verus-animus

[verus-animus]

Claiming Privileges - Jaxon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in his body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[verus-animus]

Perfect Match - Part 3

(AI-Generated - Part 3 of 3)

[ Read Part 1 HERE ]

[ Read Part 2 HERE ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

This is me now. Mitch, for good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ The End ~

[verus-animus]

Perfect Match - Part 2

(AI-Generated - Part 2 of 3)

[ Read Part 1 HERE ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When?” I ask, needing the timeline. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ End of Part Two ~

[verus-animus]

Perfect Match - Part 1

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

(AI-Generated - Part 1 of 3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ End of Part One ~

[verus-animus]

Swap Convention

(AI-Generated - Story concept inspired by real life events. I went to this tech convention and saw this incredible handsome daddy that I couldn't get my eyes off, walking around the same route as I did for at least 30 minutes. Made up this entire story right there standing next to him! Found this younger model that looked sort of like him, enjoy!)

The air buzzed with excitement as I stepped into the Swap Convention, a sprawling warehouse turned marketplace where the impossible had become reality. It was the first event of its kind, a surreal bazaar where human body parts were traded like rare coins or vintage wines. My friends flanked me, their eyes wide as we passed booths draped in neon signs and holographic ads promising "Next-Gen Swap Services" and "Custom Bodies, One Limb at a Time."

I’d come with a clear plan: to trade my lanky, unremarkable frame for the chiseled arms of a jock, the sculpted legs of a gym rat, the torso of a magazine-cover hunk. I wanted perfection, piece by piece. But as I wandered deeper into the crowd, the thrill of it all swallowed me whole.

The convention floor was a sensory overload. People strutted by with mismatched limbs, some sporting sleek robotic arms, others flaunting tanned legs that didn’t quite match their pale torsos. A woman brushed past me, her right hand replaced with a delicate, porcelain-skinned one that flexed with unnatural grace. At a nearby booth, a man haggled over a pair of emerald-green eyes, holding them up to the light like gemstones. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. My fingers twitched with anticipation as I approached my first stand.

A nice lady with a warm smile stood behind a table piled high with arms. "These are fresh," she said, gesturing to a pair of thick, muscular ones, the skin sun-kissed and dusted with coarse blonde hair. They were strong, veined, the kind of arms that could lift you off your feet in a heartbeat. I hesitated only a moment before handing over my payment. She guided me to a curtained swap station, and with a quick, practiced motion, my old arms were detached, leaving my shoulders tingling. The new ones slotted into place with a soft click, and I gasped as the sensation flooded through me. They were heavy, powerful, the muscles flexing under my command as I ran my hands over their hairy expanse. A shiver of delight raced up my spine.

Next came the legs. A goth teen with spiked hair and a bored expression lounged at his stall, chewing gum as he pointed to a pair of thick, hairy thighs and calves propped up on a velvet cushion. "Good deal," he muttered, popping a bubble. They were sturdy, masculine, the blonde hair curling over the skin in wild patches. I traded my skinny legs without a second thought, stepping into the swap booth once more. The detachment was a cool, numbing sensation, followed by the warm rush of new flesh knitting itself to me. I stood taller now, my stance wider, the weight of those legs grounding me in a way that felt primal. I flexed my toes, marveling at the tickle of hair against my skin.

The torso came next, a steal from a jock who reeked of cheap beer and bravado. "Half price, man, take it," he slurred, patting the hairy chest with a slight beer gut that jiggled faintly. It wasn’t the six-pack I’d dreamed of, but there was something alluring about its ruggedness, the blonde fuzz spreading across the pecs and trailing down to the navel. I swapped it out, feeling the odd stretch as my old torso popped free and the new one locked in. My breath hitched as I ran my hands over the soft curve of the gut, the hair prickling against my palms. It was heavier than I was used to, but the warmth of it, the sheer presence, sent a slow heat curling through me.

By now, my clothes hung awkwardly on my patchwork frame, the seams straining against my broader chest and thicker limbs. I made my way to the clothing department, weaving through the crowd until I found a rack of khaki pants and a navy polo shirt sized for my new bulk. Slipping them on, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. The blonde hair on my arms and legs peeked out from the fabric, and the polo hugged my chest just right. I looked... different. Not the sleek Adonis I’d envisioned, but something earthier, more lived-in.

The adult section beckoned next, a dimly lit corner with velvet curtains and a faint musk in the air. My pulse quickened as I browsed the offerings, my eyes landing on a display of cocks laid out like fine jewelry. One caught my attention: thick, veined, with a hefty set of balls nestled beneath a tuft of blonde hair. It was bold, masculine, a perfect match for the body I’d been assembling. The vendor smirked as I handed over the cash, guiding me to a private booth.

The swap was quick but electric, my old parts slipping away as the new ones fused to me. I couldn’t help it, a soft moan escaped my lips as I gave it a tentative squeeze. The heft, the sensitivity, it was overwhelming, a pulse of pleasure shooting through me as I adjusted to its weight between my thighs.

Still in the adult section, I wandered further, my curiosity piqued by a small table tucked in the corner. There, displayed on a satin pillow, was a thick, rounded ass, the cheeks firm yet soft, covered in a fine layer of blonde fuzz that glinted under the low light. It was substantial, masculine, the kind of backside that filled out a pair of pants just right. I ran my fingers over it, feeling the warmth of the skin, the tickle of hair against my palm. "Go ahead, try it," the vendor said with a knowing grin. I nodded, stepping into the booth once more.

The swap was seamless, my old ass detaching with a faint pop, replaced by this new, plush one. I reached back, giving it a slow, deliberate squeeze. The sensation was intoxicating, the weight and softness pressing against my hands as a low groan rumbled in my throat. It settled perfectly against my hairy legs, completing the lower half of this strange, sensual puzzle I was building.

My friends caught up with me then, their laughter ringing out as they took in my transformation. "Dude, you look like someone’s hairy dad!" one of them teased, clapping me on the shoulder. I grinned, flexing my new arms for them, but as the day wore on, I lost track of them in the crowd. The convention was winding down, the lights dimming, and I found myself drawn to a shadowy corner where a single booth stood apart from the rest.

It was quiet here, the air thick with a strange energy. A sign above the booth read "Faces and Features," and as I stepped inside, my breath caught. The walls were lined with faces, preserved and displayed like masks, their eyes blank and mouths frozen. A creepy old man shuffled over, his grin wide and toothy as he looked me up and down. "Well, well," he rasped, "you’ve built quite the body. But that face... it doesn’t match. Thirty percent off any swap, my treat."

I scanned the faces, my stomach twisting with unease. Some were young, some old, some eerily beautiful. I was about to turn away when my gaze landed on it. A handsome, mature face with a lush blonde beard, framed by wire-rimmed glasses that accentuated piercing blue eyes. There was a quiet strength to it, a rugged charm that made my heart stutter. The old man followed my stare and chuckled. "Good choice. I’ll throw in the scalp, blonde and thick, for a discount. You won’t regret it."

I couldn’t say no. The chair creaked as I sat, my pulse racing as he adjusted the straps. "Relax," he murmured, his hands steady as he pressed a device to my scalp. A cool sensation spread over my head, and with a faint tug, my old hair was gone. He replaced it with the new blonde strands, falling soft and full against my neck. 

Next came the face. His fingers worked with eerie precision, peeling my old one away, the sensation like shedding a too-tight skin. The new face settled over me, warm and alive, the beard brushing my jaw as it fused. I licked my lips, tasting the unfamiliar texture of the new mouth.

"The eyes and tongue complete it," he said, already moving. My vision blurred as my old eyes were lifted out, replaced with the blue ones, sharp and vivid. The world snapped into focus, colors richer, details sharper. Then the tongue, thick and raspy, slotted into place. I spoke, testing it, and a deep, rumbling voice spilled out, laced with a faint accent I couldn’t place. "Holy hell," I muttered, the sound vibrating in my chest.

The old man stepped back, holding up a mirror. I stared, transfixed. A handsome, hairy, middle-aged man stared back, his face atop the body I’d pieced together. The strong arms, the thick legs, the broad, fuzzy torso with its slight gut, the hefty cock and that plush, fuzzy ass nestled in those khakis, it was all mine now. I ran my hands over my beard, my chest, my thighs, a slow, sensual exploration of every inch. Heat pooled in my core as I flexed my fingers, feeling the power, the weight, the sheer masculinity of it all.

I left the booth a new man, my steps heavy and deliberate as I moved through the fading crowd. The convention had changed me, not into the perfect jock I’d sought, but into something rawer, more real. And as I caught my reflection in a glass door, those blue eyes glinting back at me, I couldn’t help but smile. This body, this life, it fit me better than I’d ever imagined.

The convention hall was thinning out, but my bladder wasn’t waiting. After hours of swapping and wandering, I needed a restroom, fast. My new khaki pants felt snug against my thick thighs as I hurried toward the men’s room, the weight of my transformed body shifting with every step. I pushed through the door, relieved to find it quiet, and ducked into a stall.

Unbuckling my pants, I let them slide down just enough to free my new cock, the hefty length spilling out into my hand. As I aimed into the toilet, I couldn’t help but admire it mid-stream, the warm flow steady and strong. The blonde hair at its base, the thick veins running along its shaft, it was a thing of beauty, alien yet mine. A smirk tugged at my lips as the last drops fell.

The restroom felt empty, the hum of the convention distant behind the tiled walls. My hand lingered, curiosity getting the better of me. I wrapped my fingers around it, giving a slow, experimental tug. The sensitivity jolted through me, sharper than anything I’d felt before. Leaning forward, I braced one muscular arm against the stall wall, the hairy forearm flexing as I steadied myself. My other hand worked faster now, stroking the length with a rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest. The heft of it, the way it throbbed under my grip, sent heat curling up my spine. I bit my lip, stifling a groan, but as the pressure built, a deep, raspy sound slipped out anyway, echoing off the porcelain. My knees buckled slightly as I climaxed, a thick pulse spilling into the bowl, my breath ragged and hot.

A sudden voice cut through the haze. “Damn, didn’t know you had that in you, old man.” I jumped, nearly slipping, my head snapping toward the sound. The drunk jock from earlier leaned against the sink, a sloppy grin on his face, his eyes bleary but amused. I hadn’t even heard him come in. 

My face burned as he chuckled and stumbled out, leaving me alone again. Heart racing, I quickly wiped myself off with a wad of tissue, flushed the evidence away, and zipped up, the khakis hugging my new ass a little tighter now. At the sink, I washed my hands, catching my reflection in the smudged mirror. The handsome, bearded face staring back, framed by those piercing blue eyes and thick blonde hair, it was still a shock. I’d pieced this body together from strangers, yet it felt whole, powerful, mine.

Drying my hands, I wiped them on the back of my pants, my fingers brushing that plush, fuzzy ass. I gave it a slow, indulgent squeeze, savoring the firmness beneath the soft hair, a quiet thrill rippling through me.

Stepping out, I noticed the convention had nearly emptied, the once-bustling floor now a scattering of stragglers and closing booths. I wanted to surprise my friends with my final transformation, but they were nowhere in sight. Figuring they’d head to our usual meeting spot outside, I joined the sluggish line at the wardrobe to grab my jacket. When my turn came, the employee, a harried-looking guy with a clipboard, glanced at me and nodded. “Sir, here you go,” he said, thrusting a heavy wool coat and a fedora into my arms before I could protest. They weren’t mine, I’d checked a light windbreaker earlier, but he was already waving the next person forward. I frowned, feeling the weight of a wallet in the coat pocket. Fishing it out, I saw an ID card inside, but I didn’t bother reading it, too flustered to argue as the line shoved me along.

Clutching the unfamiliar coat and hat, I headed for the exit, hoping my friends could help me sort this out. As I neared the doors, a woman’s voice cut through the murmur. “Carl!” I turned, confused, only to see her rushing toward me, two kids in tow.

Before I could react, they crashed into me, small arms wrapping around my thick legs, their voices chirping “Daddy!” The woman, tears streaking her face, grabbed my shoulders, calling me Carl again. I opened my mouth to correct her, but she was sobbing too hard to hear, her hands patting my chest, my arms, even lifting my polo to inspect my hairy torso. She peeked down my pants, her breath hitching in relief. “Oh, thank God, you didn’t swap anything,” she whispered, clutching me tighter.

Bewildered, I let her pull me aside as she fumbled with her phone, shoving a photo in my face. “I found your letter this morning,” she said, voice trembling. “About how you wanted to leave us, start over at this damn convention. I thought I’d lost you.” The screen showed a family on a beach, her smiling beside a man in a tight speedo. My stomach dropped. It was me, or rather, the body I wore now: the strong arms, the hairy legs, the broad chest with its slight gut, even the thick ass straining that swimsuit. Scars on his left elbow and right thigh matched mine exactly, and a small tattoo on his chest mirrored the one I’d noticed earlier. Somehow, impossibly, I’d reassembled this man’s entire body, piece by piece, without even knowing it.

Still reeling, I barely registered her dragging me toward the exit, the kids clinging to my hands. As we stepped outside, I collided with a group of guys by the entrance. My friends. They were laughing, recounting the day, and among them stood... me. My old face, perched atop a muscle-packed stud’s body, all rippling biceps and sculpted abs. He flashed me a gleeful smile, one I couldn’t quite read, before they melted into the dispersing crowd.

I stood frozen, the woman’s arm looped through mine, the kids tugging at my coat. I should’ve said something, shouted after my friends, told this family I wasn’t their Carl. But as I glanced down at the wool coat draping my broad shoulders, the fedora in my hand, a perverse thrill twisted inside me. This handsome, well-dressed, hairy, mature body felt right, like I’d been molded into it by some cosmic hand. Maybe fate had guided me to these body parts, to this life. The thought of stepping into it, becoming him fully, sent a shiver of dark excitement through me.

I adjusted the fedora on my head, gave my thick ass one last discreet squeeze, and let my new family lead me away, to my new home.

[verus-animus]

Becoming The Perfect Family

(AI-Generated - Story concept by the incredible @kylecrusoe-captions)

Kyle’s life had always been a gray blur. An only child to parents who barely looked up from their phones, he’d grown up starved for connection, his days bleeding into one another in a haze of neglect. Then the Armstrongs moved in next door, and everything changed. They weren’t any ordinary family—they were a force. Loud, physical, unapologetic, they filled the quiet suburban street with their presence. Kyle couldn’t look away. From his bedroom window, he watched them, his chest tight with longing, his mind spinning fantasies he’d never dare voice. They were untouchable he thought, until he found the tome.

It was a fluke, really. Tucked in the back of the college library, behind a row of moldy textbooks, the ancient book practically pulsed under his fingers. Its leather cover was cracked, its pages yellowed and curling, but the words inside promised power: Shape reality. Claim what’s yours. Kyle didn’t believe it at first, but desperation has a way of eroding skepticism. That night, alone in his room, he lit a candle, traced the runes with trembling fingers, and whispered the spell. He didn’t expect it to work. He fell asleep to the sound of his own heartbeat, disappointed... until he woke up somewhere else.

The bed was too small, the air thick with the musky scent of sweat and testosterone. Kyle blinked, disoriented, and then he felt a warm, heavy leg slung over his own. Clive Armstrong—his new younger brother—lay sprawled beside him, his lean, runner’s body barely contained by a pair of tight briefs. His wavy brown hair was a mess, his thin mustache twitching as he snored softly.

Kyle’s breath caught. He was in the Armstrong house, sharing a queen-sized bed with Clive like it was the most natural thing in the world. The room was cramped, cluttered with gym bags and running shoes, a testament to the family’s athletic obsession—and their lack of funds for separate bedrooms. Clive shifted, his bare chest brushing Kyle’s arm, and Kyle realized he was in his underwear too. No awkwardness, no hesitation—just the casual intimacy of brothers. The spell had worked.

Jared Armstrong: The Stoic Patriarch

The father, Jared Armstrong was a man carved from grit and muscle. At forty-five, he didn’t look a day over forty, his frame lean but powerful, honed from years of coaching college athletes into submission. His dark hair was cropped short, his jaw perpetually shadowed with stubble that gave him a rugged, almost dangerous edge. He was the kind of handsome that hit you like a punch—unpolished, raw, and utterly masculine. As the head coach at the local college, he had a reputation for running brutal gym classes, leaving students hobbling away with sore muscles and whispered curses. Cold and intimidating, he carried himself with a quiet authority that made people shrink in his presence. But with his sons, there was a flicker of something softer—a gruff tenderness he’d never admit to.

Kyle’s first morning as an Armstrong started with Jared. He stood in the kitchen, shirtless in a pair of faded sweatpants, barking orders as he blended a protein shake. His biceps flexed with every move, a sheen of sweat already clinging to his chest from an early workout. “Up and at ‘em, Kyle,” he grunted, barely glancing over. “No slackers in this house.” His voice was a low rumble, but there was no malice—just expectation. Kyle nodded mutely, still dazed, and Jared tossed him a banana with a smirk. “Eat. You’re too damn skinny.” It was the closest thing to affection Kyle had ever gotten from a father, and it lit something warm and dangerous in his chest.

Clive Armstrong: The Wild Spark

Clive was chaos in motion. At nineteen, a college freshman, he was the younger of Jared’s sons, and he wore his rebellion like a badge. Lean and toned, his body was built for speed—powerful legs that carried him through endless runs, a smooth chest that glistened with sweat every summer morning. His wavy brown hair fell into his eyes, and that thin mustache on his upper lip gave him a roguish charm. He was mischievous, quick with a smirk or a jab, but his temper was a live wire—explosive and unpredictable. Rumors swirled about him on campus: a passionate lover who’d leave you breathless, but a selfish one who’d sulk if he didn’t get his way. Kyle had seen it firsthand—Clive jogging shirtless around the neighborhood, ignoring Kyle’s timid waves with an annoyed glare.

Now, as his “little brother,” Kyle got the full Clive experience. That first morning, Clive rolled out of bed with a groan, stretching his jockish frame until his spine popped. “Fuck, I hate mornings,” he muttered, scratching his abs as he stumbled to the bathroom. He didn’t care that Kyle was there, didn’t bother to cover up—just strutted around in his briefs like it was nothing. Later, at breakfast, he shoved Kyle’s shoulder playfully, grinning. “You’re eating like a bird, bro. Gotta bulk up if you’re gonna keep up with me.” His touch lingered, his fingers brushing Kyle’s arm, and Kyle felt a jolt he couldn’t explain. Clive was a tease, a spark—and Kyle wanted to get burned.

Benjamin Armstrong: The Silent Storm

Benjamin, at twenty-one, was the eldest, a college senior with a presence that filled every room. Tall and muscular, he wasn’t bulky like a bodybuilder but lean and defined, his frame a testament to years on the basketball court. His intense eyes—dark and unreadable—could pin you in place, and the slight stubble on his cheeks only sharpened his brooding edge. Ambitious and quiet, he carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, dismissing anyone he deemed unworthy of his time. But those he cared about? He’d guard them with a ferocity that was almost feral. His athletic fame stretched across state lines—everyone knew Ben Armstrong, the guy who could sink a three-pointer with his eyes closed.

Kyle’s first real encounter with Ben came that afternoon. He was shooting hoops in the driveway, shirtless and focused, his muscles rippling with every move. Kyle hesitated, then stepped outside, and Ben glanced over—those piercing eyes locking onto him. “You just gonna stand there?” he said, voice low and clipped. He tossed Kyle the ball, hard enough to sting. “Shoot.” Kyle fumbled it, and Ben snorted, stepping closer. “Gotta work on that grip, man. You’re an Armstrong—act like it.” There was no warmth, but there was something else—possession. Ben didn’t ignore him anymore. He saw him.

---

For weeks, Kyle soaked it in. The Armstrong house was a whirlwind of testosterone—sweaty gym clothes strewn across the floor, Jared’s gruff lectures about discipline, Clive’s endless energy, Ben’s quiet intensity. Kyle belonged, finally, and it was intoxicating. He’d catch himself staring—Jared curling weights in the garage, his biceps straining; Clive sprinting past the window, abs flexing; Ben toweling off after a shower, water dripping down his chest. They were his family now, but the tome under his mattress whispered a darker desire. He didn’t just want their acceptance. He wanted their love—the kind that crossed every line.

One night, alone in the dim glow of their shared room, Kyle pulled out the tome. Clive was out running, the house quiet. The spell was there, buried in the back: Bind their hearts. Irreversible. The warning loomed large, but Kyle’s hands shook with need. He’d rewritten reality once—what was one more push? He lit the candle, chanted the words, and felt the air hum with power. When he finished, the flame guttered out, and he waited.

The shift was slow, deliciously so. The next morning, Jared’s hand lingered on Kyle’s shoulder as he passed him a plate of eggs. “Looking stronger, kid,” he said, his voice softer, his stubble brushing Kyle’s cheek as he pulled him into a long, sweaty hug. Clive ambushed him later, tackling him onto the couch with a laugh. “Gotcha, bro!” he crowed, pinning Kyle down, his lean body pressing close, his sweaty armpit shoved playfully into Kyle’s face. “Smell that? That’s victory.” His grin was wicked, his touch too firm to be innocent. Ben, meanwhile, waited by the car after class, insisting on driving Kyle home. “Can’t trust you out there alone,” he muttered, his hand grazing Kyle’s thigh as he drove, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Day by day, it deepened. Jared took to coaching Kyle in the garage, his hands guiding Kyle’s form, his breath hot against Kyle’s neck. “Good boy,” he’d murmur, and the praise sank into Kyle’s bones. Clive’s roughhousing turned flirty—tickling that lingered on Kyle’s sides, headlocks that pulled their bodies flush. Ben grew obsessive, shadowing Kyle everywhere, hoisting him onto his shoulders after practice with a grip that was too tight, too tender. They were falling for him, their coy glances and casual touches betraying the spell’s work. Kyle had them—father, brothers, all of them—and he wasn’t done yet.

The Morning Fire

The tension between Kyle and Clive had been simmering for days, a slow boil of lingering touches and heated glances. It all came to a head one evening when their usual roughhousing took a turn. Clive had Kyle in a headlock, his lean, sweaty body pressed tight against Kyle’s, his armpit shoved into Kyle’s face as he laughed. “Take it, bro!” he’d teased, but Kyle—caught up in the musk and the heat—flicked his tongue against Clive’s skin, tasting salt and desire. Clive froze, his grip tightening for a split second before he let go, his face flushed, his breath uneven. He didn’t say anything, just smirked and walked away, but the air between them crackled.

The next morning, Kyle woke to a sensation that jolted him from sleep—Clive’s hand, warm and insistent, buried deep in Kyle’s underwear. Fingers curled around him, stroking slow and deliberate, coaxing him awake. Kyle’s eyes fluttered open, groggy, and there was Clive—his wavy brown hair tousled, his thin mustache framing lips inches from Kyle’s own. His face was flushed, his hazel eyes burning with intensity as hot breath fanned across Kyle’s skin. “I want you,” Clive rasped, voice thick with need, before closing the gap. His lips crashed into Kyle’s, hungry and unrestrained, a kiss that was all tongue and heat and perverse promise.

They made out like they were starving for it, hands roaming, bodies tangling in the sheets. Clive rolled Kyle onto his side, pressing up behind him, his jock musk filling the air as he positioned himself. “Gonna take care of you, bro,” he murmured against Kyle’s ear, his voice low and filthy. He entered Kyle slowly, inch by inch, his lean frame molding to Kyle’s back, arms wrapping around him in a possessive hug. The rhythm was sensual, deliberate—Clive’s breaths hitching as he thrust, his lips brushing Kyle’s neck, his cock buried deep. When he finished, he came with a shudder, spilling inside Kyle, kissing his spine as he stayed lodged there, unwilling to pull out. Exhausted and sated, they fell asleep again, entwined in the musky haze of their shared bed.

For the next week, it became their ritual. Every morning, Kyle woke to Clive’s hands or mouth on him, followed by slow, passionate fucking—Clive always the big spoon, always finishing inside, always kissing Kyle’s back as they drifted off again. The bedroom reeked of sweat and sex, an erotic sanctuary for their newfound bond.

The Steamy Afternoon

Benjamin noticed the change almost immediately. His younger brothers were different—closer, more tactile, their mornings stretching longer behind that closed bedroom door. He’d hear the muffled laughter, the creak of the bed, and it gnawed at him. Envy twisted in his gut. Kyle was his brother too, and Ben wasn’t about to be left out. He started claiming Kyle’s time during the day, dragging him to the basketball court five times a week. “Gotta toughen you up,” he’d say, his intense eyes raking over Kyle’s exhausted form. Kyle didn’t mind—Ben’s presence, all towering muscle and quiet intensity, was its own kind of drug.

One afternoon, after a grueling session, they stumbled into the house, drenched in sweat. Ben peeled off his shirt, revealing a torso carved from marble, and nodded toward the bathroom. “Shower time. But, uh, heater’s busted—only enough hot water for one.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Kyle didn’t argue. “We’ll share,” Ben said, casual as anything. “No big deal, right? We’re brothers.” The bathroom filled with steam, their wet bodies brushing as they stepped under the spray. Ben scrubbed Kyle’s back, his hands lingering, sliding lower than necessary, and Kyle returned the favor, tracing the lines of Ben’s muscled shoulders. The air thickened, their breaths syncing, until they were both hard, cocks straining against the heat.

Ben turned, water dripping from his stubble, his eyes dark with something raw. “I love you, lil bro,” he said, voice barely audible over the spray. Then, softer: “Need a favor.” Kyle didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees, the tiles biting into his skin, and took Ben’s engorged cock into his mouth—thick, pulsing, tasting of sweat and salt. Ben groaned, hands fisting in Kyle’s hair, guiding him deeper.

They didn’t stop there. The afternoon bled into hours in Ben’s room, locked in a feverish 69—Kyle’s mouth on Ben, Ben’s on Kyle, sucking and licking until they were both spent, throats raw and bodies trembling.

The Ultimate Weekend

It was a lazy Saturday morning when it all collided. Ben slipped into the younger brothers’ room, intent on dragging Kyle out for an early shootaround, only to freeze in the doorway. There they were—Kyle and Clive, naked and tangled, lips locked in a sloppy, passionate kiss. Clive’s hands roamed Kyle’s body, possessive and greedy, and Kyle moaned into it, arching against him. Ben’s jaw tightened, envy flaring into rage. “What the fuck?” he snapped, storming in. Clive pulled back, smirking, but his eyes were defiant. “He’s mine, Ben. Back off.”

“Yours?” Ben scoffed, stepping closer. “I’ve been fucking him too, asshole.” The room erupted—shouting, shoving, a messy tangle of jealousy and testosterone. Kyle, caught between them, tried to mediate, but they weren’t listening. Finally, Clive growled, “Fine. Let’s settle it—whoever makes him cum hardest wins.” Ben nodded, grim and determined, but they couldn’t agree on turns. “Fuck it,” Ben said, stripping down. “We’ll do it together.”

What followed was a blur of heat and flesh. Kyle found himself sandwiched on the bed—Clive behind him, thrusting into his ass with that slow, possessive rhythm, while Ben knelt in front, feeding Kyle his thick cock, hands gripping his head. Kyle gagged and moaned, lost in the dual assault, their sweaty jock bodies pinning him in place. They were relentless, each trying to outdo the other, forcing him toward climax.

Then the door creaked open. Jared stood there, a tray of pancakes and coffee in hand, his plan to surprise Kyle with breakfast in bed crumbling at the sight. Clive and Ben froze, mid-thrust, panic flashing across their faces. “Dad, we can explain—” Clive started, but Jared cut him off, his voice a low growl. 

“You little shits didn’t think to invite me?” He set the tray down, and Kyle noticed the bulge in his pocket—a stack of condom wrappers he’d tried to hide. His intentions had been less innocent than pancakes.

Jared stripped, revealing a body that put every dad in town to shame—hairy, muscular, a coach’s physique built from years of discipline. At school, he was a tyrant, but here, with his sons, he was different—gentle, submissive, eager to please. “I’ve got experience,” he said, voice rough with lust. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

The room descended into chaos—a perverse fuckfest. Clive resumed pounding Kyle’s ass, Ben fucked his throat, and Jared dropped to his knees, devouring Kyle’s cock with a hunger that bordered on worship. His tongue worked expertly, sucking and slurping, while his sons ravaged Kyle from both ends.

Hours passed in a haze of sweat and moans. Kyle came again and again—first from Clive’s relentless thrusts, then Ben’s brutal pace down his throat, and finally Jared’s insatiable mouth, draining him dry. When they finished, well past noon, Kyle collapsed on the musky bed, sore and blissed out. Ben snuggled close, nuzzling his neck, while across the room, Clive bent Jared over the edge of the bed, fucking him with the same passion he’d given Kyle. Jared took it eagerly, groaning his sons’ names.

Kyle lay there, surrounded by their heat, their love, their twisted devotion. Two jock brothers and a coach dad, all his—family and lovers in one. The tome had given him everything, and as he drifted off, drained and overjoyed, he knew he’d found his perfect place in the world.

---

The Final Night

Kyle had everything he’d ever dreamed of—two jock brothers and a coach dad, their bodies and hearts bent to his will by the tome’s magic. But as the days wore on, a gnawing discontent settled in his bones. He’d crafted a perfect family, a perverse paradise of love and lust, but when he caught his reflection in the mirror—scrawny, unremarkable, a shadow next to the Armstrongs’ chiseled glory—it soured everything. He wasn’t one of them, not really. Not in the way he wanted to be. The tome, still hidden under his mattress, hummed with its final offer. Three spells per human, it had warned, before it would vanish forever. He’d used two—reality bending, heart binding. One remained.

Late one night, while Clive slept beside him, Kyle pulled the tome free. Its pages rustled as if alive, guiding him to a spell buried in the back: Soul Possession. The words were stark, immoral, promising to let him claim another’s body, their identity, their life—erasing them to make room for him. His eyes drifted to Clive, sprawled out in the dim moonlight, his toned runner’s body glistening with a sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Clive’s jock perfection, his promising future as a track star, his effortless charisma—it was everything Kyle craved. Losing Clive as a lover stung, but taking his place? That was worth it.

He lit the candle, traced the runes, and whispered the incantation, his voice trembling with greed. The air grew heavy, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he crawled back into bed, pressing himself against Clive’s warm frame, and drifted off. It wasn’t until the dead of night that the spell ignited.

Kyle woke—or thought he did—to a sensation of weightlessness. His body shimmered, losing form, dissolving into a pulsing cloud of pure energy. He hovered, disembodied, above the bed, staring down at Clive’s sleeping form. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began to flow. Tendrils of his essence slithered downward, seeking entry. They slipped into Clive’s mouth, curling around his tongue, tasting the musk of his breath. They poured into his nose, filling his lungs, and wormed into his ears, threading through the delicate canals. Lower, they ventured—sliding under the waistband of Clive’s briefs, seeping into his cock, hardening it as they invaded, and creeping into his asshole, stretching and filling him with a perverse intimacy.

The process was slow, sensual, a violation so deep it bordered on ecstasy. Inside Clive, Kyle’s energy spread, weaving through every blood vessel, every nerve, a warm, electric tide. He pushed deeper, seeking Clive’s core, his soul, his essence, and found it; a bright flickering spark. Kyle enveloped it, forcing himself inside, fusing with it until there was no separation. Clive’s knowledge flooded him—every race he’d run, every lover he’d taken, every rebellious outburst. His dreams, his aspirations, his thoughts. They were Kyle’s now, absorbed and owned.

On the bed, Clive’s body rebelled. His lean frame seized, muscles twitching violently, his head thrashing against the pillow. Sweat poured from him, soaking the sheets, his jock musk thickening the air as his limbs flailed. His cock strained against his briefs, leaking, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Then, with a final shudder the new core snapped into place. Kyle’s essence fully merged and Clive’s body stilled, limp and glistening in the moonlight.

Morning broke, and the new Clive woke. He stretched, relishing the taut power of his legs, the flex of his abs, the weight of his cock in his briefs. He slipped out of bed, leaving the damp sheets behind, and padded to the bathroom. The mirror greeted him with Clive’s face, and he stopped, breath catching. This was his now. Every detail, every curve, and he intended to savor it.

He leaned closer, hands trembling as they rose to his head. His fingers tugged at the wavy brown hair, thick and soft, pulling gently to feel the roots stretch against his scalp. It was wild, untamed, a runner’s mane, and he let it fall back into place, a slow smile spreading. His gaze dropped to the thin mustache framing his upper lip. He caressed it with his thumb, tracing its coarse texture, the bristles prickling his skin. It was Clive’s signature—roguish, bold—and he pressed harder, feeling the shape of his mouth beneath it. His tongue darted out, thicker than he remembered, heavy and warm as he ran it along his lips, tasting the faint salt of sweat. He pushed it further, curling it against the mustache, playing with its heft, a perverse thrill building in his gut.

He raised an arm, flexing the lean muscle, and buried his face in the pit. Clive’s jock musk hit him—sharp, earthy, a heady mix of sweat and testosterone that made his head swim. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, his cock twitching in his briefs as the scent consumed him. With Clive’s vocal cords, he spoke, voice thick and resonant, a rumble that vibrated through his chest: “I love myself.” The words hung in the air, a declaration of ownership, and he groaned, the sound raw and primal.

Memories flickered—Ben in the shower, water slicking his chiseled frame, their bodies pressed tight, then locked in a 69 on Ben’s bed, sucking each other dry. Jared bursting in with breakfast, only to strip and beg Clive to fuck him, his hairy ass clenching around every thrust. The reality he’d crafted had followed him, woven into this new life. The sight of Clive’s face staring back, the musk, the voice, the memories—it was too much. His hand brushed his briefs, and he came hard, a hot, shuddering release that soaked the fabric, his knees buckling as he gripped the sink. He panted, watching the flush spread across Clive’s cheeks in the mirror. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to know more, to feel more.

He stood there, panting, and let Clive’s memories unspool in his mind, a torrent of sensation and sin. Clive jerking off in the shower for the first time, marveling at the power of his own body, the water slicking his lean frame as he came against the tiles. A summer night, lying shirtless on the roof with a boy from track, his hands on Clive’s abs, his mustache brushing the boy’s neck as he whispered filthy promises he’d never keep. And the dreams—Clive’s aspirations to go pro, to feel the wind on his face as he broke records, to fuck his way through every city he’d race in, leaving a trail of spent lovers behind. Every memory was vivid, visceral, a tapestry of sweat, sex, and defiance, and Kyle drank it all in, his cock throbbing anew as he claimed it as his own.

Clive—once Kyle, stepped out of the bathroom, his briefs still damp from his spontaneous release. The mirror had been a revelation, a slow dance of self-discovery that left him trembling with power and lust, but it wasn’t enough. His new flesh hummed with potential, every nerve alight with Clive’s vitality, and he craved more. He padded back to the bedroom, the air thick with the musk of sweat and sex that clung to the sheets from nights of passion with his former self. The tome was gone, its third spell spent, but its legacy pulsed in his veins. This was his now—every inch, every scent, every shudder—and he intended to claim it fully.

The bed loomed before him, a tangled mess of stained fabric and jock stench, a testament to Clive’s athletic life and their shared mornings of perverse love. He crawled onto it, knees sinking into the mattress, and pressed his face into the pillow where Clive’s head had rested hours before. The smell hit him—sharp, tangy, a heady mix of sweat and testosterone that made his cock twitch anew. He groaned, low and guttural, and dragged his tongue across the fabric, tasting the salt of Clive’s essence, now his own. His hands roamed his new body, tracing the lean muscles of his chest, the taut ridges of his abs, and he marveled at the power beneath his skin—runner’s legs, a sprinter’s core, all his to command.

He flipped onto his back, briefs straining as his arousal grew, and raised an arm high. Burying his nose in his pit, he took a long, drawn-out whiff, savoring the jock musk that rolled off him in waves—raw, earthy, intoxicating. It was Clive’s scent, distilled and potent, and he inhaled again, deeper, letting it flood his lungs until his head spun. “Fuck, I love this body,” he rasped, Clive’s thick voice rumbling through his chest, a sound that vibrated with ownership. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against the bed, the friction sending sparks up his spine. He needed more—needed to feel this body break under his will.

He rolled onto his stomach, straddling the mattress, and began to hump it slow and deliberate. The sheets rubbed against his cock through the briefs, rough and teasing, as he thrust his hips, imagining every race Clive had run, every lover he’d fucked, every moment of this body’s life now his to relive. His breaths came in pants, hot and heavy, as he picked up the pace, grinding harder, the bed creaking beneath him. He lifted his ass high, thrusting into the air, muscles flexing—calves tight, thighs quivering, abs clenching—as he chased the edge. One hand gripped his hair, tugging at the wavy strands, while the other slid to his mustache, caressing it, feeling its bristles against his fingertips. His tongue lolled out, thicker and wet, licking at the air as if he could taste his own musk.

The pressure built, a molten coil in his gut, and he raised his arm again, shoving his face into his pit for one last, obscene sniff. The musk overwhelmed him, a primal trigger, and he lost it. With a guttural shout—“Fuck, yes! I’m Clive!”—he came, an explosive climax that tore through him. Jock semen erupted from his cock, thick ropes shooting out, splattering across his chest, the sheets, and—impossibly—arcing high enough to hit the ceiling in wet, dripping streaks. His body convulsed, hips jerking, as he rode the waves, smearing the mess across his abs with every shudder. The room reeked of cum and sweat, a shrine to his new identity, and he collapsed, panting, a grin splitting his face.

The door creaked open. His brother Ben and father Jared stood there, framed in the entrance, their faces frozen in shock and streaked with splatters of Clive’s cum. A dollop clung to Ben’s stubble, another dripped from Jared’s eyebrow. For a moment, silence hung heavy, then Ben swiped a finger through the mess on his cheek, bringing it to his lips. He licked it clean, slow and deliberate, a wicked smile curling his mouth. Jared followed, wiping the cum from his face and sucking it off his thumb, his eyes darkening with hunger. “Fuck, Clive,” Ben growled, voice thick with lust. “You’re a goddamn mess.”

They barged in, shedding clothes as they went—Ben’s basketball shorts hitting the floor, Jared’s sweatpants pooling at his ankles—revealing their muscular, sweat-slicked bodies. Clive, still sprawled on the bed, cock half-hard and glistening, didn’t resist. Ben dove first, pinning Clive’s wrists above his head, his tongue lapping at the cum on Clive’s chest, while Jared knelt between his legs, hairy coach frame looming as he took Clive’s cock into his mouth, sucking with a submissive fervor that belied his brash exterior. “My favorite son,” Jared mumbled around him, voice muffled, and Ben chuckled, nipping at Clive’s neck. “Favorite brother, too.”

Clive groaned, head tipping back, as they ravaged him—Ben’s hands roaming his pits, inhaling deeply, Jared’s throat working him with expert care. Round two stretched into a blur of flesh and moans, their twisted love consuming the room. Clive didn’t mind—couldn’t mind. This was the final ending he’d hoped for all along: The tome was gone, but Clive Armstrong was his, body and soul, and his family’s insatiable devotion sealed the deal. The bed creaked, the air stank of jock musk and cum, and as he came again, spilling into Jared’s eager mouth, he knew he’d never want for anything else.

[verus-animus]

Hot Massage

"P-Please... S... S... Stop..." Jeremy tried to plead desperately, but his numb lips and face made it incredibly hard.

"Shhh... Don't speak. You'll only waste your energy." I shushed the handsome hunk that laid beneath me. Opening another bottle, I poured out the clear serum and massaged it into his firm chest. It quickly began heating up and his skin soften slightly.

"W-Why....." He asked. I could tell he was trying desperately to make his large muscles move, but unfortunately all it did was twitch his fingers.

"Why? I don't know, Jeremy... Maybe it's because of all those years back in high school that you bullied me and completely ruined my reputation and any chances of me getting into a good college, or maybe it's because of the 'accident' you caused which burned half of my face off... What do you think?" There was definitely a hint of anger within my voice, but I quickly calmed down and continued massaging his warm pliable chest.

"...I-I'm s-sorry...." He really meant it this time. Unlike all those other times he said it in front of his peers. But it didn't matter anymore.

"A bit too late for that, Jeremy... Even if I have forgiven you for all those years back then, the serum has already reached its full effect. There's really no going back now." I smothered my hands against his rippling skin and felt how they slowly began sinking into him. Into his flesh.

"...no...ah..." He gasped, as he felt me invade his very flesh. My elbows disappeared as I got closer and closer to his anguished numb face.

"Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. Once I push my head inside and overlap my brain onto yours, you'll never have a thought of your own again. From now on I'll control your every movement, your every breath, and your every heartbeat. It'll be my rugged hands running across these perfect pecs, my juicy ass squeezing dildos deeper inside, and my handsome scar-free face hungrily licking up all the residue from the bathroom mirror."

I gave his glazed-over eyes one last look and pushed my lips against his soft ones, before I plunged my entire head inside his. His fingers clenched together and he began gasping for air, as I moved around inside him and positioned myself correctly. As soon as I settled down my mind suddenly exploded with all of Jeremy's memories, dreams, and aspirations. I felt them embrace me and flow into me, until I felt myself own them as if they had always been mine.

I opened my new eyes just in time to see the last of the rippling effect on my new large chest settle down. As it did, I felt a torrent of unbridled cum unleash itself underneath the warm blanket.

It was done. Jeremy had taken everything from me back then; my life, my reputation, my future, my face... Now, I've taken it all back; the successful life, the promising future, and even the perfect face. This was a brand new start for me, the new Jeremy...

Happy New Year everyone! Thought I'd pop by and let you all know that I'm still around. I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, and with a lot of things going on in life I haven't really taken the time to properly write. Still, I thought I'd give you all a treat with this older draft I made a while back. Hope you all enjoy it, and perhaps you'll hear more from me this new year! /Verus <3

[verus-animus]

Had to edit it several times since the pictures and GIFs kept getting flagged, but here it is, fucking finally!

Guardian

To say I disliked going on these hunting trips with my dad and his friends would be an understatement. The truth was I absolutely hated them. What could possibly be fun about chasing innocent defenseless creatures and killing them? I at least could not see the fun in it.

The only silver lining on these hunting trips was my dad’s best friend Daniel. Though he was absolutely obnoxious, loud and arrogant, always boasting about his latest premium cigars or hook-ups with women, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly attracted to him. There was just something about that rough voice, hairy body and that rugged beard that kept me hooked. It would not be far to say that the only reason I kept coming with them was to see Daniel and perhaps hope he would somehow feel the same way towards me. That however would surely never happen as he made it very clear how incredibly homophobic he was every time he and my dad talked about “those faggots”.

Oh well, at least I got to stare at his wonderful firm butt every time we went out for a hunting session.

This year the hunting trip took place in a new forest we had never been to before. I could only guess my dad and his friends had scared away all the animals in the last forest. After setting up the camp in a secluded spot near the outskirts of the forest, we immediately began preparing the hunting equipment. I could literally feel them oozing out of anticipation for the hunt. God, I already felt bad for any animal crossing their path today.

As we trekked through the woods searching for prey, Daniel was walking in front of me, breaking every branch and stepping on every mushroom along the way. As we got deeper and deeper into the woods, the exertion began to show on everyone. My dad began panting, Daniel started to sweat and took off his shirt, while I slowly fell behind everyone. I did not mind though as I could smell Daniel’s musky odour oozing towards me. That mixed with the smoky scent of his cigar gave me such a hard-on, I could only hope no one would turn around and see it. Anyway, it was through these kinds of experiences that I realized my affinity for nature and... men.

I was suddenly interrupted by my thoughts when Daniel’s big burly hands pulled out in front of me, stopping me before signaling me to lay low. Apparently they had found their first prey. Slowly climbing towards a bush, we positioned ourselves strategically around it. Curiously, I peeked above it to see a herd of deer nibbling on grass. There had to be at least fifteen of them; bucks, does and even a few fawns. Sitting back down slowly, I suddenly heard a crunch under my foot. I had stepped on a branch. Alarmed, the herd immediately sprang into action and ran off into different directions. Almost instinctively, my dad and his friend jumped up and ran after them, leaving just me and Daniel.

“Shit! You’re goddamn worthless!” Daniel said as he stood up and kicked me to the side, before running off in a direction he had seen some does and fawns run to. Picking myself up, I rubbed my bruised rib cage for a second before running after Daniel.

Following the trail of broken branches and that strong musky smell I knew all too well, I found Daniel leaning quietly against a big oak while gripping his rifle. Upon seeing me, he frowned before signaling me to come over. As I stepped towards him, he suddenly grabbed me in a chokehold, pressing his mouth close to my ear.

“You better not ruin this for me, okay? Just be quiet and don’t fucking move. Is that clear, faggot?” he whispered spitefully in my ear before releasing me and turning back to whatever he was watching. Catching my breath, I suddenly realized what he had called me - a faggot. I’m guessing my “appreciation” of his body had not gone unnoticed. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by the rustling of the bushes.

"Got ya!" He sneered, his eyes now focused and completely disregarding me. Shoving me aside he clenched his rifle and intently searched for the cause of the sound - like a predator just waiting to pounce onto his prey. Curiously I began crawling my way towards him, only to have him give me yet another annoyed glance before telling me to stay low with shushes and hand gestures. I think I did pretty well quietly crawling my way next to him this time without stepping on branches. I peeked over the bush to see the target of Daniel's attention; a wide open glade with a small fawn staring confusingly around itself. Probably having lost its way from the rest of the pack, it was now easy prey for Daniel and his friends.

"Look. This is how a real man does it." He whispered to me as he slowly pulled up his rifle and aimed it towards the fawn. The armpits of his shirt were now drenched with sweat, probably from anticipation and joy. After all, he would be the first one to catch a prey in this new place.

Normally I'd keep my attention towards Daniel’s flexed guns instead of watching the slaughter of an innocent life, anything to keep my mind off all the blood and gore, but when the fawn quietly grunted I just had to turn my attention towards it. It was shaking. It looked so scared and weak, its legs barely holding it up and its eyes anxiously searching for any sign of its parents. My heart broke and I realized I just couldn't let this defenseless, innocent creature lose its life to someone as horrible as Daniel. So... without even thinking it through I grabbed the closest branch I could find and chucked it towards the fawn. Alerted by it, it quickly noticed our presence before scurrying away into the bushes. Just in time too as Daniel's shot completely missed its target.

"Shit!" He screamed as he jumped out of the bush and ran after it. He shot two more times towards it before realizing it was long gone. I ran after him too, and stopped beside him as we stood in the middle of the glade - staring towards the direction where the fawn had run off.

I turned to my side to see Daniel's reaction, and as expected his rugged face showed both disappointment and frustration at the same time. Disappointed for missing his shot, and frustration most likely towards me. Realizing he had lost his only prey for the day, he turned towards me and grabbed me by my arms. His thick bulging biceps held me firmly in place.

"What did you do that for?!! I knew you were a worthless piece of shit, but this... this takes the cake!" He yelled while he shook me back and forth. "I knew I should've told your dad to never bring you along!"

"I-I-It was just a baby..." I  tried to justify myself for him, though deep down I was actually proud of what I had done.

"WHO FUCKING CARES!! It's just a walking piece of meat for us humans to consume anyway!" Daniel yelled, as he was getting even more agitated by me answering. His face grew more and more red and his grip around me became even harder and stronger.

You are a walking piece of meat I'd like to consume, I thought amusingly to myself as he stopped shaking me and stared crazily at me. His hot smoky breath blew against my face and I couldn't help but feel my bulge grow at the situation I was in; a hot and sweaty Daniel was holding me and breathing down my face. I couldn't help but smirk at my predicament.

"WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?!! YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!!!" His eyes burned with fury and madness, so much that even I began to get a little bit scared. That's also when he looked down and noticed my still growing bulge. "You get off on this don't you... you faggot." he said, no longer shouting and sounding furious. His grip also became a little bit looser. However, there was obviously hatred and some hint of madness left in his voice.

"Your dad should've done this to you a long time ago..." he said calmly. I could no longer sense any kind of emotion in his voice. Before I could even react I felt his strong rugged hands wrap around my throat and my back hit the hard yet grassy ground. I was in so much in shock that it took me a few seconds before I realized that Daniel was on top of me, his hands around my neck, and that I could no longer breathe. Knowing that there was no one within these woods that would come to my aid I was sure this is where I would die. Yet, as I was pinned down under him, on the verge of being strangled to death, I couldn’t help but keep thinking about his big bulge pressing against me. To think that I would finally be this close to the object of my desire just moments before I die.

Smiling happily, I tried to take one last breath, breathing in Daniel’s natural body odor, and seeing the madness in his face rising before I felt my consciousness slip away...

.....

It was brief though as I soon jolted awake. Finding myself still on the ground with Daniel on top of me, I looked up to see him no longer staring down at me with his crazed face. Instead he was looking straight forward with a face of wonder and fear. His grip now loose around my throat I began trying to wiggle free. Only managing to feel his bulge rub against my stomach, he effortlessly pushed me down again stopping my attempt.

Letting go of just one hand around my throat, he reached out behind him and fumbled around with the rifle on the ground. Before he had a chance to pull it up though, a gust of wind suddenly came blowing out of nowhere. For me it seemed like a small breeze, but it apparently had a different effect on Daniel as he suddenly lost his grip on me and was flung a few meters away. His huge body literally flew across the sky before he landed on his back with a loud thud, supposedly knocking him unconscious.

Free of the weight I slowly pulled myself up before cautiously turning around to see what Daniel had been staring at. Expecting a bear or something I was instead greeted by the sight of a majestic buck.

With its tall entangling crown that reached up towards the sky, its silky white fur shimmering under the sunlight and its big eyes glowing in a ghostly shade of blue. I could only stand there transfixed at the creature in front of me. It also took me a few seconds to notice the small fawn standing behind one of the buck’s hind legs, the same one that I had managed to let run off earlier. They both stood there still as statues and just stared at me, not even blinking once.

Uncertain of where I would go from here, a voice suddenly echoed among the trees, its words vibrating my very core.

“I am the Guardian Spirit of this Forest and you humans are soiling its ground with your violence and bloodlust. I will not tolerate any more of this. You shall be punished!” Those last words echoing deep and hard. “However, I saw your actions and sensed a strong and compassionate soul within you, one worthy of my blessing. For saving the young one I shall grant you one wish of your desire. Choose now before I change my mind.”

I barely had time to comprehend what had happened or what the voice had told me, but I sure knew what a wish meant. Thinking about it for a short while, I realized I couldn’t decide on anything. There’s just too much to choose from. I was just about to decline the offer when I heard some groaning behind me. Turning around I saw Daniel’s hairy sweaty body still on the ground, looking just as amazing as always, and that’s when I realized exactly what I wanted. Turning back to the majestic buck I pointed a finger towards Daniel’s still somewhat unconscious body and answered with determined look on my face:

“I want that.” Not completely sure myself what I meant with it.

“As you wish. May your life be long and compassion guide your way.” the voice echoed one last time before the gust of wind came back. This time it was so powerful I could barely stand. Bracing myself, I felt my feet give in and I lost my balance. Expecting to get flung away like Daniel, I instead felt my weak body rip itself from my very being (soul, essence, life force), and flying even further away than Daniel.

Looking down I found myself no longer in possession of a body, instead I seemed to have transformed into a glowing sphere. Floating in the air like I was some kind of wisp, I felt light and free, and no longer bound to the physical world.

Barely a second had passed before another gust of wind came, this time blowing towards Daniel’s unconscious body. Watching it all happen, I saw Daniel’s body arching its back before a similar spherical object was forcefully pulled out from his chest. Dragging it along, the wind seemed to know exactly where it was going as it directed the glowing sphere right back into my old body. With a big “oomph” it was pushed into my weak scrawny body, leaving me floating there next to Daniel’s now empty shell.

It wasn’t hard for me to puzzle everything together and I knew exactly what needed to be done. Floating towards the empty vessel, I found my floating form hovering right above his body. Looking down at the body I had admired for so long, my gaze turned towards his broad beefy chest. So big, so strong, so hairy, I knew that it would be the perfect gateway to my new life.

As my wispy form slowly began to sink down into his meaty and furry chest, I could not help but stare up at his rugged and handsome face. To think that that bearded face, strong jawline and piercing deep eyes would soon be mine made me shiver in anticipation as I pushed myself down harder. Within a few seconds I had fully entered Daniel’s body.

Slowly but surely I felt my wisp form spread out within his body, flowing down his toes, up his fingertips, and into his growing erection. I could feel his body beginning to shake vigorously as it adapted to its new owner, and if I didn’t know better I’m pretty sure it was experiencing pure pleasure and even orgasmed as my spirit made its flesh feel complete again.

Lastly, as I filled out his head I felt my non-physical form finally mould and shape itself into an exact replica of Daniel. I figured I was now a clone of Daniel in spirit form, trapped within Daniel’s physical body. Before anything else happened though... I suddenly blacked out.

---

Waking up with the sun shining in my eyes, I felt the soft moss and ground on my back, thinking I had simply fallen asleep. Stretching out a hand to shield my eyes against the sun, I was met with a big burly hand instead of my usual slim one. Staring at the hand for a while, I suddenly recalled everything that had transpired before. How I had saved a fawn from Daniel, met the Guardian Spirit of the Forest, and granted me one wish that allowed me to put my spirit within Daniel’s body.

Pushing myself up, I looked down to see my new body. Sure enough I was greeted with the same dirty hunting clothes Daniel had been wearing. Patting myself down with my new big hands, I could feel my thick biceps and bulky hairy body underneath all the clothes. It felt so euphoric being able to touch the body of my deepest desires with its own mighty hands. Soon enough, one of those hands found themselves inside my pants, fondling my new thick cock. Groping around Daniel’s beefy body, I realized I had forgotten the most important thing, the thing I could never get enough of. Lifting one of my thick arms up I turned my head towards his armpit and gave it a huff.

I was greeted with the strong and sweet musky odour that I fell in love with the first time I met him. Like a drug, I kept taking long deep breaths, savouring more and more of my new musky scent. Prying my other arm away from my now rock hard cock, I brought my big burly hand up to my nose and inhaled.

Woah! I was blown away by the even more intoxicating smell and almost ejaculating right then and there. It probably smelled a hundred times stronger, better and more pungent than his armpit. To think Daniel held such a treasure hidden underneath all his clothes!

Turning my head back and forth between my armpit and my hand, I suddenly realized that I no longer needed to go on these hunting trips anymore just to glance at Daniel or get a whiff of his scent. After all, I could do that whenever I wanted now, as it is MY reflection and MY musky odour! That very thought sent me over the edge as I massively came over and over again, completely soaking the underwear with Daniel’s semen. No, MY semen.

With cum slowly dripping down my hairy legs, I turned around wondering how Daniel was doing in my body, expecting him to wake up and freak out anytime soon. Much to my surprise though, what I saw was instead a small fawn standing in a pile of my old clothes. Its fur seemingly has the same shade of auburn as my old hair. Having laid there watching me for who knows how long, its eyes suddenly met mine and quickly turned into an expression of hatred and disgust.

I took a step towards it with my pants still sticky with residue, when I accidentally stumbled over the rifle laid on the ground. Seeing the rifle beneath my feet, the fawn’s expression suddenly turns into that of fear. Quickly pushing itself up, it clumsily scurried away into the woods, almost like it had never walked with four legs before, before it disappeared among the many bushes and trees.

Not completely sure what had happened I picked up the rifle and Daniel’s cigar box and set off towards the camp. All the way back I kept enjoying the taste of a premium smoke and the feel of my cum-soaked underwear squishing against my crotch. I could definitely get used to it.

---

Back at the camp, we all turned up with nothing to show. Some of the guys even said the forest must be haunted and that they felt watched wherever they went. I knew it wasn’t exactly haunted, but I played along anyways.

My dad started to panic as he realized I was not with me (or Daniel... well, that's technically me now... whatever, you get it). He kept asking me why I hadn’t watched over his son, which I lied to and said that I told him to go back to camp before I ran after the herd.

As my dad and his friends panicked and made several calls everywhere including the cops, I simply stood there staring at them while completely unfazed at what was happening.

After all, I knew exactly where I was - safe within Daniel’s body. I took one last long inhale to drink in the musky smell oozing from my hairy and sweaty body before joining “my” friends in the chaos.

Epilogue

It’s been a few years since that fateful day that changed my life. My old clothes were found a few days later inside a bear’s den - shredded and tattered. How it got there beats me, but the authorities proclaimed me as dead and the case was never brought up again.

Although I now looked, sounded and smelled like Daniel, I had “become” a completely different man. Making improvements to my new life, everyone was greatly surprised when Daniel became a more kind, passionate and caring person. What shocked them even more though was when I came out as gay, explaining how all my homophobic actions had been a way to hide my own true feelings.

As expected, almost all of Daniel’s friends left or stopped talking to me. That included “my” own homophobic dad, which I was kind of happy for since he was the last tie to my old life.

Leaving those hunting days behind me, I began to help animals in need and even helped build a new shelter for them. It was through these actions that I met my husband, a kind and handsome scout leader in his thirties wishing to stop animal hunters from harming any further wildlife. Seeing as we both had the same goal it was only natural we fell in love and started dating. We moved around helping different shelters, got engaged a few months after that, before finally deciding to settle down by the very same forest I lost and gained a life. We built our own cottage, which we made into our home while also providing shelter for any animal in need.

Nowadays I spend my days keeping a watchful eye on the woods by making sure not a single hunter or poacher takes even one step inside this sacred forest.

Sitting there on the porch with one hand down my pants while waiting for my husband to finish his round, I raise one of my arms for a minute and let its smell mix with the cigar in my mouth. Taking a small huff of the aroma I had grown to love so much over these past years, my own body’s musky odour and the deep smell of my favourite brand of smoke, I sat back and relaxed.

My mind began to wander, and with a smile on my face I thought to myself: the small fawn I had seen run off back then must surely have found its way home, just as I had found my forever home - within Daniel’s amazing body.

The End

A remake of one of my own stories! I decided to revisit a favourite story of my own from a few years back, only to realize it never picked up as much steam as I thought. So I thought I'd try it again, with a newer model that I just recently discovered! I really think he fit the story, and I hope you guys enjoyed it as well! /Verus

[verus-animus]

A True Husband

A prequel to my very first remake of an Interactive story: Verus-Veritas — A True Man

Jonathan got up off the bed and walked over to the mirror. It was hard to believe that only this time yesterday he had been Adam Beachfront, a scrawny high school student but now he was Jonathan Richards: head P.E coach, muscle god and married to the sexiest man on earth!

Admiring the view of his own perfect physic, Jonathan removed his shirt so that he was completely nude and started to make his pecs dance, triggering another erection.

"Down boy!" He teased, grinned and looked back up at his reflection. Raising his arms, he flexed his massive biceps coursing the head of his mighty manhood to reveal its angry red face resulting in a premature ejaculation onto the bedroom mirror. Smirking, Jonathan picked up his shirt and used it to wipe the mirror clean of his semen and headed into the walk-in closet to chuck the shirt into the washing hamper, that was when he noticed the black pants and hoodie, the very same clothes the guy who gave him the body-switching ring had been wearing. Kneeling down, Jonathan picked up the hoodie to investigate and held it up to his nose, it smelt of the very same cologne Tim had worn when he had come home yesterday.

"You figured it out then?" A voice came from behind. Jonathan looked up and saw his husband Tim standing in the doorway.

"It was you!" Jonathan proclaimed.

"Yes." Was all the handsome husband said, as he smiled back. "Though if I have to be honest, I didn't think that you would choose to become my husband. I expected you to become Mr Bugdale, the history professor. Not that I'm complaining mind you." He said, walking up to Jonathan in a slow smooth stride.

"But why?" He asked Tim, "Why give me this ring?"

"Why not?" His husband smiled gleefully and rested his head on Jonathan’s sculpted chest, while gently rubbing his dick with his right hand. "Jonathan - the old Jonathan - was never as passionate as you, in fact he hadn't even looked at me in quite a while, not since I became Tim...."

This took Jonathan by surprise, "Wait, you switched bodies with the real Tim Richards! Who did you used to be?"

Tim let go of Jonathan’s already hardened dick and, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, wrapped his meaty arms around Jonathan’s neck,

"Just some awkward wimp from our school that nobody ever noticed..." Tim told him. "But I always had a crush on Mr Richards, so I went to this magic store in town and this guy sold me this ring that allowed me to swap bodies with whoever I wanted....."

"And you switched with Tim Richards." Jonathan finished Tim’s sentence. He couldn't believe this handsome hunk of a man used to go to his school.

"It really was amazing at first," Tim explained. "Being older with such thick pecs and a beefy body most men would only dream of having, but after my third orgasm and the switch was permanent, the old Jonathan suddenly lost interest in me and distanced himself. Sure, some part might have to do with how obsessed I became with my own body and how often I wanted to have sex with him… but could you blame me?" The beefy hunk started flexing and kissing his own biceps.

"I couldn't switch back so I decided to give the ring to someone else. I'd been watching you for a while now and had seen the way you eyed the professors so I thought I would let you have some fun," he planted a kiss on Jonathan’s bearded lips, "I'm so glad you secretly had a hard-on for Mr Richards." Tim whispered.

"But who did you used to be....." Jonathan tried to quip in.

"Shhhh." Tim shushed him, placing his index finger on his lips, "do you want to keep talking, or do you want to fuck your man?" He asked Jonathan. That wasn't a difficult question.

Grinning, Jonathan pulled his husband with him in his strong arms and pushed him into the bedroom. Though he was still surprised about Tim being behind his "improved" life and body, there was no denying that he loved being Jonathan Richards, he loved having his muscles, he loved being married to this incredible hunk, and he loved fucking his husband senseless. Roughly shoving him onto the bed, Jonathan quickly removed the last of his clothes. Once his boxers were off, Jonathan couldn't hold himself any longer and plunged his meaty spear into Tim’s perfectly juicy ass.

Tim opened his mouth to moan but his hunk of a husband quickly shoved his tongue down his throat and began to kiss him. They just loved the taste of each other’s mouth. Their love-making went on for hours, causing the bed to shake and hit the wall violently. Eventually, both husbands came, causing loud passionate moans to escape their mouths and completely soak the bed in their sticky juices. Panting, Jonathan rolled off of his husband and Tim rested his head on his husband’s chest.

"I think we made a bit of a mess!" Tim joked, panting and looked up at his incredibly handsome husband. "So how do you feel, finally being Jonathan Richards?”

"Incredible. Like I’m finally a real man." Jonathan replied beaming and looked down at the beefy hunk whom he loved more than anything at the moment, "you?"

"Since you came into my life, like a proper and real husband." Tim answered and kissed him on the lips. Their hearts felt as if they were beating as one.

— A few weeks earlier — 

High school was divided into three categories: the popular, the bullied and the unseen, Alex Spencer was the latter.

He counted his blessings for that, being shorter than most other students in his class and slightly overweight, Alex could have easily been a target for bullies.

Unfortunately this blessing was also a curse as nobody ever really noticed him, the only person he ever considered a friend was a classmate by the name of Adam who he sat next to in biology. Once, they even sat together in the cafeteria at lunch and told each other secrets, like how Adam wished he could be as handsome as some of his professors, and how Alex secretly had a crush on Mr Richards, the P.E coach.

Jonathan Richards was a giant of a man and with short brown hair and a beard, and a body that would put pro bodybuilders to shame. Jonathan also had a husband who Alex was incredibly jealous of. His name was Timothy and he was everything Alex wasn't. He was tall and handsome, with beefy pecs and a firm bubble ass. But the most important part was that he was married to Mr Richards. Alex desperately wished that he was his P.E coach’s husband instead of Timothy, as he would make him so much happier… but he was just a student. Jonathan would never notice him, and he could never compete with Timothy. Even the girls at his school mentioned how attractive and perfect of a couple Jonathan and Timothy were, which only fueled Alex’s desire for what he didn’t possess even more. If only he had a body and life like Timothy Richards…

As the bell rang for lunch, Alex packed his bag and left his English class for the cafeteria, and that was when he noticed a poster up on the school notice board.

PART-TIME STAFF WANTED AT GILGAMESH'S MAGIC SHOP FOR OVER THE SUMMER. EMPLOYEES GET 50% OFF ON ALL ITEMS.

It wouldn't hurt to apply, Alex thought…

Not wanting to miss out, Alex immediately went to the store after school. It was a medium sized brown brick building with a black sign with golden lettering that said: “GILGAMESH'S MAGIC SHOP - FOR ALL YOUR MAGICAL NEEDS”

Alex stepped inside. It was actually quite a nice little shop, with shelves and walls decorated with all sorts of weird and unique-looking objects. It even had one of those bells on the door which rang when you opened it. "Hello?" Alex called out. Nobody was there, so he began looking around and saw an old fashioned mirror. He looked at his reflection for a second before the mirror surface suddenly rippled and changed. Alex gasped, as staring back at him was a much slimmer, much taller and more mature version of himself, complete with a beard. Nervously, Alex ran his hands up his body and as he did so, so did his older reflection.

"Hello." said a voice from behind Alex, causing both him and his reflection to jump and gasp. He turned around and saw a very handsome middle aged man in a suit walk in from the back room.

"I um... I came for the advertisement on the school notice board." He told the handsome man. "Are you Mr Gilgamesh?"

The man smiled and shook his head, "Unfortunately not. He’s my boyfriend but he’s currently out of town for some business. I'm just looking after the shop for now and sent out that advertisement for some more help. It’s stressful enough working as a teacher AND having to tend after a magical shop…" He explained.

The handsome shopkeeper looked over Alex's shoulder and into the mirror. "Admiring your reflection, huh?" he asked Alex and then continued. "You could make that reflection a reality if you wanted to, you know." Alex didn't know what to say. "Craving beauty isn't a sin, but there are many ways to go about it." He spoke like a wise man.

"Do you wish to simply become an older, more stunning version of yourself or do you wish to have the beauty of another?" Alex was at a loss for words. Was this guy serious or was he just fucking with him? "If you want the first option then I would recommend this," the shopkeeper produced a bottle of red liquid from behind the counter, "drink this and all your desires will be fulfilled, but if you do this then there might be some awkward questions to answer…"

Alex looked at the bubbling red vial anxiously.

"Which is why I would recommend this instead," the shopkeeper quickly switched the vial and handed Alex a small black box. Nervously, Alex accepted it and slowly opened it up. Inside was a beautiful silver ring with three ornate stripes engraved on it. "A simple body swap ring. Simply put it on and close your eyes, then say the full name of the person you want to be three times while picturing them in your head. Once you open your eyes you will have become that person and will obtain all their memories, avoiding any and all awkward questions."

Alex couldn't believe what he was hearing. The rational part of his brain told him this was most likely a con to steal his money, but then he remembered the mysterious mirror behind him and looked back at it. There was no way that could be a screen with aging filters. "How.... How much?" he asked the shopkeeper as his mind immediately went to Timothy Richards and began to imagine how it would feel like to own that big and beefy body.

"There’s something about you that reminds me of myself... So for you, no charge. Consider it a gift." The handsome older man smiled, as he ran a hand through his beard.

Alex thanked him and began to leave when he suddenly remembered why he had come here in the first place. "Wait, what about the job application?" 

"Tell you what, if your wish comes true how about you come back here to help advertise the store?" He suggested with another smile. “Just say Mr Wilkinson sent you and I’ll know it’s you.”

"Deal." Alex bowed and quickly ran out of the shop.

—

Alex stood in front of his bedroom mirror holding the ring in his hand. If everything that magic shopkeeper said was true then in a matter of minutes he could become Jonathan Richards's husband and have the body he had always dreamed about having.

Taking a deep breath, Alex nervously slid the ring onto his right index finger and closed his eyes. He pictured Jonathan's handsome husband in his head and said three times: "Timothy Richards, Timothy Richards, Timothy Richards."

Suddenly a warm sensation began to spread through his body as he became light, lighter than what a person his weight should weigh and leaned back against the wall for support in case he passed out. As the warm sensation spread to his chest and ass, Alex began to feel as if his muscles were swelling and enlarging. Suddenly he began to feel dizzy as a sense of vertigo struck his body and he had to place the palm of his hands against the wall for extra support. As he did this, he could feel his bare shoulders rub against the tiled wall as though he was growing taller - wait, he wasn't naked, and when did his bedroom have tiled walls?

Alex finally opened his eyes and was surprised to see that he was standing in a stranger's bathroom in front of a running shower. Staring back at him in the bathroom mirror's reflection was none other than the naked form of Timothy Richards.

Eyes widening, Alex looked down at himself and was greeted by the sight of a pair of large beefy pecs. Alex couldn't believe his eyes, his body was stacked with juicy beefy muscles!

Suddenly a wave of new memories from Timothy's life came flooding into Alex's head, such as Tim's childhood and his coming out. Freaking out, Alex ran out of the bathroom and into the adjoining bedroom that Tim and his husband slept in. It was a large room with cream carpet and a large queen size bed in the center. Clothes were scattered about the bedroom floor, and some he immediately recognized belonged to Jonathan. Even the smell of the room reminded him of whenever the sexy P.E coach would walk past him in the school corridors. The silence was interrupted by the ping of the answer machine.

"Hey hun, it's me," it was Jonathan’s voice, and he had called Alex by a nickname! "Just to let you know I'm heading to the bar to watch the game with Neil and James so don't wait up for me, love you tons!" He loved him! Alex turned away from the answer machine and came face to face with the bedroom mirror.

Staring back at him was a thirty-five year old hunk with tanned skin, rich brown hair and hazel nut brown eyes. His fat gut was gone and replaced by a hard muscle stomach, and his new memories showed that Timothy had been, or was a fitness model. His legs were strong and bulky which led up to a thick and gorgeous ass, but the most breath-taking part was his muscle pecs. They were large, juicy, yet so incredibly firm!

Now that he had recovered himself from the shock and settled in his new larger frame, Alex rejoiced in the fact that the ring had actually worked!

He returned to the shower feeling exhilarated and incredibly aroused, a feeling that felt weirdly familiar yet foreign in this new body. Stepping into the bathtub and submerging himself in the warm soapy water, Alex took this opportunity to fully explore his new amazing body. There was the slight scent of post-workout musk in his armpits that smelled heavenly.

Unable to control himself anymore, Alex found himself firmly grabbing onto one of his firm beefy pecs with one hand while the other one submerged under the water and began to masturbate furiously. It was slightly shorter than his former one, but so much thicker and pleasurable. Alex had never felt this good in his life, which caused him to moan out loud in pure unbridled ecstasy.

As he finally reached the grand final, he felt his entire body spasm as white sticky essences erupted from the water. His eyes briefly rolled over as he experienced the most amazing orgasm ever. "That was.... INCREDIBLE!" He found himself panting with Tim’s husky voice.

As Alex, or the new Tim as he would call himself now, finished cleaning himself off and stepped out of the bath, he remembered the deal he had made with the handsome shopkeeper. The first thing Tim would do tomorrow would be to go back to the magical shop and thank the man. But right now, HIS husband would be home in a few hours which gave him all the time he needed to learn about his new body, life, and home.

Exiting the bathroom, and not even bothering with a towel, the new Tim laid down on the bed to let himself dry naturally and waited for his crush-turned-husband Jonathan to come home - to finally make his fantasy into reality.

— A few hours later —

The wait was almost unbearable, Tim gave a sigh of relief when he finally heard the front door open. He had waited so long for this moment and quickly moved into the raunchiest position he knew of, with his legs spread high and “cheeks” fully welcoming. 

"Welcome back babe," Tim said to HIS husband as Jonathan walked into the bedroom slightly tipsy. He could tell that Jonathan was pleasantly surprised by the sight of his fully nude and oiled-up form.

"I thought I said you didn't have to wait up?" Jonathan said to him, as he walked over the cabinet and dropped off a few stuff.

"I know, but I just couldn't help myself." Tim told him seductively, as he beckoned the incredibly handsome P.E coach over with a finger.

"What brought this on?" Jonathan asked him, with the biggest grin on his handsome bearded face. He was clearly enjoying it, evidently by the rising tent in his well-fitted shorts.

"You’ve been working yourself so hard these last few months, I thought you deserved an award…" Tim told his husband, as he drew on some of the old Tim’s thoughtful personality and memories. Soon he was about to get his wish come true.

Grinning, Jonathan quickly got undressed and climbed atop his husband. All Tim could do was drool and run his hands all over Jonathan’s incredible muscles, before he was introduced by the hunk’s massive member. With one great thrust, all of his dreams came true.

Jonathan was even bigger than he had ever imagined, his girth and length squeezing and snuggling against every part of Tim’s inner walls. As Jonathan began picking up speed, Tim felt his huge testicals smacking against his plump ass. This was way better than any form of pleasure he had ever experienced in the bathrooms.

He wanted this to last forever, but Jonathan was not making it easy for him as the tip of the cock suddenly found his new body’s prostate. As his husband expertly slammed into his male G-spot over and over and over again, Tim finally found himself unable to control himself any longer. Tim let out a cry of pleasure as he exploded all over himself, letting load after load of semen flow down onto his muscle stomach. His entire body literally went numb, as a huge wave of pleasure swept over him. He saw the most amazing colors in his head as a few tears of joy ran down his cheeks.

Jonathan smiled gently and wiped the tears from Tim's face, before going in for a passionate kiss. Their make out lasted for a few minutes before Jonathan looked down between their legs and laughed. "Looks like we made a bit of a mess."

"I'll change the sheets tomorrow." Tim replied quietly, as his hands gently stroked his husband’s beard and cheek.

"Nah, leave it. I like the smell of you in it," Jonathan replied, before he climbed off Tim and walked towards the bathroom, his huge shiny member bobbing up and down happily. "Love you, hun."

Tim watched as his husband entered the bathroom and began showering, leaving him lying there on the damp bed and staring up at the ceiling, exhausted but content. "Love you too..." He replied quietly, “and I love this body…”.

The new Tim couldn't help but run his hands across his glistening muscles, as a joyous smile spread upon his face. That’s when he noticed the shimmering silver ring right next to him on top of the bed cabinet. He picked it up and examined it for a few seconds, before he decided to store it in the cabinet. Perhaps he would find some more uses for it later… but for now he was perfectly content with his new situation - being Timothy Richards, the beefy husband of the incredibly fit and hunky P.E coach Jonathan Richards!

Long overdue, but here it is nonetheless! The story I promised a few months ago! Thought I'd make it sort of a homage to my very first interactive story. Although my health has slowly been getting better and better every day, I can't promise if I'll be active again anytime soon. Maybe I'll try and post a few shorter captions here and there, but we'll see I guess... Anyways, I hope everyone's been having a great summer so far! /Verus

[verus-animus]

Taken

Joey should've realized something was wrong the very second he found that unusual book in front of his apartment. Ragged and tattered, it was written in an ancient language he had never heard of. Fortunately for him someone had done the job and left post-it notes inside on how to translate the most interesting stuff. A spell of sort that spoke of "walking among the astral plane".

A little bit naive, and perhaps somewhat greedy, Joey had brought the book with him inside. And for the next three days, he studied the art of "astral walking".

It was an incredible feeling, the sensation of having his own astral form detach itself from his physical body. He felt weightless, powerful, and free. And being able to phase right through walls and go anywhere made him feel like a literal superhero. Unfortunately, the only downside was that he could not interact with the physical realm in any way. No one could hear him, no one could see him, and touching someone just caused him to phase through them.

It was an exhilarating power for sure, and having used it for over a week now Joey was getting more and more bold, taking longer to return back and trips further and further away. One of his favourite places were the women's changing room in the gym on the other side of the city. He could oogle those fleshy melons for days...

The problems didn't start until a few weeks later when Joey returned after one of his "astral promenades" and found his body in a slightly different position than what he remembered he left it in. It couldn't have been his ex-girlfriend since they broke up a few months ago after she suddenly went crazy screaming about memory lapses, nor did he have any pets strolling around in the apartment. Nonetheless, it wasn't a big difference so Joey decided to scoff it up as his body's natural movement, like when he moved during his sleep.

Unfortunately for him, the same thing continued to occur every time he went on his "astral trips". He'd leave, come back, and find his body in a slightly different position or place. Like his legs would be spread out, his hands underneath his own shirt, or his head bent towards his own armpits. One time he even returned to find his body laying on the couch in the living room and wearing a fresh new white T-shirt, when he was pretty sure he had slept in the bed and worn a black tank top that day. Although that was his favourite shirt, and he usually rotated between the couch and bed, so maybe he'd just forgotten...

It wasn't until his neighbour came up to him one day and started complaining over the loud noises coming from his apartment that Joey realized something was definitely going on. Loud groans and squeaking beds seemed to be the most normal disturbances, but also him practicing saying his own name out loud seemed to happen quite frequently.

Finally being worried, Joey immediately went to the book for help. Browsing through it's intricate glossary, he came upon a chapter describing how to deal with "astral intruders". However, much to his shock, he found out that the pages had been ripped off clean, presumably before given to him. Not only that, but taking time to properly check the tattered book over Joey quickly realized that one more chapter had been taken out as well. One that apparently described something about "transference of ownership"...

Joey was terrified. Perhaps he had been taken over by wandering ghosts, or demons! So, he finally did the responsible thing and locked the book away at the bottom of his cabinet. He even stopped "astral-walking" completely, and returned back to his previous normal life.

It lasted around a month or so. The sensations, the freedom, his greed and curiosity, they all got the better of him. Like an addiction, he soon unlocked the cabinet, retrieved the book, and found himself relaxing on the bed and breathing slowly. Once again experiencing the feeling of weightlessness, he made sure there was no evil presence around before he left once again to explore the city, hopeful that whatever wandering spirit had left by now.

That would be his biggest mistake.

After an eventful evening of listening to gossips, checking the girls out in his favourite gym, and watching a football match for free, Joey returned to his apartment happy and satisfied. Although he couldn't physically feel tired, he still wanted to snuggle up in his bed and just sleep.

But alas, there would be no sleep for him tonight. Because as he got closer to his apartment door, he too began to hear the heavy grunting and moans coming from within. It was incredibly bizarre to hear his own familiar voice from the outside, so he quickly phased through the door and into the apartment.

To his complete horror the apartment was filled with the stench of sweat and sex, and drowned by the moans and grunts of a deep lustful voice. The bedroom floor had clothes strewn about everywhere, but most importantly on the bed laid Joey's splayed out body - completely naked, sweaty... and moving by itself!

Not only was whatever controlling his body sensually squeezing his meaty hairy chest with his own hands, but also busily ravaging his muscular biceps by licking and lapping it all over as if it was a sweet lollipop. It took him a few more seconds until he also noticed the obviously protruding buttplug now sticking out between the thick meaty thighs ass that he had always been so proud of.

Awe-struck by the sight in front of him, Joey continued watching his own muscular body move in ways he never knew it could. Bizarrely intrigued he witness the sight of himself pulling his hairy legs over his own head and voraciously licking his own hard shaft. That explained the sudden back pain he had a few weeks back...

It wasn't until whatever controlled his body moved its hand from his meaty chest and began jacking Joey's famously hard and thick rod off while moaning "I'm Joey Mann, I'm Joey Mann!", that Joey finally found himself out of the daze. Springing forward, he decided to try push whatever was inside his body out and reclaim what was his.

But he simply bounced off, as if a barrier was preventing him from entering his own physical body.

It did however cause a reaction to whatever was inside his body. Stopping all the sensual explorations of its borrowed self, except the buttplug that kept being squeezed inside that is, the "intruder" looked towards the direction Joey was standing at and began grinning.

"I'm guessing you're finally back, Joey. I hope you had a good time out there, because I definitely had a great time in here." Joey watched himself give one of his own pecs a mighty squeeze followed by a soft moan.

"For a while there you really scared me. I really thought I had missed my chance when you stopped using the book, but I'm so glad you did. It made me realize just how much I miss being inside this body of yours, and just how much I love being you. Every night I would imagine using your big stocky fingers and wrapping them around this thick meat of yours instead of my own bony ones." Joey's body thrust a few times up in the air, causing his hard wood to smack back and forth a few times, and the buttplug to inch out a bit before being sucked back in.

"Now, you probably have a bunch of questions to ask me. Like who I am, why I'm doing this, and so on... but the biggest question is probably why you can't get back into your body, am I right?" The body intruder said, somehow knowing exactly what Joey was thinking at the moment. Joey spoke up, only to watch himself shake his head. "Unfortunately I can't see or hear you, but I'll explain everything as simply as I can."

"Do you remember a year ago on New Year's Eve when you and Michelle stumbled down the hallway all loud and laughing, and you guys ended up on the wrong side of the apartment complex?" Joey nodded. Of course he remembered. He and his ex-girlfriend Michelle had just returned from one hell of a New Year Celebration party, and they had both been tipsy and so horny. That night he had one of the best fucks of his life.

"Do you also remember what happened in that hallway?" Of course, Joey also remembered that. He had seen one of his neighbours there, the awkward one that always seemed to follow him and Michelle around. Joey always thought the guy had a hard-on for Michelle, so being the macho man he was and being a little bit drunk, Joey walked up to the neighbour and told him to never show his face around here again. And then Joey punched him in the face, hard.

"I certainly never forgot... Not only was my face bruised and sore for a whole month after that, but my ego was completely shattered." He brought his hand up and caressed Joey's scruffy face that he now controlled. "I just wanted to talk to you, to get to know you a bit. Even though I knew I had no chance with you, I thought we could at least be friends... but then you fucking punched me out of nowhere! I was so mad after that, that I ended up using a spell that let me take control of Michelle's body. Fortunately, she was passed out in the bathroom then. I literally hate-fucked you that evening, and you seemed really into it... especially since we've done that like twenty times now since then, am I right Joey-boy?"

Joey's eyes went wide-eyed. He couldn't believe it. The only reason he had been together with Michelle was because of the amazing sex they had. Unfortunately, it varied, whereas most of the time the sex was boring, but then the few times she turned into this crazed sex goddess who let him fuck her to oblivion. Those were also the only times she called him "Joey-boy". All those times it had been this guy? That nerdy awkward neighbour he punched a year ago? Who Joey only now realized was gay and so obviously crushing on him? And who was now inside Joey's body, moaning, touching, and tasting him?!!

"Not that it really matters anymore. I finally got what I've always wanted: this delicious body of yours!" The body invader stretched himself out fully, before a devious smirk emerged on his already blissful face. "And I have no intention of ever going back. All of this is mine now!"

With that said Joey's body began speaking in an ancient language. It was similar to the "astral-walking" spell but still somewhat different. And once he finished, his eyes and mouth suddenly lit up with an eerie glow and his sweaty back arched upwards. His entire body literally floated in the air for a few seconds before landing back down on the bed with a heavy thud.

Immediately Joey noticed something was off. That feelings of freedom and weightlessness was suddenly replaced by feelings of emptiness and detachment, as if he was no longer connected to the earthly realm. In fact, when he looked down he noticed to his horror that his hands and feet seemed to have become almost blurry and translucent. Terrified and enraged, Joey began screaming and shouting at his body thief. He paced around the room restlessly and tried time and time again to push back into his own body.

Unfortunately for Joey, after a few more minutes and he had been reduced to a wispy unrecognizable state. And without legs and arms, he slowly found himself hovering above his own thick and exhausted body, whom appeared to be staring up at him with a victorious grin on his handsome face.

"Bye bye Joey... I'll take good care of this sexy body of yours. It'll certainly be popular amongst all the twinks and daddies I'll be sleeping with from now on..."

The last thing the real Joey saw and heard as his weakened astral form finally evaporated and turned into nothingness, was his own muscular and thick body wrap its meaty hands around his own manhood and began jerking it vigorously. Deep heavy grunts once again filled the bedroom as the new and improved tenant moaned his new name between his hot breaths. Until he finally exploded and flooded the silk sheets and his furry chest with his deliciously creamy seed.

"I'm Joey Mann... I'm Joey Mann... I'm finally Joey Mann, and I'm never going back!"

[verus-animus]

Violent Night

I was never a violent man, just a scientist who loved to build intricate things. I was always too meek to stand up for myself, too fragile to fight, and too scared of the consequences that followed. All I had was my brilliant mind and my desire to live. A desire that is surely the reason I stand here right now washing the blood of my supposed killer off his own body.

You see, having a brilliant mind and being able to create machinery no one could imagine was a real blessing for such a nobody like me, but it was also a curse as rumours quickly spread and I garnered a lot of investors and enemies over the years. But no one ever came close to the spitefulness and pettiness of the man known as Seth Graves.

The influential crime lord had not only been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he had inherited his entire family's fortune and business at the age of 25 when his parents suddenly died from a freak accident. Now he owned Graves Industry which produced billions of money every year, and as a result, had great influence over the politicians and policemen of the city. No one in their right mind would ever dare to mess with him.

Yet, I was stupid enough and declined his investment after he found out about my latest invention. A powerful machine that could possibly grant anyone the power of immortality...

I simply believed it to be empty threats that day, that he was just disheartened over the fact that I refused to hand over such powerful machinery to someone that would surely misuse it. He always wore that cheery and friendly facade over that handsome face of his, but hidden underneath was a malicious wrath I would soon learn to fear.

It had been a normal morning for me. I had picked up my coffee, taken the scenic route to the lab, and was texting Arnold about how delicious the meal he had cooked yesterday was. We were right in the middle of a conversation about furbies, when Arnold abruptly wrote: "Dont come, run"

Of course I panicked, and I definitely should've ran... but I couldn't just leave all the data and Arnold there to fend for himself. Especially not since he had been my lab partner and lover for the last ten years. I wasn't going to throw a decade of my life away just because some spoiled thug felt entitled to have what I had built. So I grabbed a nearby metal pipe and ran as fast as my uncoordinated legs could towards the lab.

But fortune didn't favour me. I unlocked the door and tumbled in just in time to watch the life drain out of my partner's eyes. In front of me stood a tall, muscular man with a serrated knife plunged deep into Arnold's abdomen. I immediately recognised him as Ike Reed, the so called "Crimson Ripper". A man whose hands had been soaked in blood since he was a teenager, and now had somehow ended up as Seth Graves personal assassin. Even though he was a mute, that didn't stop his skillful hands from slitting your throat or severing your arteries before you even had a chance to scream...

A wicked yet delightful grin emerged on the killer's bloodied face, as my partner Arnold's blood slowly soaked the floor. I wanted to cry and scream, but the only thing I could do was clutch the metal pipe in my hand and prevent myself from fainting out of shock. Seeing him chuck the broken body of my former partner across the floor caused a faint pulse of rage within me, but as I watched Ike slowly make his way towards me I nearly wet my pants. Fortunately I didn't, and for a brief second I even found enough courage to fight back against him. So I swung the pipe against his head... only to have him immediately catch it with one bare hand and use it back against me, swiftly knocking me unconscious...

---

I woke up to a massive pain in my head, and my chest felt like it was burning. There were sounds of walking and metal clanking around me, and sure enough, once my blurred vision stabilized I saw the stone-cold face of Ike staring at me. His shirt somehow looked even more bloody now, and in his hand, he juggled the device I had spent years and years working on. I tried to move, only to find my arms tied to the chair I now sat on. Not only that, but the searing pain in my body caused me to look down and find that several deep cuts had been made into my chest. That fuckin' psychopath had been cutting into me while I was unconscious!

Seeing I was finally awake, my kidnapper came over to me and started prodding me with his knife. With one hand shoving the machinery in my face and the other with his knife poking a few inches into my already exposed flesh. Fucking hurt I tell you! It was obvious he wanted me to tell him how it worked. But once I did there was no guarantee I would be of any use to him anymore. I'd just be disposed of as pieces of unrecognizable flesh in a nearby dumpster, along with Arnold.

Oh, poor Arnold... always so kind and caring. Never even hurt a fly. I should've never brought him into my world. If only I could've been stronger and more vicious so I could've protected us both, someone as brutish as Ike here...

That's when it hit me. It was a complete gamble, but the only choice I had at that point.

I could sense that perhaps this wasn't exactly what Seth had ordered Ike to do. To tie me up, interrogate me, and get me to explain to him exclusively. Perhaps it was out of curiosity, perhaps it was greed, or perhaps it was animosity towards his employer, but I realized it could be used against the vicious killer.

I told him to unlock the top of the cylindrical form of the device and take out two sets of shiny wireless pads. They were cool to the touch like metal but still soft and malleable enough to be bent in all kinds of shapes. I then instructed him to attach them to the sides of his head by his temple, and then to mine as well. He was of course vary at first, but after ensuring him that it was safe and I'd even put them on at first, he hesitantly agreed. Seeing my frail, broken, and bleeding body, he must've not thought of me as much of a threat anyways.

I then told him to turn the dial on the bottom to 'Full Transfer' and press the Start button. Ike might have the instincts of a serial killer and the strength of a brute, but he certainly wasn't very bright. And that's something I decided to take advantage of.

At first there was this slight tingling feeling by the pads, and then came a small electric spark. Then two, and then three. There wasn't anything visible to the human eye though, as everything was happening within. To make it easier to understand; my mind was being compressed and converted into electrical currents. Soon enough it felt as if my head was filled with small smattering fireworks. I was getting disoriented, my body felt weak, and I could barely hear what was going on around me. I did see that Ike was getting more and more anxious though, and as he tried to reach for the pads on his temple he found himself being shocked.

Furious over the fact that I had been tricking him, he began closing in on me with the knife in his clenched hand, though he found himself surprisingly tumbling around quite a bit as his feet weren't fully under his control. I could only pray that the process would finish in time.

As he brought the knife high above his arms and swiftly brought it down onto my head, there was this intense and loud almost like thunder that coursed through my entire head. Suddenly my vision shifted, and I found myself standing up and staring at the horrified face of myself, with a large serrated knife impaled deep in its forehead. Blood began to gush everywhere... right before I fainted...

---

I was never a violent man, but I did what I had to do to survive. Transferring my mind into Ike Reed's body might not have been the most ideal plan, but at least now I had a strong body that was actually capable of fighting. Sure I can't utter a single coherent word from this new throat of mine, but at the same time, it's a blessing in disguise. I can pretend to be the quiet and brooding assassin in the back that intimidates anyone from interacting with.

The best part of it all though is the fact that most of his body's muscle memory and instincts seem to be intact. I had never been able to handle a knife so skillfully, or realize just how sensitive and sharp one's senses can be when fully focused. One of the escaped lab rats scurried around on the top shelf across the room, and I could pinpoint exactly where and what it was. The power and skills of this new body of mine were quite exhilarating to control, and it certainly helped that Ike was quite a handsome man underneath all those scars and blood. Just running my hands across those powerful scarred muscles somehow got me incredibly hard, and I was certainly not disappointed with the "hidden knife" down there. He wasn't compensating with his flashy weapons, that's for sure.

Now, all I need were time to adjust and integrate myself into Seth Graves' circle. Sure, I'm already using the body of his most trusted personal assassin, but he's sure to be suspicious over why 'I' disobeyed his orders and killed the only scientists that knew how to operate the machine he so wanted to get his grubby hands on.

My plan for revenge, however, isn't as simple as just killing him. No, I have something much better planned for that gorgeously spoiled body of his. You see, all hope wasn't lost as I went over to pick up the presumably deceased body of Arnold on the other side of the lab. To my delightful surprise, not only was he still alive and breathing, although profusely bleeding and trying to drag himself across the floor, but as soon as he saw me he began screaming and crying my old name as he grabbed a nearby escaped rat and began waving it around as a weapon.

I would have laughed and kissed him if I could, but this face wasn't used to smiling. Not to mention that would only have scarred him even more. So instead I put one of my now-washed hands gently across his face and gave him a reaffirming nod, before pulling out two pads and attaching them to the side of his head. He was too confused and anaemic to fight back, which made it much easier for me to transfer his mind from his bleeding deteriorating body into the storage system of my invention.

By this time next week or so, I'll make sure my partner wakes up to find himself in the criminally hot flesh of the city's most influential crime lord, Seth Graves. And with me, his brilliantly vicious assassin Ike Reed, right by his side.

[verus-animus]

Stubborn

My older cousin Oscar was always such a stubborn and proudful person. He would always try to be better than everyone else in our family, even if he was obviously in a disadvantage. He must've thought he could get away with anything, with just his good looks, huge muscles, and confidence.

So when he found out I had won a silly Mario Cart Tournament a few days ago, he just had to stomp his way into my apartment and demand to challenge me in a few matches. It was obvious to see that he had just bought the handheld machine, and from the way he held it maybe he had practiced with it two or three times prior to coming over here...

There was no way he would be winning over me so I politely declined his challenge. Unfortunately, that only seemed to have angered him and spurred him on even more. So he proposed the challenge to be a high-cost bet, and whoever won the round could take anything of the loser's possession. Seeing how serious he seemed to be over such a silly game, I decided to accept his proposal...

As expected I won the first few rounds with ease. The rewards started off with simple things like; his expensive watch, an autographed trophy, his favourite shirt, an so on. Eventually though I ran out of things I wanted from him and told him we should just stop this foolish competition before he lost any more of his stuff. Humiliated by my words, he demanded for us to continue playing, I could only assume till he won a round or something.

He must've seen the many times I had been staring at his thick muscular thighs and those awesome tattoos that ran across his sleeve. So with a grin on his face he proposed that if I won the next round I could have his tattoos. It really made no sense, but it's true that I had always wanted tattoos just like his, so I decided to humor him and play along.

Imagine my surprise when I won the next round and my skin started to scratch all over. Before I knew it tattoos had magically appeared all over my body, and they looked exactly like those of my cousin! Even more shockingly, Oscar had no tattoos on him anymore... meaning what he had said earlier really was true.

I could see the devastation on his face as he rubbed the skin on his arm. I really expected him to want to quit and demand his tattoos back, but his pride must've not let him. Instead he demanded us to continue playing, and with even higher stakes.

I won a round, thus taking all his hard-earned muscles for myself.

I won another round, and suddenly dark hair sprouted all over my chest and thighs.

I won yet another round, and my voice lowered a few octaves until it sounded just like Oscar's.

I won round after round after round, until there really was nothing left to take from him. I had all his muscles, his perfect cheekbone, even his confidence. Yet, despite now being short, skinny, pale, and tired-looking, he burned with determination and requested one last game. A winner takes it all kind of game. I really couldn't say no at that point.

I have to admit, he played it really well the last round, almost beating me with a few seconds... but unfortunately the result was all the same. He lost, and I decided to take it all, literally.

Immediately, my bones cracked, my haircut changed, my bulge swelled up, and even my clothes transformed. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the couch looking exactly like my cousin had done a few hours ago. I could even smell his familiar musky scent coming from my armpit, which almost immediately gave me a huge boner.

My cousin suddenly stood up and stared at me intensely, and I expected him to ask for another game so he could win his body back... but instead he hung his head low and finally admitted his defeat. He even said I was superior to him now, and even started calling me cousin Oscar!

He then walked over to the front door and gave one glance at what used to be his former perfect body, before walking out and leaving me all alone with my new self.

I could barely believe it, but then again I had won all this fair and square so it was all mine to enjoy. I began flexing, squeezing, and even licking my new bulging muscles, until my new bulge was too painful to ignore. Whipping out my surprisingly enormous equipment, it certainly didn't take long for me to spurt my new baby batter all over myself.

Content and tired after hours of gaming, I laid back on the couch and enjoyed the greatest prize I could've ever won; my cousin's perfect body, and knowing that he would never gloat and compete again!

[verus-animus]

The Halloween Costume

Happy Halloween everyone! Hope you all have a cozy and spooky weekend! 👻

"BOOO!" The masked figure yelled, as he crept up behind Connor and grabbed him. He began pushing himself against the blond man, forcing them against the wall as he began grinding himself against the other's crotch.

"W-What... Who the fuck are you?!! HELP! HELP!! MARVIN! ANYONE! THERE'S AN-" Connor began screaming as he was turned around and saw a masked person whom he did not recognize, nonetheless sexually assaulting him out of nowhere.

"Shhh! Quiet down! It's me... M-Marvin." The masked figure tried to calm Connor down, as he stopped the grinding and looked the other in the eyes.

"N-No way..." Connor had stopped screaming and recollected himself, and only just then recognising the familiar tattoos that crawled along the masked man's muscular arms. "You didn't..."

Immediately Connor grabbed the creepy mask and tore it off, revealing the incredibly handsome face of none other than his boyfriend's insanely hot neighbour Troy.

"No fucking way... The 'Make-Your-Own-Costume' Kit actually worked? And you managed to use it on Troy as well?" Connor asked, completely awe-struck at the sight and smell of the handsome hunk in front of him right now. Both him and Marvin had drooled over the hunky neighbour for ages, but unfortunately he had been straight as an arrow and refused every proposal of a threesome.

"Yup. Came as a package this morning. Bumped into Troy here on my way up, so I knew I had to take the shot. Literally." Marvin grinned as he explained, before leaning slightly to the side to point at a barely visible needle mark on his neck. "Jabbed him right here."

"I know the kit said it could turn ANYTHING into a costume... but a real human being?Fuck. H-How was it?" Connor asked, as he ran his hands across his boyfriend's new bulging muscles and pecs. They were completely astonishing.

"Pretty freaky actually. After Troy opened up the door and I stabbed him with the syringe, he started tumbling around the apartment until he fell unconscious on the living room floor. His skin kept bubbling and moving about for a few minutes until his entire body began hollowing out. All that was left was a empty bodysuit made by the skin of Troy." Marvin explained, taking the opportunity to feel the deep vibrato of his new voice. "However, when I walked over there to pick him up though, a gross lump of flesh emerged out of his mouth and began crawling about frantically. So I scooped it up and flushed it down the toilet..." Marvin continued, while simultaneously being busy flexing his huge biceps and admiring his own tattooed arms.

"Wait... don't you think that was the real T-" Connor worried, but his boner was impossibly hard nonetheless from watching such a stud playing with himself.

"Don't know. Don't care." The flexing hunk answered coldly. The lack of emotion and remorse in his tone surprised even his boyfriend. "His body is mine now. And I'm not giving it back!"

"B-But I thought you were just going to use him for the Halloween party..." Connor inquired.

"I did, didn't I... But then I read through the instruction manual of the kit with a very specific warning. That under no circumstances should I experience three orgasms in the costume. As doing so would erase the boundaries between the wearer and the suit, merging them together indefinitely..." The boyfriend gleefully smiled as he lustfully played with his hard pecs.

"A-And how many times have you done it today?" Connor asked, while painfully trying to hide his hard-on at this point.

"I jerked one off right after I wore him this morning. And then another one in the shower right before I came here." The tattooed hunk began licking his lips as he once again walked over to where his boyfriend stood quivering. "And I've been saving the third one for a very special occasion. With you."

He pulled them closer again and mashed his lips against his boyfriend's. Grinding their bodies together, he could tell that Connor no longer tried to fight back. In fact, he was moaning between their sloppy kisses.

"What about the Halloween party? We're already late as it is." Connor broke off their kiss, only for his boyfriend to shush him and pull him along towards the bedroom.

"Who cares about a silly party, when we can spend the entire night worshipping my new perfect body..." The hunk grinned mischievously, as he threw his boyfriend onto the bed and slammed the door to the bedroom shut.

The sound of loud groans filled the apartment for the rest of the night, so much so that Connor missed the several calls and messages on his phone left in the living room.

"Hey babe, where u at? The party starting and theyre letting people in. Some creep stole my package this morning before I had a chance to open the door, so I had to go to my pa's place and get something else. You'll find me in my old Batman costume. Call me please 🧡"

[verus-animus]

Finally Home

"Uuuggh.... fuuuck... that's gonna hurt for at least a few hours..." A deep groan escaped from my mouth as I rubbed the pain in the back of my head. Having him fly across the room and slam his head on the hard concrete floor was definitely not in the plan, but at least everything else had been successful.

You see, for years and years I had been lusting over this one handsome hunk that frequented the gym I went to. Damien, as I later managed to find out his name, wasn't just any normal gymgoer. No, he was beyond that and more. The way he easily lifted those weights with his huge biceps, the tension of his massive quads as he ran on the treadmill, and the short breaks he took between each set to give everyone around him a prideful flex show... He was a god among gods... at least in my eyes.

Some might have called me obssessed, but I just found myself mesmerized by everything he did, everything he said, and everything he was. I loved the way his tall muscular body moved, I loved the way his deep accented voice sounded, and I even loved the way his pungent after workout musk smelled (Yes, I might have broken into his locker a few times just to bask in that wonderful scent of his...).

At first I really thought I was just in love with him, but I quickly realized it was something more than that, something more possessive. I didn't want to be with him. No, I wanted to be him. I wanted... no yearned to parade around with that wonderfully fit body, to watch myself flex with those massively thick biceps, and to simply own all that he possessed and had worked hard for. The very thoughts would make me quickly chub up and I'd often be forced to release a big load in the gym toilets while imagining running my hands across that chiseled flesh of Damien.

That's why I've spent the last seven months browsing through every book in the library, every website on the net, and every tattered research paper I could get my hands upon to find some way to actually make my desire come true. It took countless sleepless nights and an almost empty bank account, until I finally found what I was looking for. All that was required was the right place, right time, and right person...

I wasn't going to risk anything, so after finding out where he lived, what time he usually went to the gym, and when he would most likely come back home, I immediately put my plan into action. Yes, I broke into his apartment. Yes, I smeared chicken blood all over his living room floor to draw a glyph and lit incense sticks everywhere. And yes, I sat in the middle of it all naked and drenched in chicken blood, while clutching a piece of dry wood with runes carved on it in my hand.

You would think I had gone mad at this point, but you have no idea the dedication and yearning I had felt to actually make this go through. Patiently I sat there and waited for him, minutes and hours went by, but I was just as ready for the moment he would be back.

And when I could finally hear the entrance door to his apartment unlock, and saw the shocked expression on his handsome face as he found a complete stranger sitting in the middle of his living room floor, I immediately brought the unusual dry wood high up in the air and split it into two. Almost instantaneous an intense burning pain washed all over me, followed by the horrific sight of my physical body being engulfed in sweltering purple fire. A pile of ashes and flesh pieces was all that was left, as I now found myself hovering above the glyph in some sort of hazy non-physical state.

Not letting the opportunity pass me by, I immediately focused my form towards Damien's body and flung myself against him. A look of absolute terror was plastered on his face, as the words "Oh fuck" left his mouth. A wide gaping mouth that turned out to be the perfect entrance for me to slam myself straight into. The very force of my invasion however caused him to suddenly be flung backwards and across the living room.

I was rapidly forcing myself down into his gagging throat, and quickly filling him up with all of my essence. I could feel him starting to fight back, but I had no intention of giving him that chance. Immediately I pushed down even deeper and found his core. It was warm, livid, and pulsating... and I wasted no time completely enveloping it and absorbing it into myself. I could feel all his memories, dreams, and desires wash over me. If I wanted to become Damien, I had to go all the way.

One the outside, Damien's face was red and exhausted, as his expressions went from ones of pain and anguish to pleasure and joy. For a few brief minutes he closed his eyes and just laid there on the floor in eerie tranquil.

Until they finally opened again with me in complete control.

I tried to push myself back up, only to fall back down on the floor with a heavy thud. As much power and strength that flowed through my new bigger body now, I found myself beyond exhausted. Not only that, but my broad muscular back was now drenched in sweat, as were my armpits with my new wonderfully pungent musk.

Accepting that I wasn't getting up from this floor anytime soon, especially with this pounding headache in the back of my head, I decided to enjoy my new self right there and then. With one rugged hand shoved deep down in my gym shorts and squeezing my new engorged manhood, the other massive arm was busily being kissed, flexed, and having its wet armpit being worshipped.

Basking in my new perfect body and identity, I spent the rest of the evening filling the apartment with groans of my deep accented voice, and my stomach with pounds after pounds of my sticky white Damien cream...

I was finally who and where I had always meant to be, with the perfect body, life, and identity.

Finally I was home.

[verus-animus]

Uncle Theodore's Shades

I have always been utterly obsessed with my Uncle Theodore's body and life. Every time he would come over and visit us in the big city for a family dinner I would find myself bizarrely focused on the way he talked with his deep sexy voice, the sprouting chest hair that poked out through his tight shirt, and the compressed big bulge that was obviously hiding something massive inside.

Every year he would tell us just how much he loved living the life of a bachelor out by the farms, and every year he would come back looking even buffer, hairier and sexier. And sometimes he would tell tales of all the amazing busty women he seduced and fucked in the barn, and how he reveled in the hard sweaty work of maintaining the farm by himself.

And every time he left, I would feel this pang of jealousy over not having what he had and feeling what he felt. Many nights after I would jerk myself off to sleep with the thought of owning every thing that was my Uncle Theodore's; His perfectly hairy body, his sexy mustached face, his deep musky scent, and those thick furry thighs.

And then imagining myself living that free and easy-going life of his; working myself hard and sweaty every morning, and bringing cute twinks and furry hunks over every night to fuck senseless back in the barnyard...

So when I finally found that magical spell that taught me how to infuse my soul into other objects, I spent no time learning how to infuse myself into a pair of cool shades that I knew my uncle would love to wear. And then, the next time he came over I quietly sneaked into his bedroom and left the shades on his tabletop before infusing my entire being into the inanimate object.

It did not take long for him to return to the bedroom and think of me as a present from his favourite nephew, before strapping them on. The second he did I immediately rushed into that beautiful head of his and took over control over his amazing body. The feeling of running my rugged hands over that furry muscular dilf body of my uncle was just incredible that I ended up spending the entire night masturbating in his bed and drowning myself in his delightful musk.

Now, I don't actually have to wear these shades anymore. You see, after having spent an entire week back at my Uncle Theodore's farm, living his perfect life and worshipping his incredible hairy body, I quickly realized I never wanted to go back. Why would I? I had everything I ever wanted right here.

So, that evening I spent the entire night painfully writhing and jerking around in bed, as I migrated from the shades and irrevocably infused my entire being with my uncle's soul. By the time I woke up in the morning in his sweaty, exhausted, and beyond horny body, I fully felt like I had always been Uncle Theodore. His memories, his mind, his soul were all completely mine.

I was Theodore Jackson Reid, and this was now my perfect body and life!

[verus-animus]

Not His Brother Anymore

"What do you think, lil' bro? Don't I just have the most beautiful juicy ass you've ever laid your eyes upon? I can't wait to let all the guys squeeze their faces into it and eat it out. I bet you'd hate to see that, wouldn't you?"

Jake was in total despair as he watched his older brother Caleb parade his muscular body around like a plaything. He wanted to believe this was all a horrible nightmare, but it had already been a few days now since his brother came back from the hospital as a completely changed man...

Jake had always been notorious for being a bully. He loved to harass those weaker than him, and mess with those he didn't like. One of them being Viktor, a classmate of his. Not only was Viktor small, scrawny, and had a weird accent, but there was also the rumors of him being a queer. So Jake had made it his mission to put Viktor in his place every chance possible, to show him exactly where his place in the society was. Every lunch break you'd find poor Viktor either stuck inside a dumpster, or by the nurse's office treating a bruise or a nosebleed.

Unfortunately for meek and pale Viktor, his teachers and parents didn't seem to care much about him. And whenever he brought friends to try and stand up to his bully, they'd all be scared off by Jake's huge and powerful brother who always seemed to be around the corner. It made sense now that Caleb was the one teaching and training his younger brother Jake into becoming a bully just like he had been back then.

Viktor clearly remembered the last time he had interacted with both brothers. As he had peeked out of the dumpster and watched the air-tight brotherhood of Jake and Caleb walking down the alleyway, laughing, joking, and talking about who their next victim would be. Viktor could only wish he'd have that kind of bond with anyone...

That's when that fateful accident happened.

Viktor was on his way to school one morning, walking as usual with his head down as he crossed a crosswalk, and being completely unaware of the speeding car coming his way that was obviously playing too loud of rock music. Neither Viktor or the driver had time to react as the car swerved, flipped over, and crashed into a nearby building.

Jake had been wondering the entire day where the other small boy had been, when he finally got a call from his parents that his older brother had been in an accident. Mostly angry over his brother's recklessness, Jake made his way over to the hospital while confident that his strong and durable brother would be fine.

What greeted him at the hospital was nothing he'd expected however, as he found his older brother with a thick bandage wrapped around his head while wondrously checking his own hands and legs. When Jake walked up to Caleb to hug him, his brother would suddenly pulled away, shielded his head, and apologized. Something Jake immediately caught on to was very familiar...

Eventually Jake's parents took him aside and told him the dreadful truth. That his older brother had been found brain dead at the scene of the accident, and that his parents had agreed on saving the other boy by transferring his still functional brain into their older son's body.

Jake's entire world was shattered at that moment, but even more so when they told him of the other boy's name: Viktor.

"Fuuuck, your brother's ass is amazing! I mean, my ass is amazing! And so is this entire body! I can't thank your brother enough for gifting me such an amazing body to live in."

All the strength in Jake's body drained as he watched on as Viktor twerked and dislayed his brother's muscular body in all sorts of lewd ways. He still couldn't believe that of all the people that could have ended up in Caleb's straight macho body, it had to be the small and weird classmate of his that him and his brother relished in bullying. It was like a sick ironic joke, that the bullied somehow ended up in the body of his bully's idol.

Fortunately for Jake though, Viktor... or Caleb as he would be called from now on, didn't seem to hold any deep grudges against him. Apart from some slight teasing and forcing Jake to stay in the bedroom as he "played" with his new body, the new Caleb was pretty nice and supporting of his now younger brother. He even hugged and let him cry on his shoulder once as he mourned the loss of his real brother... even if Jake did notice that his new brother was preoccupied with sniffing his own armpit the entire time...

"You know what, lil' bro? Maybe I'll get a job at that gay club downtown. I'm sure this thick ass of mine would be sooo popular... And once you're ready, maybe I'll bring you with me one day. I'm sure you'll learn to enjoy this brand new lifestyle of your big bro!"

[verus-animus]

Morning Glory

God, I just love the way Tanner's body feels as I go for a morning run. These furry thick pecs of his that bounces around wildly and the fresh scent of sweat that comes from his armpits. It's honestly so addicting. And that's not even mentioning the after-run shower. There's nothing that beats the feeling of cold water cascading down on this perfect flesh while I play around with its sensitive nipples. I'm always so hard afterwards that I end up masturbating in front of the bathroom mirror and ejaculating all over his sexy reflection.

I'm so glad I convinced my cousin Tanner to let me use the magical body switching talisman with him. He was obviously apprehensive at first, but after I convinced him of all the fun of being a college kid again he quickly accepted it. And just like that we were looking at each other from new sets of eyes.

Tanner's probably having the time of his life at campus right now, while I decided to use his hard-earned vacation days to get a few weeks off. Just to get to know and fully appreciate this fantastic body of his.

Now, my cousin's expected to return at the end of the term so that we'll switch back... but I have some very bad news for him. You see, a few days ago I accidentally dropped the talisman on the floor and stepped on it, crushing the fine gem in the middle of it into a million shards...

I'll have to explain to him that we're stuck in these new bodies forever, and I'm sure he won't be as happy about it. But there's nothing he and I can do about it. He'll just have to accept that he's the younger college cousin now, and I'm cousin Tanner, with the perfectly furry chest and sexy fit body.

God, I'm so hard already... maybe I'll just skip the shower today and go straight for the masturbation. Hopefully the musk of my sweaty armpit won't make me blow too hard...