! Then why would you..."

"I thought you'd pull it out before cumming... fuck, now I gotta go to the pharmacy. Thanks, jerk. And by the way, your self obsession is really creepy to look at during sex" she grabbed her clothes, not putting them on and just left the tent

I was shocked about the events that just happened, but I was about to be even more. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my dad. It said:"Hey, Casey. I know it's the middle of the night there. I don't want to wake you up. It's about your brother. You need to come ASAP."

I arrived to my hometown's hospital in a day. My brother in my body was in a car accident and now was in a coma.

I sat with my father next to his bed and held his hand. It was a really strange experience watching my old body being so helpless.

Dad:"And all this time we were worried that something might happen to you out there in the world."

Me:"Dad, it's not your fault. It was just an accident. Mike will wake up and we'll get back to our lives." My dad smiled.

The doctor entered and his face said it all. "I am truhly sorry, but there is nothing we can do. There is no brain activity."

My dad was in tears beginng me to swap with him to have one conversation with him, to give him his life back. Anything not to loose his prescious son.

Me:"He's not there anymore, dad. There is no one to swap with."

We decided to unplug him eventually and donate his organs. It was extremely hurtful to watch my old body dying, to know that I am loosing my brother, to know that my father would do anything to get him back even if it would mean loosing me.

Two months later

My dad didn't recover really well. He started calling me Mike and even hid all of my old photos at the house. Pretending that I was my brother now was probably less hurtful for him, than accepting that he is gone.

As for the promise, I gave you, Mike. I promised not to have sex with men, but I know you would agree that the terms and conditions changed.

I set up my Grindr account a started exploring. And for the first time in your body I truly felt complete.

I am now you, Mike. Or atleast your new gay you. And by the way, you're also gonna be a father. Or... we are. Yeah the blonde woman decided to keep it. Funny how life works out sometimes, right?

The man in the photos is Mitchell Burns. Hope you like the story :)

[the-daily-body]

Football socks

I just love whenever it's my brother's turn to do laundry.

My brother plays football at the local sports club. And every weekend after a big tournament, they draw sticks who will wash their clothes.

So whenever it's his turn he brings home this gigantic pile of clothes, which my mum usually takes care of the next morning.

Which makes it a sleepless night for me. Why? Because I am obsessed with their clothes. They way they reek of sweat and the fact that they were worn by them just a few hours ago. I can imagine the fabric touching the bodies, moving along with them over the hard ridges of their muscles, their hairy torsos, their dicks. Ahhhhh god, I'm getting hard again. But I have to wait until everyone is asleep and I can properly enjoy it for myself.

It sounds like I got a fetish, right? Yes and no. I am obsessed with clothes of those guys, truly. But I am also a shapeshifter. So all I need is one article of clothing with their DNA (which these dirty clothes have A LOT OF).

When I put it on I shift into them. My whole body transforms from head to toe. I always love to watch the transformation going in the mirror. It's so erotic to watch my stupid scrawny body turn into a proper man.

Usually I manage to do about 4 or 5 transformations per night. I am always so drained after shifting and then the... fun stuff after.

But today I want to set my own record. I want to shifting into all of them, my brother included. Jerk off in all of their bodies and take as much photos as I can.

Whose are these? Oh Jacob, how I love Jacob's body! But Ryan's dick is definitely the best one I ever had, so veiny and sensitive. And the girth! But nothing beats Jaime's arms, those biceps and hairy pits? Brilliant.

I wish I could just combine them all into one perfect specimen!

Maybe next time I could try, but who knows when my brother will have his laundry turn again.

[the-daily-body]

Break Out

"Psst! Hey! Hey, Red!"

I tossed my ginger curls out of my face, looking up at the fellow detainee across from me. ‘Red...’ such a dumb fuckin’ line, everyone drops it thinking they’re the cleverest person in the room. I have red hair, hardy har, so people call me Red, tee hee, give me a break.

He’s short, maybe a hair over 5’6”, but a fireplug of a man. Sure, darker blonde, but a fireplug. Even in his baggy clothes, I could tell that he was pretty beefy, like in a got a little too into juicing after high school kind of way.

“What’ll it be, Yellow…” I mumbled back.

He shoots me a weird look. I mime at my hair. He narrows his eyes and shakes away the confusion.

"Give me 50 pounds!"

I shot him an even weirder look than he gave me, and he just gestured back and forth to me and himself excitedly, with both of his wrists tied together with the thick, industry standard zip ties that the pigs always carry around by the dozen at protests.

“What?”

“Jss—Fuckin’ give me 50! I’ll get us outta here!”

“… Pounds.”

“Yeah, c’mon!”

I scoffed, “You can eat 50 lbs of shit.”

“Dude, just—ARGH, just say it, man! Trust me! You can spare it, you’re a big dude! Look, I promise I’ll get us out of here.”

He wasn’t wrong, I probably weighed the same as him. Sure, on a frame easily half a hoot taller than him, but I’ve paid my dues at the alter of vain size building. Anything to at least minimize the amount of ginger jokes I had to endure in school. Thanks a lot, South Park… Wait, 50 lbs of…?

“50 lbs of what then?”

“You, dude! Muscle, size! C’mon dude, we gotta be quick!”

Great, stuck in holding, again, with another horny tweaker, again. It’s like I’m a magnet for this type of shit.

“You want 50 lbs of muscle from me, huh? What, you’re gonna Superman your way outta here?”

“W—I mean, kinda,” he chuckled and shrugged as I rolled my eyes with a grin. I had to admit, Yellow was charming, in a dorky, too much adrenaline kind of way. “And ‘our’ way outta here, man!… C’mon, I’ll give it right back! Trust me, like, we were at the same protest, we’re already on the same team?”

I chuckled behind my grin, “Even you gotta admit that turned into a little more than a protest.”

He shrugged again behind a smirk, “No justice, no peace.”

I outwardly laughed this time. I scratched my knee with my wrists bound together, feeling my forearm graze against the slight chub I was forming. This guy’s clearly got a few screws loose but his charisma was undeniable. Was it because he was built to exactly my type? Whatever, may as well play along, we were likely going to be spending the next few hours together in holding.

He caught me studying him, and opened his palms upwards and raised his eyebrows in a game show host imitation.

I snorted, “Fine, Yellow. You can have 50 lbs of my muscle. Now, how a—!”

My breath caught in my throat and my jaw shot open as I sucked a whooping gasp, my fists clenching and my shoulders tensing up, my abs knotted up and my hips thrusted forward like I was yanked by lasso.

The moment the words left my mouth, I was instantly, fully, throbbingly rock hard. My dick was pulling like an iron rod towards him, making my sweats tent in a way I didn’t know the fabric was capable of handling. In my dizzy, star-spangled vision, I could see the same was true for Yellow. He was similarly tensed and flexed, but smiling widely and dumbly with droopy orgasmic eyes and seemed to be experiencing it much more relaxed way than I was.

He panted quietly, “Don’t worry, dude, it’s just the connection being made, you’re gonna love th—HOOOOOO!!”

It must have hit him the same moment it hit me—it felt like a massive, pillowy, slobbering set of lips smooched down onto my mushroom head, tightly forced itself down the length of my shaft, and began thirstily sucking me off! I continued with my shuddering gasps as he gritted his teeth and hissed with his eyes pinched shut, shushing me as he did, so as to… what? Not alert the pigs making calls and typing up reports? I felt like I was going zero to ten in seconds, on the very verge of busting!

Then as I was gonna bust, the wildest sensation imaginable hit me. It felt like thick, oozing, orgasmic energy like mound after mound of warm, lubricated meat was being sucked directly out of my shaft. I looked down at the throbbing tent in my sweats to get an eye of what was happening, but I would only see my mushroom head flaring over and over again, catching an eye of Yellow’s doing the same through the fabric of his pants.

As the energy shot out of my shaft towards him, I could feel what could only be described as levitating. It felt like my body was becoming lighter and lighter and lighter, with pulse after orgasmic pulse. I rolled my eyes back with lustful, dumb laughter, feeling like I could float away. With each pulse, I could feel my clothes breathing gusts of air out around my neck, arms, waist, and feet as they settled loosely on my smaller frame. As I felt my height shrink considerably, I looked down with a dumb giggle as I watched my cock throb, then thin, throb, then shorten, throb, throb, throb, then—

I pinched my eyes shut and yelped involuntarily as finally came. And came. Shit, and came some more! I swear to god I’d never had an orgasm last as long as it did. Plus, judging by the warm soupy feeling in my boxer briefs, I shot more than I think I ever had!

Then—and at this point I knew I had to be going insane—because then? Yellow was… changing.

He kept his breaths heavy but his volume low as I watched his entire body pulse, and pulse. With each consecutive pulse, his stature stretched taller, his frame stretch wider, and—

“Hhuurrrrrnnnnngg…” he arched his back with a gurgling, euphoric growl, clearly also involuntary, since he’d been such a nag about our volume, as he continued to pulse like a giant heart, only this time his muscles appeared to be joining in on the action. They swelled thicker and broader under his increasingly tightening clothes, the ones that were seconds ago basically hanging on him like a tent, making them audibly stretch and become deliciously tighter. I heard the leather of his boots creak and I watched as they appeared to inflate from within as his thighs and claves rounded with size. He gurgled again as his torso, chest, and abs widened and grew and his throat thickened, making each button down his henley pop, pop… pop pop pop down to reveal his chiseled cleavage.

He seemed to hurry now, his breath quickening, as he rushed his bound hands down to his buckle. As he did, his job was made more difficult by his expanding, bulging arms, each snaking with angry chords of veiny muscle, as he frantically undid his belt. He threw his too-tight zipper down, quickly dug in, and liberated his throbbing boyfriend cock. Ah, so he clearly knew what was coming—the sexy fucker could’ve at least warned me.

“MMMPFF, MMPF, MMMNuuhh…” he lightly moaned behind tight lips as I watched his dick bloom outwards and upwards, encouraged by his bucking hips, lifting higher and thicker into the air like a flower searching for sun, until he—! He gasped in a quick breath as he leaned over, making his bench groan under his new weight, as he erupted thick squirting volleys of cum onto the floor adjacent to us.

Splat, splat, splat, splat, splat… Splat. I watched each load shoot out of him in disbelief. Both obviously at the quantity and also what had just been shared—or exchanged—between us in… Well shit, now that the haze from my orgasm was clearing, it couldn’t have been more than 10 seconds since those last words left my lips to now! Now we were both left in a panting fog, the room saturated with our stink, as he finally started to tuck away his fresh donkey dick.

He glanced over at the splatters on the floor he’d made, “Sorry about that,” he muttered, struggling to zip up his pants. “Didn’t want to… y’know, soak my shorts.” He nodded at my sweats—not overtly soaked themselves but threatening to start showing signs, if my overflowing briefs were any indication—and laughed a bit, wincing as he slowly forced his zipper up, doubtlessly strangling his now-sizable package.

I huffed out a laugh along with him, “What—..” I swallowed dryly, hearing the cracks in my voice. “What did you d—?”

“No time, we gotta bounce,” he grinned with a rich, cocky baritone.

He stood up. And up, and up, towering over his former stature. Yellow’s face pinched with effort as I watched his arms flex angrily.

“RRRNNnngg,” Yellow grunted with an animalistic huff. I swear I could hear his guns tightening like rope! With a sharp “NTCCHuuuh…” and an accompanying defeated *SNIP!* the industrial strength zip tie broke like it was made of cheap plastic. He looked down at where it’d landed and glanced back up at me with another cocky grin.

“Well shit,” I remarked with a chuckle, panting out the last of my exhaustion from my sudden transformation. He popped his firm pecs with that cocky grin as he kneeled towards me.

He sniffed as he leaned in, “Woof! You really made a mess didn’t you?” He grinned up at me, slipping a finger then two under my zip ties. I must’ve blushed a little at the comment, because he chuckled back up at me, “No sweat Red,” He tilted his head back to the creamy puddle on the floor. We both huffed a laugh.

My “cuffs” had loosened from the transformation quite a bit. Still not enough to slip out of, but enough for him to slip two of his thick fingers through. He grunted again and pulled until mine snapped too. He tossed mine to the floor with his and held out a hand to help me up from the bench. I accepted and he lifted me up, making me bounce on me feet a little once

I felt… Hell, I looked pretty sick actually! Had a little bit of the look I remember when I was going straight into undergrad! Minus the nubbier but wickedly more sensitive hog I was now sporting. Used to get laid constantly back then, at least way more than now. But now with gig jobs, keeping a steady gym schedule, taking care of my siblings for my deadbeat folks… Who’s got the time? But… fuck! Yellow had really worked his magic… on both of us!

“You just gonna stare?” He snapped me out of it, “Or should we get out of here?”

“Y-you lead, I guess,” holding up my sweats and briefs (being sure to clutch the briefs tightly so none of my spunk dribbled out, couldn’t handle more embarrassment) the with one hand.

He approached the door to our holding room, grateful that it was some cheap office door with a shitty lock, and quickly but forcefully pushed outwards with his boulder-like shoulders. He and I both huffed out a satisfied laugh as it gave with little of his effort, uttering only a small *crack* as the lock gave up its measly effort inside and swung open.

We hurried it to the end of the long corridor of other holding rooms until it T-intersected with another hallway, and we looked both ways. On one end of the connecting hallway, we could hear the click-clacking of keyboards, the cacophony of calls coming through too-old landlines, and the hubbub of the chatter coming from the station’s staff. On the other end, a fire exit door, with the trademark red illuminated EXIT sign over it with the machinery connected to the door that would set off the alarm once the door was opened.

He leaned in to whisper to me, “We’re gonna have to split up once that alarm goes off. You know Francisco’s?”

“The diner?” I replied back. Good old Francisco’s Diner, always there late at night when you need a ton of carbs after a night of binging. “Waaay too well, yeah I know it.”

“Let’s meet up there. 7 o’clock? Gives you about an hour to get more, uh, decent?” He chuckled back at me.

“Fuck you,” I laughed back, “Ain’t my fault I need to clean up.”

“HEY! What the hell you think you’re doing?!”

We both looked down the other end of the hall, where some fatass pig was moving towards us. Both of our hearts jumped.

“Remember, 7 o’clock, Francisco’s!” Yellow grabbed onto me and shoved me in the direction of the door. I stumbled forwards, making my way to the fire exit, looking back behind me to see Yellow give the pig a linebacker’s shove, forcing him to the floor and knocking the wind out of him, then turning to sprint the way I was going.

I pushed out of the fire exit door, momentarily blinded by the afternoon light and deafened by the accompanying ring of the alarm and bolting to the right, out of the parking lot. I only looked back once to see Yellow sprinting out of the building too, laughing out loud as he ran away from the three cops uselessly chasing after him, tripping over themselves. Thankfully with all of their attention on him, the last thing I saw before I turned the corner was him effortlessly hopping the stone fence on the other side of the parking lot.

I continued running—gliding honestly, the lighter size feeling totally abnormal but thrilling—block after block after block, until I made it to the courtyard of my building. What spunk hadn’t dried against my crotch had spilled out of my briefs and down the leg of my sweats creating a sticky, cool sensation. I checked the time on the ornate courtyard clock. 5:45. Still plenty of time to get cleaned up!

Cleaned up, plus a little exploration. Damn, I felt the same way looked: svelte and sexy as hell. My nubby cock was already greedily throbbing before I unlocked my apartment door.

———

The bell hanging above the door of Francisco’s Diner jingled as I walked in (a fashionable 20 minutes late—what the hell, I got, uhh, distracted). Of the things that would’ve fit me in my closet, I settled on a skate brand tank top I hadn’t worn since college and a pair of gym shorts, drawstring tied extra tight. All of it still hung off me, I must’ve looked emaciated.

“Ay, Red!” Yellow waved over at me from one of the booths along the window. He sported an undershirt and vest along with his own pair of gym shorts, except all of his looked way too tight, compared to my way too loose apparel. What a pair we made!

I slid into the booth, grinning and sighing, “Sorry I’m late, I—”

“Had to give it all a test run, huh?” He chuckled into his coffee mug. I shrugged with a grin. “Don’t sweat it! Meee too, man, me too. I only got here like 5 minutes ago.”

“That was crazy how you got us out of there, man. Any trouble?”

“None! Actually, once I was over the fence around the parking lot, they’d basically given up. You?”

“Not at all. Thankfully all of their attention was on you!”

“Not surprised! Can you imagine what a prize it would be for them if they caught all this? I’m lookin’ like fuckin Superman now.”

He punctuated his cocky brag with a tight flex of his guns, bursting with both his and my combined strength.

“Gotta say,” I shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee he’d ordered me. “Looks fucking good on you, dude.”

“Hey, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow with a grin, bouncing his pecs at me. “You’re looking pretty good yourself there, Red.”

We sat for a few moments sipping our mugs, the obvious horny mist between us simmering and the unspoken recognition of each of our hard-ons adding to our admiration of one another’s bodies. I had to admit, Yellow had one me over. Whether it was because of his charm, his solidarity, his magic, or his bod, the short time we’d come to know each other had caused some kind of spark to ignite.

At the moment I was going to quietly ask that we go somewhere more private, he piped up, stretching and arms and back behind him against the booth.

“Well, a promise is a promise. You ready to get your size back?”

I smiled, “That would be great... Wait, here??” I remembered the mess we made at the station. Surely a mom and pop diner like Francisco’s wouldn’t appreciate a display like that in their establishment.

“I think the bathroom might be a better option. After you,” he gestured his arm out of the booth.

I sauntered over to the bathroom located behind the counter of Francisco’s open kitchen, looking back to see if Yellow was following. He’d left a $10 on the table for our coffees plus a generous tip for the staff and was already close behind me. I opened the door to the single use bathroom, while he held the door, slapping my ass inside as we both chuckled.

I heard him click the lock of the door as I turned around, “So how are we gonna d—”

Yellow had me pinned against the sink before I could finish my question, his hard body pressed against me as his lips and tongue danced against mine, pausing only to shuck his vest off with his undershirt, as I lost my tank top. We grinded our bodies together, feeling our hard tools poking into each other’s hips as we made quick work of liberating them from our shorts. Once we were both completely of our clothes, we resumed our intense make out, each of our hands ravenously feeling up the others, gripping firm mounds of muscle here, sliding fingers down cascading backs there…

“I should thank you properly for helping us both out,” Yellow panted.

He forced me down onto the toilet seat by my shoulders, then slid his hands down my torso, then gingerly tugged at my raging nubby boner. I could see that his was a throbbing, eager railroad spike as he knelt down in front of me and leaned in to swirl his tongue around my mushroom head.

“Fucking hell, Yellow, where you been all my life?” I panted with an exhilarated gasp, running my hands through his stiff dirty blonde hair, feeling his head bob up and down on me.

He released me with a sucking *pop* and grinned up at me, “I’m Doug, by the way. Douglas, but call me Doug.” He continued his greedy assault on my cock while I gasped a few more orgasmic breaths.

“C-Curtis. I’m Curtis,” we both laughed, having only just exchanged names while his mouth was around my dick. His deep laughter reverberated splendidly inside of his mouth against my leaking glans, stuffing his mouth with my pre, without a doubt.

Releasing me once more, he looked up at me. “Hey?”

“Yeah what’s up?”

“You can have your 50 pounds back, Curtis,” he grinned then quickly buried his face back into my crotch.

It happened just as quickly and just as intensely as it did the first time. I felt the same electrifying jolt of energy shoot through me, making me groan and arch my back as I felt waves of pleasure crash into me. Now fully nude, I could see the transformation affect both of us with delicious clarity. I watched my perspective grow taller and taller, seeing and feeling my legs, arms, and torso stretch back to their normal size. “Fuuuuck yeeeeaaah,” I couldn’t help but moan as I watched my arms, legs, thighs, pecs, feet, hands, abs, fucking everywhere, throb and swell with dull, increasing pressure, flexing everything as my size returned to me. Then, feeling my balls pulse and sag, I dropped my hands to his head, gripping fistfuls of his hair, as I animalistically bucked into his mouth, feeling my meat throb, lengthen, throb, thicken, throb, lengthen, throb, thicken, deeper and deeper and deeper into Doug’s throat. He gripped my rounded, swelling ass as I gripped his head, finally feeling the dam burst as I flooded his guts with another massive serving of my seed, only causing him to gag just a few times, but still swallowing it all like a champ.

Both of us gasping with exhaustion, he stood up, his cock appearing to do some king of hiccuping motion as it shrank back. He was still shrinking in intermittent spurts, his arms deflating back to their respectable size, his pecs receding back to their typically sized mounds, his arms and legs dwindling back to their normality as he shook them out. His stature had diminished back to his short king height, and I could tell my the quickening of his cock’s hiccuping motions that the last part was coming. I reached out with both hands to tug his shrinking tool and massage his balls, hearing him whine/moan as his hips bucked with my motions. Very soon after, he erupted several copious volleys at me, splattering against my arms, my pecs, and my upper chest.

He collapsed onto me with exhaustion, his thick thighs and massive ass resting on top of my thighs, both of us panting in the orgasmic fog we’d created as he leaned his smaller self against my larger. His seed squished between our heaving, panting chests as he and I wrapped arms around each other to make out again.

Doug was unlike anyone I’d ever been with… Shit, by a long shot. And it’s crazy how much, though unspoken, he and I were both into this whole size play thing. Hell, I could spend way more time yo-yo’ing with him, seeing how big we could really make him. Creating a gym schedule with him so we could both add more mass to ourselves and go even crazier with this gift of his. Tricking assholes to loan him some of their size so he could turnaround and dump it all into me.

As we made out more in the bathroom of Francisco’s Diner, the whole room reeking of our sex and humid with our effort, I knew that our unlikely but fortuitous relationship was only just beginning.

[the-daily-body]

THE ATTIC CLEAR OUT: THE SUPERHERO SUIT

It had started with a craigslist ad. Nothing too weird, but still slightly suspicious. "Vintage Spider-Man costume, screen accurate. Never worn, free to a good home." with an attached photo of a sleek, red and blue suit folded neatly into a box. @nowhereactually wasn't even a fan of Spider-Man, but something about the suit called to him, and hey, worst case he could just sell it for a profit right? He messaged the seller, asking if it was still available, and instantly got a reply. "Yes. Come get it."

A few hours later, home with the suit, he pulled it out of the box to inspect it closer. It was heavier than he expected, and was thick, almost alive in his hands. The fabric clung to his fingers like it didn't want to let go. A small voice spoke in his head. "Wouldn't it be nice to just try it on, couldn't hurt after all…" and so he did. He locked his bedroom door and stripped down to his boxers. Stepping into the legs, the moment he touched the suits insides, a shiver ran down his spine. It was cold at first, but then quickly became warm and pleasant, as if reacting or adjusting to his body heat. He pulled the suit up over his thighs, feeling it hug his figure perfectly, molding to his form like a second skin. It was tight, yes, but no restrictive. If anything, he thought it felt nice, good even. Right.

He lifted the suit higher, sliding his arms into the sleeves, and as soon as the suit settled over his shoulder, he shivered and gasped. It was like being dipped into liquid confidence. He felt hot, powerful, cocky. His posture straightened, his chest puffed out, his fingers flexed. For the first time, he felt perfect, he felt like a god among men. He felt unstoppable. He rushed to the mirror, turning and admiring himself. The suit fit like it was made for him. The reds vibrant and inviting to look at, the blues deep and rich. The spider emblem on his chest seemed to pulse slightly, as if breathing, gently pulsating and drawing him in. He flexed again, watching the fabric stretch over his biceps. "Holy shit." he moaned, then he laughed. Because suddenly, the idea of taking it off seemed ridiculously funny to him.

He didn't take off the suit that night. He slept in it. And when he woke up, something was different. His body felt… better. His arm were firmer, his stomach tighter. He stretched, and his muscles moved with a newfound strength and grace. He looked in the mirror, and if the suit clung to him yesterday, it was his skin today. It was so tight against his skin, feeling like just a part of him, his real flesh. His face was sharper, his jawline more defined, his eyes brighter, more alert. He was unmistakebly the same, but better, so so much better. As for the suit? What suit? It was a part of him now, he wasn't wearing a suit. That was just his skin, he was a hero after all. Spider. Man. He moaned.

He wore the suit under his clothes that day, and his coworkers noticed something was off. Every time he moved, he was reminded of how powerful he felt, his confidence was overflowing, practically drenching him. "You okay? You seem… different?" one of them said. He smirked, flexed, and winked. "Do I?" And he knew he did.

He wasn't the same guy anymore.

He was better.

Stronger.

Faster.

More confident.

A HERO.

He caught girls looking at him. Guys, too, of course. And he LOVED it.

The next day, the changes were undeniable. He was leaner, more athletic again. His shoulders broader, his waist narrower. His reflexes were sharper - at breakfast, he caught a falling coffee mug without even thinking, not even spilling a drop. As for the suit? It was changing too. It clung tighter, moved with him as if alive, truly a second skin after all. He didn't even notice he was wearing it anymore, but when admiring himself in the mirror, he was blankly staring at the spider symbol, pulsing, a heartbeat. Dragging him under, controlling him. Using him like the puppet he was very very quickly becoming.

That night, he heard it for the first time. A whisper in his ear, a caress on his crotch. "You're perfect." No-one was there. "You were made for this." He should've been scared, but he wasn't. "Made for me" Because it was right.

The next day, as he swung open the door to embrace the day, cocky as always, he was greeted by a man. If he was able to think properly, he'd have recognised me, the one who gave him the suit. But the suit wasn't letting him think anymore. He couldn't feel anything without me letting him. "Kneel." I commanded. And he did. The suit wouldn't let him disobey, after all. He wasn't himself anymore. He was Spider-Man, and he was MINE. I placed a hand on his head, letting his old self fully fade as my touch forced him to finally orgasm, something the suit hadn't let him do since he put it on, having edged him into obedience the whole time. He came, and with it, he was replaced with something better. Something obedient. Something… perfect.

A reminder that you can interact with me in my discord server and there's exclusive captions and stories posted there too! https://discord.gg/Hxsx2skf6b

[the-daily-body]

Lost, or Found?

Mark was walking through the subway, his steps unhurried, his mind dreading class, when something caught his eye. There, lying squarely in the middle of the road, was a wallet. No traces of its owner—someone must have dropped it in a hurry.

He quickly approached the item. This neighbourhood was not remarkably populated, and it would be a long while before someone else eventually came this way. The wallet was thick—bulging, even—with a worn, creased leather exterior that gave away its age. Not dirty, though. It had the feel of something handled often but with care. Mark bent down and picked it up.

There were several compartments, all packed to varying degrees, and the weight of it in his hand felt oddly personal. Just a glance alone could tell Mark that there were at least two dozen cards tucked in the lost wallet, and it was precisely these cards that gave the thing its beefy appearance. He felt the surface of the billfold with his hands, and it seemed that aside from a tiny number of notes, the whole of it was also filled with cards. He yanked out a card, the one next to his thumb, just to search for any kind of information that could help him return the wallet back to its owner.

He almost jumped. The intense stare of the man on the card nearly made Mark believe that the former was looking directly at him, and not at some lifeless camera in a studio. Sharp jawline, straight, thick eyebrows and a prominent Adam’s apple, the man exuded masculinity in an unsettling way. Aside from the en face photo that took up one third of the plastic thingy’s space, there was hardly anything else that could qualify this as an ID card, even though from afar it may very well look like one. Where normally personal info would be found, rectilinear strokes stacked up and intertwined with each other to form a maze-like pattern covering the remaining parts of the card. Mark would have mistaken it for a really pretty QR code if not for the strategically placed curves, each pair spaced out an even distance from the others. Every two curves twisted and touched, taking on the outline and form of an eye. It was the inside of each shape that differed one pair of curves from another. Some of them had only tiny dots, whereas others contained several concentric rings, each inner ring progressively shrunk the distance between itself and its outer encompasser, until all that was left was a perfect circled filled with pure darkness.        

The more he stared at the card, the more his brain hurt. He wondered if this was one of those optical illusions where people see movement where there is none. He was looking at something akin to Snake the game overlaid over Frogger, but instead of one pixelated snake there were ten of them chasing over the same number of balls across a hyper-realistic, yet oddly symmetric river, across which almond-shaped objects drifted while constantly blinking. Most bizarre of all—they popped. Every now and then, a chunk of the symbols appeared to have teleported into the air in a way so subtle that without the change in depth of field, Mark would have never noticed it at all.

The relentless, overbearing surge of information—incomprehensible, interdimensional, intense and alien—was taking a toll on the functioning of his senses. The assault on his eyes left them strained, and he could feel his focus slipping, pupils darting without direction, vision starting to blur. It was actually in this state of half-seeing that the chaotic symbols started to make sense. From total disorder, the strokes merged into a more readable form, almost resembling Latin characters to his primed brain. Light waves continued to beam endlessly at his eyeballs, but fatigue was no longer felt, only a soothing sensation. He saw words, at first hundreds of them, then hundreds of thousands of them. He couldn’t recall what words they were, for they went by too quickly. He just knew that they calmed his mind, as if he’s in the warm embrace of a benevolent, supernatural force.  

Each time the two-dimensional strokes extended themselves into a higher dimension, the man’s face shimmered. Mark could still felt the fierceness of his gaze, but whatever that seemed threatening to him before, it now called out to him much more invitingly. The printed face began to shift. Depth appeared where there was none; the surface bulged subtly, then more visibly, until the image seemed to push out toward him. His hand, moving with robotic stiffness, began to rise. Fingers trembling slightly, he reached toward the protruding face on the card.

He touched it.

Instantly, the sensory assault stopped. No more noises in his head. No more shifting symbols. Reality reasserted itself, as the less pleasant sounds of car’s honking and dog’s barking hit his ears. The surface under his fingertips was smooth and flat. A piece of plastic. No protruding face. No funny movement.

He blinked, still halfway in the strange trance-like state, and slowly came back to himself. His heart was beating normally, if not a bit slower than usual—not from fear, exactly, but from the residual intensity of whatever had just happened. He browsed through the remaining content of the wallet. Every single card was similar to the one he picked out. The same photo. The same nonsensical patterns. The same tranquillity echoed in his mind. He pulled out his phone. Ten minutes had passed since he’d first noticed the wallet lying in the road. He was definitely late now—missed the bus, no question. And definitely wouldn’t make it in time for his Cognitive Psychology class.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

“Right, show me that stuff you found.”

They were between lectures, not in the lecture hall but tucked away in one of the smaller classrooms—a relic from the Cold War era, with creaky chairs and a whiteboard that still displayed the same formulas from two weeks ago, though the smell of markers seemed to be older. As usual, a loose circle of lads had formed, drawn together by habit and the kind of idle energy that fills breaks between classes. They talked about things—manly things, geeky things, manly geeky things, and no-things, as in, neither manly nor geeky.

Mark had arrived late. He quickly scuttled up to his seat, reserved by his trusted companion Peter, after dedicating less than 3 seconds to mumble out an apology when the professor threw him a hostile glance. Upon being prompted by Peter to explain his unusual tardiness, he whispered something about an unorthodox object he just discovered.

Now, under the curious eyes of the lads, he hoisted off his backpack and started rummaging. His fingers brushed against notebooks, cables, and finally landed on the thing. He pulled it out and dropped it onto the nearest desk.

“Just a wallet? Your wallet?” Peter leaned in with a skeptical smirk, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Mark said, his tone a little sharper than he intended. “I found this... thing on my way to the bus stop.”

“Eh, what’s special about it?” Greg asked, more intrigued than doubtful, though his voice still had the usual careless edge.

“See it for yourself,” Mark replied, growing impatient. He caught himself for a second, and wondered why he was being more on edge today. Normally he was the playful kind of bloke, and wouldn’t mind teasing his mates for some harmless fun.

Peter, however, didn’t need more encouragement. In a matter of seconds, he’d flipped it open and started pulling everything out—cards, a few bills, and more cards. And even more cards.

“Wow,” Greg blurted out, his voice jumping half an octave, with a once in a lifetime enthusiasm that Mark had only witnessed when the former unboxed his new PS5, and that was two and a half year ago. “This is so lit.”

That reaction alone was enough to pique the curiosity of other males in the room. Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence. All eyes were laid on the heap of rectangular things spread out in disarray all over the table.

ID cards. Or at least, that’s what they looked like at first glance. More than two dozen of them. In German, French, Czech and whatever the hell the remaining languages were. A bunch of them had only Cyrillic on the surface, while a few more had Cyrillic mixed with Latin. Others were written in scripts so exotic to the young men that their combined knowledge of geography would still not suffice to list off the countries where they are used.

And the languages and countries of origin alone were just the top of the iceberg. Greg, who took German for two semesters, picked one up and turned it over in his hands. “This one’s a residence card,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Looks legit”. Peter had grabbed one with “Permis de Conduire” printed in italic across the top, and a much bigger text on the top-left corner that read “Québec”. “Driver’s license,” he guessed aloud. “Not for a bus, though. Definitely not for a bus.”

Other cards followed—military credentials, university IDs, health insurance documents, employee badges, event staff badges. The types varied wildly, just like the places they came from. There were cards from nearly every part of the globe. Asia, Africa, the Americas ...  every continent had its piece in this strange collection. Except, maybe, Antarctica.

Yet through all the variation, one constant remained: the name Darius, and the face. That face. The name changed slightly from card to card—Dariuš, Dario, Darijus—adapted to local spelling systems and grammatical rules. But the man’s face stayed the same. Every time. Dark eyes, heavy brow, a square jaw that could have been carved from stone. Striking, unmistakably masculine, and… off. Uncanny, somehow. Not quite artificial, but just detached enough from natural human warmth to leave an impression.

“Fuck me, he’s built like a tank,” Greg muttered, holding one of the IDs at arm’s length.

“You think these are all fake?” Peter asked, his tone shifting from amusement to suspicion. “They look real. Like, properly real.”

The excitement of the group wasn’t shared by Mark. He was standing just a little away from the table now, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the pile like it might change again if he blinked. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. At all.

He was absolutely sure that the wallet hadn’t left his backpack. Not even for a moment. He hadn’t touched it since that weird moment on the street. Who switched the old cards with these? Did them transformed by themselves? How did they become so... detailed? When he first opened the wallet, all of the cards were covered in nonsensical symbols—random, unreadable. And they definitely did something to his brain. But now? Aside from looking like very professionally faked proofs of identity, there weren’t any other concerns. They looked ... normal. Strange enough to garner a reaction, but not as outlandish as what Mark had encountered. The boys, if anything, seemed even more rambunctious. They were too caught up in the novelty, in the sheer weirdness of it all. Peter had already pulled out his phone. “This is too cool to not be on my reels,” he said, grinning brightly as he adjusted the angle to fit the entire spread into frame. He tapped his phone several times, then picked up a card for a more detailed photo.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

Peter’s eyes were still locked onto the screen, unblinking. A full minute must have passed, maybe more. His phone was held in front of him at an awkward angle, but his hands didn’t tremble. He wasn’t frozen in fear—just ... still.

The other lads were still caught up in their own excitement, passing cards back and forth like collectors at a flea market. But Mark had gone quiet. He was watching Peter now.

“Pete?” he said.

No response.

Mark tried again, firmer this time. “Pete?”

Still nothing. Not even a twitch.

Mark stepped in closer, and that’s when he saw it. The source of Peter’s sudden, total stillness. His phone’s camera was still active, and through it, the driver’s license remained centred in frame—balanced between Peter’s thumb and forefinger, perfectly still. Yet on the phone’s screen, there was no fancy driver’s license to be found. The vortex of alien symbols had returned. They swirled out from the card like an intricate animation from a high-budget video game. They tapped on the screen, and some of them even bled out. And then the face of the man—Darius—was moving. Not just closer. It was emerging, as though the screen itself were turning into a portal to another dimension. The man’s head grew in size, inching forward pixel by pixel, somehow without distorting, without breaking the illusion. It was no animation. It was him.

Mark felt peace. This time, the symbols were no longer foreign to him. His eyes absorbed them, and his brain interpreted them with impossible clarity—thousands of words, meanings, suggestions, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅꜱ, flashing past in rapid succession, too fast for any human to consciously parse, yet he understood. Something in his brain had clicked. A circuit closed. A key turned.

Calmness. He felt ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ. Like everything was happening just as it should.

He took another step toward Peter. Their shoulders touched. Neither said a word.

Mark raised a hand and gently placed it on Peter’s shoulder. With his other hand, he reached toward the phone screen, toward the ever-growing image of Darius. At that moment, just before his fingers brushed the glass, his eyes registered the final flashing message.

VESSEL SELECTED

Mark’s hand passed straight through the phone’s screen, like dipping into a pool of cool, crud oil. Through the viscosity of the liquid, he finally found texture. Soft, warm, organic, and fleshy. His fingers sank into it, feeling a slick and pulsing sensation, like touching the inside of a mouth.

Without hesitation, he pulled back. The phone rippled once, like disturbed water. Then Darius’s head emerged. It rose slowly, pushing out from the screen, defying physics without even acknowledging the laws it was breaking. The face was exactly as it had been on the cards—broad jaw, dark eyes, regal in a way that made it more uncanny than impressive. The head was tethered—held together by a continuous stream of liquid flesh, like umbilical sinew spilling out behind it. A pulsing, flowing cord of organic matter, connecting Darius to the world was still trapped inside the screen. It poured out endlessly from the card, threading through the air in a gruesome ribbon, viscous and constantly reforming.

Mark smiled at the surreal sight. He turned his head towards Peter, whose gaze was still blankly resting on the screen, oblivious to the event taking place in front of him. Slowly, deliberately, in a mechanical manner that seemed almost reverent, Mark raised the flesh-dripping head towards Peter’s face. The managed to let out only a muffled moan—more confused than pained—as the biomass met his skin. It wasn’t clear if he was resisting or calling out. But it didn’t matter.

The others didn’t notice. Not really. The mania had ceased, but their collective consciousness remained transfixed by the cards scattered across the table, gazing into them with glazed eyes. Not blinking, not speaking. Whatever spell that had taken over them, its effects were now more visible than ever. The appearance of a flesh cyclone from beyond Peter’s phone screen, and its now completely covering his head seemed not to have disturbed the young men in the room at the slightest. Slowly, with the calm of inevitability, it aligned itself, feature by feature, onto its new host.

The stream from the phone didn’t slow. It only grew thicker, more purposeful. It wrapped around Peter’s head, then his shoulders, crawling down his neck with eerie precision. Peter’s skinny body was revealed for one brief second, as the sentient flesh first wormed both over and underneath his clothes, then in one swift but violent movement, completely devoured them down to the last atom before slathering itself neatly onto his body. The mass accumulated overwhelmingly at Peter’s feet – if who or whatever that was standing next to Mark could still be said to be Peter. The flesh had solidified after binding itself to Peter’s body, but the forces at the bottom continued to push upward, lengthening first the legs, then the figure’s whole torso. A tower of meat and muscle were coming into view. The head was now completely Darius’s. It twitched, and then continued to moan with Peter voice as if there was something stuck in his vocal cord. One who looked at the face would have the impression that all its facial nerves were paralysed, for the facial expressions were completely detached and at odds with the vocalisation taking place.  

The mass, just mere seconds ago immobile, started to stir. The stream of liquid flesh had been severed from its source beyond the phone’s screen. All that remained on the giant that Mark was looking at had been turned into solid flesh – hard, firm, natural, organic. Big, prominent veins surfaced along his arms and legs. His toes coiled, and his fingers curled into fists, letting Peter’s heart pump fresh batches of blood to the new extremities of its enhanced, occupied body. A body taken over by ᴅᴀʀɪᴜꜱ. The moaning had stopped, replaced by the dead silence that stemmed from the grimness and intensity of a man’s presence. He looked down at his body, at the hair slowly growing out across his legs, over his arms and along his chest. At potent beads of sweat pouring out of his imposing body. At his intimidating, rising member filled up with blood. And at Mark.

Darius’s stare had triggered something inside Mark. The latter turned his attention towards the remaining men inside the room, whose minds had been scattered by the cards around them. Mark smiled, having only one thought in his mind.

DARIUS

[the-daily-body]

I imagine a steve rogers to skater stoner transformation

Steve Rogers -> Skater Stoner

The last known location of Peter Parker was to an apartment in the bad side of Queen's. Deciding to investigate alone, Captain America easily broke in, however, whoever was there left only a short while ago, the smoke still circulating around the room.

The Captain looked around for his friend but found nothing but the sweaty, pungent smell of weed. It wasn't long before even his enhanced body become lightheaded.

Soon, memories of the 30s and 40s faded into that smoke all that mattered was going out with his best buds, having a few spliffs and showing off at the Skate Park.

If he had any braincells left, he'd find it strange they were all wearing the same clothes as his best friend Pete, but it didn't matter anymore. Watch this!

[the-daily-body]

hiccup turns into the Viking his dad always wanted

Hiccup -> Viking

A Father's expectations can be a heavy burden, and even when we surpass them in ways they never seen, there's always the desire there.

Stoik's pendant was close to his heart and bore the brunt of his desires for his son and absorbed all of them.

Once worn, a new person took over, a man just like his father, broad, brutal and filled with violence, one who'll put the dragons in their place and become the new Chief by force.

[the-daily-body]

White Shirt, Blue Jeans

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

huhuhuhu... look at my tits bro.

[the-daily-body]

I would love to buy a skinsuit. I am a total geek and scrawny in college. I would love a skinsuit that can wear to show off my strength. One with big muscles. Any way you can help me out. Only problem is I have to work outside mowing and other yard work to pay it off. Hope the heat stays low so I don't get stuck. It is supposed to be really hot in a few days.

"Big Man on Campus"

Day 1 – Order Confirmed!

I finally did it. I ordered my first MorphoSkin Deluxe Muscle Form! No more scrawny arms, no more awkward frame—I’m going to be huge. I’ve always been the geeky guy, the one who barely fills out a hoodie, the one people overlook. But with this? I’ll be massive. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that stretch out my sleeves—just imagining it makes my heart race.

There’s only one little problem: money.

These things aren’t cheap, and I had to take on extra work mowing lawns and doing yard work to afford it. It’s been hot as hell lately, but I should be okay as long as I don’t overheat. I read somewhere that too much heat can make the suit… stick. Probably just a scare tactic, right?

Day 4 – Delivery Arrived!

It’s here. I opened the package like a kid on Christmas, and there it was: my new body.

The suit is everything I imagined—thick, veiny arms, a massive chest, and abs that look like they were carved out of stone. The inside of the suit feels weirdly cool and smooth, almost alive. I barely skimmed the instructions (who reads those?), then stripped down and stepped in.

The change was instant.

My legs stretched taller, my thighs grew thick and powerful, my stomach hardened into a tight six-pack. Pulling my arms into place, I flexed—veins popped under the surface, biceps bulged, and my hands were huge, rough, strong.

Then came the final piece—the face. I pulled it over, felt a sharp tingle down my spine, and then…

My voice rumbled deep from my chest. My reflection was perfect. I clenched my fists, feeling the sheer power in my arms. My t-shirt stretched tight over my massive shoulders, and my jeans felt one squat away from tearing.

This was insane.

Day 6 – Work Day

I had to work a double shift mowing lawns today, but honestly? I was excited. I wanted to see how this body performed.

And man, did it deliver.

I powered through yard after yard, barely breaking a sweat. My muscles thrived under the work—each push of the mower, each lift of a bag of mulch, it all felt effortless. People actually noticed me for once. The old man next door whistled, impressed. A group of girls jogging by did a double-take.

For the first time in my life, I felt undeniable.

But there was one little problem.

The heat.

The sun was brutal today—beating down for hours, my whole body soaked in sweat. My shirt clung to me, my breath came heavier, my skin felt too tight.

I figured I just needed a break. I sat down, guzzled water, wiped my face—and froze.

My skin wasn’t wiping clean.

I looked down at my arms. The sweat didn’t bead—it sank in. Like my pores had changed. My fingers trembled as I grabbed at my wrist, trying to pinch the suit’s seam.

Nothing.

I reached for my neck, feeling for the edge where the suit met my real skin. It should be there. It should peel.

It didn’t.

My pulse pounded.

I rushed to my truck’s side mirror and stared at myself. Same massive body. Same perfect muscles. Same chiseled jawline.

I pressed my fingers to my face, trying to pull the skin away. It wouldn’t move. It stretched, it flexed, it responded like it belonged.

Because it did.

I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing—except now, it wasn’t mine. It was his.

The words from the instructions flashed in my mind—something about heat exposure. About how too much could cause permanent fusion

"Oh fuck..."

I took a slow, shaky breath. My reflection stared back, confident, unshaken.

Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing.

I clenched a massive fist, flexing my arm. I was strong. Powerful. Everything I ever wanted to be.

This was my body now.

And honestly?

I didn’t mind.

[the-daily-body]

Suck, Fuck, Repeat: The Gym

No one could have ever anticipated it. No one in the world knew that in just one moment, everything they knew would change. It was like a lightbulb, a radical realization of the new world.

Ricky and Theo were at the gym that day. They were college bros, spending most of their time at the gym and getting as much pussy as they possibly could.

Ricky was grinding out dumbbell curls, his veins pulsing as sweat ran down his skin. He looked at Theo, carrying huge dumbbells doing lateral raises. For a moment, Ricky remembered his latest conquest the night before, a hot blonde whats-her-name, and he walked over to Theo.

"Hey, bro, I forgot to tell you about this chick last night."

"Oh yeah?" Theo said, removing his headphones.

"It was…" and then a sudden thunder in his mind crashed. It's as though all the synapses in his brain shut off and restarted.

"It was uh…" Ricky continued, trying to remember what he was saying. "It was this… this college chick… and she… had this… huge… uh… "

"Bro, you okay?" Theo's brows furrowed. Ricky looked like his brain had fried off. He was drooling slightly, looking at Theo with a strange, dazed look.

"It was a, uh…" Ricky drone, "dicks… yeah… that feels right… cocks. That's what I was thinking."

Theo's mouth hung open. "…what?"

Ricky's mind felt like it was being emptied out, and in place, there was only one thing he could think of. Actually, two things. "I… need to suck your cock, bro… or fuck your ass… I need to do it, bro…"

Theo stared at Ricky in disbelief. "What the fuck is going on with you? You high or something? Why're you acting like some fag talking about dicks…?" He paused for a moment, noticing the tent on Ricky's shorts. "You're… you're a goddamn fag! Your dick is hard! Your… long… warm… dick… is… so fuckin' hot! I never realized that until now!"

Theo had a surprised look in his face, looking at his best bro in a new light. Ricky grinned, heat rising from his chest and his cock. Theo looked so fucking hot in his tight shirt and that cock barely concealed by his pants. A moment of panic dawned on his face as he realized he was so excited to see his buddy's dick, but then the panic subsided, and he found himself licking his lips.

"I… I need to suck your cock," Theo said. "Oh my god, I'm a fag! I can't stop thinking about your dick. All I want is to have that cock inside my mouth and as far as my throat can handle. Come 'ere!"

Ricky didn't hesitate. He planted a hungry kiss on Theo's neck, lapping up his formerly straight buddy and relishing his sweat. "I want your cock in my mouth too," Ricky said, the sentence so foreign to him, yet it felt so right. All he wanted was cock. All he needed in his throat was cock. As many as he could, all the time.

Theo almost growled, making his way down Ricky's shorts. The dick was straining against the shorts, and in no time it came out plopping, vibrating. Theo stared in amazement. "Bro, you got the best lookin' dick I've ever seen!" he said, even though it was the first cock he had seen that wasn't his.

Theo wrapped his lips on Ricky's dick as quickly as he possibly could, and he choked because of the sudden large shaft. It was the first dick he'd ever tasted. It felt like heaven. It pulsed in his mouth, the warmth of Ricky reaching its epicenter on his cock. Theo felt his own cock straining against his clothes, and Ricky let out an unbridled groan, eyes closing, relishing his best bud's mouth. He looked around, and some were staring at them like they're crazy, but just as quickly, the looks of disgust were replaced by looks of… jealousy?

Theo sucked hard, wanting to take as much of Ricky's cock as he could. "I should've become a fag years ago," he wanted to say, but all that came out were muffled grunts.

Ricky pulled back Theo's head, and for a moment, Theo seemed to get angry, but then he said, "I need to suck your cock, too, bro."

Theo grinned, and they moved to the side of the gym equipment. Theo took off his pants, then laid down on the ground. He looked at his best friend with a grin, the side of his lips dripping slightly with saliva.

Ricky slowly laid down, facing Theo's legs. "Jesus, bro, all that time fucking chicks when you're right next to me every day."

Theo replied by giving Ricky's cock a lick, and Ricky's knees buckled at the overwhelming sensation. Ricky shoved his mouth down Theo's dick. He closed his eyes, tasting Theo's pre-cum as he felt his own cock leak. Ricky felt like he was in heaven. All he wanted to do was suck his friend's cock—any cock he could get his hands on. It felt so right. Theo and Ricky were in sync, sucking the other's cock expertly, and finally, Ricky buckled, and he let out a loud groan as he felt his cock explode. Theo's cock burst, and Ricky lapped up Theo's cum, swallowing as much as he could as he felt some dribbling out the side of his lips.

The cloud seemed to have passed, and Ricky got up and helped Theo up to his feet.

"So… " Theo said, face wet with sweat, "we just… sucked each other's cocks."

Ricky thought he would feel embarrassed or guilty, but sucking his bro's cock felt like the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah," he replied.

They looked at each other, then noted the sea of bodies next to them, fellow gym goers, all men, bodies wrapped around each other, sucking cock.

Then another urge passed through them. Something more. Something even more primal. Theo's eyes locked with Ricky. They had the realization at the exact same time.

"I need to fuck you—" "I gotta fuck you—"

Ricky was heaving up and down, the taste of Theo's cock lingering around his tongue.

"I gotta fuck you first, bro," Theo said, slowly.

"Nah," Ricky said, voice low and quiet. "You need to bend over so I can fuck you."

They went back staring at each other, both of their chest heaving up and down, sweaty but not even a hint of tiredness in them.

Ricky pounded first. He grabbed Theo's muscled arms, forcing the man to turn around. "Fuck!" Theo said as he was forced to turn around. He saw the rest of the men sucking cock, but he also saw some of them struggling for control. He turned his focus back. Ricky's grip was strong, but for a split second he lets go of Theo's wet arms, and that was enough.

Theo pushed Ricky, making him kiss the ground. Ricky groaned, his dick just as hard as it had been minutes ago. "Fuck, man!" Ricky gasped.

Theo's eyes were wide and crazed, teeth gritted as he grabbed his hard dick and jammed it down Ricky's virgin ass.

"AHHH FUCK!" Ricky shouted, gasping as he felt Theo's dick invading his ass. For a moment, all he could feel was pain, but it was gone in an instant. He suddenly realized he had lost. This was right. This is where he belonged. All he wanted to do was suck cock and get fucked. He thought about his friends: Jason, Darnell, Eric, and the rest of his teammates. He wanted to suck their cocks. He wanted them to fuck him one by one.

Theo grunted, pumping his dick deeper down Ricky's ass. This was right. He was made for this. He wanted to suck cock and fuck every man he could get his dick on. His mind looked back at all his memories; memories of locker rooms, gym, PE class… he could've gotten dick and fucked men for so long!

"Well," Theo said, panting, beads of sweat running down his body, "No point on thinkin' bout the past. I'm going to fuck you all day, bro."

Ricky groaned, the warmth of Theo's dick pulsating around him. "Oh fuck yeah, bro! Fuck me in the ass! Come on, faster!"

Theo obliged. He fucked harder than all the chicks he fucked before. His cock had never been this hard—it almost hurts, but he fucked his friend's tight ass as fast and long as he could. His right hand travelled all throughout Ricky's lower backside, enjoying the warmth and unfamiliarity of his skin. It felt so right.

"Oh god!" Theo moaned, tension rising as he felt even hotter and bigger, "I'm going to fucking cum!"

"Fuuuuuck!" Ricky groaned as he felt Theo thrust deep, cum blasting on his ass. His cock blew again, with just as much cum as before.

Theo and Ricky plopped down on the floor side by side. Sounds of wet tongue and grunting men invaded their ears. For a moment, they just relished each other's warmth. Then, they looked back at each other. A wordless agreement settled on their faces. They reach for each other's cocks...

[the-daily-body]

Jock Roommate

Note: Some pictures were too spicy for Tumblr (this post got flagged!) so I've linked to them instead

---

You know, I was happy when I first saw my roommate. Fit, handsome, and just excruciatingly sexy. You just know he had an easy life using his looks. He'd walk down the street and men and women would stop to turn and stare at him. He was that gorgeous. Too bad he was also a complete slob. He only cares about getting fit, playing sports, and getting laid. The stereotypical jock. Several shirts thrown here and there around were fine; and I honestly didn't care—I even took a sniff or two here and there, but I didn't expect him to be such a big fucking slob.

After a month of living with him, discarded bottles were all around, energy drinks, pizza boxes, and all sorts of garbage that I couldn't even decipher. It made me mad—not just by how dirty he was, but with how he could manage to eat like a pig and still look like that. Even if he didn't shower for days, instead of getting just stinky, he exuded this strong scent that I couldn't help but secretly enjoy. It was unfair seeing how much of a pig he was and still looking like that. Every other day, he'd be dragging some chick to bang all night, and the day after, I kept telling him to quiet it down, and he'd just roll his eyes and tell me to "lighten up." It was relentless. Every day, he'd be bringing a chick, sometimes two, and they'd go at it all night. The guy was a horndog. Muscles, chicks, sports, sex. That's all he cared about.

I don't know if he knew I was gay. Maybe he did. Sometimes, he'd be back from the gym, throwing his wet shirt along the pile of laundry on the floor, he'd grin at me and tell me to clean up the place. He'd take a long shower, while I stared at the soaked shirt. I would take it, feeling the warmth and moist of it, and plunge it deep in my nose. God, he reeked. It was a smell enough to drive a man wild. I wanted it closer to me, I wanted it in me.

When I heard the shower turn off, I immediately threw it away and started cleaning up. He'd stand there, looking fresh with clean skin and black hair, letting the water hit his chiseled abs, and he'd smirk at me and leave without saying a word. It went on for months until I hit my breaking point.

It was semi-finals. I was working on several projects and I got an exam the next day. Phillip—God, even his name sounded sexy on him—brought another girl home and started making out on the sofa. I heard the girl giggling in delight as they moaned. I peeked my head out and saw Phillip kissing the girl's neck. I grew angry. "Do you mind taking it in the bedroom? I got an exam tomorrow. Don't you have class too, Phillip?"

He looked at me in annoyance. "Mind your own business," he said. He turned to her. "Don't mind him. The fag's just jealous he's not you." They both laughed and started making out again.

That was it. It was too much. The pressure from college, Phillip calling me a fag, and the deep-seated feeling that he was right—I was jealous I wasn't making out with him. Things had to change.

What I didn't mention before was that I'm studying chemical engineering. The only reason I got into this prestigious university was that I was a stellar student. I was always combining compounds even before high school, and I knew I could work on something if I work hard on it enough.

I didn't sleep for three months. I dedicated day and night trying to find the perfect compound to use on Phillip. I may have barely passed my exams, earned a warning from my professors for being late or absent, but I was dead set. I used the university lab to make my own concoction, further improving upon it during the night. I barely survived the semester and I still spent the entire break perfecting my concoction.

Time passed like a blur, but I remembered every painstaking detail. Every late night of brainstorming. I didn't care. I was angry at him. I was angry at him for being such a slob, for being a jerk to everyone, and I was angry at myself for being attracted to him. In the end, I finally released the breath I'd been holding for months. I had done it. I'd found the perfect combination.

A new semester arrived. Phillip talked to me in the living room. God, I hated how my stomach felt when he was with me. He just exuded this potent musk, and the way he looks at you is enough to make your knees fall.

"Dude. You gonna pick up around here or what?" he said, glancing at the dirty apartment. I didn't point out that he made that mess. "You know I got more important stuff to do than handle all this. And it's not easy taking care of this bod, you know?" His muscles bulged as he spoke. I stared straight at his eyes. "Try not to be completely useless, for once."

This time, I didn't get mad. I smiled at him and said, "Okay."

He looked at me strangely. I didn't care. For once in my life, I didn't feel helpless against him, helpless against my attraction for him. I had the solution.

Just as scheduled, he went to the gym first thing in the morning. When he came back, he fixed himself a drink and got on the shower. Listening carefully to the running water, I let the liquid fall into his drink. I felt calm. I was so nervous thinking about it, but doing it felt so easy. I ate breakfast as I watched him drain the drink in a single gulp.

I saw him groan and enter his room. I sat on the couch, looking at the clock as minutes passed by. Finally, he opened the door, shuffling slowly to the living room, a confused look on his face.

"I… I don't feel so good…" he mumbled, collapsing to the floor.

I looked at his unconscious body. He even got a nice bubble butt. Too bad it was wasted on a straight dude. I got the vial from my room and swallowed it down. This shouldn't take too long, but for now, I looked at his body.

I turned him around. God, he's handsome. In spite of the horndog jerk, he was so pretty to look at. I let my hand roam over his skin, then gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. He smelled clean and fresh, his skin cool. I inhaled deeply, burying my face on his neck. His potent scent filled me. I could feel my dick become harder. I looked at his face, letting my fingers trace over his abs, and I kissed his lips. I let my tongue inside him, savoring his warmth, enjoying his saliva. I lifted his arms and smelled his pits. Still fresh from his shower, I gave it a lick. A shiver ran down my spine. God, I wanted more. I needed more of him.

I felt a tingle in my chest. The vial was kicking in. I shucked off my clothes and let my naked body fall on him. I could feel his chest, his dick, and his arms. I felt my brain cloud. An odd sensation lingered on my feet. looked down and gasped as I saw my foot slowly merging into his body. This was it. It was happening. I kissed his chest, my hands moving over him as I felt more of my body sinking into him. I could feel his soft breath against me, and it drove me wild.

I felt my chest fall inside him, my arms fading into him, and then the darkness consumed me as my consciousness slipped away.

I blinked. I was looking at the ceiling. A sharp pain throbbed in my head, and I clutched it in pain. Everything felt weird. My eyesight was hazy. I blinked rapidly until it cleared.

"What the fuck…"

Phillip's voice came out. I gasped and touched my throat. I felt stubble on my cheek. Looking down at my legs, I noticed how much stronger and more defined they were.

"Holy shit," I said, the words coming out in Phillip's voice. I touched my abs, feeling how firm they are. I looked down at my arms. Holy shit. They were toned as hell. I stood up and gasped at my new weight—my new height. I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in a mirror. Phillip's handsome face stared back. He looked confused, and I raised my arms and saw Phillip in the reflection do the same. I reached out and touched my cheek.

"It… It really worked…" I felt his tongue, somehow the feeling of enunciating words and syllables felt different. I flexed his arms and saw Phillip in the reflection doing the same. "It fucking worked!"

I watched as Phillip's face lighten up, grinning, as I felt my new body. "God, Phillip. You were always so fucking hot."

Hearing Phillip talk this way was enough to make me hard. I looked at every inch of his chest, at every part of his arm, and I could no longer ignore the hardening length below me. I shoved his boxers down. Good God. Phillip was packing serious heat. The thing was seven inches long, and it was only half hard. "Damn, Phillip," I muttered, "no wonder you got a chick every night."

Just the mere fact that I'm looking at Phillip and listening to his voice was enough to make me hard. I let out a heavy breath as I watched his cock get harder, arching to a full ten inches. I gave it a tug and left out a groan. Phillip's voice was manly and needy.

"You're so hot, Phillip," I said, gasping as I took his dick in his hands. I closed my eyes and let the sensation overtake me. I was him. I'd finally done it. I gave my brand new dick a squeeze and I groaned, as loud as I can. I felt my knees buckle, warmth coursing through my body and directly to my dick. I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection, seeing Phillip with his mouth open, hand on his long, hard dick, groaning. I spit on his dick, the saliva mixing with his pre-cum. I grinned at his reflection, trying to emulate the original Phillip as much as I can. I flexed his arms, wiggling his eyebrows as I stuck his tongue out. Jesus Christ he was sexy.

I turned and looked at Phillip's hairy bubble butt in the mirror. He was perfect. I stroked his cock, feeling the overwhelming heat radiating from it. It was veiny and wet, pulsating in my hand. I stroked it faster while flexing his arms, sniffing his armpits and feeling his knees buckle from the sensation. I started stroking harder and harder. "Fuck, Phillip!" I groaned, the words coming out in his voice, sounding so damn sexy. I stroked harder, feeling his body get slick with sweat. "Ohhhh fuck yeah!" I groaned harder, letting his voice fill the room. I inhaled deeply, taking in his smell, sniffing his armpits as hard as I could. His scent was powerful. It'd never been this overwhelming. It was in me. This strong, musky scent was everywhere.

I stroked harder and harder. I looked at Phillip in the mirror, seeing his body jerk off, his hands slick with saliva as his mouth drooled. I felt my knees buckle and I let out a loud groan, massive amounts of cum spurting from his dick, splattering against the mirror. I let the sensation wash over me, the warmth still so overwhelming. I breathed in and out, my chest rising and falling.

I looked at his reflection again, then at my hand. It was slick with his cum. I stared at his reflection and watched Phillip lick his own cum from his hands.

---

I plopped down on his bed. Even his bed smelled like him. His room was a mess—clothes thrown everywhere, bottles, papers—but I didn't care. I stared at the ceiling, watching Phillip's chest rising and falling. I looked over his body, the birthmark, the veins, and all the little things I'd only began to notice now that I was in him.

"God, Phillip, why did you have to be such a dick?" I whispered in his voice. I breathed in and out, still not sure if this is real or a dream. I heard a notification from his phone, and grinned as it opened using facial recognition. It was a message from a random chick, asking when they were going to meet up.

"Well, that's not gonna happen," I whispered. "I'm gay as fuck."

Hearing Phillip say those words made me snort, a laugh escaping my lips. I tossed the phone aside and let myself enjoy the warmth of his bed. He feels so tight, so manly, and so good. I looked down at his dick, which was already getting hard again. A wave of intense horniness washed over me, then dove straight to my hardening cock. "Jesus, Phillip. Now I get why you're such a fucking horndog."

[the-daily-body]

Running Late

You had never really been in shape, it was only natural that you avoided certain places around here, then. Places like the gym and most notably... the park. It was especially bad in late fall, that was when your local college started up track. So... what did you do? Same thing you always did, avoid it to the best of your ability.

Unfortunately for you, your abilities weren't quite good enough to stop fate from intervening. As usual you began your morning commute. It was simple and you liked the nice cool morning air, especially in the fall. Unfortunately... there was construction. You didn't know about it and now you would be late. This was going to be awful...

Your job wasn't amazing but it paid well enough. One other thing... you had been late quite a bit before... you were on one of your last strikes. So what would you do now? You called your boss, telling them you would be late due to construction... just hoping they would understand. Of course, they did not. They told you to go right to their office when you came in. Nothing good about that. So frustrated, you began walking absentmindedly to your better route... You hadn't thought this through.

When getting to the park you realized it too late, especially with the help of some dumb guy walking up to you. Right at the entrance. He wore a pair of athletic shorts that showed off his physique. He looked a bit upset but hard to tell through his shades. "What? Are you one of the people trying out for track? You're late." He looked you up and down. You looked angry, he looked annoyed... nothing good would come out of this.

You sighed and looked at him, "Look, I'm late for-"

He nodded. "Alright alright, I can tell you're late. What's your name? Gavin? Okay, Gavin we're running through the park and nature trail. If you can make it through that in... thirty minutes or less you're on the team."

"What? No you didn-" Again you didn't get to finish before he blew the whistle in your face. Instinctively and oddly you began running. Maybe it was to get out of the situation or maybe something else... Either way you ran. It was tough, you were huffing and puffing as your arms swayed side to side. Your chest was heaving with every labored movement. Your shoes were definitely not cut out for this.

As you kept going you started cussing, it helped you through the pain. Just a bit further and you could get out of the park... You kept running and running. Cussing out your boss, cussing out your co-workers, cussing out your job. "Fuck this" and "Fuck that" everywhere. With every step, every stride your mouth felt sore, your lips felt numb, your chest burnt. You felt like you were dying... but it also felt relieving. Your chest started to pump out, any fat or saggy man tits getting firm if not a bit jiggly. You were burning fat. Fat turned to muscle. Your chin? Yeah it felt like it was burning but really it was reshaping. You needed better air flow as you ran. Your lips were much softer, your chin was much more manly.

You ran your hands through your hair, unaware of the changes going on in your body. You grew hair on your chest, not much but notable. Your hair, nicely styled for your shitty office job, blew in the wind, shaping to a more... simple and trendy style. Helped and had a little bounce. Your head reshaped a bit too... What was going on?

As you neared the turn to get out you just tossed your jacket off and kept running, right passed it! You tried to stop but your legs wouldn't It was like they needed to run... They were growing more muscular. You were getting more muscular. It was easier to breathe and run now. The movements you were making were better, more fitting of a runner who did this often. But your clothes were so restricting... You took off your shitty shirt and belt... but that still wasn't enough. You went down to your underwear... odd... it was now compression boxer briefs.

Your bulge bounced with every step, it grew in size and smell. You were starting to stink quite a bit... Must be the sweat. The scent was intoxicating. You were having trouble thinking of your job. What was it again? Fuck who cared running felt so good. You had passed like three guys so far! Shows them! And you were late!

Getting past a few more you heard some bros... or... guys? No bros felt way better on the brainage. Well either way they were laughing. By now you had caught up to them. "What's so funny?" Odd... you could hold conversation while laughing. One explained that you were doing better than expected. The other made fun of you for being new. He did mention you were doing well with hazing. Hazing? But you weren't even on the team. But before you knew it one sprinted off.

"Oh fuck no you don't!" You laughed and started to sprint after him. Your body was changing and mind solidifying.... and just as you got to the finish marker. You weren't yourself anymore but who cares. You beat that guy. He even shook your hand.

"Name's Hunter, what's yours rookie?"

He laughed as the coach came up to you. "God damn, Gavin. For someone so late I didn't think you had the grit." He patted your back and handed you a shirt. It was yours yeah? Yeah it had to be.

"Gavin, huh? Yeah I think you'll fit in well on varsity." Hunter smiled and started to walk off. "Think you can take the cooldown?" He smirked, smug of course.

You paused to try and think for a second before laughing and blurting out; "Cool down? I'm hardly done yet, dude!" With that Hunter nodded and you two ran again... Racing... Hunter had found a rival, you found purpose, not if only you could find where you left your pants...

Enjoy your new life, meathead.

[the-daily-body]

"Goddamnit, I forgot it's Pride Month!

"Haaahh... oh man..." I groaned out as I stretched in this body I had been borrowing for the past few days. Didn't even know this guy's name, I just saw him at my local gay bar and quickly slithered inside him when he went into the restroom for a piss.

"Wha-AAAAHHH! Fuck!" he had screamed as my slimy, orange body slithered inside his dick. He had clutched the wall for support, body convulsing as he surrendered control to me. During the last few seconds of the possession, I could've sworn he was even moaning in pleasure from the sensation. What a perv...! Though, I could say the same for myself.

From there, the days passed by in a blur. I ended up using most of his paid time-off to just relax, masturbate, and play around with this thick, hairy body during this vacation I had stolen from him.

"What day is it even...?" I asked myself as I reached out for my host's phone. Even after several days, I still get a wild kick from just needing the facial recognition to unlock it. It felt as though I had truly dominated this pudgy fella.

My glee quickly turned to gloom as I saw the date. June 1st.

June.

The 1st.

Pride Month.

"The parades are gonna start soon!" I shouted. I shot up from the bed and quickly made my way to the door, completely forgetting that I was just wearing a pair of sexy yet revealing underwear.

Several of the neighbors walking down the halls of my host's apartment complex weren't pleased to see my half-naked body. Don't they know it's Pride? It's the one time of year we can all get together and appreciate the male form.

Well, I didn't feel like getting this adorable dude arrested, so I went back to get changed and actually grab his wallet and house keys.

I had plan to make up for lost time, and that involved getting to the airport.

~o~

When you're like me, the concept of money really ceases to have any value. That's not to say that I've gained any sort of personal enlightenment, it's simply that any cash I could want I simply take from a body that has some to spare. I'm not smart enough like other possessors to have any off-shore bank accounts, so I just get by through possessing people who are traveling to where I want to go.

And lucky for me, sitting by the terminal for New York was a hunk with restless leg syndrome just like all my other hosts.

I often had a hard time staying still, which is why I jumped from body to body so frequently, and train-of-thought to train-of-thought as well!

Ah, damn! While I was thinking fondly, he had gotten up to go to the restroom. There was my chance. I got up to my feet and followed him in, making sure to keep a fair amount of paces between us. Luckily, the bathroom was empty besides the two of us. Helped that so many flights around this wing of the airport had already departed.

While he went to one of the urinals, I slipped inside a stall and began to gather myself up in this host. I'd miss this fat cutie, but I needed to get to New York to enjoy all the pride festivals and the cuties that would be flying in.

But to give this body one last treat, I whipped out his cock and began to rub it as I began to lose all the various sensations I had come to love while being in this guy. "Nrgh, ah...haaaaah...!" My previous host let out a low, audible groan as my true form shot out of his dick and into the floor. I quickly slithered towards the hunk just as he shook the last drops of piss from his cock.

"The fuck?" It must've been providence, as his attention was briefly drawn to my old host's groans. With his distracted, I quickly slithered up his leg and shot myself into his dock. "Wha--AH. Fuck, fuck, ahhh!" Unlike my previous host, this one was a fighter. Leaning against the wall for support, he pulled on the last bits of my slimy body entering him, but he couldn't get a good enough grip. "N-No, g-get outta me...!" he whispered, eyes shut as both pain and pleasure washed over him. He gripped his head, teeth gritted as he lost all sensation.

Then, I relaxed my new face and took a look at my new form. "Niiice," I said as I flexed my new arms. However, I quickly slipped my dick back into my underwear and washed my hands. I couldn't risk missing my ride for some exploration. Besides, there'd be plenty of time for that once I got onto the plane.

New York, here I come! Hope nobody minds me borrowing them while I enjoy this year's pride!

[the-daily-body]

Sports Jock Possession

(These are using anime characters — it’s a bit different from all the other prompts. We’ll see how you all take this story haha)

————-

The halls of Nekoma High buzzed with the usual hum of teenage life, but I floated above it all, a ghostly observer trapped in a world I could no longer touch. My fingers passed through the lockers like smoke, and the chatter of students felt distant, as though I were listening through water. This isn’t fair, I thought, my frustration simmering. I’d been a senior too, just like them, before the accident. Now, all I had was this hollow existence, watching, yearning, and craving something I could never have again—a body.

And then I saw him. Tetsurou Kuroo, the volleyball captain, leaned against a locker, his sharp, catlike grin plastered across his face. His messy black hair fell in disheveled waves, framing a face that was all sharp angles and mischief. His long, lean frame was toned from hours of practice, his muscles rippling subtly under his uniform. My gaze lingered on his hands—long, slender fingers that wrapped around a water bottle with an effortless grip. God, he’s gorgeous. I could almost feel the heat of his body radiating through the air, and a pang of envy shot through me. What would it be like to be him? To move through the world with that confidence, to feel that strength beneath my skin?

I drifted closer, my spectral form hovering just inches away. Kuroo smirked at something his teammate said, his laughter low and teasing. His voice was smooth, almost predatory, and it sent a shiver down my spine. If I had his body, I thought, I’d use that voice to seduce someone. I’d lean in close, whisper in their ear, and watch them crumble under the weight of my presence. The idea made my ghostly form quiver with anticipation. But Kuroo wasn’t the only one who caught my eye.

Further down the hall, Rensuke Kunigami was tying his soccer cleats, his fiery orange hair glowing like a flame under the fluorescent lights. He was built like a tank—broad shoulders, thick thighs, and calves that looked like they could crush a watermelon. His face was serious, almost stoic, but there was a warmth in his eyes when he smiled. Strong, silent type, I mused. I could imagine him pinning someone against a wall, his muscular frame towering over them, his hands rough and demanding. The thought made my insides twist with longing. What would it feel like to have that kind of power?

A loud burst of laughter pulled my attention to the gym doors, where Kotarou Bokuto was animatedly chatting with his team. His spiked silver-and-black hair bounced with every exaggerated gesture, and his wide, golden eyes sparkled with excitement. Bokuto was all energy, his personality as explosive as his physique. His abs were a work of art, his chest broad and inviting. He’d be fun, I thought. Loud, enthusiastic, maybe even a little goofy in bed. I could picture him laughing during sex, his joy infectious, making the whole experience feel like a game.

Finally, my gaze landed on Makoto Tachibana, the swimmer, who was quietly reading a book by the pool. His wet hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water sliding down his sculpted chest. His muscles were long and lean, the kind that came from slicing through water with precision and grace. He was soft-spoken, almost shy, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he carried himself. He’d be gentle, I imagined. Slow, deliberate, every touch filled with purpose. The contrast between his calm demeanor and his powerful body was intoxicating.

As I floated there, invisible and weightless, I felt a surge of determination. I want a body. I want to feel alive again. The desire burned within me, sharp and unrelenting. I could take one of them, possess their form, and experience everything I’d been missing. But which one?

The idea of slipping into Kuroo’s body was tempting. His confidence, his charm—it would be easy to seduce someone with that. I could see it now: his hands roaming over their skin, his voice dripping with promises. But Kunigami’s raw strength called to me too. The thought of his hands gripping someone’s hips, his body moving with a primal rhythm, sent a jolt of electricity through me. Bokuto’s infectious energy was hard to resist, and Tachibana’s quiet intensity had its own allure.

I drifted closer to each of them, my spectral form brushing against theirs as I weighed my options. Kuroo’s smirk, Kunigami’s stoic gaze, Bokuto’s laughter, Tachibana’s quiet focus—they all pulled at me in different ways. But I knew I couldn’t wait forever. I had to choose... whose body is the best fit for me… who should I become?

Note, I already wrote the story and have possessed one of these bodies, but I’m curious to see who you guys like the most ;).

[the-daily-body]

Himbo Dreams

Nick was trying to get some sleep. He had been lying on his bed, clad only in briefs, focusing on the spinning ceiling fan as if trying to lull himself into deep slumber. Nick thought he would finally join a club, go to parties, maybe even fool around with some boys. But college was just lecture after lecture, his overactive imagination already stressing about tomorrow's seminar. Goddamn. He needed to calm his mind, trying to focus on something else - that is, hot jocks.

Tall, beefy, muscular men had popped up in his brain like fleeting mirages. Somehow, Nick had ended up in a college that was a giant in every sport imaginable. From sun-kissed boys in the swimming club, to the brawny brutes of the football club. Of course, he could only watch, not do. Next to the pinnacles of fitness, Nick was just a regular unassuming guy. In a campus full of jocks he was short at 5'5", and though he worked out on occasion, his body didn't show anything impressive. The only interactions he got were accidental shoves from people walking past.

Still, an occasional glance at the hunks in his class or at the soccer team out the window helped get him through the day. He noted how each of the sport teams had their own sexy characteristics:

Down by the pool, the swimmers were lean and tanned to perfection, dripping water highlighted the grooves of their abs, carving straight to their cum gutters; brought out perfectly by tight speedos that left little to the imagination, showing off juicy curves and asses.

Full of testosterone and ego, the quarterbacks were huge. Larger than life in body and demeanor, always rowdy and loud in the field. Drawing attention with their boulder shoulders, accentuated by their shoulder pads; and tight pants that showed their meaty behinds. Unlike the smooth shaven boys in the water, the footballers were hairy and musky, pits and pubes full of sweat that could drive you crazy.

The soccer team were the complete definition of hunks, they loved to strip down on the field, showing their carved torsos in glory; the basketball players were tall and packing heat, black shorts only highlighted their lengthy members, and their stamina on the court wasn't just for show according to some rumors.

Nick could go on and on about every fantasy in his mind, hoping one of the jocks would magically ask him out, allowing him to feel up their bodies. Or even better, if he could be them. To be that muscular and commanding jock, sauntering into a room bulge first, popping his pecs in class, having a flex off with his like-minded bros. Although it was just a pipedream, it permeated his mind over and over, usually ending with him grumbling to himself and sighing deeply.

Out of all the stereotypical jocks, there was one he loved the most, the perfect combination appearing in every sport, and the final hot image in his brain - a frat bro.

Dumb, muscular, horny, hung, himbos, every descriptor activated the right neuron in his brain. These words were on constant repeat in Nick's mind, remembering them as he drifted into horny dreams, carrying those words with a wish. But tonight, someone heard it. And soon enough, static and fuzz crept into Nick's brain, compelling him into deep sleep.

Something whispered from the dark. Granted.

A small hum of energy blew in the air, as the bed began to creak, not from Nick's tossing and turning but from an increase of weight. With a sudden pop, his legs started to rapidly stretch, causing them to hang off the bed. His torso and limbs followed along, elongating in a deep stretch and pop that elicited a groan from the sleeping Nick.

Tall. Basketball player height.

5'5" became 6" that further lengthened into 6'4", leaving him as tall as most of the basketball team. Damn, he might have to duck under some doorways every now and then. The stretch continued, perfectly proportioning his limbs, as his neck and arms grew to fit. Meanwhile, a surge of energy focused on turning his average feet and hands into gargantuan monsters. His size 7 feet became meaty size 16s, toes becoming wider; they would make an audible stomp everywhere he went now, along with an unmistakable sweaty imprint. He remembered his bros complaining about the loud stomping in the frat house. Heh. He couldn't help it, they were just marks of a man. His fingers followed, popping longer and thicker to become meaty digits. They were better suited for gripping dumbbells and protein shakes, rather than any pens or keyboards for class. Not like he used them often. English and Arts? Nah, he was only there for sports, Athletic Science or some shit, with grades at the bare minimum.

Hunk. Toned Soccer Player. Nick's body began to lean out, the frustrating belly fat that had stayed through countless 15 minute core workouts dissolved into rock hard abs. Each individual ab popped into a perfect six-pack, carving and embedding themselves into his core. His waist cinched tight as his cum gutters became visible, allowing any drops of sweat to slide and accentuate his toned and tiny waist.

But it didn't stop there. Muscular. Football team large. A warmth spread up from his feet, which made his calves swell into massive diamond shapes. His thighs piled on muscle after muscle, causing his legs to spread apart, threatening to spill off the bed. A mixture of pain and pleasure washed over Nick. Memories of brutal leg presses and squats injected themselves straight into the fibers of his massive columns. After all, bros never skipped leg day, that was how they got their signature lumbering walk. His once average ass - not wanting to lose the fight - fattened into massive globes that lifted him higher into the air, soaking his sheets with sweat. Nick’s upgraded bubble butt was huge and round, each cheek constantly bouncy and jiggly, especially when riding his frat bros. In response, Nick started gyrating on the bed as new memories flowed into him -nights of being fucked and used - the sensation sending tingles down his spine, as his hole tightened to be used for maximum pleasure. Nick's audible groans became louder as the energy surged through his chest, ballooning into mounds of firm pecs that would show through any shirt he tried on. They swelled out into hefty milkers, his nipples stretching just a little wider, big enough for his bros to play with. His shoulders followed, doubling in width as they grew along with his broad back, connecting with his traps. Giving him that strong structured look. Biceps and triceps exploded with muscle, defined by a juicy vein that ran up from his steel forearms. When flexed, they would tear sleeves to their breaking point, but it didn't matter, his wardrobe was stock full with singlets and tank tops, just like any other bro.

Smooth and hairy in all the right places.

A tingle swept over his entire body, as his old pitiful wisps of leg hair fell out and disappeared into the ether, giving him smooth and soft skin. Instead, all the hair went into his pits and pubes, fluffing them up into musk-filled bushes, hairy and dark. They would peek out in his singlets and jockstraps, enticing everyone to sniff or lick. His hair grew to a messy mop that would be paired with beanies and baseball caps. Dumb and Handsome. With a crack, Nick's face began to rearrange to model status, making him attractive while permanently affixing him with a dopey grin. His nose thickened to breathe in more musk from bushy armpits, sometimes even his own. His lips fattened; sloppy and wet for passionate kisses or blowjobs for his bros. Panting like a dog, his tongue lolled out, wide and long, a pleasure tool on its own. Eyes became clear, removing any need for glasses but also becoming vacant, an open window to the constant horniness and empty thoughts in his head. And the final pop of his enlarged Adam's apple gave him that stereotypical bro cadence. His deep and dull voice had two purposes, dumb moans in the bed and rough grunts in the gym. Hung like a horse. Heavy bull nuts. Groans and pants filled the air with heavy breaths as the warmth spread to his most sensitive area. His cock and balls. Nick's average 5 incher rose to a sizable 9 inches, barely fitting into his white briefs, its uncut head leaking pre everywhere, almost turning the fabric translucent. Still, it kept growing. 10 inches... 11 inches... Harder, thicker, longer, into a fat meaty pole that shot out of his briefs with a satisfying pop, landing with a wet smack on his abs. Now uncontained, his 12 inch monster cock was a weapon of its own, when not being bred, Nick ravaged the bedroom with his footlong size. Thick veins ran up his erect dick, overflowing with cum from his pumped up nuts. His balls had swelled along with his hefty member, dropping from regular to swinging, heavy, animal nuts. Finding underwear would be impossible for the new himbo, remembering his package bursting through buttons and briefs in the past. Luckily, jockstraps could barely contain the beast, and the tight fabric behind settled perfectly in between his cheeks, pulled taut to tease his hole throughout the day. His balls were now cum factories, capable of going endlessly in a night, churning to the brim with frat bro seed. With one final swell and thrust, Nick erupted in a loud grunt, tensing his entire body as his cock quivered with pressure, balls tightening for release. A force in the air blew, and with the gentle gust of wind caressing his cock, he exploded with mind-breaking pleasure. Spurts of cum flew out, almost reaching the ceiling, as Nick bucked his hips in mindless pleasure. Each load caused deep and heavy moans to reverberate on his bedroom walls, his thick and smelly cum landing on every surface. He continued his musky assault on his surroundings, bucking his cock in the air like fucking an invisible hole. After painting the room white in cum, and staining the air with sweat, Nick let out a rich sigh, his sleeping face dumb and exhausted. His wet dreams were fulfilled. In a sudden, it whispered. Wake up.

Nick groaned, his body was on fire. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed himself so hard at yesterday's full body workout, but he knew the pump was well worth it. He stared blankly at the empty ceiling, strange, he could have sworn he had a fan up there. Maybe that's why he was so goddamn sweaty. Nick pulled himself out of bed, making a goofy grin at his still hard cock, twitching and ready for countless rounds. His sheets were always stained with a mixture of sweat and cum, making the room reek with musk. Last night must have been super wild, he'd always get extra wet dreams if he didn't jerk off before bed, but fuck there was even cum on the floor today, though he was unable to remember what the dream was. It didn't matter though, all it took was a second for his doubt to fade away. He'd clean up the mess later, or ask a bro to do it. Heavy footsteps paved their way to the shower, an audible signal of the dumb himbo. His horsecock dripped precum all over the floor, making a light slapping sound against his thunderous thighs. After a quick rinse to get rid of the excess sweat and cum, Nick stared hungrily at his own reflection. His towel draped at just the right angle to reveal his shredded torso and give a peek of his gorgeous v-line.

Fuck, he was hot. His model face and beefy body greeted him in the morning, along with his throbbing monster cock. Nghhh. He groaned, bull balls slapping against the white sink, he almost fucked the countertop in desperation. However, it stopped him, giving three basic words that completed his transformation. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Freshly imprinted into his brain, Nick let out a long guttural moan as the command settled into his every cell. "Huhuhu." A dumb laugh followed, and like a robot, Nick was steered by the hypnotizing call. Fuck it, he would go commando today, He threw on a white tank top and black sweatpants, ones that hugged his body tight for everyone's viewing pleasure; making sure to add a gray beanie and a chain necklace that screamed douchey bro to the world. Taking a quick snap in the elevator, the new Nick cemented himself as a forever dumb, muscular himbo. With another wish granted, it murmured. Good Himbo.

*you've made it to the end! finally wrote a tf story after lurking for so long, gotta start with one of my favorite tropes, the himboooo. but wait! who was that mysterious force? maybe we'll find out one day ^^, or you could find out if you magically wake up as a himbo ;)*