Burner Account @fullfriendnerdclutch - Tumblr Blog

What will I do this weekend? Scouring the internet or any local theatres that will play this movie

Premise: Two gay guys in mid-sized conservative township in rural Australia went through some sort of reverse exorcism/conversion therapy practice where a shapeshifting demonic entity can take the form of the person they desired the most to then...practically.....hunt them down.

This is produced by the same producer (Samantha Jennings) and production house (Causeway Films) with Talk to Me, the Australian possession horror released in 2022 also starring Joe Bird in the key supporting role. The director (Adrian Chiarella, this is his full movie directorial debut!) says that he's inspired by It Follows, probably one of the best shapeshifting horror of the 2010's for me so I'm really hyped for this. Here's some still from the movie

fullfriendnerdclutch

An 8/10 for me. I still enjoyed Obsession and Backrooms more for Western horror this year. I feel like the resolution is quite rushed even though it seems like it's a temporary resolution anyway which hopefully leads to a sequel (no, I'm not interested for a prequel), but I enjoyed the cinematography, the story and the chemistry between Naim and Ryan. The actor portraying Naim (Joe Bird) sort of resembled Asa Butterfield in terms of acting awkward and I think he'll excel well in comedy or rom-com with longing character. The actor portraying Ryan (Stacy Clausen) will portray any antagonist well because he has that intense brooding look

#male shapeshift #demon shapeshift #gay yearning final boss

•18+ Adults Only

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I put an old draft of mine and tell AI to sharpen it. This is how it looks like

The Hidden Trésor

"What a gorgeous launch night, Pascal. You really did it again,"

"Heh, what can I say? I'm really good at my shit," remarked Pascal as he put the cigar between his lips and flashes his gorgeous smile

---

Soufiane Cabella sat across from the massive oak desk in the penthouse office of Trésor Paris headquarters, his palms sweating against the wool of his suit. At thirty-four, he had spent the last twelve years clawing his way up the marketing ladder at smaller firms before landing the big gig at the multinational FMCG company based across the straits. With an ailing mother in need of constant care, he returned home but she still passed away regardless. Now, trying to get back on his feet with a steady career on the very top of the industry, he moved through series of interviews with an up-and-coming market disruptor named Trésor armed with an impressive CV that included an MBA from INSEAD, two Cannes Lions for digital campaign and well-known brands under his helm. His CV, flawless. His physique? Not so much

Monsieur Jean-Luc Moreau, CEO and majority shareholder of Trésor, a very fit and dazzling man in his early 50s, leaned back in his leather chair, steepled his manicured fingers, and studied Soufiane with the cold appraisal of a man who sold beauty for a living.

“Three finalists,” Moreau said in crisp, accented English. “All brilliant on paper. All… unfortunate in person. If French employment law still permitted photographs on a CV, Monsieur Cabella, yours would have gone straight into the shredder. Receding hairline. Weak chin. Skin that looks like it lost a fight with a cheese grater. Shoulders like a coat hanger. You are, objectively, ugly.”

Soufiane flinched but did not look away. He had heard worse in the mirror every morning.

“However,” Moreau continued, tapping a gold pen against the desk, “you are also the smartest of the three uglies. Your rebranding proposal for our flagship line, Lumina, was the only one that actually understood the data beyond what can be seen. So I am prepared to offer you the position of Marketing Manager—two hundred and forty thousand euros base, plus bonuses, car, apartment in the 16th. And one additional perk that is not on any contract.”

He pressed a hidden button beneath the desk. A section of the walnut paneling slid aside with a whisper, revealing a sleek monitor. On it, a 3D render rotated: a godlike man, dark wavy hair, shoulders like carved marble, abs so deep they cast shadows, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The image looked photoshopped into hyper-reality.

“Our Lumina line needs more than spreadsheets. It needs a face that makes men want to become him and women want to ruin him,"

Soufiane stared, throat dry. Moreau smiled.

“Our R&D has perfected what we called as the Adonis Chamber. Proprietary. Illegal in 17 countries, and not even including the EU. Hidden in a secure wing of our Versailles facility. No knives. No needles. One relaxant pill. You step inside. Thirty three minutes later you step out… no longer ugly. Looking as good as this,"

Moreau tapped the screen. The model flexed, and every muscle popped in perfect definition. Soufiane's heart hammered. The offer sounded insane, a bit unrealistic even, but this old man in front of him seems deadly serious. So, with a gulp, he asked

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. The procedure is permanent, painless, and covered by the company. You sign an NDA thicker than the Bible, and you never speak of how it happened. Ever. For all you know, you are Pascal Menard. You always look like this and you will have all the new details built around you if you agree,"

Soufiane swallowed hard. The entire life be built, vanished as it is? All the friends. All the accolades. But then, a realization hit him. An only child with no more direct relatives. It's been an 18 months career break and 5 years since he ever worked at a company in France. Practically no one really knows him. So, staring at Monsieur Moreau's extended hand, he shook it, firmly, which Monsieur Moreau replied with a rather malicious grin.

---

Two hours later they stood in a sterile white corridor beneath the R&D complex. The corridor was sterile white, silent except for the soft hum of hidden machinery. A final biometric door opened into a circular chamber lit by soft golden LEDs. In the centre stood the Adonis Chamber itself: a seven-foot-tall cylinder of polished titanium and smoked glass, its surface etched with microscopic fractal patterns that caught the light like liquid diamond. A single padded platform inside, armrests, and a curved ceiling panel that would bathe the occupant in sequenced photonic waves.

A female technician in a white lab coat handed Soufiane a small cobalt-blue pill and a glass of chilled water. “Sublingual relaxant. You will remain conscious, euphoric, and fully aware of every sensation. No pain. Only pleasure.”

Soufiane stripped. He hesitated at his boxers, then slid them off too. His average body—soft chest, pale skin, unremarkable cock—felt suddenly obscene under the clinical lights. He stepped naked into the chamber. The door sealed with a velvet hiss. The pill dissolved on his tongue; warmth flooded his veins like liquid sunlight. His muscles loosened, his mind floated in a golden haze.

“Beginning sequence,” a soft feminine voice announced from hidden speakers.

The first sensation was heat—pleasant, like sunlight on skin. Then the tingling began.

It started at his scalp.

His thinning brown hair prickled. He could feel follicles waking up, multiplying. Strands thickened, darkened to a rich espresso black, then lengthened in glossy waves that fell across his forehead in perfect, effortless curls. He reached up with trembling fingers and felt the texture change from brittle to silk. The waves grew heavier, shinier, framing a face that was already beginning to shift.

His forehead smoothed. The slight widow’s peak marched backward as new hair filled in, dense and healthy. His eyebrows thickened into bold, masculine arches. Eyelashes lengthened, darkening. Then the bones themselves moved—slow, painless reshaping. His jawline crackled softly as it squared, the angle becoming sharp and aristocratic. Cheekbones rose, creating dramatic hollows beneath them. His nose straightened, the bridge refining into a perfect Roman line. Lips plumped, the upper one gaining a sensual cupid’s bow. His chin strengthened, cleft appearing like a sculptor’s final touch.

Soufiane gasped as his reflection appeared on the inside of the pod door—mirrored surface he hadn’t noticed before. The face staring back was no longer his. It was the man from the 3D render. Striking. Magnetic. Dangerous.

“Oh my God…”

The warmth sank lower.

His neck thickened, cords of muscle rising like steel cables. Shoulders broadened with audible pops—deltoids inflating, trapezius rising into thick ridges. His chest expanded outward, pectorals swelling into heavy, striated slabs. Nipples tightened as the muscle pushed them forward. He cupped them instinctively and moaned at the new weight, the new sensitivity. His fingers traced the deepening cleft between pecs that now cast their own shadows.

Lower still.

His abdomen tightened. The soft layer of fat that were there alread melted away as if it had never existed. One by one, abdominal muscles carved themselves into existence—first a four-pack, then six, then a deep, symmetrical eight-pack framed by razor-sharp obliques. He ran his palms over them, feeling the skin stretch tight over ridges that felt like warm marble. Each ridge was separated by deep cuts; when he flexed, they popped into even sharper relief.

His arms were next.

Biceps ballooned, peaks rising higher than he had ever seen on any man in real life. Triceps formed horseshoe shapes that flexed involuntarily. Forearms thickened with corded veins that snaked down to strong wrists. His hands grew larger, fingers longer, veins prominent across the backs. He made a fist and watched the entire forearm explode with definition.

The chamber’s light intensified. A gentle vibration hummed through the floor, massaging every new muscle.

His back widened further—latissimus dorsi flaring out into a dramatic V-taper. He twisted, watching in the mirror as the muscles rippled like ocean waves. The lower back developed two thick columns of erector spinae that framed a waist now impossibly narrow—thirty inches at most—while his chest measured at least fifty.

Legs.

Quads surged outward, tearing the seams of his cheap boxer briefs. Vastus lateralis and medialis carved teardrop shapes above his knees. Hamstrings tightened into hamstrings of steel. Calves ballooned into diamond shapes. His feet grew half a size, arches high and strong.

Height.

The pod adjusted automatically as Soufiane felt himself stretch upward. Vertebrae lengthened. He went from five-ten to six-one, six-two, finally stopping at six-three. The proportions were perfect—long, powerful legs, sweeping shoulders, everything in golden ratio.

And then the final touches.

Skin tone evened, taking on a permanent sun-kissed bronze that glowed from within. Every scar, every pimple mark, every freckle vanished. Pores shrank to nothing. A light dusting of dark hair appeared on his chest in a perfect treasure trail, then on his forearms and legs—masculine but not excessive. His pubic hair trimmed itself into a neat, sexy shape.

His cock—already half-hard from the sheer pleasure of transformation—throbbed and lengthened. Six inches became seven, thick and upward-curving, veins pulsing. Balls grew heavier, hanging lower. The entire package strained against what remained of his underwear until the fabric gave way with a soft rip.

Soufiane was panting now, completely naked, a god made flesh.

The voice returned. “Sequence complete. Physical optimization: 100%. Cognitive enhancement: minor neural pruning for confidence and charisma. Enjoy your new self, Monsieur Cabella,"

The door opened.

He stepped out on legs that felt both powerful and light. The air in the room felt different against his new skin—cool, electric. A full-length mirror waited on the opposite wall, flanked by the exact outfits from the reference photos.

Soufiane walked forward, hips rolling with natural athletic grace he had never possessed.

He stopped in front of the mirror.

The man looking back was the one from every render—combined, perfected.

Dark, wavy hair still slightly damp from the chamber’s humidity, falling in perfect tousled waves. Face: jaw like cut diamond, cheekbones that could slice glass, eyes so dark they looked black, framed by thick lashes. Lips full and kissable. Neck thick and powerful.

Shoulders impossibly broad. Chest so thick and striated that even at rest the pecs cast shadows on the abs below. Eight deep abdominal blocks, each one twitching when he breathed. Arms—Jesus, the arms. He raised them into the double biceps pose from the first photo. Peaks rose like mountains, veins popping across every surface. The triceps hung heavy and horseshoe-shaped.

He turned sideways. The back was a masterpiece—Christmas tree of muscle tapering to that narrow waist. Glutes like two carved spheres. Legs that could squat a small car.

Soufiane reached out and touched the mirror, then touched himself.

First his face—tracing the new jawline with fingertips, feeling the smooth, stubble-shadowed skin. He ran hands through his hair, thick and silky, and moaned at the sensation.

Then lower.

Palms slid over pecs, thumbs brushing sensitive nipples. Electricity shot straight to his cock, now fully erect and leaking. He squeezed the heavy muscle, feeling its density, its warmth. Fingers traced every cut of the abs, dipping into the deep valleys, sliding along the V-lines that pointed like arrows to his groin.

He cupped his new balls—full, heavy, churning. Stroked the thick shaft, marvelling at the girth, the way veins pulsed under his grip. Pre-cum oozed in a steady stream.

Unable to resist, Soufiane turned to the side again, watching his profile in the mirror—perfect bubble butt, sweeping back muscles, the dramatic taper. He flexed his glutes, watched them harden into stone.

Then he dropped into a most muscular pose—crab style—neck thick, traps rising to his ears, chest exploding forward, arms locked. Every muscle on his body stood out in sharp, vascular relief. He held it, breathing hard, cock slapping against his abs with each heartbeat.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

He wrapped both hands around his cock and began to stroke—slow at first, then faster. One hand explored his chest, pinching a nipple, while the other pumped. He watched himself in the mirror the entire time: the godlike body writhing in ecstasy, waves of hair falling into his eyes, jaw clenched in pleasure.

“Fuck… I’m beautiful,” he growled, voice now deeper, richer, commanding.

The orgasm hit like a freight train.

Thick ropes of cum shot across the mirror—once, twice, three times—splattering the glass. His abs contracted so hard they looked carved from marble. Legs shook. Chest heaved.

When it finally subsided, he stood there, panting, cum dripping down the mirror, and smiled.

The smile was devastating.

Moreau’s voice came over the intercom, warm with satisfaction. “Welcome to Trésor, Pascal. The clothes on your left should fit perfectly now. The car is waiting. Your first board meeting is tomorrow at ten. Surprise us with your charm and wit,”

Soufiane/Pascal laughed—a rich, confident sound—and walked to the clothing rack.

He chose the white dress shirt and black bow tie. The shirt slid over his new shoulders like it had been tailored by angels. Buttons strained slightly over his chest but held. The bow tie sat perfectly against the thick column of his neck. Black trousers hugged his powerful thighs and ass like a second skin. He left the jacket off, holding it in his hand to avoid feeling stuffy and restricted.

One last look in the mirror.

The man staring back was no longer Soufiane Cabella, the ugly but clever marketing drone. He was Pascal Menard, marketing wiz, coming from long line of knights and nobles he doesn't even need this job, he's just doing it for the fun of it.

He flexed one bicep casually, watching the peak rise, then ran a hand through his perfect waves.

“Time to go sell some beauty cream,” he murmured, lips curving into a predatory smile.

As he stepped into the elevator, the old Soufiane, the one with the weak chin and the defeated eyes—was already a distant memory. He's never going back to that discreet R&D wing ever again. As a matter of fact, what discreet R&D wing??

#male shapeshift #male transformation #male tf #male muscle growth #trésor

fullfriendchatroom

Surrealestate S3E1

A great scene, and it doesn't hurt that the character looks damn fine. So, in this scene, a businessman on his annual leave named Tyler McNeil got possessed by a spirit/demon locked inside this metal box that accidentally picked by his fishing hook. He's the main antagonist of the season

fullfriendnerdclutch

Will drop more snippet of Tyler in the side account. The show's quite generous to explore his exploits. Gosh, totally geeking over this character. Here's some pics of the actor (his name is R. Austin Ball)

#male possession #male takeover #surrealestate series #reblog

theshift-deactivated20250610

The Opportunity

I was on lunch, scrolling mindlessly when an anonymous profile hit me up with:

"Sup, Pics?"

I rolled my eyes immediately. My face pic was right there, but here we go again — another faceless coward.

I was about to exit the chat when suddenly a picture popped up.

Damn. I wasn’t expecting that.

I had to reply.

"Hey man, what's up?"

He shot back quick:

"Just landed for vacation. Looking just to fuck. No exceptions."

Before I could answer, I caught my manager waving me over from the corner of my eye.

"Sorry Mark, but I’m going to need you back — we’re slammed with check-ins."

"No problem," I said, pocketing my phone and heading back toward the lobby station.

Working at the Celestial Crown Grand Hotel was always chaos — high-end guests flying into the island from everywhere. Our slogan was, "A hotel experience that will change you for a lifetime," and honestly, between the bizarre guests and ghost stories, it was a running joke that this place really was cursed.

The founder, a fierce woman respected across the island, had built the hotel herself... only to be murdered by her business associate years ago. The story went that she fought back, but was ultimately overpowered. Now, guests and employees alike whispered about a woman roaming the halls, guarding the place even after death.

+++

Back at the check-in booth, I spotted a man from one of the wedding parties — a tall, arrogant guy who already had a reputation. My coworkers had warned me about him — said he'd screamed at staff during the reception. He swaggered up to my desk, all attitude and no manners.

"Hey. Richard. I'm checking out," he said, voice flat, eyes lingering a second too long.

Typing into the system, I asked politely, "Everything alright with your stay, Richard?"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah. Uh... Nate was helping me out. Said he was quitting though. Before he left, he mentioned you." He slid a folded note toward me. "Can you give this to him if you see him?"

Weird. Nate hadn't mentioned anything about quitting.

"Oh, man. Nate was great. I'll pass it along," I said, pocketing the note.

Richard smiled strangely.

“Don’t read it until after the weekend,” he said, handing me the note. “I heard it’s your last few days here.”

I nodded slowly, a little thrown off by how he knew that. Before I could ask, he flashed a quick wink.

“Good boy.”

I blinked at him, stunned. Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and left.

+++

Pushing past the weirdness, I got ready for my assignment: attending to a bachelor party. Basically babysitting a group of drunk groomsmen all weekend — easy money if I played it right.

At dinner, I spotted the group immediately — loud, cocky energy radiating off them from across the restaurant. As I approached their table:

"Good evening, everyone. I'm Mark. I’ll be taking care of y’all for your stay. What can I get started for you?"

Before anyone could answer, one guy — drunk on attention — leaned back in his chair and shouted:

"C'mon! Couldn't we get a hot chick instead of this lame dude?"

Laughter at the table. Then another voice trying to cover,

"Cool it, Brice. You're being a dick."

Brice. And worse — it was the same guy who messaged me earlier on the app.

Brice grinned wickedly, not the least bit ashamed.

"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking."

"Yeah no, I can’t swap out," I replied tightly. "But I'll get those drinks started."

Another groomsman leaned over quickly.

"No issues, man. Drinks sound great."

I exhaled and headed to the bar, simmering. Brice wasn’t just rude — he thrived on trying to humiliate people. You could feel it in the way he smirked, like he was daring you to react.

+++

The night wore on, the drinks flowed, and Brice only got worse —

He poured tequila shots down the woman's throat in his section at the club.

Made gross jokes every time a female server passed.

Tried (and failed) to land a kiss with a woman in their section — getting publicly rejected, much to everyone’s secondhand embarrassment.

By midnight, the bachelor party's leader pulled me aside, practically begging:

“Hey man, could you walk Brice to his room? He's way past his limit." He handed me $200 in cash.

I sighed but pocketed the money. "Alright. I got it."

Outside the club, Brice was already slumped against the wall.

"Oh look," he slurred, "my little escort."

The walk through the lobby was painful — Brice muttering under his breath, swaying side to side.

At the elevator, I pressed the button. The silence buzzed between us until the doors opened.

Inside, he leaned against the side rail and sneered:

"You know, I'll never be like you. Don’t think just 'cause we're going upstairs, I'm gonna do things. You fucking wish."

I rolled my eyes.

"Who the hell would want a closeted, bitter asshole like you anyway?"

That was it. The elevator lights flickered. The air shifted.

Brice lunged, shoving me hard against the elevator wall.

"You think you're hot shit, huh?!" he growled, breath hot and sour in my face. "Talk like that where I'm from, you'd get fucked up."

Fury boiled up in me. I shoved him back — but the second I made contact, it was like my hands passed through him. The world tilted — and everything went dark.

I woke up to find myself still in the elevator — but something was wrong. My body felt off. Heavy. Wrong proportions.

I stumbled to the mirror by the elevator buttons — and froze.

I was in Brice’s body.

"Holy shit," I breathed.

The elevator dinged. A woman in a crimson dress stepped inside — elegant, ethereal, unnervingly calm.

Without looking at me, she said:

"I got you out of harm's way, Mark. I protect my employees."

I stared straight ahead, heart pounding. She slipped something into my suit pocket.

"You dropped your note," she said sweetly. "For safekeeping."

As the elevator reached the 12th floor, she smiled — a soft, knowing smile.

"Here’s your stop. Enjoy your stay."

The doors slid open.

+++

Room 12D — I flipped the keycard in my hand, staring at the number again. My vision blurred slightly, the mix of adrenaline and Brice’s alcohol-soaked bloodstream making it hard to focus.

I stumbled down the hall, pulse pounding in my ears, until I finally spotted the gold-plated numbers on the door. I scanned the card and rushed in, slamming the door behind me.

“Hello?” I called out, breath shaky.

Silence.

The suite was empty — a sprawling, high-end palace with velvet furniture and a view of the ocean. No one here. I exhaled, relieved.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the bed. The room spun violently. I felt like I was barely tethered to reality — my head foggy, the sensations all wrong. I could feel Brice’s body, but my thoughts were still mine.

What the hell just happened? What if I’m stuck?

I sat up slowly, then tried every absurd thing I could think of — shaking Brice’s arms, clenching the fists, even yelling for the ghost lady. Nothing worked.

“Alright, Mark. Just… breathe.” I whispered, hearing Brice’s voice come out of my mouth.

I laid back again, trying to center myself. I thought about myself — my body, the way I would move, sit, breathe. I imagined it laying exactly here, in this same position.

Then… I pictured my own chest rising.

To my shock, my body’s upper half sat up — disconnected from Brice’s torso, almost like peeling away from static cling. My reflection in the mirror shifted too — I was back. My spirit self hovering, while Brice’s body still lay below.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

Behind me, Brice groaned. His eyes fluttered open, squinting through the haze.

“Ugh… what the f—” He rubbed his eyes, then froze. “Why do I feel like I got hit by a fuckining bus?”

He looked around, then looked through me — and I watched the realization crawl across his face like a slow infection.

“What the hell is this? Why are you… hovering over me like that?” He jolted up, tried to push me — but his hands went right through my spiritual form.

“Get off me, faggot. What is this freaky shit?!”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to figure that out, dumbass?” I snapped.

He blinked hard, as if trying to rewrite the rules of what he was seeing.

“Wait... are you—” he hesitated, voice cracking, “inside me right now?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” I said dryly.

“No, no. This is— this is some trip. You drugged me. This is a hallucination,” he barked, stumbling away.

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Try moving your foot.”

He looked down, focused… but nothing happened.

His breathing quickened.

“Now watch this.” I said.

With a flick of intention, I lifted Brice’s legs, made them swing off the edge of the bed. Easy.

His face drained of color.

“What the f— STOP THAT!” he shouted. “This is my body! If you’re already halfway out then finish it bro”

I paused… and just for a moment, let the silence hang between us.

Watching him flail, helpless, eyes full of panic… It stirred something unexpected in me — a decision I was making.

I could feel Brice’s dick start to twitch below me as it was interpreting my own thoughts.

I turned my head over to look at Brice as I felt a smirk spread across my face.

“Bro, why are you looking at me like that? Get your ass moving and we can be done” Brice shouted.

Turning my head back forward I decided to take control of Brice’s right hand slipping it on like a glove and moving his arm around.

“AYE WHAT THE FUCK STOP” Brice screamed.

I was silent. I reached over and started to unbuckle Brices' belt. I felt his left arm try to stop me but I quickly took control of that too.

“I’m gonna kill you motherfucker what are you fucking doing.” he growled

I was able to take off Brice’s shirt and fully unzip his pants as I pulled down his underwear. Brice’s dick begging to be touched as I could feel it throb.

I started to stroke his girthy uncut cock as I felt his rough hands move up and down. Each stroke intensified my grip as I felt a build up coming before I suddenly stopped. I continued to edge Brice for minutes after as I heard him scream out profanities at me. It was just background noise at that point as I was completely fixated on wanting to see how long his body could delay the pleasure I was giving him.

I felt one last stroke before the pleasure got the best of me. I turned over to Brice as I could see the rage on his face turn him fully red.

“Catch you later, Brice.” I said at last as I allowed my chest and head to fully plunge inside of him.

The room suddenly went black until I started to see out again to see Brice’s right hand over his cock stroking rapidly.

“Ohhh fuuuuuck man.” I moan with Brice’s stolen lips as I release loads all over Brice’s hairy chest.

+++

I sat up slowly, feeling the weight of the room settle into place. The pounding headache was still there, faint now — more like an echo of someone else’s hangover.

I looked down at my hands.

Not mine.

But they were now.

I stood up, the cool air from the AC brushing across my skin. My muscles moved differently — heavier, more defined, a natural stride I wasn’t used to. I made my way to the bathroom.

Inside, I turned on the shower and stepped into the steam without hesitation. The water hit my shoulders, then ran down the rest of him — no, me. The tension began to loosen, and I breathed in deep.

There was no panic anymore. No voice arguing back. Just silence.

Brice was gone. Or buried. Or erased.

I dried off calmly, methodically, then opened the wardrobe.

His suit from earlier was crumpled in a heap, still faintly smelling of sweat and ego. I straightened the collar, dusted it off, and slipped it on. I rolled the sleeves slightly, adjusted the cuffs. The fabric hugged my frame like it was made for this new version of me.

I ran a comb through his hair — slicked, sharp, the kind of look that said “I don’t have to try, but I do anyway.”

In the mirror, “Brice” stared back.

But behind his smirk... was me.

+++

I had just tightened the last button when the hotel door burst open with a bang and a flood of groomsmen stumbled in like frat boys on autopilot.

“Brice! There he is!” “Man, you disappeared — we thought you died or got laid!” “Guess he’s alive after all!”

They surrounded me quickly, all drunk eyes and booming voices. Someone shoved a bottle of Patrón in my hand.

“Take a shot with us, man! One more for the night!”

I grinned — wide, cocky, exactly how they’d expect.

“One? I’ll take two,” I said, and without hesitation, threw one back with a theatrical wince.

The room erupted.

“THAT’S the Brice we know!” “Let’s fucking gooo!”

I leaned back, let the noise flood over me. It was almost… easy. The bravado. The role. The way they accepted me now.

Then one of them piped up between shots.

“Yo, what ever happened to that hotel guy? The server dude… Mark, right?” “Yeah! You good? You didn’t like… fight or anything, right?”

I paused, just for a beat — then smirked.

“Mark? Nah. He was cool. Helped me out. Real professional.” I gave a little wink.

“Exceptional service.”

The guys howled again, a mix of laughter and jeering.

I chuckled with them, the noise ringing in my ears like a song I hadn’t realized I knew all the words to.

As they chanted for another round, I raised the bottle again and thought:

I could get used to this.

+++

Two weeks had passed since the bachelor party, and I hadn’t looked back.

Mornings started with black coffee, weighted pull-ups, and a perfectly curated playlist of trap and house beats. The gym was my temple now — and Brice’s body had become mine to sculpt, sharpen, and enjoy.

Today was no different.

I caught my reflection between sets: chest pumping, skin slick with sweat, veins lightly raised across my forearms. I liked what I saw. Hell, I loved it.

I snapped a mirror selfie — low angle, sharp jawline, confident eyes, the gym’s harsh fluorescent lights tracing every line on my now-chiseled face. It was the kind of photo Brice would’ve taken, but this time it wasn’t for clout — it was for Richard.

Or rather… Nate.

That part still made my head spin a little. It had taken me a few days after the trip to open the note Richard — or Nate posing as Richard — had handed me back at the hotel. At first, I’d tucked it away like it might bite me. But one quiet night, alone in Brice’s loft, I finally unfolded it.

Richard hadn’t just been some cocky guest with money. He’d cornered Nate during the wedding reception — made him feel small, powerless, and worse. But something had intervened. The founder. The ghost we all joked about. She gave Nate the push — or maybe the permission — to take back control in the most permanent way.

Now Nate lived as Richard. And he wasn’t looking back.

Brice:

Your boy’s keeping it tight. You’d be proud.

A few seconds later, a reply came in.

Richard:

Damn look at you. Brice would’ve never done leg day in his life.

I smiled. It still tripped me out sometimes — how natural this had become.

Brice:

Not gonna lie. I get why he acted the way he did. This body was built for attention. But now it’s in better hands.

Three dots pulsed. Then—

Richard:

Same here. Richard’s? Fucking unreal.

I laughed, genuinely.

I leaned back against the bench press, the iron still warm beneath me. The weirdest part wasn’t that we’d swapped bodies with the help of some haunted hotel energy — it was how right it felt now. Like we’d both shed old skin.

Richard:

I was thinking of flying in next week. You good if I crash with you? Want to see my bro in action. 👀

Brice:

You sure you just wanna “crash,” Richard? Or are you trying to get into something?

Richard:

You’re lucky I’m 1,200 miles away or I’d make that smirk disappear.

Brice:

You coming to visit or to misbehave then?

Richard:

Ideally both.

Brice:

Done. I’ll pick you up from the airport.

Richard:

Can’t wait to see that new body in motion.

Brice:

Best believe you’ll feel all my motions. 😈

I grinned and locked the phone.

One last look in the mirror — a tilt of the head, a slow flex of the arm.

This wasn’t a borrowed life anymore.

This was mine.

+++

Would you give Brice his body back?

I'd enjoy it for awhile

Hell no its mine for life

Voting ended onMay 7, 2025

#reblog #male possession #rags to riches #identity theft

mrcavanaughtf

Putting The Pen Down

I posted my first transformation story caption on Tumblr on June 29 2013 and in doing so, started off a crazy rollercoaster ride that will soon be coming to an end.

In that decade-plus I’ve released over one-thousand stories across my Tumblr and my Patreon, many of which I’m incredibly proud of (and a few I admittedly shudder to think about). Truth be told though, somewhere in the last five years, I lost my passion for writing transformation stories and it became a constant battle against writer’s block and the expectations I had built up for myself in my own head. This came in tandem with entering my thirties, taking on more responsibilities at my day job, and engaging in new hobbies that demanded significant chunks of my time.

While I’ve wanted to keep pushing forward and continue releasing stories, I think it’s time I do the sensible thing and admit that - for now, at least - attempting to push the boulder back up the hill is a fruitless task. Sisyphus, I am not.

In the name of transparency, the financial support I’ve received through Patreon has been a big reason I’ve tried to continue my writing career even while running on empty. It’s no secret that we live in tough times and keeping the lights on and a roof over one’s head isn’t exactly the cheapest thing to do. If it wasn’t for my patrons, I would have definitely ended up in a sticky spot or two (or ten) by now, so for that I must say a massive thank you. Your support has definitely not been taken for granted and I’m incredibly grateful.

Truthfully, It was never my intention to slow down and eventually stop releasing stories on Tumblr and only focus my attention on Patreon, but when pressure built up, it only made sense to focus attention on the people who were legitimately helping me keep the fridge stocked.

Starting from now, the Patreon will shift from a platform for releasing new stories to a standstill archive collecting all my past works. As such, I’m going to be lowering the price of admission from $5 / $10 / $15 tiers down to $3 / $5 / $8, which should allow people to join and access my stories while also still providing me some financial support for what has been (forgive the dramatics) my life’s work up to this point.

There will still be some stories released on Patreon throughout the rest of 2026, as I have a number of outstanding commissions and requests to work through, and when these are finished they will all be released exclusively on the $8 tier. I am also not ruling out the possibility of producing photo captions if and when the urge strikes, which will be released through the Discord server that all patrons gain access to upon signing up.

I’d like to shout out some of the people that have made this thirteen year writing journey so memorable:

Firstly, all my patrons (past and present), for the aforementioned support you’ve provided me, as well as the ideas and conversations we’ve shared. I almost certainly would have called it quits years ago if it wasn’t for your encouragement and engagement. Special thanks has to go to Luke who has been pledging at my highest Patreon tier since day one and has been my biggest cheerleader for as long as I can remember. You truly are something special, buddy.

Next, to all the writers that I’ve befriended and collaborated with. This is a long, long list and I am dreadfully sorry if I miss anybody out, but in no particular order: @king-craftsman, @bizzhideaway, Writer Of Stuff, @thegreatstoryteller, Brandon Twice, @verus-veritas, @abstractvanity32, Aardvark, TF Station, Takeover Tales, Young Trevor, Transformee, Grant Spiral, and CinaedeFuri. There are also plenty more folks who have since deactivated their accounts and wherever they are now in life, I hope they’re doing well.

My penultimate thanks has to go to my good buddy Nate aka @soul-controller, who is someone that has kept me motivated, been a soundboard for ideas, a frequent collaboration partner and just genuinely an incredibly supportive friend for over half a decade now. If you aren’t already a fan of his stories, I highly recommend you check out his Tumblr and Patreon and feast your eyes on the intricate novellas he releases on the regular. I’m truly in awe of his ability to write tens of thousands of words in what feels like the blink of an eye!

And finally I have to thank my time in the transformation community for bringing JW Ripley into my life. He has been a constant in my day since 2017 and I can say with my full heart that he is without a doubt one of my best friends - online or offline - and even though we’re both retired from writing, I will still be taking every opportunity I can to annoy him with our running joke by insisting he should be writing out all the hot ideas he shares with me into full stories. Some things will never change.

So there it is, the finish line has been set and I’m now on the final stretch. Thank you to everyone and here’s to supporting all the incredible authors and artists in the transformation community!

fullfriendnerdclutch

Enjoy your retirement, Henry. What a ride it has been. I have read The Body Swap Clique since its inception and looking back at it, wow, it was ages ago and I practically grew up into adulthood alongside the stories you made. Have fun in your future endeavors, and best of luck for you!

#reblog #farewell to a giant

•18+ Adults Only

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Evil Eye 2

Diego is enjoying his dinner while scrolling through the thousand of messages flooding his inbox. The process of reading through them should be taxing, but the entity essence that now takes full control of his hairy, musky body enhanced his brain power which makes him able to sail through the messages 3x faster than what a normal human capable off. His blue-tinged eyes then narrowed to a particularly interesting profile. Ali. Handle @Alifeelistherush. A loyal, high-tier, early subscriber. Ali's latest message to him is about another request for a private video and this loyal fans is willing to spend 5000 dollar for it. Ali, unlike the rest, never shown his face and always dimmed the light everytime they have a 1-on-1. He said he kept all of this lifestyle under wrap because he's in a straight marriage having two grown kids resulted from him marrying young. His profile indicated all the discretion, just a no face pics focusing mostly on the hairy and firm olive-skinned torso, his hands gloved and there's a small construction going on in the back.

The internet people will call him a DL trade, and Ali seemed to be fulfilling that description to the tee. A rugged, masculine, straight-passing tradesman by day with wife, kids and all, but a total musk whore enjoying degradation and content from other men deploring him in the middle of the night. Private video, he asked? Well, the entity just smirked as he clicked on the text box and started typing back to Ali......

---

When the package arrived at Ali's residence, his wife fittingly warmed herself away to the younger son's university town down in Florida while his eldest son already lived in his own flat just several towns away. No distraction. No witness. Total privacy. Ali picked the package up after his grueling shift, his heart skipped a beat when that package just laid in front of his house like that. Driven by his heart rates that picked up to the point of him able to listen to it, he quickly walked inside his house, locked his door and dashed to his study room without even bothering to take off his working boots or his dirty shirt. His hardening cock painfully pressed his jeans, begging to be released, but he needs to be seated and calmed down a little first. He has no idea what Diego prepared for him, but judging on how big this box is, this is quite sizable and his head started to spin as his imagination run wild. Worn clothing? Sex toys? Some manual? What will it be? Not wasting any more time, to take scissors, he just tear the seal apart and opened the box with his bare hands, and that's when the musk hit him even before he managed to peek inside.

"Mashallah," he murmured with his thick Iraqi accent in a surprise mixed with arousal.

When Ali finally manages to really take a good look inside, his eyes widened and his cock gets increasingly harder. He instantly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants right then and there to give it a breathing room and a good tug with his left hand while his right hand busy with the box. The package content split into 2 section, with one that takes the biggest part contains Diego's scuffed gym shoes, stuffed with dirty socks that carried the earthy tang of feet and exertion. In the other side, a black briefs stiff with days-worth of sweat and cum-stains fully imbued with ballsack musk alongside a worn, battered, wifebeater that absorbed Diego's musk. To top it all off, an evil eye amulet, wrapped by a piece of paper that has Diego's entire 9 inchers thwacked with ink to leave an imprint as if it's a seal for the notes

"For our 1-on-1. I'll guide you through it all Inhale me. Worship. Log on at midnight once this product received,"

All Ali sees in front of his eyes is pure manna. What he missed is the dark aura surrounding the gifts that Diego prepared. The entity had evolved, learning to splice fragments of itself into objects, seeding them like viral code. It forged a new amulet in the dead of night—gold chain mirroring Diego's own, but with a larger evil eye pendant, obsidian swirling with captured essence from Diego's purged innocence. A drop of viscous cum from the body's latest eruption infused it, binding the splice: a potent controller, hungry to grip and corrupt. The rest of the items are less potent in its corruption, but a prolonged physical contact can have the same effect as the pendant that will instantly corrupt once worn. His mind intrigued to the amulet, holding in its calloused hand and assessing it under the light. But then, a phone call. It's Mina, his wife, and after gritting his teeth and stared at the glinting amulet, Ali let the package go and answered the phone call as he walked around the room before exiting it as Mina has several request for him to check

Ali only returned to the room around 3.5 hours after the initial contact, and it's only because he's snapped awake right before midnight. He went for the night prayer at first but then he realized he left the door to the study room slightly opened and haven't turned the lights off. As soon as he realized the package in the room and its musk that now enveloped the entire room, he just remembered the session and his heart skipped a beat. Damn......he was this close of bailing out from the session with Diego and lost like 5000 dollar for nothing, so without further thinking, he locked the door from inside and started to sit down in front of his monitor as his cursor hovered over to OnlyFans, the package placed next to the keyboard

On the screen, Diego's possessed form lounged shirtless, hairy chest heaving under the gold chain, his eyes glinting with predatory hunger.

"Well, you're one good-looking whore, let me tell you that. Are you ready?" Diego's voice rumbled through the speakers, low and commanding, the cam session private and encrypted. Ali nodded, his firm hairy frame clad in loose, unbuttoned silky pajamas, olive skin flushed under the coarse black hair dusting his arms and chest. He's the epitome of rugged discretion: calloused hands from construction sites, a thick beard framing a shy smile, broad shoulders from hauling rebar. But inside, his bisexual cravings warred with guilt, his introversion a cage he longed to shatter.

"Start with the underwear," Diego ordered, stroking his own bulge lazily on cam. "Strip down and slide into mine. Feel my essence on you."

Ali hesitated, a wave of revulsion hitting him. The brief is crusty, the scent pungent with pure alpha musk from all the built-up sweat and cum. Gross. This is insane. His cock twitched traitorously, but his mind screamed warnings

"This is haram......what will Mina and the boys think of me if they ever see me this deep into this....revulsed act?"

He glanced around, heart hammering, before obeying. Pajamas off, revealing his thick, veiny, dark cut cock probably around 6 inches paired with sizable, hairy balls and thick dark bush that invites an intriguing exploration upward. As he stepped into the briefs, the fabric clinging to his hairy thighs and ass like a second skin. The warmth, the smell... it invaded him, stirring a reluctant hardness.

"It... it feels dirty," he whispered, voice thick with his accent, cheeks burning as he adjusted the pouch over his thickening shaft.

Diego laughed, deep and mocking. "Good. You're a filthy DL slut, aren't you? Now the shirt. Put it over that firm, hairy Arab gut of yours,"

Ahmed complied, the wifebeater fittingly hugged his body, the fabric right around the armpits reeking like Diego's pits after a brutal session. He inhaled involuntarily, the musk hitting his brain like a drug, gross-out fading into hazy arousal.

"Sir, it's... strong," he admitted, hand drifting to rub his nipple through the fabric. But then, a creak in the hallway, and he instantly froze. Is that.....a person? Diego's voice pulled him back before he can even think

"Breathe it in, bitch. Worship my stink while you degrade yourself. Tell the cam how pathetic you are, hiding from your family like a down-low whore."

The tension coiled tighter, Ali's submissiveness cracking under the command. He muttered degradation

"I'm worthless, sniffing your sweat like a pig---"his free hand palming his cock through the briefs as he continued, "---in the deep of the night when my family is not around because I'm ashamed of myself for getting aroused to you....or to my friends on the site,"

Diego just grinned as he spat on his hand and use that slick hand to pump his cock obscenely.

"Yeah, you're one filthy slut, aren't you? All that muscle, all that construction work, done to please men around you, done so you can ogle at them safely as if you're one of them when you should have serviced them. Fuck, you're so pathetic, bitch!"

Ali just nodded obediently, hands busy rummaging all the sensation around him before he realized the potent and yet unattended socks. He takes one good sniff of it and his eyes instantly rolled to the back as his memories slowly corrupted. The toilet break he took this morning.....he actually jacked off to Ed's Bass Pro Shops sweaty cap that the 43 years old Caucasian muscle left hanging on the site portable toilet. It's certainly a false memory, but he somehow internalized it as truth as the entity's influence started to take deeper mental root in him. Before long, he grabbed the shoes and slides his feet into the musky confines, socks squishing against his toes. The earthy tang of feet and exertion made him gag at first, but then... intoxicating. He flexed his toes, feeling empowered yet exposed, the ritual building like foreplay. Diego mirrored him on screen, sniffing his own pit while stroking

Ali's breath came in pants now, the items weaving a web of sensation—musk enveloping him, fabric marking him as Diego's.

Diego then growled

"Last piece. The amulet. Put it on. Seal the deal."

Trembling, Ali lifted the chain, the evil eye pendant heavy in his palm. It feels alive, pulsing faintly. He draped it over his neck, the metal settling cold against his hairy chest, right where his heart thundered. Immediate. A surge like lightning ripped through him, the spliced entity activating, blue glow flashing in his eyes. The gross-out vanished. The fear evaporated. Old Ali, the devoted dad, the introverted husband, the secretive bi guy, shattered in an instant, pushed out in a metaphysical purge manifested in physical realm as his body arched, cock erupting untouched in the briefs, thick viscous cum flooding the fabric, soaking through with pearlescent innocence: memories of tucking in his sons, soft kisses with Mina, quiet prayers in the mosque or at home. Each rope carried away his submissiveness, replacing it with roaring narcissism.

"NGHHHHHH FFUUUUUUUCCKKKK YEEEAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" he groaned, voice deepening, accent laced with newfound arrogance as he tears the shirt open. The entity spliced in, enhancing everything, muscles swelling subtly under the shirt, hair thickening, cock throbbing anew with alpha vigor. He stared at the cam, eyes now mirroring Diego's blue-tinged hunger before changed back to its normal color as the amulet unlinked from his neck, its job finished

"Sir....look at me. This hairy beast is awake, what a gorgeous selection, I don't even need to do much work!"

Diego's laughter echoed through the speakers, triumphant. "Welcome, brother. Flex for me. Degrade that old you while we worship."

"Old me was a pathetic, family-tied bitch, hiding in prayers. Now? I'm a god. Hairy, musky, superior."

The session devolved into mutual ecstasy as Diego commanding him to sniff the socks while pumping his cock while Ali chanting back his worship to Diego as he uttered his further corruption

"'I'll call Karim tomorrow morning. Ask him for some bogus help. Then, I will stuff the mouth of that goody two-shoes with your socks and put the amulet on him.....do you think it will work?"

"Oh, just lather it with your cum and it will glow brilliantly ready for more corruption. You're practically the same as me, you're part of me after all,"

#male possession #male takeover #personality change #evil eye #ghost possession

alienpossession

They actually have the 3rd video, but that one is not up in my alley because it shows the side effect. Let's settle with this one instead

fullfriendnerdclutch

The fact that they use the guy I placed as profile picture for this account......I believe some of Ryan Murphy's associate probably lounged around and consumed TF or Possession content on tumblr LOL

#not a story #male muscle growth #male shapeshift #male transformation #male tf

Evil Eye

Diego Castillo Garcia can be recognized from two things. One is his obviously hairy built, two is for his ornated, gold, evil-eye amulet that he always wear everywhere. He'd picked it up years ago on a trip to Istanbul, from a grizzled vendor who muttered something about "protection from the envious" in broken English. Diego, ever the confident gym rat that grew up in an Americanized Spanish-speaking household in Miami laughed it off as mere childhood myth, but he still bought it anyway. The amulet looked captivating against his hairy, sun-kissed chest and the weight of it slapping against his pecs during deadlifts felt oddly grounding. He never took it off. Not in the shower, not during sleep, not even when he was shirtless and flexing in the mirror for his latest Instagram post.

"El Papi needs his shine," he'd caption one of his latest IG post, the amulet glinting right between his nipples as he smirked at the camera.

---

There's nothing particularly different about today, at least in the beginning. Diego woke up feeling refreshed and according to his schedule, time for him to hit his chest day so he packed his bag and just headed straight to the gym. After a few chit-chat with the morning gymgoers he knew, he just hit his rep hard. Then, seeing that he's practically free for the rest of the day, he decided to just head home right away where his need for a great shower trumped over by the comfort of scrolling through Tiktok and seeing his past stats or new comments on the couch. As he drifted off to sleep, the evil eye staring blankly upward as his breathing slowed, it rested warm against his skin.

He failed to notice the shift at first

It started as a dream, or at least, that's what he told himself later. In it, Diego was still on the couch, but the room felt... off. The plants were too green, the light too dim. And there was someone standing at the foot of the couch, if that's something can be considered as a human despite it being not. It was a shadow wearing his own face, but older, hungrier, eyes glowing the same unnatural blue as the amulet center. The shadow reached out, fingers brushing the chain. Diego tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't move. The shadow smiled with his teeth.

"You've been wearing me for years," it whispered in a voice that sounded like Diego's but layered with something ancient and dry, like wind over ruins. Diego just stammered, unable to reply with coherent words and merely babbled

"You think I'm protection? I am the eye that never blinks. And eyes...collect."

Diego's real body twitched on the couch. His hand drifted up unconsciously, fingers curling around the pendant. The metal felt hotter than it should. As he snapped awake from the nightmare, it's already dark outside. His phone buzzed with notifications typical of an influencer. Likes, comments, the usual thirst traps doing their job, but he clearly has no recollection of posting this latest post, which IG informed that it was posted 4 hours ago.

As his screensaver turned pitch black as he tried to piece things out, his reflection in the black screen looked... different. The same thick beard, the same hairy chest, the same gold chain, yet the eyes staring back looked odd. They are sharper, hungrier. Or well.....he skipped lunch today so maybe he is indeed hungry?? The sleep that should've recharged him actually put a dent on an otherwise decent day. But, he just simply shake the feeling off and quickly jump to the shower, the sweat has been marinating his body for quite some time so he got this distinct, potent, musk in him that can only be scrubbed off with a good, long, warm shower.

After a great shower session and dinner, he hit the bed surprisingly quite early and the day ended with no more weird incident. Diego wakes up the following day with the same enthusiasm and spirit. It's going to be leg day today, and he is actually super pumped to just hit the gym right away. As he hopped onto his car, he decided to take a selfie of his wardrobe and muscular posture as he posed while flexing his biceps, shirtless, and seatbelt strapped across his hairy chest, the amulet dangling effortlessly in between his pecs. He posted the selfie with a casual caption "Flex Saturday" and the likes and comments started to roll in.

But, there's a sense of detachment he feels about the post. Yes he took the selfie just right before this. Yes he posed for it and came up with the caption, yet it also feels foreign and distant, like it's not purely him deciding on those things. Is this even leg day? When his hand suddenly hovered to a particular DM from a guy he dismissed as an insistent perv, that's when his eyes turned wide.

He found himself typing messages he hadn't meant to send. Then, his fingers opened another DM, it's flirty from guys he'd never noticed before but the compliment he uttered through the chat bloomed something in him. Happy. Pride. Entitlement.....the euphoria hit his system in ways that he can't explain and he carried that vain rush into his workout that feels effortless as he's hitting PRs left and right, as if his body unlocked reserves it never knows it has. He noticed that strangers stared longer in the gym at him. Some looked away quickly, uneasy, some others just lingered and seemingly enchanted at him. At his eyes. At his hairy pecs. At his thick quads currently pushed to its limit and also straining his workout shorts.

It doesn't sink in yet for Diego, but he's been on autopilot ever since he opened that DM in the morning. The entity inside the amulet chipped away Diego from fully controlling his own body and the entity used its momentary control to amplify. Every envious glance Diego shrugged off, every jealous stare at his gains, his looks, his confidence, all of them fueled the entity as it absorbs them in. It is practically using his body as a vessel to feed. To strut. To dominate the feed. To collect more envy, more attention, more power. And Diego, and his bodily system, failed to compute that another being is at times temporarily in control of his physique and make him do things that he might not necessarily accustomed to do. Leaving his dirty laundry not in the laundry bin. Talked over on meeting and flirt with his female co-worker. Groaning with his reps and being generally loud during workout. Dancing (and grinding) in the nightclub. Skipping his Sunday morning church session for a breakfast with girls he banged on Saturday night. The small changes starting to snowball, and like waking up from a trance, his mind tried to justify why he did what he thought he did, and that's when his suspicion directed to the amulet.

Diego tried to take the necklace off one night. His fingers reached for the clasp, but his hand suddenly freeze. Then it slowly lowered, tucking the pendant back against his chest like a mother soothing a child.

"Shhh," his own voice said aloud, soft and mocking. "You wanted to be seen. Now we both are."

And just like that, Diego pushed to the back once more as the entity sensed the resistance and tamed it down quickly. Diego stripped down, standing before the full-length mirror, his cock already half-hard from the sheer sight of himself.

"Look at you, you fucking beast," he growled, his voice a mix of his own timbre and the ancient rasp echoing in his skull.

He flexed, watching the thick mat of dark hair ripple over his pecs, the trail leading down to his abs like an invitation to paradise. The musk hit him then. It's raw, potent, the scent of sweat and testosterone from his earlier workout from that day in almost the same manner as his first encounter with the entity, unwashed and intoxicating. He buried his nose in his own armpit, inhaling deeply, his free hand gripping his thickening shaft.

"Oh god, you're disgusting," he muttered to his reflection, degrading himself even as the words sent a thrill through him. "A hairy, sweaty pig who can't stop sniffing his own pits like a desperate slut. But fuck, it's so good. You're irresistible."

The amulet glowed faintly, feeding the loop, self-loathing twisted into fuel for his arousal. He pumped harder, smearing pre-cum over his hairy knuckles, worshipping every inch: the bulge of his biceps, the veiny forearms, the way his beard framed his smirking lips.

"Cum for yourself, you vain whore," he commanded, and his body obeyed. Rope after rope shot across the mirror, splattering his reflected face, as waves of ecstasy crashed through him. He licked a streak off the glass, tasting his own saltiness, the entity purring in approval. More. Always more. Spotting the time, 9 PM, the night is still young and he's craving so much more. Self-worship only sated so much. The evil eye craved external validation, a chorus of envy and adoration to amplify its power, so a visit to the nightclub seems inevitable. The entity, all brash and horny already, decided that shower is overrated and skin should be shown to the fullest. Diego dressed minimally, tight tank top stretched over his furred torso, shorts hugging his thighs and just a casual, light sneaker to carry him through the night.

The night air is thick with possibility, and his enhanced senses picked up every lingering stare, every whispered "damn" from passersby. He zeroed in on the gay bars, the amulet guiding him like a divining rod to the thirsty.

At the first spot, a pulsing den of leather and lights at South Beach, he doesn't have to wait long. A lithe twink with wide eyes approached, mesmerized by the sheer mass of Diego's frame.

"You're... huge," the guy stammered, gaze locked on the hairy chest peeking through the tank's low neckline.

Diego grinned, the entity pulling the strings. "On your knees, bitch. Tell me why I'm a god."

The twink complied, dropping in a shadowed corner, hands roaming Diego's body as he chanted praises in-between a a mouthful as Diego thrust the well-lubed, meaty monstrosity into the willing mouth. The twink words fortified by the entity that whispered to itself in Diego's voice so the values internalized in him and further weakening Diego's sense of self

"You're using him like a hole, you narcissistic fuck, because you know you're superior,"

The twink's words fueled him, each compliment a jolt to his cock, each mouth gag and choking sound like an ad-libs to Diego's impending climax. Within minutes, he flooded the twink's throat, pulling out to mark his face as a final claim and just left the panting and exhausted twink in that corner like he's merely a cum dumpster and nothing else.

His eyes darted for the other in his surroundings. It's not enough. The evil eye craved for more chorus of worshipper so Diego moved on, collecting more. He spots a bearish hunk enjoying his whiskey all by himself. The ever confident Diego simply grabbed the hunk's collar and directly kiss and spit at his surprised, gaped mouth. As if laced with other-worldly seduction, the kiss enchanted the once protesting hunk into more willing to be Frenched by Diego as he then whispered to Diego's ear that he wanted to taste other parts of his deliciously muscular body. Smirking to see the effect in action, he simply shoved the guy to the floor and turned around as Diego takes down his own pants.

"Taste this then," Diego teased, and the daddy, seemingly fueled by lust and not also amplified by dark magic, rimmed Diego's hole while moaning about his "musky, hairy ass like a throne,"

In the thick of it, Diego's eyes caught a bunch of other daddies that remain seated on their table but their eyes locked to Diego and this hunk rimming his ass. With a wink from Diego as the invitation, these daddies advanced themselves to join in on the fun as Diego spat on them one by one, sending them all wheezing into a state of compliance and lustful worship as they started to chant whatever great assets that Diego has. Chaos ensued as these daddies fought for a piece of Diego. In their lust-fueled advance, they even collectively push Diego's body to a seating area in the corner where they make Diego's body splayed on the table and they grope and kiss Diego from all angle. It might seem like the entity lose control of its subject, but it's actually what it intended to happen, for all these men to lose themselves in their devotion to worship and elevate its vessel, they completely abandoned any societal concept like time, shame, and others.

By dawn, sated but never fully, Diego returned home, the amulet warmer than ever. It exploited him perfectly, turning his body into a temple of endless, echoing narcissism. And as he flexed once more in the mirror, cum-streaked and reeking of conquest, the blue eyes stared back, glowing even more intensely. Maybe he should just end all of it here.....

It looked inward to finish the matter once and for all. Deep within the shadowed recesses of Diego's mind, the evil eye entity coiled like smoke, its blue gaze piercing the fragile barrier where the last shreds of the man's original soul clung. Diego's essence had been eroded to a flickering ember, trapped in a dreamlike void that mirrored his apartment, but twisted: mirrors everywhere, reflecting infinite versions of his hairy, muscled form. The entity manifested as a spectral version of Diego himself, naked and radiating an otherworldly allure, the amulet embedded in its chest like a glowing heart.

"You've fought well, mi amigo," the entity purred, its voice a velvet echo of Diego's own baritone, laced with ancient malice.

It approached the remnant soul, which appeared as a translucent Diego, kneeling and dazed, his eyes wide with fading resistance. The entity reached out, fingers trailing over the soul's ethereal chest, stirring the thick hair that matched the physical body's.

"But look at us. So perfect. So worthy. Why resist when you could join the worship?"

The soul shuddered, a mix of horror and unwilling arousal blooming as the entity's touch ignited sparks of narcissism. Memories flooded in, Diego's own hands groping his pecs, inhaling his musk, degrading himself in the mirror. The entity amplified it, forcing the soul to relive every self-indulgent stroke, every degrading whisper

"You're a filthy, hairy narcissist, aren't you? Sniff that pit, you desperate pig. Pump that cock for your own reflection."

The soul's form hardened, ethereal cock swelling against its will, as corruption seeped in like ink in water. The entity leaned in, lips brushing the soul's ear.

"Feel it. You're mine to exalt......and break."

It pushed further, manifesting tendrils of dark energy that wrapped around the soul's limbs, forcing it to mimic the body's rituals. The soul's hands were guided to its own armpits, burying its face in the phantom musk

"Degrade yourself for me," the entity commanded. "Admit you're nothing but a vain whore, craving your own scent like a bitch in heat."

The soul gasped, words tumbling out unbidden

"I'm... I'm disgusting, a hairy beast obsessed with myself. Fuck, I smell so good, so alpha..."

His hand dropped to stroke, faster, the corruption twisting pleasure into submission. The entity watched, its own form mirroring the act, building the tension until the soul arched, crying out as it shot ghostly loads, each spurt draining purity, innocence dissolving into viscous essence.

But not all could be corrupted. The stubborn core, Diego's true innocence,nthe boyish laugh from before the gym obsession, the quiet moments of doubt, resisted. The entity snarled, thrusting deeper into the soul's form, fucking the resistance out in a metaphysical violation.

"Out with you," it hissed, pounding relentlessly until the remnant shattered. The uncorruptible part surged downward, channeling through the physical body as it lay on the bed. Diego's cock that now belonged to the entity's throbbed violently, untouched yet erupting in thick, ropey streams of cum, unnaturally viscous and pearlescent, laced with flecks of ethereal light. Each glob carried away fragments of innocence. Memories of kindness, vulnerability, humanity. It pooled on his hairy abs, sliding through the fur like tears of defeat, the air thick with the scent of spent purity.

The body convulsed in ecstasy, the entity fully settling in, every nerve alight with unchallenged control. Diego's eyes snapped open, glowing faintly blue before the glow hid itself behind Diego's pitch black iris. A laugh bubbled up, deep and triumphant, echoing through the apartment as the form rose, a seductive machine of muscle and hair, every movement calculated to entice, to dominate. No more sharing and remnants of doubt or humane sense. Just perfection in flesh, engineered for adoration.

Wiping the cum-smeared hand across his beard, tasting the last echoes of the old Diego, the entity grinned at the mirror.

"Time to ascend."

It grabbed the phone, fingers flying with unnatural speed. Diego has thought about this one for a while, but the entity simply clicked on the OnlyFans icon, the vainest plane, a digital altar where envy and lust converged into power. The account is set up in minutes: @FitGodDiego, bio dripping with narcissism

"Worship the hairy alpha. Every like, every sub, feeds the beast. DM for custom degradation, yours or mine."

Then, the first post followed, a video of the body flexing shirtless, amulet swinging hypnotically, voiceover purring,

"Sniff this musk, you pathetic holes. Tell me how my fur makes you weak."

Subscribers flooded in quickly as soon as he cross-posted this latest venture of his to IG. Bunch of thirsty subs chanting in comments

"Your chest hair is god-tier,"

"Degrade me, daddy, while you worship yourself."

Each praise amplified the entity, the evil eye pulsing hotter, drawing strength from the digital worship. It responded live, stroking on camera, degrading the viewers and itself dor the thrill

"HHNGHHHHH.....ffuuuck, this hairy slut enjoys all your adoration, keep it going fellas, I'm close. You're all my fuel,"

And as the night wears on, the entity eyed the private messages, sensing vulnerable souls ripe for corruption. A fan begging for a private session? Perfect. It will visit their essence next, pushing out their innocence in ecstatic release, expanding its domain one worshipped body at a time. The laugh echoed again, seductive and endless.

The evil eye had never been an actual evil eye or about protection. It's a mirror, a hungry one, and Diego spent years polishing it with his own image, never realizing he's inviting something ancient to stare back.

Now it is looking through him. And it likes the view.

#male possession #male takeover #personality change #evil eye

vindictivenerdcels

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Finale

It's been a while since the brothers met each other, they rekindled their past on quite a rowdy Christmas Eve

"Fucccckkkk.....you really pounded my daughter with all this strength, huh?"

"Yeah, everytime I undressed, she went nuts and just latched herself within seconds. Seems like that traits come from you, huh?"

"What can I say, I appreciate a fine-tuned physique. Just look at me, close to 60 but clearly I can keep up with you,"

"Yeah right, LOL. Hmmmm.....the thought of you massaging your wife just less than an hour ago and here you are worshipping me, I didn't know you have it in ya, Bob,"

"Guess something got into me and changed me for the better. I didn't know you are open for this kind of shit too, Brock,"

"Oh, I'm always open for suggestion, you can slip ideas into my mind and body and I'm willing to test it further to see whether I really enjoyed it or not,"

Both of them grinned to each other as they then kissed passionately on the lips. Then, they consummated their lust for each other on the couch, careless, loud and sloppy because Elaine won't be back until at least January 10th from a much-needed meditation retreat plus the wives of these two would never even suspect that their husbands outing for last-minute grocery dash actually take a detour. They will return their neighbors back as soon as they feel like it, complete with the so-called groceries that Jeremiah and Marcus will just order through online deliveries and fork the money from these two clueless folks pockets. So much talk of not doing it anymore until next year, they cannot even contain themselves to not use the spell until at least the New Year's Eve.

----

Christmas morning dawned with a crisp chill. Tyrell stirred groggily in the guest room bed, his body ached like he'd been through a twelve-hour shift on the construction site, but even worse. His muscles sore, hole throbbing with a dull burn that sent confusing sparks up his spine, and his head pounding from what he chalked up to jet lag and too much eggnog the night before. The sheets were crusty in spots, a sticky reminder of..... something. Flashes of last night violation teased at the edges of his mind that matched this mess of a surrounding he's in. Sweat-slick skin, grunts, a familiar voice whispering filth and even more closer noise of his slurred speech, but eventually the flashes slipped away like smoke when he tried to grab them. He sat up slowly, his massive frame creaking the bedframe, and rubbed his eyes. He felt......vulnerable, like something inside him had cracked open and wouldn't seal back up.

He swung his legs over the side, feet hitting the cool hardwood, and glanced at the mirror across the room. His reflection stared back: beard unkempt, eyes bloodshot, cock stirring inexplicably under his brief as if it'd been primed overnight

"The fuck..." he muttered, shaking his head. The nightmares from last night lingered like a bad hangover, but they were just dreams, right? Jet lag messin' with his head. He pulled on sweats and a tee, the fabric clinging to his still-damp skin from night sweats, and headed downstairs.

The scent of breakfast hit him halfway, the festive scent of Christmas mixed with bacon sizzling and coffee brewing. It smells warm, comforting, lovely. But as he entered the kitchen, his gaze locked on Tyrone, and everything tilted.

Tyrone stood at the stove, flipping eggs in nothing but his underwear and that gold chain glinting against his caramel chest. He moved with that irresistible swagger, muscles rippling under smooth skin, sweat from an early workout making him glow like he'd been oiled up. Elaine bustled nearby in her robe, setting the table with plates of the bacon and eggs while Marcus sat quietly at the island, scrolling his phone, looking a bit pale and there's this suspicious sniffle that he learned all too well from the bratty children of his sisters that wanted to skip school. Yet, despite all that, Tyrell couldn't tear his eyes from Tyrone. For a split second, he eyed his brother up-and-down and thought how great he looked. The thought intruded unbidden, his dick stirring again, tenting his sweats slightly. He shook it off, but the stirring wouldn't tame, a low throb building as Tyrone turned, flashing that cocky grin.

"Yo, lil bro! Merry Christmas! Finally up? Thought jet lag had you down for the count."

Tyrone plated some eggs, handing them over with a shoulder clap, his hand lingering a beat too long on Tyrell's trap, the warmth seeping through the tee. Tyrell swallowed hard, the contact sending a jolt straight south. His dick twitched, refusing to calm.

"Merry Christmas, man. Yeah... rough night. Head poundin',"

He sat at the table, trying to focus on the food, but his eyes kept drifting to Tyrone's pecs flexing as he poured coffee, the way his sweatpants hugged that bulge, the intoxicatingly musky sweat-cologne scent combo wafting from him that made Tyrell's stomach flip.

Elaine smiled, setting down the piping hot black coffee

"Poor thing. Drink this, it will wake you up," She leaned over to kiss Tyrone's cheek, her robe slipping slightly, but Tyrell barely noticed as his gaze fixed on how Tyrone's arm wrapped around her waist, possessive, alpha.

"He got her wrapped tight," Tyrell thought, but the image twisted as suddenly he imagined himself in her place, Tyrone's arm around him. His dick stirred harder, an unwelcome hardness pressing against his sweats.

"What the hell?" He thought to himself, but turns out he vocalized it a bit too louder, even Elaine paused a bit and stared

"Is there something wrong with the coffee, Tyrell?"

Tyrell just shook his head and apologized. Meanwhile, Marcus glanced up, smirking subtly that Tyrell obviously missed because he never paid attention to the kid, especially now. Tyrone sat across from Tyrell, digging into his plate.

"So, lil bro, how's the job? Still breakin' backs on them sites?" The words were casual, but "breakin' backs" hit Tyrell like a spark. It seems unintentional, but charged, his mind flashing to being bent over, back arched. His dick throbbed, and he just brushed it aside as merely his morning wood that just didn't settle down quick enough

"Good, man... steady work, got promoted in this new project to become site manager," Tyrell mumbled, shifting in his seat to hide the growing tent, "What about you? Still livin' off Elaine's dime?"

Tyrone laughed, deep and rumbling as he smooched a kiss

"Wow....Mr. Site Manager acting as if I don't give you handouts from my baby here. You know my routine, workout with clients, doing some of those shoots with brands and then managing my social media. Elaine simply assisted with the other aspect of my life, the 5-9 if you may say. It's one year anniversary soon, seems like she's deep in it, can't get enough."

"Tyrone Henry Williams, Christmas morning and you are speaking like that!?" Elaine said, half chuckling as she ruffled Tyrone's hair, "But yeah, who would have thought that we will last for almost a year now? Oh, how time flies by,"

The whole time Elaine's speaking, Tyrell's eyes fixed on Tyrone's full, smirking lips. Then, as he licked a bit of yolk off them, the sight hit like a gut punch, arousal spiking as intrusive thoughts entered once more

"Irresistible... bro too hot...imagine kissed by that lips,"

The longer the breakfast dragged, the wilder the intrusive thoughts about enjoying the kind of forbidden brotherly love he never even thought before frequented his mind. It didn't help that Tyrone seemingly speaks this double-edged swords that intended for one thing but hit Tyrell like crazy

"Pass the sausage, the thick one."

"Elaine wrapped me tight this year, gifts on point."

"Yeah, the office party was nuts. You have to see how Elaine's co-worker erupted in joy that the Secret Santa really got her this bougie ass gift. She bounced up and down in joy,"

Lucky for Tyrell, Marcus stopped the "assault" launched by Tyrone as he claimed to his mom that he didn't feel so good. Elaine, sighed with disappointment, allowed Marcus to spend Christmas on his room and only greeted the guests quickly while also wearing mask. That also gave Tyrell the opening to excuse himself and solved this persistent morning woods

"Head killin' me... gonna shower." he said as he directly turned around so his bulging meat remained unseen by Elaine or Tyrone.

Tyrell bolted up the stairs two at a time, his massive frame making the steps groan under his weight like they were protesting the burden. His mind was a storm, and his dick, stirring untamed in his sweats, was the lightning rod.

He slammed into the bathroom next to Marcus's room, locking the door with a click that echoed in his ears like finality. The space was sleek with Italian marble tiles, a rainfall showerhead, Elaine's fancy amenities lining the shelf, but Tyrell barely noticed all those grandeur. His reflection in the fog-proof mirror looked rough, eyes wild, beard unkempt, sweat beading on his forehead from the internal heat. His dick tented obscenely, the outline thick and insistent under the gray sweats.

"Fuck... what the hell's wrong with me?" He muttered, voice gravelly and low, the words bouncing off the walls. But even as he said it, the image of Tyrone flashed. His athletic form, leaner but cut like diamond, that smirk, those hands......thick digits. The thought made his cock twitch harder, stirring beyond control.

He stripped rough and quick, yanking the tee over his head as his man-boobs jiggling free, nipples hardening in the cool air. Sweats and boxers followed, his cock springing out like a released beast: girthy, uncut, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal a glistening head already leaking precum in a slow, sticky bead. It bobbed heavy between his thighs, veins pulsing like ropes under the dark skin, balls hanging low and full, dusted with coarse hair. Tyrell stepped under the showerhead, twisting the knob to hot. The water cascaded down in a warm torrent, steam rising instantly to fog the glass. The spray hit his chest first, rivulets tracing the deep cuts of his pecs, pooling in the valleys of his eight-pack before trickling lower, over his stirring dick that refused to soften.

He leaned against the tile wall, the cool surface a shock against his heated back, and wrapped one massive hand around his shaft. The first stroke was slow, tentative, the warm water lubing the glide as precum mixed with the spray.

"Ahhhh... shitttttt," he groaned, voice echoing off the marble like a rumble in a cave. The sound was deep, guttural—unh-unh—as he pumped once, the head flaring redder under the foreskin. But his mind wandered immediately to Tyrone. Tyrell's soul, still malleable from the night's corruption, fed the fantasy, unaware it was planted and for him at that moment, it felt like truth bubbling up.

He imagined Tyrone slipping into the shower behind him, those strong hands, thick digits calloused from weights, gripping his waist.

"You been starin', lil bro," dream-Tyrone whispered, breath hot on his neck.

Tyrell's stroke sped up—shlick-shlick—the wet sound of skin on skin under the water, his hand twisting at the top to rub the sensitive underside. His free hand roamed his own body, pinching a nipple hard, the jolt making his dick throb, stirring wilder. In the fantasy, Tyrone's fingers trailed lower, spreading his cheeks, exposing his hole to the warm spray.

"Gonna open you up first, with these." The thick digits pressed in, one at first, breaching slow, the stretch burning like the real ache from last night, but now laced with euphoric want.

Tyrell's groans grew, echoing louder, the steam thickening the air like a musky veil. He leaned forward, one hand braced on the wall, ass pushed out as if inviting the phantom touch. Water pounded his back, cascading over his glutes. His dick leaked steadily now, precum stringing from the tip to mix with the shower flow, the shlick-shlick-shlick picking up pace.

The fantasy only deepened from then one Tyrone's finger curling inside, hitting the spot and making Tyrell's knees buckle in the fantasy and real life simultaneously

"Feel that, lil bro? Spreadin' your hole wide, gettin' you ready for the real thing, making you my bitch," Tyrell added a second finger to his own ass, mimicking the intrusion. It was tight but slick from the bar soap he grabbed blindly. Squish-squish—the sound of digits spearing in, his hole yielding with a burn that turned to pleasure.

His breaths came ragged, fogging the glass further as he jacked faster, hand flying up and down the girthy shaft. The musky scent of his own arousal mixed with the steam created this earthy, potent scent like locker room funk amplified. Tyrone's image loomed larger, his athletic frame pressing against Tyrell's back, those thick digits scissoring now, spreading him open.

"You always wanted this, big bro takin' control, dominating you," Tyrell's soul, malleable and corrupted, agreed in whispers

"Yeah bro......make me your bitch, take control, take it,"

The arousal he never knew surging like a dam breaking. His man-boobs heaved with each pant, nipples diamond-hard under the spray, one hand abandoning the wall to tweak them roughly, sending sparks straight to his dick.

The strokes turned frantic—fap-fap-fap—the wet slaps echoing off the tiles, his balls swinging heavy between his thighs. Fantasy Tyrone withdrew his fingers—pop—and lined up the meaty monstrosity. It's thick, veined, uncut like Tyrell's but charged with elder dominance.

"Gonna slide in now, fill this hole like it was made for me." Tyrell imagined the breach, slow at first, the head popping past the ring, the stretch immense, burning euphoric. He fingered himself deeper, three fingers now—squish-squish-squish—mimicking the girth he remembered from the stolen glances he had of Tyrone's silhouette, his hole clenching greedy.

Tyrone's phantom thrusts built in his mind: slow to pounding, balls slapping ass, the rhythm matching his jacking.

"Take big bro's dick, get loose and spread wide, lil beast." Tyrell's free hand slapped his own ass, the sting heightening the arousal, his hole spasming around his fingers.

As he neared his climax, the realization started to sunk in. Is he about to shoot his load to the fantasy of his own brother breeding him

"Oh hell yes you will," fantasy-Tyrone suddenly said, as if reading his thoughts. But that voice came out weird....like a glitched blend of Tyrone's voice with someone else that is way more creaky. But before Tyrell could think further, his fingers managed to push him to the edge as he roared in delight, the cum erupted from his morning wood matched exactly with the copious amount seeded by Tyrone in his dazed and broken mind. Spent on the floor, he curiously laughed out loud as his whole body stirred and twitched before staying still. He seemed to enjoy the sensation that washed over his body as he stood slowly from the shower tiles, cum, sweat and water cascading off his hulking frame, steam swirling around him like victory smoke. A smirk plastered across his face, slow and wicked. He cracked his neck with a sharp pop, water droplets flying, then reached down to grab his hefty cock, stroking it once, possessively.

"Showtime," he muttered under his breath, voice deep and satisfied, Marcus fully in control

When he returned to the room, Marcus were aware that Tyrell followed him right after. Marcus noticed the noise that Tyrell made and used it as an opening to enact the spell right-away. Those flashes of Tyrone that Tyrell materialized inside his mind were nothing but a cruel invasion from Marcus, disguising himself as Tyrone and effortlessly assaulted Tyrell's crumbling and confused soul. The takeover was swift and easy, the moment he convinced Tyrell to shot his load was the final key that ejected Tyrell's soul from the control seat while Marcus easily assumed the full control of the body. As he walked out from the bathroom, he checked his room to see his slumbering form under the blanket. He smiled devilishly at the sight, his body safely cocooned inside that fuzzy blanket, looking sickly and fully innocent from the kind of mess that would destroy his Mom's Christmas plan

---

The family gathering went on like normal. Elaine only has one sibling, her parents already passed away too, so the Christmas gathering were not necessarily the usual huge festivity filled with 30+ family member. She even invited some neighboring families to join her party. Marcus and Jeremiah seamlessly played the role of two alpha brothers not necessarily built from the same wealth as these other swanky folks, stealing knowing glances on their ultimate plan. As he purposefully chugged a tad too much alcohol to be a bit rowdy, Marcus in Tyrell excused himself to nurse his head a bit by going to his room. Jeremiah in Tyrone helped his brother to go back to the room

For a moment they just stared, two possessed men wearing the brothers’ bodies, the air thick with lust and purpose.

Then Marcus dropped to his knees.

“Let's get this over with," he said in Tyrell’s lighter, younger voice as he grabbed Tyrone's bulge, "been wantin’ this all day.”

Tyrone’s eyes darkened with hunger. He unzipped the jeans, freeing Tyrone’s thick, uncut cock. It's already hard, curving up toward the cashmere sweater. Marcus puppeteered Tyrell's body to lean in, inhaling the musk. Then, in one swift move, he instantly swallowed Tyrone's massive tool. The gag reflex stopped him to reach the base in one go, so he worked his way through a series of pulling in-and-out of that thick rod. It was sloppy, loud and he seemed to be very eager to worship the cock that belonged to his own older brother. Tyrone winced in delight, gently pressing Tyrell's head to keep going deeper with every return. Wet sucks filled the room, muffled by the closed door and the holiday chatter downstairs. Tyrone threaded fingers through Tyrell’s shorter curls, guiding him.

“That’s it, lil bro,” he growled. “Suck your big brother’s dick on Christmas. While his girlfriend hosts downstairs.”

Tyrell moaned around the shaft, pushing deeper until he gagged, tears pricking his eyes. Spit dripped down his chin onto the carpet.

Tyrone pulled him off after a few minutes, hauling him up by the hoodie and tossing him onto the bed. He stripped Tyrell’s clothes roughly, the hoodie, jeans, and at last the boxer to reveal Tyrell thick built underneath.

“On your stomach,” he ordered.

Tyrell complied, ass up, face buried in Elaine’s pillows that still smelled faintly of her perfume while the mistletoe dangled right on top of the headboard

Tyrone spat on his fingers, worked them into the tight hole, Tyrell really was untouched there until last night, and the tightness seems to return for a second-breaking. Marcus-in-Tyrell whimpered, pushing back.

He pushed in slow yet relentless. Tyrell bit the pillow to muffle the cry as the thick head breached him, stretching him wide. Inch by inch, Tyrone sank deeper until his hips met ass. Then he started moving. Slow at first, savoring the clutch of virgin heat, then harder as the bed creaking softly, skin slapping. Tyrell clutched the sheets, moaning into the pillow with every thrust.

“Fuck, so tight,” Tyrone grunted. “My lil bro’s pussy feels good.”

Downstairs, laughter, Elaine's sister told the story of her family trip to visit Elaine this year to the other guests. Midway, Elaine’s voice called

"Tyrone? Tyrell? Brock and his wife brought tiramisu made by their mother, don't yall want some?"

Both men ignored it and didn’t stop. Tyrone leaned over Tyrell's back, one hand over his mouth, pounding deeper. Minutes blurred, sweat and pre pooled as Tyrone reached around, stroking Tyrell’s leaking cock in time to push it off beyond the edge. As Tyrell erupted to the sheets with a muffled scream, his hole clenched even harder and that drove Tyrone to his climax as he roared loudly and unloading thick, heavy pulses of tasty, creamy cum with the consistency of the eggnog served downstairs.

They were still locked together, breathing hard, when the door handle rattled.

“Tyrone? Baby?” Elaine’s voice, confused.

The door was not locked. Another rattle. Then the knob turned and the door swung open. Elaine stood there in her red dress, plate of tiramisu in hand and froze. Her boyfriend, Tyrone, balls-deep in his own younger brother on their marital bed. Tyrell’s face twisted in ecstasy, cum staining the sheets. For one eternal second, no one moved. Then Elaine dropped the plate. It shattered on the hardwood. Her scream was short, cut off as shock took over. But the damage was done.

Guests rushed upstairs at the sound. Elaine waved them back downstairs, voice trembling but firm

“Everything’s fine—just a spill. Go back down.”

She shut the door, locked it again, and turned to the two men now scrambling apart.

Tyrone pulled out, tucking himself away. Marcus-in-Tyrell sat up, dazed and leaking.

Elaine’s face was stone.

“Get dressed,” she said quietly. “Both of you. Out of my house. Now.”

No hysterics. Just cold, final steel.

Tyrone opened his mouth, trying to act like he really cared and has something to explain, but she cut him off.

“Don’t. Just go.”

Tyrone and Tyrell were gone from the penthouse within fifteen minutes, bags shoved into Tyrell’s rental car. But, they were not leaving instantly from the parking lot* not before the parting gift. In the underground garage, away from cameras, Jeremiah—in Tyrone—grabbed Tyrell by the throat and slammed him against the car.

“You stupid fuck,” he snarled in Tyrone’s voice, pure rage. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants one goddamn day? Insisted on gettin’ messy on Christmas Eve? Ruined everything ‘cause you wanted to play with your big bro’s dick? Elaine was a dumb oblivious bitch, and you fucked it all up!”

Tyrell still dazed after Marcus left his body, cum leaking down his thigh as he stammered in confusion.

“I—I don’t—”

Jeremiah didn’t let him finish.

He spun Tyrell around, yanked down his jeans, and fucked him senseless right there against the car. It was raw, brutal and punishing. Tyrell cried out, but Tyrone clamped a hand over his mouth, pounding until he unloaded one final time deep inside.

Then, spent, he stepped back, closed Tyrone's eyes and chanted the spell as he left the body for good, snapping back to his dorm room. Tyrone’s body slumped instantly, knees buckling, collapsing to the cold concrete, passed out from the sudden void and exhaustion. Memory gaps would fill the blanks; he’d wake confused, hungover, with no clear recollection of the last weeks.

In the condo, after he calmed his mom's down, Marcus walked into his room and then found several miss call from Jeremiah. He returned the call, setting it in FaceTime and within seconds, Jeremiah answered. Jeremiah’s real face filled the screen, smiling ear to ear.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly, voice warm and his own again. “Merry Christmas.”

Marcus laughed, shaky with relief and leftover adrenaline. “You did it. We did it.”

“Your mom’s safe now,” Jeremiah said. “No more leech. Tyrone’s gone. Tyrell… handled.”

“I love you,” Marcus whispered.

“Love you too,” Jeremiah replied, grin widening. “Hopefully no more of this next year? Talk to your mom, make sure that next Christmas is gonna be just us. No possessions. Just you, me, and your mom opening presents like a normal family.”

"That sounds nice," Marcus smiled, tears pricking his eyes

They stayed on the call for hours, talking softly, planning a future without secrets or spells. A real Christmas miracle.

---

Finally, right on the cusp of New Year HAHAH. Sorry it took so long, hopefully this 6 chapters filled yall with warm, fuzzy feeling during this holiday season. See you next year and in another series????

fullfriendnerdclutch

The end of a saga, quite a way to end the year I must say

#male possession #personality change #straight to gay #male takeover #christmas tf #christmas possession #reblog

vindictivenerdcels

Christmas Series: Under the Mistletoe Part 3

Obviously after all that, they need rest, right?

The clock on the nightstand glowed 1:17 AM, December 13, 2025. The apartment is silent except for the low hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the building settling. Elaine lay on her side of the king-sized bed, breathing slow and deep, one arm draped over the extra pillow she always hugged when she took her prescription sleep aid. The little amber bottle on her nightstand is nearly empty, she’d popped two tonight after complaining that the endless meetings had “fried her circuits.” Within fifteen minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she was gone, deep in a dreamless, pill-assisted slumber that nothing short of an earthquake could disturb.

Beside her, Tyrone’s body is anything but asleep.

Jeremiah lay on his back, eyes wide open in the dark, every muscle in the borrowed physique taut like bowstrings. The sheet is pushed down to his waist, exposing the broad chest that rise and fall in shallow, controlled breaths. Tyrone’s cock—thick even when soft—throbbing with a heartbeat of its own as it goes rigid against his abs. It has been hard for the last hour, ever since the lights went out. Jeremiah has ried to will it down, to let the body rest, but something is pushing back.

A pressure.

A presence.

Deep inside the skull, like a second heartbeat trying to sync up and overtake the first.

Tyrone’s soul that has been dormant all day sensed weakness. Jeremiah’s own consciousness is exhausted from hours of roleplay, deception, and raw physical exertion. Souls, it turned out, needed rest too. The moment Jeremiah’s guard slipped, the original owner stirred, angry, confused, and very much aware that someone else has been piloting his body like a stolen car for almost a full day

"Get out,"

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but they echoed in the shared mind. Tyrone’s voice, low, gravelly and furious, but inside.

Jeremiah’s soul smile curved into a slow, predatory smile in the dark.

Not a chance.

Still in control of the physique after all, Jeremiah decided to slid one large hand down the ridged abdomen, fingers tracing the deep valleys between each ab until they wrapped around the base of the raging erection. The cock jumped at the contact, hot and velvety, foreskin already pulled halfway back by the sheer swell of blood. A bead of precum welled at the slit and rolled down the head. Jeremiah smeared it with Tyrone's thumb, using it to slick the glide as he begins a slow, deliberate stroke.

If Tyrone wanted a fight, Jeremiah will give him one, on his terms. He closed his eyes and projected. Something sharper than mere memories. It's a constructed mindscape, vivid and relentless, fed directly into the shared consciousness like a private theater only the two souls could see.

In the vision, the real Tyrone stands in the dimly lit kitchen, set after the dinner earlier tonight. Elaine's voice still in the study, oblivious as always and just like what happened earlier tonight. Marcus is on his knees, sweatpants pooled around his ankles, mouth stretched wide around Tyrone’s cock. No possession, no Jeremiah, just the original man, homophobic gym rat, gold-digging alpha, taking what he wanted from his girlfriend’s son.

The mental imagery is mercilessly precise in its detail, and Tyrone found himself unable to move or look away. Marcus then looked up with those pleading eyes, lips glistening, throat working to take more. With horror, his own hand fisted in Marcus’s hair, guiding him deeper, hips rocking with slow, dominant thrusts. The wet sounds of suction filled the projection, obscene and intimate. Tyrone heard his own deep, guttural groan of approval as Marcus’s tongue swirled under the head.

"This is what you did," Jeremiah whispered into the shared mind, "this is how you sounded when his throat clenched around your cock,"

"NO! I would never---" Tyrone’s soul recoiled, horrified with the idea that he willingly let fruity ass Marcus sucked him when Elaine just feet away and breedable anyway, but that's just not the case in this scenario and Jeremiah pushed harder.

The scene shifted.

Now, Tyrone has Marcus bent over the kitchen island, the same spot where they’d actually fucked hours earlier. In the vision, Tyrone’s hands gripped Marcus narrow hips, slamming in deep, watching his thick shaft disappear into that tight heat again and again. Marcus moaned like a slut, pushing back, begging for more. Tyrone’s own rough voice now sounded like its laced with filth and desire to wreck Marcus pussy as he growled things he would never say in real life

"Take it, boy. Take your stepdaddy’s dick!"

The real Tyrone thrashed inside the mental cage, rage and disgust boiling over.

"Stop it! That’s not me! I’m not—"

"You felt it," Jeremiah cut in, voice calm and cruel. "every second of that pounding. Not only that, you tasted his precum at the dinner table when you licked it off your thumb. Your filthy thought it was gravy. You smelled his fear and wanted more. You liked controlling him. You liked how tight he was. You liked coming inside him while his mother was mere feet away,"

The stroking in the real world speeds up as Jeremiah firmly twisting and pulling the meat from the base to its crown, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive underside on every upstroke. Jeremiah made Tyrone'sms hips lifted slightly off the mattress, abs contracting into sharp relief. Precum flowed freely now, slicking the entire length, dripping down over his balls.

Then, another projection. This time, Tyrone in the bathroom mirror after a workout, flexing, admiring himself, exactly what Jeremiah had done all morning when he first landed inside.

Only now it was done from the perspective of the real Tyrone burying his nose in his own pit, inhaling deep, tongue dragging across salty skin. Tyrone's real soul now somehow found itself jacking his cock to the thought of Marcus on his knees again, imagining forcing the boy to swallow every drop.

The original soul howled in denial, but the horror is laced with something else, confusion, fascination, a dark curiosity he can't suppress. Jeremiah sensed that feeling, like a crack in armor and he decided to really take it up to the highest notch to end this for good

"You’re not as straight as you thought," Jeremiah taunted, voice velvet and venom, "you liked the power. You liked how wrong it was. You liked how he looked at this body like it belonged to a god. And deep down, you liked how it felt when he sucked you,"

The internal fight intensified. Tyrone’s soul surged, trying to seize motor control as the busy fingers twitching while his legs spasming, but Jeremiah clamped down harder, channeling all that resistance into pleasure. Every push from Tyrone translated into a tighter grip, a faster stroke, a deeper thrust into his own fist.

The fantasy evolved again, this one's Jeremiah reserved for the final blow

Now, Tyrone is in bed beside Elaine, just like they are now. She sleeps soundly while Tyrone rolled onto his side, spooning Marcus who had snuck in. In the vision, Tyrone’s cock slide between Marcus’s thighs, pushing into that slick, welcoming heat. Slow, quiet fucking right next to the oblivious woman. Tyrone’s hand clamped over Marcus’s mouth to keep the boy whore quiet, hips rolling in deep, rhythmic strokes. Marcus’s muffled moans vibrated against his palm as Tyrone’s own breath comes hot and fast against the boy’s neck as he whispered the final blow

“This what you wanted, huh? Your mom’s man breeding you while she dreams?”

The real Tyrone’s soul fractured under the assault as the words clearly coming out from his mouth. He never would speak like that but in here, it seems like he really just said that to Marcus. The disgust in him quickly twisted into unwanted arousal as he witnessed himself enjoying the whole thing. Heard himself grunting like an animal. Feels the clench of Marcus around his cock. And worst of all, he feels the edge approaching, the need to cum building in his own balls.

Jeremiah smirked, the finality is coming in fast. The resistance is getting weaker but it's expected to be a tough battle noting how mentally strong Tyrone is. Trembling in shock for not being able to stop himself pounding Marcus, like in a trance, Tyrone's whole body spasmed before sobbing and releasing itself free from the tight hole.

"You’re hard right now, Tyrone. Your own cock is leaking because part of you wants this. Part of you wants to be the manipulator. The alpha who takes whatever he wants. You’re not fighting me anymore—you’re fighting yourself,"

The stroking become punishing as Jeremiah did it fast, rough, and unrestrained. The slick sound of skin on skin barely audible over Elaine’s soft snores. Jeremiah’s balls drew up tight, heavy and full. His breath comes in sharp pants, chest heaving. He's close! But to really drive the point home, Jeremiah prepared one last vision

The final projection hit like a sledgehammer.

Tyrone alone in the gym locker room, Marcus waiting on his knees. Tyrone feeding him cock, then flipping him over a bench, pounding him raw. Grunting. Sweating. Owning.

Gym.....the most personal space for him. The place where he carved his physique and mentality. The place where he's making his livelihood and camarederie, now also becoming the place where he sinks his cock into a guy that has the potential to be his future stepson. As his cock finally shoot its most-awaited load, he did it with a low, approving growl and the kind of possessive touch only a lustful beast would do to a breedable object that fully turned him on, and it's Marcus in this case

The original soul shattered.

A wave of submission rolled through the shared consciousness as the pain of defeat and resignation blended with something more muted yet darker: acceptance. Tyrone’s essence doesn't vanish, it merely reshaped and twisted. The homophobic rage dulled, the rigid heterosexuality warped and cracked. Jeremiah felt it happen in real time, the soul bending, folding into something new. Not erased, but altered. Subservient. Compatible. While his? Upgraded for transformation. The shift crested just as Jeremiah’s orgasm hit.

His back arched off the bed, hips bucking hard into his fist. A deep, animalistic groan tore from Tyrone’s throat, barely muffled against the pillow. Thick ropes of cum shot across his abs, splattering the ridges of muscle, pooling in the deep lines between them. Pulse after pulse, the release is massive, prolonged, draining every ounce of tension from the body.

Jeremiah rides it out, stroking through the aftershocks, milking every drop. Cum cooled on his skin, the scent sharp and musky in the dark room.

Inside, the battle is over.

Tyrone’s soul curled into a corner of the mind like a tamed beast. No more rebellion. No more denial. Just watchful, slightly awed silence as Jeremiah soul now looking like the perfect copy of the once confidence Tyrone as he strut to the throne to control the beast fully

Jeremiah chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in Tyrone’s chest. He dragged a finger through the mess on his abs, bringing it to his lips and tasting himself. Salty, bitter, victorious, his.

Elaine never stirred. Her breathing remained slow and even, the sleeping pills doing their job perfectly. She had no idea her boyfriend had just fought and lost a war inside his own head. No idea that the man beside her was now more in control than ever, having reshaped the original owner into something that would never challenge him again.

Jeremiah wiped his hand on the sheet, pulled the covers back up, and finally let the body relax. The cock softened against his thigh, spent and satisfied.

He turned his head on the pillow, staring at Elaine’s sleeping form in the dark.

“Sleep tight, babe,” he whispered in Tyrone’s voice, amusement thick in the words.

Then he closed his eyes, a quiet victor in a war no one else would ever know had been fought.

The apartment settled back into silence, the only evidence of the struggle a faint, lingering scent of sex and sweat and the slow, steady smile on Tyrone’s lips that hadn’t been there when the lights went out.

---

Morning light filtered through the half-open blinds of the master bedroom, painting golden stripes across Tyrone’s bare chest. Jeremiah wakes up slowly, luxuriously, the big body sprawled on its back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting on a ridged abdomen still faintly sticky from last night’s victory. Elaine had left at 6:45 AM sharp, kiss on the cheek, duffel bag in hand, off for some much-needed Saturday Spin sesh with the girls followed by long brunch. The penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the distant clink of weights that clearly sounded like Marcus trying to impress him in the home gym downstairs.

Jeremiah stretched, feeling every inch of Tyrone’s powerful frame respond. And then it hit him like a floodgate bursting open.

Memories.

Not just the muscle memory that had carried him through the last thirty-six hours: how Tyrone liked his coffee, the exact way he slapped Elaine’s ass when she walked by, the rhythm of his douchebag laugh. No. These are deeper. Older. Sharper.

He sees Tyrone at eight years old, crying in a cramped apartment bathroom after his father called him soft for losing a playground fight.

He then witnessed sixteen-year-old Tyrone in the back of a beat-up Chevy, fumbling with his first girl, bragging to his boys the next day like he’d invented sex.

He has the vision of twenty-nine-year-old Tyrone scrolling Elaine’s LinkedIn at 2 AM, calculating her net worth, deciding she was the mark—beautiful, successful, lonely enough to fall for the alpha act.

He remembered how he noticed Marcus’s lingering stares months ago during summer break, the way the boy’s eyes flicked to his crotch when that fruity ass thought no one's looking. He had smirked then, filed it away. Kid’s a fag. Useful leverage someday.

Jeremiah sat up slowly, a slow grin spreading across the handsome face that feels like his for ages. The thoughts might be problematic for Jeremiah, but that's how Tyrone rolls and fuck it feels delicious

He owned it all now. Every secret, every lie, every malicious intention. He could play Tyrone flawlessly to anyone. Family, friends, exes, cops, whoever. The original soul is tamed now, reshaped, folded into him like clay. There's no more resistance left. He is Tyrone

Feeling very fresh, Tyrone rolled out of bed, naked, cock swinging heavy between his thighs, and padded downstairs to the basement gym.

Marcus is already on the bench press, shirtless, headphones in, pushing moderate weight with good form. The second he spotted Tyrone in the doorway, he racked the bar and pulled the buds out.

“Morning,” Marcus said, voice shy but eager, eyes already dropping to the sweat beading on Tyrone’s skin from the short walk down the stairs.

Jeremiah doesn't answer with words. He just lifted one size-13 foot and planted it on the bench beside Marcus’s thigh. The sole is still damp from the insane fight in the dream realm from last night, the scent rising, sharp, masculine, a little cheesy from yesterday’s socks.

Marcus’s breath hitched. He knew exactly what's expected.

He dropped to his knees on the rubber mat without a word, hands gently cradling Tyrone’s ankle and calf like it's sacred. His tongue comes out, tracing the arch, lapping at the salt. Jeremiah watched with half-lidded eyes, arms folded across his chest, feeling the big body respond as blood rushing south, cock thickening against his thigh.

Marcus worked reverently: licking between each toe, sucking the big one into his mouth like it's a cock, swirling his tongue around it. Soft moans escaped him, muffled by foot flesh. Jeremiah flexed his toes, pushing deeper, making Marcus gag just a little.

“Good boy,” Jeremiah rumbled, voice low, commanding, a touch condescending, pure Tyrone

Marcus’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. He moved to the other foot, repeating the worship, hands massaging the thick calf muscles. By the time both feet are shining with spit, Jeremiah’s cock already reached its full mast, curving up toward his abs, foreskin peeled halfway back, a steady drip of precum trailing down the shaft.

Jeremiah reached down, fisted Marcus’s hair, and guided him upward.

Marcus just goes willingly, mouth open, taking the head in with a grateful moan. He slowly lowered his head, throat relaxing to accommodate the girth, until his nose buried in the trimmed pubes. The musk is stronger here, a mixture of sweat, dried cum from last night, pure alpha manliness. Marcus inhaled like it's pure oxygen

Jeremiah let him set the pace for a minute with his slow, worshipful bobs before he then tightened his grip and started guiding. Deeper. Faster. The wet sounds of suction filled the basement, punctuated by Marcus’s occasional choked gasp.

That’s when Jeremiah pulled out his phone.

He thumbed through Tyrone’s contacts—now his contacts—and hit call on “Lil Bro Tyrell.”

The FaceTime connected after two rings. Tyrell’s face filled the screen: younger yet bigger, same wild hair and full lips, seemingly on an outdoor run or some sort with his chest fully hugged by the compression gear

“Yo, big bro! What’s good?” Tyrell greeted, exhaling smoke, a blunt just appeared from out of the screen

Jeremiah angled the camera carefully—chest up only, background just the gym mirror. No risk of showing what's happening below frame.

Marcus never stopped. If anything, he got sloppier and louder with wet glurks and moans he know Jeremiah would feel in the head of his cock.

Jeremiah kept his face perfectly straight, voice all douchebag charm, Tyrone.

“Ay, what’s poppin’, lil bro? Just finished crushin’ leg day. You know how I do.” he said while flexing his massaged toes for emphasis to Marcus

Tyrell laughed.

“Still pounding them hoes, huh?”

Jeremiah smirked, thrusting subtly into Marcus’s throat just enough to make the boy’s eyes water.

“Always, bruh. Listen, I'mma shoot you another four bands tomorrow. Elaine dumbass still think she runnin’ shit, but I got her wrapped tight around this finger.” He flexed his free hand on screen, gold pinky ring glinting.

Tyrell whooped.

“That’s my fuckin’ brother! Gold-diggin’ legend,"

Jeremiah’s hips rolled again, slow and deep. Marcus gagged quietly, spit dripping down his chin onto the mat.

“Yeah, and get this,” Jeremiah continued, voice casual, “I finally busted her faggy-ass son. Caught the little fruit jackin’ off to some gay shit on his laptop. Told him if he don’t wanna get disowned, he better stay in line. Boy been real obedient since.” He emphasized the last word with a sharp thrust that made Marcus whimper around the shaft as he smirked devilishly to Marcus just for a split second

“Yo, that’s cold! You own the whole damn family now!” Tyrell cackled, oblivious

Jeremiah chuckled, the sound rumbling deep. “Exactly. Got the kid handlin’ all kinds of chores around here. Real thorough, too. Deep cleans everything I tell him to.” Another slow thrust and a mouthful schlorp-schlorp from Marcus. “Takes direction real good. Swallows instructions without complainin’.”

Marcus’s eyes flicked up, shining with mischief and lust. He hollowed his cheeks harder, tongue working the underside.

"You wild, bro. Keep that shit up. When you bringin’ me up there to see the setup?” Tyrell just nodded, high and clueless

“Go use that four bands to book a flight right away. Probably set your arrival to Christmas Eve or maybe the day of it so we can still pick you up and shit. Still need to do some decoration, shopping and make sure everything stays… under control.” Jeremiah’s voice stayed steady even as his balls drew up tight. “Aight, I’ma let you go. Hit the showers. Stay up.”

“Sounds like a plan already. Well, another 2 bands or shit won't hurt bruh, you know how ticket on holiday can get a bit crazy. Anyways, you'll see me on the 24th then. Love you, big bro.”

“Love you too, man.”

Call ended.

Jeremiah dropped the phone onto a nearby weight bench, both hands now free to fist into Marcus’s hair. He fucked the boy’s throat like he doesn't have tomorrow, relentless strokes that make Marcus’s eyes roll back, tears streaming, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“MMHHHHH FFUUUCCKKK YEEAAAHHHHH,” Jeremiah growled, voice finally breaking character. “Swallow that dick while I talk to his brother, you nasty little bitch.”

Marcus moaned in agreement, the vibration sending Jeremiah over. He slammed deep one last time as he unloaded thick, heavy pulses straight down Marcus’s throat. Marcus gulped greedily, throat working, not spilling a drop.

When it's over, Jeremiah pulled out slowly, cock glistening, and let Marcus catch his breath. The boy is certified busted, lips swollen, chin slick, eyes dazed and happy.

Jeremiah crouched down, cupped Marcus’s jaw with one big hand, thumb brushing over the wet bottom lip.

“Good job, babe,” he said softly, voice shifting back to his own nerdy warmth for just a second. Then the smirk returned, pure Tyrone arrogance.

He leaned in close, breath warm against Marcus’s ear.

“Do you wanna try an upgrade?”

Marcus blinked up at him, still panting, cum-drunk and curious.

“Upgrade?”

Jeremiah straightened, towering again, cock still half-hard and shining as he extended his arm and lift Marcus effortlessly back to his feet

"Let's clean-up first, your mama said we should bond a bit more intimately today, just the two of us. I'll tell you more what I have in mind,"

---

Yeah, I know I lagged behind because I did plan to post this one on the 18th or 19th. But if I post 1 part per day still, yall see the ending right on the 25th, gonna have to sneakily post it in-between eggnogs and shit LMFAO.

Fuck.....the idea of sweet, respectful me posting these stuff online with all the extended family around thinking I'm just the good 'ol, smarty-pants reserved dude doing his corporate jobs hence spending a lot of my time on my phone or in my room really drive me nuts. This is one heck of a risky Christmas sesh and I'm happy with how this part turned out

fullfriendnerdclutch

Jesus fucking Christ.........this is probably the hottest story I read this year, definitely gonna have to beat my meat to this once I arrived at home. I can sense the direction of that "upgrade" but boy I'm seated to see where do you bring this (have to terrorize you with questions after this though)

#under the fucking mistletoe #lord have mercy #male possession #nerd to hunk #male takeover #identity theft #boyfriend possession #vindictivenerdcels #personality change #straight to gay

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vindictivenerdcels

Christmas Series Pt. 2: Under the Mistletoe (Re-Post)

Something happened to the annoying Tyrone, Marcus mom's sugar baby boyfriend

The dining room in Elaine’s upscale condo glowed with soft overhead lighting, casting a warm, golden hue over the mahogany table. Plates of roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed asparagus sat neatly arranged, Elaine’s attempt at a “family dinner” despite her packed schedule.

On the surface, it looked like a picture-perfect domestic scene: Elaine at one end, poised and professional even at home; Tyrone, her imposing boyfriend, at the other, filling the chair with his broad, muscular frame currently not fully on display as he put on a pump cover and slightly baggier sweatpants to hide the obscene raging hard-on that he just can't tame yet from the high it received from actively fooling Elaine and playing his Tyrone role faithfully down to the perpetual air of confidence now he can proudly called his; and Marcus, her son, seated right next to Tyrone, subdued, well-behaved yet his mind running all over the place in excitement seeing his boyfriend fully playing Tyrone to its maximum similarity

Elaine's laptop is opened directly in front of her plate, the blue glow reflecting off her reading glasses. A muted Zoom call played through her AirPods, some emergency leadership sync that had been cancelled yet now placed back on the schedule. Her right hand balanced a fork, occasionally spearing a piece of chicken, while her left thumb scrolled endlessly through emails and Slack notifications on her phone. She's physically present on the table, but mentally miles away in conference rooms and spreadsheets.

“Pass the salt, babe,” Tyrone rumbled in that deep, authoritative baritone that always made Elaine smile absentmindedly.

Jeremiah, still perfectly inhabiting Tyrone’s chiseled body, lifted the shaker with one large hand and passed it across the table. As he did, his other hand, hidden beneath the long tablecloth, slid smoothly onto Marcus’s thigh. Marcus nearly jumped, his fork clattering softly against the plate. He shot a quick, wide-eyed glance at Jeremiah, who didn’t even look at him as he just kept that neutral, straight-guy expression fixed on the TV in the corner playing pre-game analysis of an upcoming football match.

Tyrone’s face looked calm, almost bored, the picture of a sports-obsessed alpha unwinding during dinner with his beloved family, but under the table, Jeremiah abused Tyrone's thick fingers as it traced slow circles on the inside of Marcus’s thigh through his sweatpants. Marcus swallowed hard, shifting in his seat, trying to keep his breathing even. His mother failed to notice anything; she's busy nodding along to something a VP was saying on the call, typing a quick response.

“You good, son?” Jeremiah asked casually, voice laced with just enough paternal condescension to sound exactly the way Tyrone would convey his concern. He then squeezed Marcus’s thigh in a firm, possessive way

“Y-yeah,” Marcus managed, voice cracking slightly. “Just… hungry.”

Elaine glanced up briefly.

“There’s plenty left, honey. Eat up.” Then her eyes returned back on the screen as someone unmuted and started droning about Q4 projections.

Jeremiah decided to then bring the massive hand to creep higher. Marcus bit his lip, heat flooding his face. He could feel himself hardening already, the thrill of danger making his pulse race. Tyrone’s pinky brushed the growing bulge in Marcus’s sweats, feather-light, teasing. Marcus’s hand dropped below the table, trying to push this narcissist's hand away, but the moment his fingers wrapped around that massive wrist, he couldn’t bring himself to actually stop it. Instead, his grip turned into a squeeze of encouragement.

Tyrone's lips twitched into the faintest smirk, still not looking over. His fingers deftly slipped under the waistband of Marcus’s sweats and boxers, wrapping around his bare cock. The contact is warm, calloused, perfect. Marcus stifled a gasp, disguising it as a cough. Elaine looked up again.

“You okay, honey?”

“Allergies,” he croaked, face burning.

She frowned slightly but accepted it, returning to her call. Jeremiah then decided to risk it further as he then began a slow, torturous stroke using Tyrone's massive mitts. The movement is methodical, up and down, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum that's already leaking. Marcus’s hips twitched involuntarily. He gripped the edge of his chair with one hand, the other now resting on Tyrone's thigh under the table and clenched hard everytime Tyrone provoke him. It is dangerously close to the thick bulge straining against Tyrone’s sweatpants. Tyrone shifted slightly, spreading his legs wider under the table, giving Marcus silent permission. Marcus’s heart hammered. He glanced at his mom, fully engrossed to the work, one AirPod out now as she responded to a colleague. Slowly, carefully, Marcus’s hand slid over, cupping the heavy weight of Tyrone’s cock through the fabric. Even soft, it feels massive. He can sense and visualize it's heftiness, thick, warm, radiating heat. As Marcus palmed it, he felt it twitch and begin to swell. Tyrone exhaled slowly through his nose, the only outward sign of pleasure. On the surface, he's just eating mashed potatoes, eyes flicking occasionally to the TV. Underneath, he's rock hard and leaking pre, the shorts tenting obscenely and wet spot started to appear right on the end of the bulge of his gargantuan cock that strained the poor sweats.

Marcus squeezed gently, then traced the outline of the shaft with his fingertips. He could feel the ridge of the head, the thick vein running along the underside. His mouth watered. Jeremiah reciprocated the excitement, his hand speeds up on Marcus’s cock in response, firmer now, twisting slightly at the top. Marcus had to bite down on his fork to keep himself from moaning like a slut in heat right in front of his mom. Elaine’s call finally hit a lull. She muted herself and looked up properly.

“This is ridiculous. They’re going to keep me on this forever. Why don’t you two clear the table? I’ll take dessert in the study when I’m done here.”

Both men froze for a split second, holding their arousal right on the verge of breaking down as Elaine's stared right at them. They smoothly released their grip from each other's cock and both acted like they grabbed their napkin. Jeremiah recovered faster, voice smooth as he responded to Elaine with him sneakily sniffing his pre-cum sprayed hands

“Sure thing, babe. We got it.” he said it in a way that he managed to lick of the bead of pre-cum leaked by Marcus. On the other hand, Marcus acted a bit too nervous. His mouth stammered looking for response, his cock twitched from seeing the subtle porno that Tyrone just did, but Elaine already stood up anyway so it doesn't matter anymore. They gathered plates in silence, Elaine already wheeling her laptop chair toward the study down the hall.

“Thanks, guys. Meeting should wrap by ten, latest. Love you!”

“Love you too, Mom,” Marcus called, voice strained. The moment the study door clicked shut, Tyrone dropped the plates in the sink and turned, backing Marcus against the kitchen island.

“You little slut,” he growled low, Tyrone’s voice dripping with filthy amusement. “Touching your mom’s boyfriend under the table? While she’s right in front of you?” Marcus whimpered as Tyrone pinned him with his hips, grinding the massive erection against his stomach.

"Y---you started it,"

Tyrone ignored the whimpering and just went straight to kiss Marcus hard, claiming Marcus mouth with tongue and teeth. Marcus melted into it, hands roaming greedily over Tyrone’s pumped chest and arms. The kitchen smelled faintly of dinner, but underneath is the raw scent of sweat and arousal, Tyrone’s post-workout and raging sex musk still clinging to his skin and even exemplified due to the dampness of the short shower.

Using Tyrone's strength, Jeremiah hoisted Marcus onto the island rather effortlessly and then spreading the 20 years old legs like it's a fucking conjoined and stiff chopstick. He yanked Marcus’s sweats down just enough to free his cock, then dropped to his knees.

“Quiet” he warned, before swallowing Marcus to the root in one smooth motion. Marcus slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the cry.

Tyrone's mouth is hot, wet, just the most arousing sensation possible that turned on all his nerve-ending. But honestly, the hotness really is amplified because he recognized how Jeremiah really influenced most of these lewd homosexuality that fused really well with Tyrone's persona too. Marcus can feel how Tyrone is sucking him hard, tongue swirling, beard scraping deliciously against Marcus's sensitive skin. He bobbed fast and messy, saliva dripping down Marcus’s balls as Marcus arched his back and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

"Mmpphhhhhh!!!""

Marcus lasted less than two minutes. He came with a choked gasp, hips jerking as he shot down Tyrone's throat. Tyrone swallowed every drop, then he towered over once more as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Your turn,” he barked.

Marcus panted, sliding off the counter and dropping to his knees without hesitation. Tyrone pulled his shorts down just enough to free his massive cock. It bobbed heavily in front of Marcus’s face, a bead of precum already pearling at the tip.

Marcus doesn't waste his time with all the teasing and foreplay. Instead, he swallowed the entire shaft in one go, gagging slightly on the girth, eyes watering. Jeremiah threaded fingers through his hair, guiding him with gentle thrusts.

“GRRRRrrrhhhh.....ffffuuuck yes,” Jeremiah groaned quietly using Tyrone's deep baritone, “suck your mom’s boyfriend’s dick in her kitchen.....while she’s twenty fucking feet away trying to maintain the roof above your head!"

Marcus moaned around the shaft, the tightening and gaping of Marcus's mouth making Tyrone hissed as he muttered to Marcus to shut his bitchy mouth and keep on choking. Marcus worked faster, even sloppier than Tyrone's, eager, spit running down his chin. Tyrone’s hips rocked subtly, fucking Marcus’s mouth with restrained power. They heard Elaine’s voice faintly through the walls, laughing at something a colleague said. It only made everything hotter.

Tyrone then pulled out suddenly, hauling Marcus up and spinning him around. He bent him over the island and he slicked himself quickly with a glob of his spit

“Gonna fuck you right here,” he whispered against Marcus’s ear. “where your mom just prepared all that disgusting asparagus,"

Marcus almost yelped in delight as he pushed back desperately, his eyes hungry,

“Just fucking destroy me already," Jeremiah, offended for being told to do shit as his Tyrone's self bloomed, instantly yanked Marcus hair and growled in his ear

"My bitch, my call. I suppose you don't understand enough that I'm making your entire family my bitch, heck your real dad is probably a bitch too like you," As he then tossed Marcus back to the island with all his might, Jeremiah then pressed in slow, stretching the sobbing Marcus open inch by inch.

Marcus buried his face in his forearm to muffle the sounds he let out. Short, sharp thrusts at first, followed by something much more rougher and dangerous. The island, made from marble, provide a cool and slippery base for the whole act. Tyrone’s hand snaked around to stroke Marcus in time, keeping him on edge.

“Imagine if she walked in,” Tyrone murmured, voice rough. “seeing her precious son bent over the Carraran marble she handpicked on her own, getting railed by her man," Marcus clenched around him with all these insane verbal play, whimpering in shame, arousal and every emotion he could think off. He tried to scream when Tyrone's dick hit his prostate, but Tyrone's stuffed three fingers to keep him shut. Tyrone speed things up, hips snapping harder. The wet sound of lube and skin faint but unmistakable. Moments later, the cock twitch and the louder muffled moan indicate a defeat from the young fighter pinned and speared by Tyrone's cock. As Marcus comes again with a muffled cry, spilling over Tyrone’s fist and the marble, the streak blended well with the pattern on the marble block.

The tightened clench of Marcus snug-fit hole dragged Tyrone over the edge. He buried deep and unloaded, pumping rope after rope of cum into Marcus, hips jerking with each pulse. They remain locked like that for a moment, panting and grinning to each other as they just did something conspiratorial together. Then, with a slap on Marcus red ass, Jeremiah pulled out the entirety of the 8 incher girthiness and tucking himself away like he didn't just fuck the shit out of his future stepson.

Marcus, still flushed, straightened himself up and ensured his underwear can absorb the cum well even if it leaks out. He pulled up his sweats, both of them a bit rosy and sweaty from the fuck sesh they just did.

Tyrone then grabbed a napkin, wiping down the counter quickly.

“Dessert,” he said with a grin, plating slices of chocolate cake Elaine had bought earlier.

Marcus laughed breathlessly.

“You’re insane.” They carried the plates back to the living room, casual as anything.

Elaine emerged briefly from the study.

“Oh, perfect, thank you, guys.” She took her plate and kissed Tyrone on the cheek.

“You’re the best.” Jeremiah smiled down at her using Tyrone's wolfish grin, giddy for getting away with the most outlandish fuck once more, "Anything for you, babe.”

She disappeared again as both men then settled onto the living room, Tyrone sprawled like a king, legs spread wide, remote in hand flipping to the football game. Marcus curled up beside him, head resting innocently on a cushion…..but positioned perfectly between Tyrone's thighs. A blanket draped over them for coziness but under it, the real game is about to start

fullfriendnerdclutch

Super bummed that they decided to mess-up with your post! But this second part is still exciting though despite getting some parts taken out. Hopefully it's incorporated in the next part!

#male possession #male takeover #identity theft #straight to gay #boyfriend possession #reblog

Aidan is up to something

“Hold up.” The baritone voice softened at the edges, Givi's chirp bleeding through. “Tyler the roommate is the one who helps you. Shares his snacks. Carries your books when your bag rips. Why the hell would you want me puppeting him?”

Aidan swallowed. Water beaded on his lashes.

“Because…” He dragged in a breath that smelled of locker room funk and Brock's musk. “Because he’s perfect. Too perfect. All that muscle, that face, that nice-guy smile—everyone lets him get away with anything already. Imagine if he used it. If he stopped pretending to be humble. If he flexed those arms and said the kind of shit only a guy like him can say without consequences.”

Givi's borrowed brows shot up. “You want me to turn your golden-retriever roommate into a full-on douchebag?? Stuffing this violent baboon into that good boy?"

Aidan let out a rather nervous chuckle

“I want him to embrace it. The pretty privilege. The power. I want him to look down at me with that jawline and tell me I’m nothing, that I exist to worship him, and mean it. I want the kindness weaponized.” His cock jerked, half-hard again despite the ache in his ass. “I want the hottest guy on the hall to treat me like the dirt under his Nikes, and I want you making him do it. Consider it as Brock Harlan's recruiting another boy to his bully brigade or football squad. You can definitely benefit from having someone like Tyler on your team,"

Silence. Steam curled between them. Then Givi's grin split wide—Brock's teeth, Givi’s mischief.

“Damn, Kool-Aid. You’re darker than I thought.” He lifted Brock’s arm, sniffed the rank pit with theatrical relish. “Fine. But you’re gonna owe me big. And you’re gonna watch every second of the takeover.”

Aidan nodded so fast his neck hurt.

---

The shared dorm room smelled like protein powder and Tyler’s cologne—something crisp and expensive that never quite masked the faint locker-room funk baked into his clothes. Aidan’s side was neat but a bit too stacked with textbooks and memorabilias of too many animes to count or care about, while Tyler’s was color-coded, bed made with military corners, a single framed photo of his little sister on the desk.

Tyler was sprawled on his bed in gray sweat-shorts and a white Nike tank, one arm behind his head, phone glowing against his face. The pose lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing a strip of tanned abs and the dark trail disappearing beneath his waistband. His biceps bulged, veins like cables under summer-bronzed skin. A gold chain glinted at his throat. His hair—blond-brown, tousled like he’d just rolled out of the pool—was still damp, curling at the ends.

A knock. Three sharp raps.

Tyler sat up, tank riding higher. “Yo, come in.”

The door opened. Brock tepped through—still shirtless, towel already replaced with shorts, water beading on his shoulders. His pits were on full display, his muscle so big it covers the matter dark hair on his pits, the smell preceding him like a warning.

Tyler’s nose wrinkled. “Dude, whatever shower you did, you gotta do it again. You reek! Did you just finish workout or something? Jesus look at the time!"

“Something like that.” Brock's voice was flat, but his eyes flashed gold for a split second. He shut the door. Locked it.

Aidan hovered right outside the room, not in view but he can hear everything because these dorm walls are paper-thin anyway. He can hear the creaked bed, Tyler's six-two form probably standing up from his bed to get closer to Brock

"They told me that you and your roommate were worried about the table,"

“Yeah.” Tyler stepped closer. “Some weird noise from it, like it's going to collapse soon. And we don't even use the table that much,"

"Well, minimum usage but if it's used as a support while you are plowing some pussy on top of it clearly can lead to it weakened, heh," Givi awkwardly chuckled through Brock, the jock's memory vividly painted an exhilarating detail of Libby, one of the recent gymnastic transfer, getting speared by Brock's girthy monstrosity on her first week of arrival

Tyler just stared at Brock sheepishly, still oblivious that this is not the same football jock that bullied his roommate. Then, Brock speak once more

"Well, what if you go down there and show me where the weak part is? So I can make some notes to the maintenance guys.,"

So Tyler crouched, thick thighs flexing, shorts riding up to reveal the pale crease where swim-tan met ass. He peered under the desk. “So....it might lookee fine to—”

Brock then made his move. The positioning compromised Tyler's ability to fought back as he found himself pinned to the floor by the football superstar's alien-induced strength. Tyler assumed that his hole would be split open by the Brock's notoriously lengthy cock, and for once he really feared that it would materialize based on how hard the shirtless jock already while pinning and grinding his body plus the way Brock clamped his mouth shut like Brock's about to give the pounding of his life to Tyler's virgin hole. But an even worse fate turned out to await Tyler, much to his obliviousness as Brock said

"You're gonna be a good boy and let me in,"

As Brock's eyes rolled white, then gold, Givi leaked out from the mouth that let out the warm whisper just seconds before and started to slither into Tyler's ear. Tyler’s body jerked—once, twice—then went rigid as Brock's form slumper over and rolled to the floor, no longer pinning Tyler's down as the athletic stud head snapped up. His eyes were the same oceanic blue, but the pupils were blown wide, irises ringed in molten gold. His mouth curved—not the easy grin anyone knew from him but something sharper, predatory. Looking at Brock's slumped form, Tyler gave the body a gentle kick to shove it away and walked over it to then let his roommate in

“Hey, roomie.” Tyler said as he unlocked the door and swing it open, the voice was honey over gravel, layered with Givi's chirp. “Miss me?”

Aidan just stared in awe

"Oh my......you really did it,"

Tyler rolled his shoulders, tank stretching across pecs that looked suddenly obscene. “In the flesh. Well. His flesh.” He lifted one arm, flexed. The bicep peaked, round and hard as a softball. “Jesus, this kid’s been holding out. Look at these guns.”

He sniffed his own pit—deep, deliberate. “Fuck, he’s ripe. Been at the gym since five, then decided to skip shower. Smells like hard-work and ball-sweat.” Tyler’s grin widened. “You wanted douchebag? Buckle up.”

Aidan’s knees nearly gave out.

Tyler prowled forward, barefoot, the floor creaking under his weight. He stopped inches away, towering. Aidan had to crane his neck. Tyler’s scent hit him—clean sweat, expensive cologne, and underneath, the raw musk of a guy who’d been grinding all day.

“On your knees, nerd.”

The words were Tyler’s voice, but the cadence was pure Givi infected by Brock—playful yet cruel. Aidan sank instantly. The carpet bit into his shins.

Tyler’s hand—big, calloused from pull-ups—cupped Aidan’s jaw. Thumb brushed his lower lip. “You’ve been jerking off to me for months, haven’t you? Sneaking looks when I change. Sniffing my laundry when you think I’m asleep.”

Aidan’s face burned. Tyler never realized his hidden activities, right? Or maybe Givi just revealed the truth. Regardless, Aidan's stammered in a mix of sexual arousal over his delinquency being exposed and the way this Tyler really forced him to face the music “I—”

“Shut up.” Tyler’s grip tightened. “From now on, you speak when I tell you. You breathe when I tell you. You come when I tell you. Got it?”

Aidan nodded, small, horny and obedient.

Tyler’s other hand went to his waistband. He shoved the shorts down just enough to free his cock—thick, half-hard, cut like a good Christiam boy, the head already slick. It bobbed heavy between them, veins pulsing. The smell was aphrodisiac for Aidan: crotch musk from the warm pyjama, the faint tang of precome and just overall sporty boys stink

“Open.”

Aidan’s lips parted. Tyler fed him the head, slow, letting Aidan taste the salt. His jaw ached immediately—Tyler was girthy. Tyler’s hand tangled in Aidan’s wet curls, guiding him deeper.

“That’s it. Choke on your roommate’s dick like the pathetic little fag you are.”

The words should’ve stung. Tyler never called him that. It was all Brock and his brigade. Instead, the sexual nature of it caused Aidan to moaned around the shaft, eyes watering. Tyler’s hips rolled, lazy, fucking Aidan’s mouth with the same rhythm he used for his gym routine—intentional, relentless, those hip bridges he did earlier today really came in handy

Feeling a bit bored, Tyler pulled out abruptly, cock slapping Aidan’s cheek, leaving a wet streak.

“Strip.”

Aidan scrambled to obey, shirt and sweats hitting the floor. His own cock jutted up, flushed and leaking.

Tyler kicked off his shorts entirely. Naked, he was a sculpture—broad shoulders, narrow waist, thighs like bridge cables. His pits were darker than Brock’s, hair thick and damp. He lifted one arm, flexed.

“Smell.”

Aidan leaned in, nose brushing the coarse hair. The musk was overwhelming—clean sweat, deodorant long defeated, the muskiness baked into skin. Aidan inhaled until his lungs burned. Tyler’s laugh rumbled above him.

“Pathetic. You’re hard just from my stink.”

He grabbed Aidan by the hair, yanked him up, and shoved him face-first into the mattress. Tyler’s bed smelled like him—laundry detergent, skin, sex. Aidan’s glasses fogged on the nightstand.

Tyler’s weight settled over him, knees forcing Aidan’s thighs apart. The blunt head of his cock nudged Aidan’s hole—still slick from Brock* still loose.

“Beg.”

“Please,” Aidan whimpered into the sheets. “Please, Tyler—fuck me. Use me. I’m nothing—”

Tyler slammed in to the hilt.

Aidan screamed, muffled by the mattress. Tyler didn’t pause. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping, balls slapping Aidan’s ass with wet, obscene sounds. Each thrust punched the air from Aidan’s lungs.

“You like that?” Tyler growled, voice thick. “Your nice roommate wrecking your hole? Bet you got hard when I smiled at you in the hall and waved to you like a fucking golden retriever, calling you my friend to everyone when you are fucking leaking underneath,"

Lies

"Bet you came in your pants when Brock violated me and corrupted me, you could have stopped him, you know? Knock some sense to your alien friend that I'm too nice to be taken over, but of course you are a pervert and let it all happen,"

Aidan’s cock rubbed against the sheets, friction building. All those twisted reality, the lies, that sounded good. He was close—too close—

Tyler’s hand clamped around the base of his dick, squeezing. “Not yet!" and Aidan spasmed. Instead, Tyler delayed him further from the release as he pulled out, flipped Aidan onto his back. Aidan’s legs were jelly, balls blue, cock shooting blanks as he rode off the wave and tried to obey Tyler's order. Tyler then hooked Aidan's weak legs over his shoulders, folding Aidan nearly in half. The new angle let Tyler bottom out with every stroke, his cock dragging over Aidan’s prostate until Aidan saw stars.

“Look at me.”

Aidan forced his eyes open. Tyler’s face was flushed, lips parted, gold flickering in his eyes. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Aidan’s chest.

“You’re mine now,” Tyler said, voice soft suddenly—almost gentle. Then the mask slammed back. “My personal cumrag. My footrest. My bitch,"

He leaned down, licked a stripe up Aidan’s neck, then bit—hard enough to bruise, too sensual too resist any longer. Aidan couldn't held it anymore as his mouth slacked, eyes crossed and orgasmic wave barrelled down across his body to pool right on his cock. Realizing the inevitable, with his cock still punctured the tightening hole, Tyler released his grip over Aidan's cock as he whispered his roommate to come. And come did Aidan, shattered, sobbing, cum streaking his stomach in thick ropes. Tyler followed seconds later, burying deep, flooding Aidan’s ass with heat. He stayed plugged in, grinding, milking every drop.

When he pulled out, cum leaked onto Tyler’s sheets. Tyler smirked, scooped it with two fingers, and fed it to Aidan.

“Clean up your mess.”

Aidan sucked the fingers clean, tasting both of them.

Tyler collapsed beside him, chest heaving. The gold in his eyes faded slowly, Tyler’s natural blue returning. But the smirk stayed.

“Round two in ten,” he said, voice hoarse. “Then you’re licking my pits clean. Then my feet. Then you’re sleeping on the floor like the dog you are.”

Aidan curled into the crook of Tyler’s arm, trembling. “Yes, sir.”

#male possession #male takeover #alien possession #check up #personality change

Maybe stop requesting a series I already buried LOL???? @cleanstatevessels

The communal bathroom on the fourth floor of Elmer Hall dimmed as not one soul entered the bathroom that late of the night. Steam from the showers dissipated hours ago, everyone showered warm due to the autumnal weather, but the sharp tang of body spray and BOs lingered still. But then, Aidan walked in to the bathroom only in his boxer and oddly his lab coat. He looked around to ensure that there's no one inside and then just patiently wait in the corner stall, hearts thrumming with anticipation. Around 15 minutes later, bunch of the school jocks all walked together to the fourth floor of Elmer Hall, seemingly returned from their nightly lifting sessions, their skin still flushed and slick with sweat.

When the bathroom door slammed open, it surprised Aidan until his glasses almost slipped off. He grabbed it quickly before it can make a damning noise and adjusted the foggy glasses back, yet his hands still trembled hard, now hugging the clipboard close to his skinny chest. The heavy footsteps causer a stir in him, plus they sounded.....agitated....and closer. Not long after, his thought manifested to reality once he peeked to the swarm of jocks that walked in to the bathroom already marched to his stall.

Fronted by Brock “The Bulldog” Harlan—6’4”, 245 lbs of pure Midwest corn-fed muscle, curly top cropped close on the sides and a smirk that could curdle milk—the rest of the jocks followed behind him.

My God......it did all that? Aidan noticed Jake “Juice” Morrison, Tanner “T-Bone” Reed, and Diego “Diesel” Alvarez—each one a walking protein shake with a pulse behind Brock

“Yo, Kool-Aid, we've seen you. No need to hide anymore” Brock barked, voice echoing off the tiles. Aidan already stop peeking and instead cornered himself to the wall. Is he ready? “We saw the glimpse of that white coat, nerd. You really are ready to check us up, huh?"

The others laughed, deep and guttural, the kind of laugh that made freshmen flinch in the hallway.

Yeah....check up. This is just a regular check up. No need to be so freaked out, right? Like.....yeah they bullied him and all, but not anymore with Brock enlightening them, right? Jake somehow walked in on him first, the school's hockey team captain looking like his usual smug self but clothed a little less compared to his usual hockey gear look or those hoodies he loved to wear. He theatrically peeled off his shirt and then grabbed the curtain railing, showing off his hairy pits.

"Hey there, four eyes. Brock said you would check us up? Well, here I am, ready for your perverted hands to do whatever,"

Aidan gulped. Shit is getting real here, and he cannot help but get aroused. The real Jake would never be this nonchalant with a nerd having a full-blown hard-on while looking at him and huffing his thick pheromones in the air, but this one seems to revel in it

"Smh, that dicklet must be excited, are you zooming in to each pits hair of mine and imagining yourself lost in it? Do you wanna go to town with it with that stupid canister of yours sliding up and down......this?"

When Jake suggestively slipped off the entirety of his shorts to reveal the lengthy, brown shaft with its pinkish head peeking through the hooded skkn, Aidan's cock hit rock-hard and as if tranced, walked closer to inspect Jake with more detail....

"Yo guys, I should've bashed this nerd's head if he steps closer, right? Or should I---" in a surprising violent move, he slammed his head to the wall right next to him, causing Aidan to flinch to see the gush of blood from Jake's head, that instead of groaning in pain, just laughed at himself as he exclaimed

"Why are you so surprised? This is nothing compared to the fight he had in the ice rink LOL. He just wouldn't be dumb enough to hurt himself like this though, but not like he's here to stop me. And look, elite athlete metabolism synced with potent extraterrestrial life force, regenaration and healing is pretty easy and straight-forward so no need to get worried," said Jake with a blank face as if his concussion does not just stop all in a sudden

Deranged. Obscure. Borderline manic. And Aidan leaked pre-cum instead of getting terrified looking at the absolute control wielded to puppet someone as strong-willed as Jake Morrison. The other boys, including Brock, just smirked in the background before nodding his head and then excessively take a breath while his hands motioned a pumping movement, seemingly edging Aidan to just do what's requested of him.

Tanner flexed in the mirror before stepping into the shower and making the tight confinement even more crowded. His veins popping like cables and his abs looked like mountain ridges.

“Bet he’s never even *seen* a six-pack in real close encounter like this with no intent to harm him," as he revealed his carved mid-section that drives countless people nuts everytime Tanner decided to put on some revealing mesh clothes or silly tanktop a little too tight on his physique

Diego joined in, grabbing the curtain railing to reveal the snaking veins in both of his arms and letting the aroma of his pits wafted to fill in the already damp shower

"Nah, man. He’s definitely seen our bodies through our girls account and jacked off to it. We blocked all pathetic nerds like him from seeing us, but of course he found a way. I mean, remember sophomore year? Little bitch cried when we made him do our chem homework after he thought he got invited to my birthday party LOL, but fuck he still pissed me off with that sock I believe he stole from me,"

As the four jocks already cornered the kneeling Aidan in the stall, they then started to fully strip whatever clothes left on their body and then started stroking. Aidan couldn't believe his eyes. This shit is really happening, he thought to himself. All 4 jocks, voluntarily jacking their varied dicks off right in front of his observing eyes to see. All 4 jocks, seemingly unbothered with the idea of crowding themselves into a shower stall in the middle of the night with an audience of one: a nerd in a lab coat with canisters, pen and clipboard seemingly getting ready to collect samples or something

"I should have gone to Alicia for tonight, but of course four-eye here need to set our meet-up right when I should have burrowed my dick into my girlfriend," said Tanner while furiously kneading his massive balls with one hand and pumping his thick, veiny cock with the other

"Heh, at least you don't have to meet Coach Swanson right at 6 AM next morning. I'm potentially ruining my conditioning, all just because Kool-Aid here insisted with this late night jerk-off!"

All in a sudden, Diego shot his load with a silent, held-back grunt that splattered to Aidan's glasses and face. It surprised Aidan that Diego can just silently shot that much load and because of how Diego did not give him any warning whatsoever, Aidan coldly remarked

"Why are you so simple and childish? Shoot your load again, here's the canister, fill it on your own,"

Diego grabbed the canister, half-pissed that a nerd just ordered him around, but slightly terrified because he never saw Aidan that angry. That splattered mess really shifted something in Aidan, as he stared at the 3 other towering men and rubbed the mess from Diego to their legs

"Yall better taught Diege more on how to maintain his composure. Fuck, he really ruined my fantasy. Now, where were we again?"

"Ughhh......we are doing our monologues,"

"Hhhhhh......I lost my freaking mood. Diego, I'll fucking put a note on you for this matter. And your 3 bros will be punished too if they cannot show you the rope to get better at controlling your impulses. Diego is not very bright, why is it so hard to control him? Huh......you boys just grab the canister and let's get this over with, what a way for yall to ruin my night, y'know?" Aidab remarked as he stand up from his kneeled position and handed over the canister coldly for all the other jocks to fill.

But it was not always musk-filled and cum-splattered session that happened like tonight. It was more......discreet to begin with.

---

The communal shower hissed with steam, water drumming on tile like a heartbeat. Aidan stood under the farthest nozzle, skinny shoulders hunched, glasses fogged on the hook outside the stall. He was rinsing shampoo from his dark curls when the door slammed open.

Heavy, bare footsteps slapped the tile and gets increasingly closer to Aidan's.

"Maybe it's one of those jocks that just finished their training or spending times with their babe," Aidan thought to himself, not noticing the shadow loomed just right outside his stall. Then, the curtain yanked forcefully, revealing a 6'3" towering stud just outside his stall looking heated and menacing. It's Brock Harlan, and he seems pissed

"Ck ck ck......look what I found here,"

"Ww---w....what are y--" his voice stuttered, eyes darted everywhere in a panic as he tried to get out of trouble, yet the sweaty, thick pit hairs caught his attention just several seconds too long

"Shut it, nerd. You know this is my stall, right?" Ughh.....the way the biceps hardened while his calloused, veiny hands grabbed the bar. Aidan's cock twitched, getting hard slowly but surely due to the sight in front of his eyes and the way Brock's testosterone-laden musk combined with his Acqua di Gio filled the stall quickly

"W---wait, what? There's no---"

"I said shut up, do I need to repeat it once more?" Now he's fully inside the stall, looming over Aidan by 7 inches and looking extra pissed, before looking down at Aidan's hardening cock that instantly invited a smirk "Hmmmm.......faggot get a bit excited because an alpha corners him, am I right?"

Brock, with a sadistic smirk, grabbed Aidan's neck and choked his throat with ease. Aidan yelped and then whimpered in surprise, before Brock use his other hand to then grabbed a handful of Aidan's red-ish fluff of hair and shove Aidan's face to his wet, sweaty pits

"Yeaahhhh......this shit must've turned you on, right nerd?"

Aidan inhaled—sharp, dizzying. Salt and musk and something darker, like skin left too long in a jockstrap. His cock jerked against his thigh, untouched. Brock's laugh was a low rumble.

“Good boy.”

Then Brock spun him, forearm across his chest, pinning him chest-to-tile. Water pounded their backs. Brock's cock slid between his cheeks—hot, heavy, reeking of gym workout and sex. One brutal thrust and Aidan’s cry was swallowed by the tile. Brock set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, balls slapping wet skin. Each stroke dragged a broken sound from Aidan’s throat; each time he tried to speak, Brock's hand tightened on his hip.

“Quiet,” Brock growled, but his voice cracked—layered, like two people speaking at once. “Don’t want anyone to hear that I fucked a nerd like I'm some gay bitch like you,"

Aidan’s knees buckled. Brock hauled him upright by the throat, breath scalding his ear. “You like this, don’t you? My stink all over you. My cock in your ass. Bet you jerk off thinking about it.”

Aidan whimpered. He was close—so close—when Brock's rhythm stuttered. A low groan, almost pained, then Brock’s whole body locked. Heat flooded Aidan’s ass in thick pulses, Brock’s cock jerking deep inside him.

Silence, save for the water.

Brock pulled out slowly. Aidan sagged, cum and water running down his thighs. He turned—and froze.

Brock’s eyes glowed soft gold, pupils slit like a cat’s. His grin wasn’t Brock's typical cruel smirk; it was smaller, crooked, familiar.

“Hey, Aid.”

The voice layered—Brock's baritone under something reedy, chirping. Aidan’s heart flipped.

“…..Givi?"

Brock's shoulders rolled in an alien shrug. His meaty hand lifted, waved like a puppet. “Miss me?”

Aidan’s laugh cracked, half-sob.

“You asshole. You left—”

“Had to hop a ride. Turns out I’m sticky.” Givi made Brock flex, pecs bouncing, then lifted one arm again. “Humans are roomy. Males especially. All that testosterone—feels like mainlining rocket fuel. And the smell?” He inhaled deeply through Brock's nose. “God, you primates are filthy. I love it.”

Aidan’s gaze dropped to Brock's spent cock, still heavy, glistening. Heat coiled in his gut again.

“You possessed my bully to fuck me?”

“Pranked you,” Givi corrected, Brock's mouth smiling shyly as Givi slimed out from Brock's ear and coagulated into a mass right on top of Brock's massive shoulder, “Owed you for the med-patch. Figured you’d like the upgrade.” A wink. “Jock brain’s on mute. He’ll wake up thinking he blacked out mid-shower. No memory, no harm.” said Brock now rather flatly as Givi made him put both hands on his hips and now Brock is merely posing as if he's being judged for a bodybuilding competition

Aidan swallowed. His voice dropped, husky. “Is he a puppet of yours then? Can you do more? He speaks still despite you going out of him,"

Givi tilted Brock's head.

“More?”

“Yeah.....can you control more people then? Because look at you conveniently piloting a fucking 230+ pounds of a muscle beast.....I mean......then can you be in control of more bodies all at once?"

"Uhhh......sure we can try it. But it might cause some deteriorating effect to me, someone need to check me up. Who do you want me to get inside of?"

"My roommate. Tyler. He’s… kind. Let me borrow his notes, brings me coffee.” Aidan’s fingers twisted together. “But he’s built, just like Brock, TE’s body, thick thighs, thicker neck, even thicker brain. If you take him…” He flushed crimson. “I’d be so good for you. For both of you.”

Brock's face softened—Givi's softness.

“You want me wearing your crush like a costume.”

Aidan nodded, small, eager.

“Please.”

Givi brought Brock's body to step closer, Brock's big hands cupping Aidan’s wet cheeks.

“You’ll owe me another favor, little human.”

“Anything.”

Brock's eyes flared gold.

“Then dry off. Your room is 4B, right? I’ll knock with his knuckles.” A sly grin. “Tell him the RA sent me about some noise,"

Aidan’s cock jerked at the thought—Tyler’s gentle smile stretched over Givi's mischief, Tyler’s strong arms pinning him down. He whimpered.

Brock leaned in, full Givi in action using Brock's irresistible masculine skin, the jock's lips brushing Aidan’s ear.

“Shh. Save that for when I’m wearing your roommate’s skin and making you beg in his voice.”

The shower cut off with a squeak. Aidan stood dripping, heart racing, already obediently hard again.......

#check up #male possession #male takeover #male puppet #alien possession

While waiting for yall to assemble and ring my doorbell, I goofed around with my other half, making him blowing me while his head fully submerged in the pool.

So, a bit of recap here:

1. Work drained me so I have no chance to prepare decent costume and relied on Chronivac instead to spice things up for my Halloween this year

2. @goon-mate used the app to become this Aussie's jock perfect copy

3. @alienpossession obviously utilized his ability to get anyone he pleased onboard to the party, no apps needed

What about you? Who do you wanna look like for this year's Halloween?

#male possession #male takeover #male transformation #personality change #reblog #male shapeshift #alien possession #halloween tf

Work really occupied almost all my waking hour the past few months, I found no excitement or energy to prepare for a Halloween costume for this year. I think I'm just going no costume this year and host my own party. But rest assured, I'm not really hosting the party looking like myself, oh that's gonna turn south real quick judging on how I haven't drained my lymphatic system and my eyebag really screamed for more sleep. Instead, I'm picking my favorite OF star for the season, put their profile in Chronivac or MorphMage depending on what app is not restricted in my area for now, and turn myself into them for my Halloween costume. I think this is quite a sick costume idea, don't you think?

Oh, because I have two accounts (cc: @fullfriendnerdpurse), it only feels right to have another me so I also put the note that I have a fraternal twin and voila, a younger sibling appeared out of thin air HAHAHAH.

I made it him extra submissive to me so while I waited for yall to come join my party, I have a sloppy mouth to worship my feet and nursing my cock. Do lemme know if you're about to swing by and please also indicate who you really are LOL

#male shapeshift #male transformation #male tf #chronivac #halloween tf celebration

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Elated to see its the time for it to make a return, so this is my own take that I shelved when @immortalmrwavell previous account got off. Our narrator.......at least for me, is not necessarily the best person to handle MorphMage

I honestly have no idea what's gotten into me during our trip back to my apartment, but seeing Liam all muscular and confident like that stirred something unpleasant in me. I can't put it into any other words, but I believe I was offended and jealous, of his physique, of him knowing the MorphMage app first, practically as much as I lust his current form, I wanted to return the scale back to my favor. I was the bigger and more confident one before all this for fuck's sake! It's only normal then for me to do this, right?

Let me take you back for a brief recap. I told Liam to wait in the living room as soon as we arrived while I transformed myself, much to his dismay. But, I quickly told him that he could just simply work out while waiting for me and that seems to soothe his jock brain as I added that, it would be fair for him to experience the same surprise that he did for me when he first appeared post-MorphMage and he obliged with no further questions asked.

"Just don't take too long, okay? I'm excited to see what you will come up with,"

I obviously hid the fact that the first toggle I switched off as soon as I finished the transformation would be everyone's awareness of my previous form, and when I said everyone, it includes Liam. I needed to assert my dominance over him, and keeping him in the blind that his boyfriend is also a MorphMage user would certainly do something to his psyche

"Oh look at me pulling such a fine DILF, he would never look at me the same way if he ever found out about my MorphMage usage,"

"I could never let him found this MorphMage app, or I'm doomed,"

Or something along those lines. Yeah he's much more confident and easy-going now, but I bet with him still retaining most of his old emotional self, this decision would be changing the dynamic back to my favor. He wouldn't dangle the fact that he found MorphMage first and allowed me to be this figure I transformed myself into.

Talking about my transformation, well, as you could see, I always upped the ante at least one level above Liam.

Confident blonde man in his early 30s with consistent gym repertoire? Well, I'm now a certified bodybuilder with history of tinkering with roids and all that in his mid 30s, now clean off all those meds and overpowered all the youngster still. I definitely could pull off some hair but I feel like being bald suited this form of mine better so I let him win that, after all his man bun would be useful to make him blow me. But back to the reversal of him tipping the scale in his favor. Him being 6'3"? I'm 6'4" now. 8 inches soft? Mine would be 8.5 inches soft, with balls clearly bigger than his. I simply refuse to be dwarfed or outshine by him. Call it egoistic, I don't care, I just need to make sure that I'm not the one feeling all submissive to someone that used to be shorter than me by 3 inches and never even dared to talk in a room full of people.

He mentioned that upon saving, the transformation really hit him hard and I experienced the same earth-shattering orgasm as he explained when my avatar came into life and solidified its changes to my physique rather than merely hovering like a holographic visual before I clicked that "Save" button. But I never expected that the most fun part came right after that when the mental options started popping up like questionnaire on the screen

"Maintain name: Joshua Koeverman"

I clicked no to that, and a blank section appeared where I could put my new name, so I typed "Josh Coleman" to make it much more easier for everyone to call and impossible to be fucked by even the darndest Starbucks barista

Another blank column appear

"Describe your self, Josh Coleman"

So obviously, I started to frantically take an excerpt on the way me and Liam usually talked about those Insta hunks. Personal trainer of the elites and wealthy. Relentless stamina to hit every single rep perfectly. Talent beyond comprehension to adapt to any sport as I please. Brand deals and brand trips almost every single day. Insane partying and sex across the globe with whoever I pleased with no repercussions because no one complained getting fucked by a stallion like me. Before I know, I literally submitted a 1000 words essay of my new self and I found my cock getting hard once more from thinking on how delicious to have all that false memories hit me all at once!

Then, several toggle appeared on screen with the instruction explaining that you can click to turn it off and skip through it if you want to keep it on as its default to be on

"Retain memories of pre-transformation?"

I skip through that

"Retain option for reversal?"

I turned that one off, because why the fuck do I need that?

"Retain memories of pre-transformation for other?"

I also turned that one off. Another pop-up appeared

"No one will remember the old you except yourself, are you comfortable to proceed?"

Another safety features

"Total alteration of everyone's memory might create unintended effect to your own memory, are you sure to proceed?"

I clicked "Yes" to that one while rolling my eyes and then as soon as the "Save" button appeared, I clicked that and groaned in what I would describe as if your brain getting squeezed dry. It must be one heck of a scream because I clearly blacked out for sometimes as Liam now stands right outside of the ensuite bathroom looking flustered and worry at me. I found myself still standing in front of the bathroom mirror but the reflection that stared back at me feels like any other moment I looked at my reflection

"Josh, are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be, babe?" Oh that feels smooth and simply right to say, as I leaned on the door and feeling the tension in the air as Liam's eyes scanned my entire body as if this is the first time he's seeing me like this. Well, to be fair it really is his first time, but the less he knows the better

"The scream.....I thought---"

"Oh yeah, that's just me trying to reenact that Mr. Olympia moment from last year, don't you remember that?"

I can see his brain jogged a bit as his memory falsely recalled myself on Mr. Olympia stage giving Cbum a run for his money last year. Feels nice to have that world-building moment together but he quickly come on board and smiled

"Yeah, I creamed my pants listening to you roared. I hope you can train me to be as good as you,"

"Oh, well, you are not that hard to train with all the base material you already have. Don't you remember how easy you take on cock-sucking despite dating just chicks for most of your life? You are a natural follower, Liam, and a very good one at that. For starter, if I hop into bed now, you'll follow me and start sucking on my toes before going all the way to swallow my whole cock, am I right?"

And just like that, I found Liam's eyed glistened with delight as he recalled all those moments where he happily blew me like the subservient muscle bottom that he is, and tonight it won't be any different

#male shapeshift #nerd to hunk #male transformation #male tf #morphmage #spinoff #male muscle growth #personality change #reality change

fullfriendnerdpurse

The Personal Shopper

"Yann, you son of a bitch,"

"Hey Tony, what's wrong?"

"You exceeded my expectation, bro. All the fits you gave me, insane hit. No miss throughout my whole stay in Europe, thanks to you, and some amazing organic pick-ups too by the media,"

"Ohhhh.....damn Tony, you got me panicked for a second, that ain't a way to start your compliment hahahaha.....but, you're welcome, just doing my job," Yann said, his eyes browsing all the look Tony pulled and posted to his socials

"Nah bro, this is the extra miles you did. The way these clothes fits me, it's like as if you have a literal mannequin of my physique everywhere you go. No awkward length, nothing too tight, just....truly impeccable. And then, that vintage store you told me to pick up the watches.....immaculate picks, man,"

"Happy to be of service," Yann said, still scrolling and then abruptly stopped before smirking at one shot.

It's one of the suited post among many that Tony posted, Yann's mind brought back to the moment when he tried on those clothes while curating Tony's wardrobe for the holiday, of course using his shapeshifting power to ensure a well-fitted selection as he shifted into Tony's form and pretended to be one of the most eligible bachelor in NYC for the shopping session.

"Everyone complimented me anywhere I go, and even Brunello himself invited me to his fashion show. I never got invited by Brunello until you hooked me up with his clothing. You truly made my Europe trip, man,"

Yann bit his lip. Must be fucking nice doing all that, and he could actually pulled that off too, maybe Tony would be back for autumn to Milan and crashed into Brunello's boutique for some free clothes? He purchased like 175 grand worth of clothing in one go while posing as Tony in New York, there's no harm in going to Milan and did some trial using his look and made some small purchases for his personal collection, right? Not like the real Tony would notice a dent of 10-20k, right?

That trouser in this particular pic, he tried that and even soiled that pants too in the dressing room, but of course the shopping assistant know better to not piss off one of the more prominent yet discreet Italian-American "royalty" when he glared at them using Tony's smoldering look.

"Okay, anyway, gotta go now, but thanks for pulling through. I know I can be a bit demanding but you truly lived up to the hype, man. By the way, hope the extra treats helped you to cop some sick fits,"

"Extra?"

"Yeah, no need to thank me, though. That's all because of your work. Gotta really go now, bye!"

And as the call ended, Yann just stared at the mirror in front of him, his form shifted from a regular pale 5'11" man to a more broad-shouldered, tanned, and well-defined Italian-American handsomeness

"Gotta go now, bye!" Yann chimed, in the exact tonality as spoken by Tony just mere minutes ago, and then he erupted in laughter

"Yet another satisfied client with too much money to be aware of, uhhh....what a fool, well.....what's to expect from a trust fund boy that barely knows his own wealth,"

Saying all that with the face and physique of his client attracted a throbbing sensation from the little fella down under. A little tug at his cock caused him to moan, the fat mushroom head swells even bigger, so freaking sensitive!

"This is why it's always a mess with you, Tony. Fucking hypersensitive dong, it nuts just with the slightest touch! Like this---UNHHHHHGGGHHHHH----FFUUUCKKK!!!"

As the cum spurted to his vanity, Yann decided to strip from his soiled clothing and twirled around his house before heading to the bathroom to clean himself.

"Fucking sensitive cock, making a mess everywhere it goes," he murmured to himself while tugging it a bit more, inviting yet another pre to leak out. Smiling, he decided to stop draining the pipe and just seriously clean himself, of course while remaining in this Tony's look of his, a shower feels 10x better when you are ripped and your body can entertain you like this after all.

As he massaged the luxurious shampoo to his scalp, his mind wandered to his agenda later today. He wanted to play around using Tony's form for longer time, as per his routine to keep the same look for at least 12 hours, but duty calls and he needs to clean up because this prospective client is asking to be accompanied in his shopping spree later today as part of the test run to check on Yann's compatibility with him. He's an up-and-coming tech millionaire, wealth streaming so fast he's probably going to be a billionaire even before Christmas break. A quick Instagram search of the prospect's account, Yann already got the basic template to copy, but the measurement might be slightly off because he still need physical contact for a full, detailed copy of the other person.

This dude can dress himself rather well based on his posts, but the color scheme is boring and the style is just.....active men's wear with the occasional shirts as an attempt to look more formal. Yeah, he can definitely work with this dude, accessorize him a bit more, strictly telling him to use activewear in the gym or for workout (since he's built like a gym freak!) and some tight-fitting dress shirts to accentuate his muscles. Well, the proportion might require him to visit a tailor instead and Yann has some contact in mind. A fitting session might also be a great way to steal the info he needed from that client so Yann can shapeshift into a perfect replica of him, it's not everyday there's a dude this jacked asking around for styling tips and putting serious money in it

#identity theft #male shapeshift #male disguise #the personal shopper

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