Transformation

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??

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,"

In case you never noticed (or I never told anyone in particular 'round here about this), I'm such a huge Mission Impossible fans. In fact, I believe my excitement over body suit, identity theft, male disguise, all started by Mission Impossible. So, it's only right that I do something a la Mission Impossible with my works.

Italian mobster boss turned out to be a redneck with petty criminal record in disguise?

A federal agent revealed to be an impersonator?

An intimidating, gruff, muscle daddy turned out to be puppeteered by a horny incel?

Or, the classic lean dude hiding beneath the suit that aged him by years, developed his notoriety and brought him so much wealth and excitement

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.

One of my favorite caption stories by @2xskin Ideas had been floating around in my head for years, and still being hooked, I finally decided to explore it in my own way. It might be the start of something. https://maletransformation.blogspot.com/2015/12/seanday-treat-take-photo.html

“You want to take a photo? It’ll last longer,” John muttered as Ryan watched him flex.

“I didn’t know there was so much ink,” Ryan replied, already opening the camera on his phone.

John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow beneath the close-cropped hair. The trimmed beard sharpened the expression, made it look more severe, more confrontational. “I was being sarcastic,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh,” Ryan said, embarrassed, and turned his camera off.

“So what can you tell me?”

“About what?” John sighed.

“You know,” Ryan said carefully. “About John.”

John didn’t answer. He continued feeling the tight, muscular pectorals that sat heavy on his shoulders—solid, veined slabs of flesh that looked less like a body than a piece of equipment. Beneath his ribs, a black rose tattoo bloomed across his side, stark against tanned skin. A thin gold chain with a small cross lay against the center of his chest, catching the light every time he shifted.

In the mirror opposite, John turned slowly from side to side, studying his reflection with a calm, almost clinical focus, as if assessing whether everything was still in place.

He stretched, hooking his fingers into the skin of his tattooed bicep and pulling. The muscle swelled under his grip. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “This is a good fit. One of the best I’ve had.”

Ryan watched, saying nothing.

John lifted his chin. Not a big movement—just enough to lengthen his neck and square the line of his jaw. His head stayed tilted up like that, eyes hooded, gaze level with his own reflection. It made him look taller and even more full of himself. He didn’t drop his gaze once. Then, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his black FILA trunks and started to adjust them. He stepped slightly to one side, flexed his legs once, and watched how they tightened and relaxed. He made a small adjustment and looked again.

John picked up the smartwatch from the ground and slid it onto his wrist. He adjusted the strap with quick, practiced movements, then checked the display in the mirror.

Satisfied, he lowered his arm and reached for the pants.

He picked up the black athletic pants. Lightweight fabric. He shook them once, stepped into them, and pulled them up over his hips. The waistband settled just below the FILA lettering. He adjusted the height, checked it in the mirror, and left it there.

Then his eyes moved. They slid from the mirror to Ryan, slow and delayed, as if Ryan had only just entered the room.

“What the fuck,” John said quietly. “Why are you still here, you piece of shit?”

The voice was exact. Flat. Rough. No warmth at all. Ryan felt his chest tighten. “Ok Chad. Nice impression.”

“What’d you just call me?” he asked.

Ryan hesitated. John stepped forward. “You trying to be funny?” he said. Ryan backed up without meaning to. John closed the space and then shoved him. The wall stopped him.

“Don’t talk,” John said. “You’re already fucking this up.”

Ryan swallowed.

“You’re not him, Chad,” he said. “You’re just pretending.”

John smiled slightly.

“Yeah?” he said. “Then why are you shaking?” He leaned in close. Too close. “You say that name again,” he said quietly, “and I’ll see how brave you are when you’re on the floor.” John — the real one — had a short temper and had been inside for assault; this was his first week back on the streets.

Ryan didn’t answer. John straightened even more, satisfied. He looked back to the mirror, adjusted his stance, lifted his chin again. “Thought so,” he said. Then something shifted.

The hard set of his jaw loosened. The glare drained out of his eyes. The posture stayed — broad, confident — but the menace fell away like a coat being shrugged off.

John’s arrogant persona washed from his face.

“Well,” he said, almost casually, “that was easy.”

Ryan blinked, still pinned where he stood.

“There’s not much going on in his head,” John continued, voice lighter now, sharper in a different way. “Surface stuff. Anger issues. Habit. Reaction. Sucked it up real quick.”

Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands were still shaking.

“That's fucked up. You were pretty convincing,” he said.

John smiled.

It didn’t belong on that face.

The expression was wrong somehow — too narrow, too familiar. Ryan could see Chad in it immediately, thin and sharp-eyed, the kid he’d known for years. Skinny Chad. The one who used to get shoved around in school corridors. The one who’d graduated with him only months ago.

Seeing that smile on John’s face unsettled him more than the threats had.

Ryan shook his head slowly. “And I still can’t believe it’s you in there.”

John glanced back at the mirror, then at Ryan. “But here we are.”

Ryan remembered the fight — how hard it had been. How John had thrown them both off more than once. How he’d gone straight for damage, elbows, head, anything he could reach. Not panic. Experience. He fought like someone who knew exactly where it hurt. Ryan could already feel the bruises forming under his shirt.

John rolled his shoulders once. “He’s strong,” he said. “And he doesn’t stop once he starts.”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. John’s voice had changed, but Ryan’s body hadn’t caught up. His shoulders were still tight, his hands still hurt where they’d hit the wall earlier, and the room felt quieter now. He looked at John and tried to line up what he was seeing with what he remembered.

Ryan still couldn’t believe it was Chad inside—thin and skinny Chad, someone he’d known for years. They’d only just finished high school together. It had taken both of them to subdue John; he was big and strong. A few times he’d managed to throw them both off. He fought dirty, something he’d learned from being inside or maybe as a kid. He knew how to hurt people. Ryan could still hear John's short, ugly laugh and already feel the bruises.

Ryan had finally got the needle into his ass, and the two of them lay on him until the juice started to work. Ryan sat in the corner holding his side as Chad unbuttoned his shirt.

“Help me, will you!” Chad muttered.

Ryan shook his head and could only watch as Chad pulled off his Hi Tops, socks, and skinny jeans. He only paused for a moment before pulling at John’s white underwear. There was hunger in Chad’s eyes as he looked at the lifeless monster that hung between John’s legs. Then he mouthed mine and grinned.

He started to feverishly pull at John’s neck, finding an edge he gently eased his fingers underneath. Ryan could see his concentration; it was like he wasn’t even there. Chad followed the edge high across John’s back, almost to the ends of his shoulders, then down following the line of his chest.

Ryan heard a snap, and John’s head was separated from his body. Chad threw it over and it landed in Ryan’s lap. John’s brown eyes stared up at him, cursing. Ryan could almost hear him vowing his untimely death. He brushed John’s eyes closed, fearing what might have been if he hadn’t been able to get that needle into him. Examining John’s head, Ryan still couldn’t believe what Chad was planning. Like himself, Chad had always been the victim—the skinny kid people picked on. Ryan pushed his hand into the empty neck and held up John’s head. Soon Chad would be taking on the identity of the local thug that ran the district.

When Ryan looked up, Chad had all but transformed into the twenty-seven-year-old and was forcing his arm down into John’s.

“You still want to go ahead with this?” Ryan asked.

Chad scrubbed at his brown shoulder-length hair. “Hell yeah, I’ve got nothing, except this now,” he said.

He started to feel his entire body—the thick strong arms, deep heavy chest, and tight abs. He closed his eyes and groaned as his stolen body reacted. He sighed and looked down.

“And this monster,” he muttered, giving it a couple of jerks. “Plenty of time for that later.”

He reached down and pulled on the underwear, struggling to cage the stolen manhood.

Ryan had told him to leave off John’s mask and just have the body, but Chad said he wanted the whole package.

“Give me it,” Chad said, pointing at the mask.

He looked into Chad’s blue eyes and handed it over. Ryan felt kind of sad seeing his friend swallowed up by John. He wondered if he’d ever see him again—the real Chad, he meant.

Chad pulled it over his head, and Ryan watched his thick long hair disappear under John. Chad pulled at his new face, pushing the mask’s features into place.

John blinked for the first time and looked over at Ryan. Chad’s blue eyes were lost; only John’s dark brown eyes remained as he smoothed out the joins, creating a seamless, undetectable transition.

----

John shifted his weight and looked at Ryan, casual now.

“You’re replaying it,” he said. “I can see it.”

Ryan swallowed.

“I’m processing all of it.” “It didn’t have to be like that,” Ryan said. “And you didn’t need to scare me like this.” “Yeah,” John said evenly, glancing back at the mirror, checking his posture, smiling. “But it felt great and it was fun.” Ryan took a step back without thinking. John noticed and smiled—not cruel this time, just certain. “Relax,” he said. “You’re still useful.”

John then forced Ryan on his knees while pushing down his own pants. In an instant John’s monster dick jumped into Ryan’s face.

Finally. Ryan, driven by lust, was just about to start when John grabbed him by the hair with both hands. Without giving Ryan a chance to react, he rammed his cock down Ryan’s throat. Ryan quickly realized that John was only interested in his own satisfaction, but it was Ryan’s wet dream becoming reality.

“Now be the good little cocksucker,” John said confidently. “You can feel honored, I don’t let a fag suck me off every day.”

Ryan did so and tried to ignore the pain and not gag as he listened to John's taunts. A stain became visible in his own pants.

John shot his load recklessly into Ryan’s throat. “Fuuuuuck!” With a single deep groan and full of relief, John pushed Ryan away and turned around.

John picked up his black T-shirt like nothing had happened. No pause. No glance back. He shook the fabric out once and pulled it over his head. The cotton dragged across his shoulders before settling into place, the red stag spreading tight across his chest. He tugged the hem straight with a quick, practiced movement, then lifted his chin and smoothed the collar flat against his throat with two fingers, checking the fit in the mirror.

When John finished, he looked exactly as he had before Ryan and Chad had taken him down. Ryan watched in silence — heart still racing, breath uneven.

Suddenly a tune came up from Chad’s pile of clothes dumped on the floor. John glanced at Ryan, then bent down to dig through the piece and grab John’s ringing phone.

Ryan watched in silence as John tapped the screen and answered — his demeanor changed immediately.

“Tony, you fucking jerkoff, where the hell are you?”

He started pacing the small room, cocking his head with a wide grin on his face — the same one Ryan had seen on the unfortunate original not thirty minutes earlier.

“Man, I was right behind you. Then your girlfriend wanted to go into that clothes store. No way I was hanging around while she tried on a bunch of crap.”

Ryan smirked, and John shot him a look. Ryan’s mouth snapped shut, frozen by excitement or fear.

"Nah mate, I shouted I was going for a piss, but that bird of your must have been hanging off your ear. Bitch, you should get rid of her, she’s always nagging you." I saw a glint in his eyes, John was notorious for not giving a fuck. John laughed.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you. She’s fine.”

He glanced at Ryan and made a quick jerking motion in front of his dick.

“Man, I don’t give a fuck. Look, I’ll meet you at that fancy cafe on the second floor in twenty. Yeah, like I care if she brings her friend.”

He hung up.

“Jerk,” he muttered under his breath.

John then shot a look at Ryan and held out a hand.

Ryan hesitated before taking it. John’s grip closed around his wrist and hauled him upright without effort, like pulling dead weight off the floor. He didn’t let go right away. He stood too close, crowding Ryan’s space, forcing him to look up.

“I know what I just did.” John said. His voice was lower, steadier, stripped of the earlier menace but not softened.

Ryan nodded, uneasy, eyes fixed on the familiar face that didn’t feel familiar at all. This was the same man who’d pinned him to the wall minutes earlier, who’d scared him without even raising his voice.

“I wanted you to see it work.” He gave Ryan’s wrist a brief squeeze before letting go. “It’s still me in here.”

Ryan swallowed. He wanted to believe that.

“I’ll be in touch,” John said. “Couple days. Maybe more.” He stepped back, already shifting into that confident, street-ready posture. “Once I get Tony alone, I’ll call you. Then you can dump that bitch and we can do all sort of things.”

Marcus spent the first night with the reformed Tyrone and it seems like it's far from over

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

Tyrone does not even glance down, eyes glued to the screen as the kickoff soared. But his cock twitched in the brief, already semi-hard from the anticipation. His right hand casually held the remote, thumb flicking volume up.

"Damn right. Eagles gonna penetrate that Dallas defense hard. Watch 'em sack the QB, pin him down with no mercy."

Not even 5 minutes into the game and Tyrone already went full domineering mode, guiding Marcus head with his right hand by pulling the boy's hair while his left hand busy caressing Marcus back with the kind of move that promised something later. Underneath the blanket, Marcus takes an active participation to the debauchery, flopping free his mom's boyfriend hefty cock and inhaled its musky and salty scent before going to town with it, expertly licking the shaft like its some kind of lollipop that he enveloped with his warm mouth

Tyrone grunted softly, shifting his hips just enough to feed Marcus more.

"Mmmhhh.....there we go.....First down. Eagles drivin' it in.....slow and steady, buildin' that momentum."

On screen, the quarterback dropped back, scanning the field. Tyrone's left hand clicked the remote to zoom the replay, but then it wandered lower under the blanket—sliding past Marcus's hip to the cleft of his ass. One thick digit, calloused from his rigorous workouts, and it teased the tight boycunt, circling the rim before pressing in knuckle-deep with an emphasized "oomphhh" from Tyrone when he makes that entry. Marcus moaned quietly around the shaft, the vibration humming up Tyrone's length. He takes it deeper, throat relaxing to accommodate the girth, gagging softly as the head nudged his tonsils. Tyrone's right hand held him there firmly, while the left busy invading the slick yet tight hole, spreading Marcus open, scissoring gently to loosen the heat.

The crowd cheered as the running back broke a tackle.

"Look at that—power through the line, slippin' right into the hole. No one's stoppin' that." Jeremiah's voice stayed level, like he's commentating for ESPN, but his gold-digging dick swelled thicker in Marcus's mouth, veins pulsing against his tongue. His left hand withdrew the finger momentarily to grab his phone from the side table, scrolling notifications one-handed, checking some interesting DMs and the countless group chats buzzing with unread notifications about parties, workout and other activities. With no warning, Tyrone just plunge the fingers back in, this time two thick digits spearing Marcus's boycunt, spreading and stretching while his cock speared the now-more receptive throat.

Marcus's eyes watered, but he held it through, saliva dripping down the length, pooling at the base. The dual invasion is overwhelming: mouth stuffed full, ass opened wide by those relentless fingers. The roleplay burned hot: him as the perverted stepson, sneaking sucks and fingering while "Dad" watched the game, ignoring the fag under the blanket like he's just some kind of sex toy with no other value other than pleasuring its user.

A commercial break hit—beer ads, scantily clad women cheering. Jeremiah used the lull to thrust subtly, fucking Marcus's mouth with shallow pumps while his right hand controlled the pace. His left hand set the phone down, alternating back to the remote to skip ads, then diving under again, three fingers now, thick and insistent, curling to hit Marcus's prostate.

"Intermission. Time to regroup—get that formation tight, open up those gaps."

The game resumed—second quarter, score tied 7-7. The Eagles' defense blitzed, sacking the Cowboys' QB. Jeremiah whooped, hips jerking involuntarily, shoving deeper into Marcus's throat while his left hand pistoned those fingers faster, spreading the boycunt wide, slick with spit and precum lube.

"Pin that motherfucker down! Make him feel the ground and pound!"

Marcus gagged hard, spit bubbling from his lips, ass clenching around the invading digits. Jeremiah's right hand tightened in his hair, holding him impaled, while the left twisted deeper, knuckles grazing sensitive walls. Tears streamed down Marcus's cheeks, mixing with drool, his vision started to get blurry due to the lack of oxygen and the increasing heat. Can he survive this whole thing? His lungs started to feel like it burns while his throat and ass convulsed and definitely turning red from all the action. Tyrone noticed the struggle so he eased off and even let Marcus to stop sucking for a while, an audible gasp and greedy yet exasperated inhale followed as Marcus trying to extend his life. As he peeked through the blanket, he stared at the strings of spit connecting Marcus lips to his well-lubed shaft and he grinned like a devil as he focused back on the game while pushing Marcus back to his duty. Marcus is taken aback by the forceful shove yet his throat already eased off to the massive meat so it just slides comfortably into place and he started once more, slow licks along the underside, fondling and sucking the fuzzy heavy balls one by one, it feels hefty and full of promise

"Good hustle, boy. Keep grindin'—we're in the red zone now."

Tyrone spread his legs wider, giving access. His right hand guided the bobs, while the left fingered relentlessly, spreading the boycunt until it gaped slightly under the blanket.

"Defense holdin' strong—blockin' those holes, no penetration allowed." But under the blanket, it's all penetration: Tyrone's dick spearing the mouth while his digits penetrated the ass with no signs of slowing down

Halftime approached—score 14-10 Eagles. The announcers dissected plays: "That quarterback's got a cannon—firin' rockets downfield."

Jeremiah echoed it with a growl: "Cannon's loaded, kid. Ready to fire." He bucked his hips, fucking Marcus's face faster now, the blanket tenting with the motion, while his left hand added a third finger again, spreading wide as the cock speared deep.

Marcus gagged repeatedly—glurk, glurk—eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The perverted connection deepened: whispers under the blanket, Marcus mouthing "Ty, please....." around the cock, Jeremiah responding with a subtle thigh squeeze and deeper finger thrust, affirming the taboo roleplay.

"You're so fucking close, boy. But the match ain't over yet," Jeremiah murmured low, barely audible over the TV, right hand controlling the suck, left alternating remote clicks and prostate hits.

"Sneakin' this while your mama literally worked her ass off just behind us. What would she say if she knew her sugar baby was fingerin' and feedin' her boy dick?"

Marcus whimpered, sucking harder, ass pushing back onto those thick digits. The words fueled his lust. Tyrone might be her sugar baby in a way—gold-digging alpha living off her corporate cash—but in this moment, he's Marcus's dom, the straight facade cracking just for him. Tyrone is on the verge of shooting his load but this body is built for relentless temptation, so he ride through the waves and calm himself down, denying pleasure for both parties temporarily. Before long, the third quarter. Cowboys mounting a comeback, driving downfield.

"They're pushin' hard—inch by inch, grindin' toward the end zone." Tyrone's right hand forced Marcus into a rhythm—up and down, twist at the top, gag at the bottom—while his left pread and curled, making Marcus leak profusely.

A fumble on screen recovered by Eagles. Jeremiah laughed, thrusting deep while fingering harder.

"Strip sack! Turnover—now we're takin' it back, deep into enemy territory." Marcus's jaw ached, throat and hole raw, but the lust override it.

And then not even long, the fourth quarter, score's tied 24-24, clock ticking.

"Crunch time—gotta execute in the clutch." Jeremiah's thrusts grew erratic, close to the edge, right hand clamping down, left spreading wide one last time. Marcus on the other hand started to really lose his consciousness. Tyrone clearly forget that he needs air or maybe Tyrone just completely abandoned Marcus and treat him like a sex toy because there's no slowing down from the massive alpha. Marcus tried to whimper and begged for air, even grabbing Tyrone's thighs as hard as he can but it seems like Tyrone focused too much on the tense game he just simply swatted Marcus plea and keep on pumping. Then, it happened

The QB dropped back, evading rushers and then launched a Hail Mary. Receiver leaped, caught it in the end zone. Touchdown!

The stadium erupted and Tyrone followed with his very own eruption. His hands worked in tandem, right clamping Marcus's head down deepthroat, left buried knuckles-deep spreading Marcus easy hole as he came hard.

"FFUUUUCCKKK YEEAAHHHH! Touchdown! Score!" Thick ropes shot down Marcus's throat, pulsing hot and heavy. Marcus swallowed convulsively, milking every drop, gagging but holding, ass clenching around the fingers. But he's exhausted and the pressure might be a bit too much.....

Tyrone ride through the waves, hips jerking, commentary blending with moans as he jetted several more before finally stopping. The lack of tension from under the blanket alerted him that something's happened. Taking a peek, he smiled like a maniac as Marcus passed out already with the cum leaking all over his mouth and then pooled at his lower abdomen. Disgusting sloppy mess of a work, and yet he grinned. This is quite literally the kind of stuff he and Marcus watched on their screen back in their dorm, knowing full-well none of them got the cockiness nor the stamina to bring someone pass the point of exhaustion through sex without feeling drained too. Well, guess being inside Tyrone allowed such fantasy to become reality now, Jeremiah thought to himself as he scooped out some of the still runny cum of his and give it a taste

"Yumm......what a fucking health freak,"

He ruffled Marcus hair and tenderly mouthed "I love you, boy," amidst the perversion they both just did before covering the passed out Marcus with the thick blanket and slide off gently from the couch, turning the TV and lights off so Marcus can rest well

"Hope your mom doesn't check on you later, LOL," he said with a chuckle as he put his underwear and sweats back on, heading upstairs to the master's bedroom where he will wait for Elaine to finish her work. But....as he climbed the stairs, he sensed something weird stirred from inside himself. No, this is not arousal.....this is something else, yet he cannot put the sensation into words......like there's another presence that tried to disturb the peace he established already

----

The winter break means that most students decided to leave this quiet university town to go back to spend Christmas and New Year with their family. Not for Jeremiah though, as the foster kid practically has nowhere to call home so the sophomore sticks around in his dorm while his boyfriend, Marcus, dejectedly leave Jeremiah behind to spend the holiday with his mom and her new boyfriend that he despised judging from their only two encounter during summer break and Thanksgiving. Marcus actually wanted to ask his mom about the idea of having "a friend from college with no family" back to their home as a way to spend Christmas with Jeremiah, but he digressed before even asking. His mom, Elaine, is a high-powered Chief Legal Officer for a company that is planning to get listed in NYSE by next Spring. She's sharp as a tack but mostly blinded to solely focus on her career development and the looming IPO. Is she homophobic? Marcus is not sure, she seems indifferent, but she did say a lot to Marcus about having girls so she might not be very open. Tyrone in the other hand, that's an entirely different matter.

Dude's an arrogant douchebag through and through, and Marcus already spoke about him at length to Jeremiah. That man is a gold-digging brute only eyeing to be Marcus's mom eye-candy while definitely playing around on the side (not like he can proof it, just the vibe). He treated Marcus like he's a pesky, disrespectful brat and despite still just a boyfriend only separated by 13 years to Marcus while the gap between Tyrone and his mom is like 15 years, Tyrone acted less of an older brother and more like as if he's Marcus's dad or something. That frustrated Marcus but Jeremiah said that he should go home to accompany his mom anyway and paid zero attention to Tyrone, so he eventually head home and leave Jeremiah on his own in the dorm as Jeremiah's probably the only student in the entire floor of their dorm that skipped the chance to get out from the quaint little town during the break.

But, instead of digging himself to read books or play games, on a rather plain yet crisp December morning, something extraordinary happened. Jeremiah, experimenting with an obscure occult ritual he'd found online, accidentally triggered a possession ritual. One moment, he's in his dorm room; the next, his consciousness slammed into Tyrone's hulking body as his mind wandered to check on Marcus and how Marcus spent his holiday. The transition as his soul ripped out from his body to then crash into another one hundred miles away is pretty disorienting, a rush of heat and power that made his nerdy frame feel like a distant memory. He blinked, staring at the bathroom mirror in Elaine's upscale condo that he recognized pretty well from all the visual story Marcus give him, and grinned. Tyrone's face stared back: sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, curly hair twisted into tight coils, and skin a rich caramel tone that screamed confidence.

Jeremiah flexed his new arms, watching the biceps bulge like coiled pythons under the skin.

"Holy shit," he muttered in Tyrone's deep, rumbling voice. It's gravelly, commanding, the kind that could silence a room. He then run his hands over the chest—broad, pectorals like slabs of marble, nipples dark and pert. The sensation is electric; every touch sent shivers through this borrowed form. He lifted an arm, bringing the pit close to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent is musky, a mix of sweat from last night's gym session, cologne that smelled like leather and spice, and something primal, almost animalistic. Jeremiah's mind reeled with excitement as he never really enjoyed other people's scent this much and yet, smelling himself in this form is intoxicating and gives him some sense of forbidden thrill. He buried his face deeper, tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness, groaning as the flavor exploded on his palate: tangy, earthy, utterly masculine.

He stripped off the remaining clothes, standing naked before the mirror. Tyrone's physique is a masterpiece, six-pack abs etched like a washboard, veins popping along the forearms and down to the hands, which were large and calloused from weights. Jeremiah traced the V-line dipping toward the groin, feeling the coarse hair there, then cupped the heavy balls, warm and full. The cock is a spectacle, thick, uncut, hanging semi-erect and it twitched at his touch. He stroked it lightly, marveling at the weight, the way it swelled into a beer-can size in response as it feels heftier in his hands. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the room, heavy and rhythmic, echoing off the tiles. He posed in between strokes, flexing his quads, watching the muscles ripple. The feel of power is overwhelming; every movement is effortless, like piloting a sports car after years on a bicycle.

Jeremiah spent what felt like hours in self-worship. He turned sideways, admiring the lats flaring out like wings, the traps rising to meet the neck. He squatted, feeling the glutes tighten, then jumped, landing with a thud that vibrated through the floor. The taste of his own skin lingered on his lips as he licked sweat from his upper lip. Salty, with a hint of the protein shake Tyrone had chugged earlier. He heard the distant hum of the city outside, but it faded as he focused on the internal symphony: heartbeat strong and steady, lungs expanding like bellows. He imagined Tyrone's life: endless workouts, picking up women (or so he bragged), but now it's his playground to explore. Then, it hit him. Marcus is literally in the same unit as him now, so with a smirk, he then inhale for a deep breath as he readied himself to see how far he can play along in this look

Jeremiah sauntered into the kitchen, clad in Tyrone's usual gym shorts and tank top, the fabric clinging to every curve.

"Mornin', babe," he drawled, pulling Elaine into a rough kiss.

She melted, oblivious to the change. Inside, Jeremiah smirked, how easy it was to mimic Tyrone's douchey swagger, the way he slapped her ass possessively, the drawl, this is all based on the recent and surface-level muscle memory of Tyrone, and he chugged every drop of it and poured it into action. Marcus is at the table, scrolling his phone, avoiding eye contact. Jeremiah ruffled his hair roughly using Tyrone's calloused hand.

"Hey, kid, pass the eggs. And fix your posture; you look like a slouch."

"Whatever, Tyrone." Marcus said as he rolled his eyes, and yet also still handing out the eggs.

Jeremiah sensed an opportunity to push this further so he leaned in, voice dropping to a petty growl.

"Watch your tone, boy. Or I'll tell your mom how disrespectful you're bein'."

He snitched right then, turning to Elaine.

"Babe, your son's got an attitude this mornin'. Thinks he can talk back."

Elaine sighed, checking her watch.

"Marcus, behave. I don't have time for this. Remember, no access to my card unless Tyrone told me you've been good to him and don't mess up with him," She was already in her power suit, briefcase in hand, heading out for work. As she kissed Tyrone on the lips for a quick second, she then said, "You two play nice. I'll be back late for today," with the nice stated directly to Marcus, guess it's easy to tell which man is the fave in this household and it ain't the pesky, bratty son

As the door clicked shut, Jeremiah's pulse quickened. Alone with Marcus, but still in character. He reveled in the deception—Marcus had no idea his boyfriend is inside this homophobic brute. Jeremiah flexed subtly, feeling the tank top strain.

"Gonna hit the gym, kid. You comin' or what? Nah, you probably too soft for real work."

Marcus muttered something under his breath, retreating to his room. Jeremiah laughed inwardly, amused with how perfect everything has been. He headed to the home gym in this private section of the condo unit, pushing Tyrone's body to its limits. He clearly is not experienced enough to handle any of these equipment, but Tyrone's muscle memory quickly takeover as he then gravitate to the weight racks. Deadlifts first: gripping the bar, he heaved 400 pounds like it's nothing, grunting with each rep. Sweat poured down, soaking the shorts. The burn in the hamstrings and back is quite an exquisite pain, a testament to the form's power. He moved to bench presses, loading the bar heavy, chest exploding with each push. Then, pull-ups followed, bodyweight feeling light as he cranked out sets of 20. The mirrors reflected a god: veins bulging, muscles pumped, face contorted in effort. Jeremiah paused between sets, sniffing his armpits again—deeper musk now, post-workout intensity. He tasted the sweat trickling down his abs, salty heaven. Touching himself, he can feel the hardness everywhere, the cock stirring in the shorts.

Hours blurred; Jeremiah lost track, immersed in the worship. He posed like in those Instagram fitness pics—double bicep, most muscular, abs crunched, pecs popped. Fooling them had been a rush: Elaine's trusting kiss, Marcus's annoyed glances. No one suspected the nerd inside the alpha. He imagined revealing himself later, but for now, the charade is too fun.

Exhausted but exhilarated, Jeremiah headed upstairs with his body glistening with sweat still. But that's when he heard it: groaning from Marcus's room. Low, rhythmic, unmistakable. Curiosity piqued, he crept to the door, peeking in. Marcus is on his bed, pants down, hand stroking furiously to gay porn on his laptop—two muscular guys going at it. A wicked grin spread across Tyrone’s full lips. Inside his borrowed skull, Jeremiah’s nerdy excitement buzzed like electricity. This is the moment he’d been building toward all day: the perfect collision of fear, arousal, and revelation.

He shoved the door open without knocking. The sudden intrusion made Marcus jolt upright, eyes wide with pure terror.

“Tyrone! What the fuck--get out!” Marcus scrambled for the blanket, yanking it over his lap, but it's too late. The laptop teetered on the edge of the mattress, still playing the unmistakable slap of flesh on flesh and the loud groan of two men completely succumbed to lust in the background. Jeremiah stepped fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He filled the doorway like a wall of muscle as his broad shoulders straining the tank top, veins still pumped from the basement workout, skin shining under a fresh sheen of sweat. Tyrone’s deep voice rumbled out, thick with feigned disgust.

“What the hell is this, boy?” He took another deliberate step forward, towering over the bed, “You in here jackin’ off to faggot shit? Two dudes fuckin’ each other?”

Marcus’s face drained of color, yet he still tried to speak back

“It’s none of your business! Get out, Tyrone, I swear to God—”

“You swear to God what?” Jeremiah interrupted, voice dropping to a dangerous growl that sounded insidiously threatening coming from Tyrone. He leaned in, planting one massive hand on the mattress beside Marcus’s thigh, caging him.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it, little man? Huh?”

Marcus shoved at Tyrone’s chest with both hands hard. His palms met solid, unyielding pecs, slick with sweat. The push barely budged the bigger man. Jeremiah didn’t even flinch; he just let the resistance roll through Tyrone’s powerful frame like it's nothing.

“Get off me!” Marcus hissed, panic rising. He swung a fist this time, aiming for Tyrone’s jaw. Jeremiah caught the wrist mid-air effortlessly, Tyrone reflexes, thick fingers wrapping completely around it.

“Boy, you done lost your damn mind,” Jeremiah snarled in character, twisting the arm just enough to make Marcus wince. With his free hand, he snatched the blanket away, exposing Marcus fully as his erection still half-hard from the interrupted session, now rapidly deflating under the weight of fear.

Marcus kicked out, trying to scramble backward on the bed, but Jeremiah is faster. He climbed onto the mattress, knees pinning Marcus’s thighs, using Tyrone’s sheer mass to immobilize him. The struggle is brief and one-sided; Marcus thrashed, cursing, but every twist and push only pressed him harder against the immovable wall of muscle above him.

“Stop—stop it!” Marcus panted, chest heaving. “I’ll scream. Mom’ll hear—”

“Your mom ain’t here,” Jeremiah growled, leaning down until their faces mere inches apart. Tyrone’s breath is hot, smelling faintly of pre-workout and raw masculinity, "and even if she's here, what you think she’d say seein’ her son jackin’ it to gay porn, huh? She’d throw your ass out on the street.”

Marcus went still, breathing ragged, eyes glassy with humiliation and dread.

“Please… don’t tell her. Tyrone, please.”

Jeremiah’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Beggin’ now? Pathetic.” He shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels but keeping Marcus pinned. Slowly, deliberately, he reached down and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his own gym shorts. Marcus’s eyes followed the movement, wide and unblinking.

Jeremiah tugged the shorts down just enough to free Tyrone’s heavy, thick, uncut cock that is already half-hard from the dominance play. It flopped out with a soft thud against Marcus’s bare thigh, the foreskin partially retracted, the head glistening. The scent hit immediately: musky, potent, a mix of dried sweat from the workout and fresh arousal. It dangled inches from Marcus’s face as Jeremiah leaned forward again, letting it sway teasingly.

“Look at it,” Jeremiah commanded in Tyrone’s low timbre. “That’s what a real man’s dick looks like. Bet you wish yours was half this big, don’t you, fag?”

“Fuck you.” Marcus replied as he turned his head away, cheeks burning

Jeremiah chuckled darkly. He gripped the base of his cock and give it a slow stroke, making the shaft swell thicker, veins pulsing along the length. A bead of precum formed at the tip. He angled it closer, brushing the slick head against Marcus’s clenched lips.

“Well, guess I'll be doing just that, with your assistance though. Open up and say sorry, boy. Maybe I won’t tell your mama what a little cocksucker you are,"

Marcus jerked his head side to side, lips sealed tight, but his breathing had changed into shallow and quick exasperated breath. His own cock, traitorously, twitched against his stomach.

Then Jeremiah let the mask slip.

His voice softened, the gravelly edge melting into something familiar, something Marcus knew intimately.

“Babe… it’s me," he said in a tone completely foreign from Tyrone

Marcus froze. His eyes snapped up to Tyrone’s face as he really looked at the face this time. The cruel smirk had transformed into something warm, loving yet mischievous.

“Jeremiah?” he whispered, disbelief cracking his voice.

Jeremiah’s grin widened ear to ear, Tyrone’s perfect white teeth flashing.

“Surprise.”

Marcus stared, mouth falling open.

“No fucking way. You—you’re inside him?”

“Every inch,” Jeremiah said, giving Tyrone’s cock another playful pump for emphasis. “Possessed him this morning. Been flexing and sniffing myself all day like a total narcissist. Then I heard you in here…figured it was time to scare the shit out of you before I gave you the best Christmas present ever.”

Marcus let out a shaky laugh that bordered on a sob.

“You asshole. I really thought—” He reached up, hands trembling as he touched Tyrone’s chest, tracing the ridges of muscle he’d only ever admired from a distance. “I thought he was gonna kill me. Or tell Mom.”

“Nah,” Jeremiah murmured, leaning down to kiss him gently, putting Tyrone’s full lips soft against Marcus’s. “I’d never let that happen. But admit it… you were kinda into the fear, weren’t you?”

“Shut up," Marcus flushed darker

Jeremiah laughed, the sound rich and deep in Tyrone’s chest.

“Knew it.”

The shift is immediate. The terror melted into hunger. Marcus surged upward, capturing Tyrone’s mouth in a desperate kiss, hands roaming greedily over the broad back, the pumped delts, the taper of the waist. Jeremiah groaned into it, letting Marcus explore the body he’d spent all day worshipping himself.

“Been hard all day thinking about this,” Jeremiah admitted between kisses. “Kept smelling these pits, licking the sweat off these abs… now I get to share it with you.”

Marcus pulled back just enough to stare. “You’re such a freak.”

“Your freak,” Jeremiah corrected, and pushed him flat again—this time willingly.

Clothes comed off fast. Marcus’s shirt yanked over his head meanwhiJeremiah peeled off his underwear fully. Marcus’s hands are everywhere—palming the heavy pecs, tracing the deep cuts of the eight-pack, wrapping fingers around the thick shaft that had terrified him minutes ago.

“God, it’s even bigger up close,” Marcus breathed, stroking slowly, watching the foreskin glide over the head.

“Suck it. Been edging myself thinking about your mouth all day.” Jeremiah hissed in pleasure

Marcus didn’t need telling twice. He scooted down, lips parting to take the head in. The taste exploded across his tongue, salty skin, faint bitterness of precum, the overwhelming musk of a man who’d just crushed a brutal workout. He moaned around it, taking more, cheeks hollowing as he worked the shaft.

Jeremiah threaded fingers through Marcus’s hair, guiding gently at first, then firmer. “That’s it… take that alpha dick. Take your mom’s boyfriend’s cock down your throat like a good side whore!"

The roleplay sent a fresh surge through both of them. Marcus pulled off with a gasp as his moan momentarily stopped

“Say it again.”

Jeremiah grinned down at him.

“I’m Tyrone. And you’re the dirty little secret I’m gonna fuck senseless while your mama’s at work.”

Marcus whimpered and dove back down, taking him deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through. Jeremiah’s hips rocked subtly, fucking Marcus’s mouth with controlled thrusts, watching the lips stretch around Tyrone’s girth.

Eventually, Jeremiah pulled him off with a wet pop.

“Turn over. I want that ass.”

Marcus scrambled to comply, getting on all fours. Jeremiah grabbed lube from the nightstand and slicked his fingers. He worked Marcus open slowly, teasingly, crooking fingers to hit that spot that made Marcus bury his face in the pillow and moan.

“Mmpphhhh.....please,” Marcus finally begged, pushing back. “Ty ....Fffuuuccckkkk......I need it, give....mmmmpphhaaahh....it to meee,"

Jeremiah lined up, the fat head pressing against the entrance. He slide in inch by inch, savoring the tight heat, the way Marcus’s back arched and his breath hitched. When he bottomed out, balls pressed against ass, both men stilled, breathing hard.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Jeremiah groaned the same way Tyrone would growl when he fucked Elaine. He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a steady rhythm that quickly built to something harder, deeper. The bed creaked under Tyrone’s powerful strokes.

Marcus reached back, gripping Jeremiah---Tyrone---thigh.

“Nghhhh...harder! Punish me!"

Jeremiah obliged, grabbing hips with bruising force, pounding relentlessly. Skin slapped against skin, the room filling with grunts, moans, the wet sounds of lube and flesh. He leaned over Marcus’s back, chest to spine, one hand snaking around to stroke Marcus in time.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled in Marcus’s ear, voice rough with impending climax. “Gonna breed this ass with Tyrone’s load while you think about how close you came to getting caught.”

Somehow, such threat is enough because Marcus instantly cried out, coming first—stripes of cum painting the sheets beneath him. Soon after, the tight clench of Marcus asshole pushed Jeremiah over the edge. He buried himself deep and unloaded, pulse after pulse of thick seed flooding Marcus, hips jerking with each spurt.

They collapsed sideways, still joined, Jeremiah’s arms wrapped possessively around Marcus from behind. For several minutes, there's only heavy breathing and soft kisses along Marcus’s shoulder.

Then, the front door lock clicked.

Both men froze for a second

“Marcus? Tyrone? I’m home early, the meeting got canceled!” Elaine’s voice echoed from the first floor, heels clicking on hardwood.

Panic surged. Jeremiah pulled out carefully, cum already leaking from Marcus. “Shit----ughhh, shower....shower, I need to go now," Jeremiah said as he tiptoed out from the bedroom and headed to the bathroom right in the opposite side from Marcus bedroom, heart pounding in Tyrone's chest like crazy. Marcus grabbed tissues, wiping his creamed ass dry and all sorts of residue and spots of cum in his bed frantically, while Jeremiah cranked the shower on full blast, stepped in for exactly ten seconds, just long enough to soak his skin and hair, then shut it off. He grabbed whatever clothing he could find that he usually hung around the bathroom while making sure that the water from the quick shower dripping strategically.

Marcus managed to yank on his boxers and a T-shirt, snatched his phone, and already sprawled on the bed scrolling like nothing happened by the time Elaine knocked lightly and pushed the door open.

“Hey, baby,” she said, smiling at Marcus. Her gaze then shifted to the bathroom behind her back as Jeremiah opened the door quite loudly purposefully to ensure that Elaine does not spend too much time scanning the ground zero as he leaned casually against the doorframe, in damp clothes and still smelling like a wet dog. The air still hung heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, but the steam from the shower masked it just enough.

“Just finished cleanin’ up,” Jeremiah drawled in Tyrone’s lazy baritone, running a hand through wet curls, “Hit the gym hard today. Boy was there playin’ games or whatever kids do.”

Elaine wrinkled her nose slightly—probably catching the lingering musk—but dismissed it.

“You've been speaking like an old man the past few hours, a bit try hard as I might say. And you do smell like you worked out, babe. Anywau you two, dinner in an hour, okay?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Marcus mumbled, eyes glued to his phone, cheeks still flushed but passing as college student sullenness, meanwhile Tyrone just mumbled in agreement

Elaine left, closing the door behind her and kiss Tyrone as she said

"Can't believe we'll have some times for tonight since I'm home early....hmmm......love this smell on you, don't clean-up further, okay? I want this scent imprinted on me tonight,"

"Oh, you'll get it and more, babe," Jeremiah said seductively as he grabbed Elaine's ass and bite his lips sensually, really playing Tyrone to the tee.

She chuckled in excitement as she then stepped down to put on everything into her study room on the first floor while preparing some food test she wanted to make for Christmas later next week. The second her footsteps faded, Jeremiah opened the door to Marcus room and both men locked eyes. Marcus bit his lip to stifle a laugh. Jeremiah grinned, droplets still sliding down Tyrone’s carved torso, underwear tenting slightly from residual arousal.

“That was too close,” Marcus whispered.

Jeremiah sauntered over, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Worth it.”

Marcus glanced at the strained underwear, then back up.

“Round two after she goes to sleep?”

Jeremiah’s grin turned wicked.

“Oh, we’re just getting started.”

---

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

Connor. 21 years old. Social media personality. 5'10", 195 pounds, into surfing and soccer football. Australian. Oh hell yeah all seems great and very accurate, and press ENTER!

Holy FUCKING SHIT! Look at this tan lines, fuck, I'm such a beach boy now, the way my skin only went red and never turned into these delectable tan......God, Aussies are just fucking hot, am I right? Well, I'm Aussie now, and I really do look fucking hot now, don't you think so? I was super turned on witnessing him hurling slurs and acting all douchy on his livestream, now, I can make him do whatever I want, heck I think I know exactly what I should do first before heading to your place.

You can come join my livestream and witness how I goon to my tanned, muscular form bro, it's free access for all only for today, my first ever strip-tease to showcase how well-endowed I am and how long I can goon and edge my surfer jock bod with all of yall looking at it with no censored section or anything. Must be a great stunt for publicity to further expand my base that will also lead to more stream of cash for me to fund my sexy bod in all the upcoming adventure I'm about to do

Now, I heard that Connor....you, live with 2 other boys. My suggestion is that you should reach out to some of your old friends and see whether they are interested for a laid-back Halloween party in my place. Me and my bro already hopped in and out of the rooftop pool trying to get the temperature right and it never hurts to get more attendant for the party

Although I moved on:

Not as jacked as yours, but quite a joy. I love getting tips from some random jocks, raking them in as I see fit.

Yeah, this young jock needed mentorship from the one of the bigger dude over here aka me, not knowing that I needed younger and also smaller body because I already hit plateau with the form he greatly admired. He's quite a looker himself and his body, despite looking hella great, still has room for improvement and I'm going to build it for years to come or at least until I'm bored. I don't think I'll get bored quickly tho, especially with the way his smile looking goony as fuck!

“P-please! We have to find a way to swap back! This isn’t right! That should be my body, not yours!” The once hunky Brad shrieked from the shower room entrance. He tried to ignore the fact that he had just seen his own body being violated by its new owner.

“Piss off, nerd. You’re ruining the mood. Not to mention I have no clue what you’re talking about. Body swapping, hah! You wish!” The wet hunk smiled and stroked a hand across his enormous pecs. “You seriously think us crashing into each other on the track field during a thunderstorm would magically swap our bodies? Someone’s been reading way too much science fiction hah!”

“B-but…” The former hunk stammered, his eyes fixated on the firm beautiful ass that once belonged to him.

“Get out of here before I beat you unconscious… or worse, fuck that cute ass of yours…” The wet hunk’s speech trailed off as a smile formed on his handsome face over the idea.

Before the nerd could protest, he was pulled into the showers and his clothes completely torn off. However, what started out as shouting soon turned into blissfully moaning from both of them. Thankfully no one was around to witness the ravaging of the cute nerd by the hands of the frisky hot hunk.

“Would love to see a sequel to your most recent story about the janitor/coach’s part, if you want to of course.”

Ask and you shall receive ;)

—

“Just do your damn job okay?! Mop up piss and shit, that’s all you you’re good for. I don’t want to see you creeping around my boys or catch you stealing their jockstraps one more time!” The huge coach yelled, obviously angry and deciding to confront the janitor sweeping the court after school hours.

“B-but s-sir!” The scrawny old janitor stammered, clearly surprised that someone for once decided to actually confront him and report him for his ‘unusual obsession’...

“Not buts! If I find you doing it one more time, I’ll get your sorry ass fired immediately.” He said, before turning around and walking back into the school. Of course, he also made sure to spit on the ground, fully knowing it would upset the janitor who had to clean it off later.

‘I’ve been working here for well over 30 years, and now this new fresh-faced coach thinks he can order me around?! I’ll show him who rule this school!’ The janitor thought to himself as he grabbed the shovel next to him and began running after muscular coach.

The janitor’s plan was to knock the other man unconscious and leave him to be found in the morning, naked and surrounded with beer bottles all around him. That would sure get him fired, or at least make him feel so ashamed he would never step his foot inside the school ever again.

Staring at the taller man’s broad back and bubble butt, the perverted janitor smiled at the fact that it would also give him the opportunity to taste the coach fine body while he was unconscious. Something he had desired since the coach first began working at his school.

He readied the shovel and were just about to slam it down towards the back of Coach’s head when he suddenly heard snickering. He barely had time to react as the athletic coach spun around and grabbed ahold of the raised shovel’s metallic handle. A wide devious grin on the Coach’s mustached face.

“Now you’ve done it,” He sneered triumphantly, gripping the shovel hard in his much stronger hand. “Finally I’ll get you fired AND sent to the prison, hah!”

Fear, regret and anger passed through the once meek janitor as he didn’t know what to do. He knew he had fucked up and there was noth-

*Crash*

Suddenly lightning struck down on them. The force of nature coursed through the metal shovel and through both of their bodies, before sending them both flinging into two different directions.

…..

A few minutes passed before the janitor finally regained consciousness and opened his eyes. Once his vision cleared up he didn’t know what shocked him the most; to see his own injured body crying for help across the outdoor court, or the two large mounds of scruffy flesh now sticking out from his chest. He had to pinch and inspect himself for a full minute or two, before the realization hit him what had truly happened, whereas he then began snickering loudly and squeezing parts of his new muscular body until he began moaning loudly.

“Hmmmm god damn he’s packed! No… I’M packed!” He moaned deeply, as he squeezed his nether region for all it was worth.

Of course, he hadn’t forgotten his good friend over there screaming bloody murder. So he made his way across the court, grabbing the sizzling shovel along the way, before standing over what was once his old body with its right shoulder impaled onto one of the hedge cutters that had been lying around.

“Well… well.. well… looks like Mr. Piss and Shit just got promoted to being the Head Coach… with the perfect body to go along with it!” He made sure to flex his new delicious biceps, relishing in how much his muscles could bulged out and how gruff his voice now was.

“W-what?! No… no… no… this can’t be happening… please… we need to find a way to swap back… before I lose too much blood…” The former coach groaned, clearly getting more exhausted and tired by the seconds. It certainly didn’t look good as the blades were skewered deep into his body. A few more minutes and he would most certainly die from blood loss.

“And why would I do that, huh? I finally got the job and body I’ve always wanted. There’s no way I’m risking you getting all this back.” The Janitor-turned-Coach relished, ripping his tight shirt apart to stroke his rugged hands across his hairy firm pecs. A few more minutes and this body would officially be his, and no one would ever find out the truth.

“P-people… will find out…. you won’t… get away… with… this…” The former coach heaved, as his eyes fought not to glaze over.

“Oh will they? Well guess what… I have access to the camera room, your office and even your computer. Which means I can easily erase any evidence and learn everything I need from your logs.” He grinned victoriously, before giving his armpit a whiff only to jerk away in surprise. “Oh boy do I stink! Perhaps I’ll take a shower before I leave… and fully explore this body of mine…”

“…bastard….” He gave the new narcissistic coach a disgusted look before slumping over. The real coach was truly gone, along with any chances of them returning back to their original body.

Putting on some garden gloves and packaging the lifeless body into a large trashbag, the new coach used his improved muscles to drag the bag towards his new car. On his way out he couldn’t help but notice the sound of flesh slapping together, crazy moaning and grunting, and cascading water coming from the showers. He had almost forgotten about the jock and nerd he had let in earlier. “This evening sure is busy, and it’s about to get even busier…” The now perverted coach thought to himself, as he felt his crotch chub up by his massive member. With the handsome jock in there, he was definitely planning on joining their fun.

“Mmmm all the jocks and their jockstraps I’ll be able to bathe in, now that I’m the Head Coach with the janitorial keys…” He thought, as he wiped the drool coming from his hot salivating mouth.

The late August air hung thick and heavy over the practice field, smelling of freshly cut grass, churned earth, and the salt-and-iron tang of male sweat. To Coach Garrett Henderson, it's the finest perfume in the world. He stands on the sidelines, a veritable titan carved from granite and ambition, his massive 6’5” frame a landmark on the field. His blue, tight-fitting Under Armour polo shirt, is stretched to its limit across a chest that seemed more like an armored plate, his jutting pecs defining the very architecture of the garment. A thick, perfectly groomed moustache sat beneath his nose, framing a mouth perpetually set in a knowing, mischievous smirk. His eyes, the color of brilliant ocean his players certainly preferred to be in, scanned the field not just for tactical plays, but for artistry in motion.

He watched Jake Connolly, his senior quarterback, a golden-haired Adonis with a jawline that could cut glass and shoulders broad enough to carry the team's hopes. What a sight to behold. The youthfulness. The power vested inside that carved physique. He sees the way Jake’s thigh muscles bunched and coiled like pythons as he launched a perfect spiral. Garrett’s smirk widened as he cupped the growing bulge in his own pants, that boy has been growing the past 1 year into a solid beast ready to be reaped, his patience will finally be paid off

Then there's Leon Brooks, the star wide receiver. A creature of pure vanity and explosive speed, Leon is thick and all the right places, powerful black muscle and arrogant swagger. Even now, jogging back to the huddle, he runs a hand through his perfectly messy and long Afro, a preening gesture Garrett found utterly delicious, but it's less of a surprise since Leon has been a vain motherfucker from the get go anyway

The whistle blew, a shrill sound that cut through the symphony of grunts and crashing pads. Practice is over.

“Bring it in, boys!” Garrett’s voice a low baritone rumble that commanded instant obedience. The mass of hulking, sweat-drenched bodies jogged towards him, their faces flushed, their jerseys plastered to their chiseled torsos.

He gives them their post-practice rundown, his gaze lingering on each of them as his methodical yet subtle perversion followed the way the sweat traced paths down the temple of a sophomore linebacker, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. He noted the raw, animalistic power in the thick neck of a new freshman lineman, Kevin Miller, a farm-boy built like a young bull, all potential and nervous energy.

As the team broke, heading for the locker room, Garrett began his advance. He walked through the lingering players, his hand landing on a shoulder here, a helmet there.

“Good hustle, Brooks,” he said, his hand clapping Leon's shoulder pad, but his fingers dipped down, brushing the slick, sweat-soaked skin of his neck. Leon just grinned, oblivious.

“Anything for the team, Coach.”

Inside the locker room, the atmosphere intensified. The air is humid with steam from the showers and ripe with the primal scent of exhausted masculinity. It's here, in his kingdom of tile and steel, that Garrett’s discreet perversions first took root. Last season, after the glorious career advancement he received from stealing this studly physique of Garett Henderson, he's a bit careful of publicly changing everything about the well-respected Coach. So, while navigating the ropes of playing pretend as the renowned coach, the former janitor only satisfied his kink with tiny bits of malicious perversion here and there. He’d "help" the new janitor around, happily inhaling the after-match scent of the players that clung to the lockers and the bench. Then, he would lend a hand to the equipment managers, lingering a moment too long over a discarded jockstrap, bringing a sweat-soaked jersey to his face under the guise of checking for a tear, and inhaling the rich, fermented scent of the players’ exertion. But, discretion is a temporary measure. It only brought limited satisfaction and looking at how no one caught him to play pretend as muscle memories and faint flashbacks propelled him to keep the roleplay going, he knows that he's not going to be caught even if he risked it a lot more. At worse, he's only going to be fired and yet he will retain this studly form and this physical prowess so while he's still in power over these young dumb jocks, he might as well exercised it and see how far he can get them to do things as he pleased as their trusted Coach that only wanted the best for them

So, repeating the previous days of the pre-season camp that he already ran successfully with no hiccups, he moved through the aisles of changing men, a predator in his own zoo. He stopped behind Jake as the golden-haired jock peeling off his shoulder pads

“Connolly, that last drive was a thing of beauty,” Garrett rumbled, his voice close to Jake’s ear. He brought his hand up and slapped Jake’s ass, a common enough gesture in football. But Garrett’s hand didn’t just slap; it cupped. It squeezed. It lingered for a beat too long, his thumb pressing into the firm curve of Jake’s glute through his compression shorts.

Jake froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He turned.

“Uh, thanks, Coach.”

Garrett just smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just appreciating the assets that are gonna win us a championship, son.”

He made it a joke, a piece of casual locker-room banter, and Jake, wanting to believe it was just that, laughed it off. But the seed is planted.

Garrett moved on, his gaze falling on the freshman, Kevin Miller. The kid is toweling his damp, short-cropped hair, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. Garrett approached him, his shadow falling over the younger man.

“You’re looking a little lost, Miller. First pre-season can be a real beast.”

“You’ve got the build for it,” Garrett said, his voice softening into a conspiratorial tone. He reached out, his massive hand landing on Kevin’s head, and began to tousle his wet hair, a seemingly fatherly gesture. “You just need to get your head in the game. Get loose and open yourself for everything new. Stop thinking, start doing.” He said it while his fingers worked through the young bull's hair, massaging his scalp, gathering the sweat and residue of the helmet onto his fingertips. He pulled his hand away, bringing it to his own face to casually scratch the side of his nose, and took a long, deep, hidden sniff. The scent is pure, potent youth after placed through a physical ordeal. Intoxicating. And the young bull is oblivious to it, or maybe the boy is just shy and tried to mask off his excitement, he perversely thought. In a twisted thought he planted deep inside his corrupted pscyhe, he envisioned how Kevin would be a good obedient pup in private while tackling the opponents valiantly like a roided beast because he wanted to please his Coach, and such thought aroused the hell out of Henderson.

Kevin looked up, his eyes wide.

“It’s a lot, Coach. Just trying to keep up.”

Over the following days of the pre-season isolation, Henderson initiated an even bolder touches, the conspiratorial whispers more frequent. He’d corner players in the weight room, offering to "spot" them on bench presses, his body pressing against theirs, his hands "accidentally" brushing against a crotch or a nipple as he helped them rack the weight. His whispers grow venomously sweet, filled with promises of glory and threats of the bench.

“You want to be a starter, don’t you, Miller? You have to be willing to do what others won’t. Show me how hungry you are to devour whatever thrown at ya!"

"Brooks, don't be a wimp. That pussy fest you drowned yourself into during summer break didn't drain you, right? Do you need to recover on the bench all season long or will you step up and push yourself until you choke and vomit??? How much do you want this??

“You’re the leader of this team, Jake,” Garrett began, his voice a low purr. “The others look to you. They follow your example. But leadership… true leadership… requires a bond. A level of trust that goes beyond the field.”

But the first true culmination of his public display of corruption of the clean, respectful and well-mannnered Coach Garrett Henderson eventually come with the captain, his captain. He called Jake into his office late one night under the pretense of reviewing game film. The room is a shrine to his own ego, filled with trophies and framed photos. The leather of his chair creaked as he leaned back, fixing Jake with an intense stare.

“I’d do anything for this team, Coach. You know that,” Jake said, his earnestness almost painful.

Garrett stood up, his sheer size filling the room, and walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of Jake. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that was both a caress and a command. “Anything? That’s a big word, son. The bond I’m talking about… it’s primal. It’s about submission. It’s about one man giving his complete trust to another. It’s about breaking down the barriers between us until we are one unit, one will.”

With his captain under his thumb, the next phase began. Garrett orchestrated what he called “mentorship sessions.” He brought the now-compliant Jake and the eager-to-please freshman, Kevin, to the deserted weight room late one evening. The only light came from the dim emergency floods, casting long, distorted shadows on the racks of iron.

He placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder, his thumb stroking the quarterback’s collarbone. “I need to know you’re with me, Jake. All the way. I need to own a piece of you, so that when you’re out on that field, you’re playing with my will, my fire.”

The janitor, in control of Garrett's imposing physique for the past one year, feels fluid and at ease to make the body to do something that would be unbelievable to be done by the previous Garrett Henderson. As he pushed Jake to his knees, he smirked looking at the obedient boy. No resistance whatsoever from the supposedly strong and resilient quarterback. His defense crumbled with ease when the implied future of his football career hung in the air and could be decided on how he behaved in the next few minutes. Jake would be rioting if he's still in his old pathetic form, but he's Garrett Henderson now and Jake's future is in his hands and it will be stupid for the QB to fight it. As the respected coach grabbed his powerful QB's blonde lock into a fist and pulled it so the QB looked up, only Henderson's sinister smile visible in the dim light of the room.

"As I said to everyone in the team, open up, and get loose, say aaaaaa........"

That night, Jake's hole stretched for the first time and his mouth tasted other men's cum too for the first time. He's left with no clothes on, cum splattered all over his chest and golden lock while his cock slick and limp after an all-nighter of edging to near orgasm that Henderson only eventually allowed after 2 hours of intense sex and 7th spurt of his never-ending cum that could fill a 100ml plastic bottle. Satisfied, the coach left his star QB sobbing and whimpering in his room while he returned home to get a more proper and private rest

----

“Kevin,” Garrett said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “To be a part of this team, you need to understand the hierarchy. You need to learn to submit to your seniors, to trust them implicitly. Jake is going to… initiate you. He’s going to show you what it means to give yourself over completely to the pack.”

Garrett retreated to a bench in the corner, a dark silhouette against the dim light. He watched as Jake, his face a mask of conflicted duty, led the confused but obedient freshman to the mat in the center of the room. As the older player forced the junior to submit, Garrett watched, his breathing growing heavy, his hand disappearing into the pocket of his sweatpants. He's no longer just a successful coach that forged a championship-winning team; he's a director, a god, orchestrating a tableau of power and submission for his own private gratification.

He then turned to Jake.

“Show him, Captain. Show him how we build champions here.”

The final piece of his pre-season puzzle fell into place a few days later. Kevin’s father, a nervous, balding man with a soft paunch, had requested a meeting. Mr. Miller sat opposite Garrett’s imposing desk, wringing his hands.

“Coach, I’m just… I’m worried about Kevin’s chances. I know he’s new, but he’s worked so hard for this. We’ve sacrificed so much. Is he… is he going to be on the starting lineups?"

He let the words hang in the air, Mr. Miller’s desperation a palpable scent in the room.

Garrett leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his smirk predatory.

“Mr. Miller, I have dozens of boys who have worked hard. Dozens of families who have sacrificed everything on the line. You know pretty well starting positions are earned, not given. It’s about commitment. Absolute, unquestioning commitment. Not just from the player, but from the family.”

“I… we’ll do anything, Coach. Anything to ensure that he's getting that spot,"

Garrett’s smirk become a slow, wicked grin. He stood up and walked around the desk, stopping beside the desperate yet terrified father’s chair. He placed a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I believe you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with depraved suggestion. “But words are cheap. Sometimes, a father has to show me. Show me just how much he wants this for his son.” He gestured with his chin towards the floor in front of him. “Convince me of your commitment, Mr. Miller.”

The man stared, horrified, for a moment before understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by a wave of resignation. For his son’s future, he would do anything. And Coach Garrett, towering over him, reveled in the ultimate expression of his power—not just over his players, but over the very families that entrusted them to his care.

Everyone had their secrets. The ass-slaps that were more than just praise. The whispers that were more than just strategy. The late-night "mentorship" sessions. The desperate acts of fathers. They were all threads in the tapestry of loyalty and fear that Garrett had woven. There would be no repercussions, because to expose the coach would be to expose their own complicity, their own submission. All of them are his team now, forged not in the fire of competition, but in the crucible of his own depraved desires. And as he looked out at the field, he knows, with absolute certainty, that they are going to have a winning season.

With the first match of the new season about to begin, the team gathered on the fifty-yard line, the stadium lights blazing down on them. They move with a newfound swagger, a dangerous cohesion. There's an unspoken secret that bound them, a dark energy that crackled just beneath the surface. Coach Garrett Henderson stands before them, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his perpetual smirk firmly in place.

He looked at Jake, who met his gaze with a steady, knowing look of a loyal soldier. He spotted Leon, whose arrogance now tempered with a hint of fear and respect. Then, the Coach walked past the surprise pick of the season, the young, fresh-faced Kevin Miller, giving the freshman’s ass a firm, possessive squeeze, and this time, the boy didn’t flinch. He just nodded.

“Yes, Coach.”

Part 3 of me and @vindictivenerdcels spinoff on the Untouchable Fiancé series by @thesuitaskin

The wedding went on smoothly according to plan. It was an intimate outdoor wedding attended by families and close friends and the newlyweds quickly headed for their honeymoon the following week where they ended every single day with intense sex as both of them consumated their love passionately as if those were the first time they had sex in their life. Well, it's true for Owen, but not like Iris had any idea about it. It's Austin Hill through and through, and she's one fortunate woman to end up with such a powerful, charming and hardworking man that she can proudly call as her husband

Once they returned back to their usual life, gradually, things got mundane. Iris went back to work in order to continue her ascendancy on corporate America while Austin worked from home most of the time, coaching some fitness clients and also doing video content where he amassed the jaw-dropping 600k followers or flipping real estate while also managing his stock diligently. But, they still met their friends and enjoyed their life in the suburban town as there's not much pressure anyway for Iris to move closer to her office in the city centre because she enjoyed the fact that she could travel and give herself a time for her own self in-between the commute.

Yet, those traveling time and hours in the office were exactly when Austin and Eli screwed up each other, or they would even invite Adam and Nick to the mix to make it merrier, and once again, Iris got no idea about it. Austin also frequently cheated with his clients or some randoms he found online, they would only hookup if Iris went out of town for business trips and the likes of it, and Austin didn't feel any remorse from doing that. It's just part of he is as a jacked douchebag that demanded respect and attention through the corruption he inflicted to the otherwise pristine and respectful fit young stud's image. Eli watched all of them with none of the guests aware of his presence, his brother-in-law performing such lewd and dishonorable act that ruined the sanctity of marriage for his devoted sole viewer that witnessed everything from the spy cam installed behind the full-length mirror right across the bed, the ceiling and the one hidden in the headboard. Alas, secrets cannot be sealed forever, and Eli wouldn't be the only one that witnessed Austin's infidelity

---

Justin returned to Seattle after Austin's wedding and he already set to return back to town after he finished his probation in this new company. That alerted Eli to go the fuck away during the visit week from being caught by Justin. Well, more like Austin knocking some sense to Eli's horny brain. Eli really thought that he could be fucked by Austin with no worries during that same week since Iris is scheduled to be on a week-long leadership conference and some partner meeting. But, all of that plan crumbled because Justin's visit coincidentally happened at the same week. Eli thought he lost the week through unfortunate alignment of times, but it was actually Austin's own orchestration as he got something big planned to do with the fact that his brother visited him

Justin witnessed something that he believed he supposed to never witness last night. During one of the nights of his visit, Justin informed Austin that he would be staying over at a friend's apartment after his night out, yet the music sucks so he went back to Austin's as he ended the night's faster.

As he entered Austin's house through the side door from the garage, he found himself surprised when he heard grunts and moans from the direction of Austin's bedroom with the girl's voice sounding way too different from Iris. He's been sneaking around since he was little so his light feet came in handy as he climbed the carpeted stairs to verify what the actual fuck went in Austin's bedroom. He was taken aback at first seeing Eli's bedroom door left wide open but he remembered that Austin did say that Eli moved out pretty soon after the marriage, so that room has been empty for a while now. For a moment, he thought Eli would be listening to all that with an open door and his suspicion that Eli is a perv would be proven, but he got way ahead of himself with the ridiculous accusation. Justin then continued to slowly set himself into a good angle to check on Austin's bedroom as the door was not closed. A quick peek while hiding in the shadows revealed a brunette woman with her ponytail pulled like a leash and her back arched as Austin plowed her hole with his massive schlong. Confused, exasperated and angry would be an understatement for the confused Justin. What the fuck is my older brother up to??? Justin pondered to himself as he slowly and surely retreated back to the garage and ditched the place to find another place to sleep for the night. Should he keep this whole revelation to himself? Iris is a very nice girl, a bit dull, but still, how can Austin cheat on her? Is this a one time fling or a serialized habit? Justin went to sleep heavy and distraught by all the questions, lies and revelations

Those questions, plus the vivid visuals of the way Austin grinned under the moonlight as his sweaty physique rhythmically destroyed that stranger's hole, lingered in his mind all night long causing him to lose sleep. With his heart pounding and breath exasperated as the time in his phone screen shown 6.10 AM, he decided to chat Eli for a quick meetup to reveal the truth right away

Justin rushed to the designated diner where he scheduled to meet with Eli. There were several people inside the spot already, old ladies and gentleman, some fine-looking young couples and friend group, and other random people he did not really paid attention to. Eli appeared several minutes later with nothing except his sleeping clothes, yet he still smiled brightly and apologetic for being late. Weird, since when this meek and introverted twig suddenly have springs in his step? Brushing it aside, Justin gets serious quickly as soon as Eli settled down

"Do you know that Austin cheated from Iris? You spent a lot of time in my brother's house, did you never caught him in the act or anything?" Justin asked straight to the chase

"W--w---wait, hold on, cheated, how? With whom?" stuttered Eli for a reply

"I legit have no idea. But I saw him last night fucking this brunette in his bed with the door wide open and her loudly moaning his name. That cannot be Iris, she's still in SF, right? Plus, I never heard that you moved out, thought I would see you since 2 days ago,"

"Yeah, my parents need one of their kids to stay at home, and it would be awkward for me to live with Iris and Austin anyway. I don't want to disturb them with my presence. Should we.....tell Iris? Or should we....mmmm....confront Austin? I don't think Iris will believe us though and I know my parents would crucify me for "ruining our family's happiness", I'm......not ready for the fallout,"

"Okay, let's talk to Austin first then, I also don't feel easy to drop such a huge bomb to your sister, maybe we can get my bro back to sense,"

Justin excused himself to go to the bathroom first before leaving the diner. His eyebags were puffy and he said that he didn't feel so well because he was still hungover from the night out. As Justin walked to the bathroom, Eli's eyes glanced around the diner before meeting Nick's devious glimmer and Adam's signature smize as they've been watching the whole interaction from the corner seat within the diner, their hoodies and facial mask gave them cover all this time and they only revealed themselves once Justin entered the bathroom. Both of them nodded to Eli, which Eli responded with a nod of acknowledgement as he gave several minutes of gap before starting to walk into the bathroom. As expected, Justin already laid flat on the tiles of the bathroom so Eli screamed on top of his lungs for help to the rest of the patrons. Nick and Adam, strategically seated near the bathroom, helped Eli to carry Austin back to their car as they then started their drive to Austin's house

----

"Yooo.....wh---what? Where am I?" Justin muttered to himself as his eyes squinted to get familiar to his dimmed surrounding.

As more of his senses kicked in, the full picture started to trickle into his brain. Here he is tied to the chair in the basement of Austin's home, the last memory was him going to the bathroom to wash his face and relieve the bloated sensation in his stomach. Now, how on Earth he ended here and where is Eli too?

Hearing some chatter from just right outside the trapdoor that leads to the basement, it's not surprising that several seconds later, the trapdoor is opened and Justin sees Austin standing right on top of the stairs. Austin turned on the harsh head lights of the basement as he the walked down the stairs with no shirts on followed by Adam. Feeling annoyed, Justin instantly barked

"Yo, what the fuck is this shit bro? Is this a prank or something?"

"Oh, you're awake. Guess the Hill's gene really can handle their drinks and their meds huh,"

Justin just stared at Austin weird. Why did he address him like that? The Hill? They are literally the same family. But rather than pondered on that, Austin brushed it aside as he's still seethed with anger. This is the man he looked up to for most of his juvenile years. The perfect older brother. The role model. Yes, Austin is a ladies man but Iris seemed like a nice girl and he's been showing his love to her all this time. Cheating is not like Austin, but his eyes couldn't be wrong about what he saw last night

"Cut the crap. Why the fuck did you sleep with that girl in the very own bed you slept with your wife huh? Who the fuck is that too? Don't you feel ashame? You have a wife!"

"And a kid too coming on the way HAHAHAH! Iris is already carrying mini me's inside of her, y'know? We planned to pop the news later this weekend while you're in town but guess I can let you know a bit earlier than the others. Now Adam, what did I told you about what happened last night?"

"That you suspected a creep to watch you fuck your client in bed. You thought it was that twerp Eli, turns out the CCTV shown that it was your own brother,"

"My naive liar of a stupid brother. How dare you lied to me that you would give me last night free from your presence only to snoop around and peek on my nightly activity? And stop with that glare, you are not intimidating anyone," a gut punch from Austin suddenly followed, which caused Justin to hunch over as the punch takes his breath away.

"You have so much potential, bro. Why waste it on just one girl when you can have as many holes as you want? All those working outs, why devote that to only one worshipper? I mean, Adam here is straight but he wouldn't say no to sniff my pit or blow me, right dude?"

"Fuck you, hahahaha. But yeah, your brother got some delicious musk, Justin, you could have one too if it's genetics. You know what, let me take a sniff and see how close you are to match his,"

The whole scene is ridiculous and clearly intended to get him to react. What the fuck is wrong here? Austin is straight as an arrow, borderline homophobic even, so it's just not fucking possible that he let his closest friend, part of his groomsman even, to do all sorts of crap like this. Is there a possibility that the person right in front of him is actually not his brother? Because even though it seems unlikely and this person physically resembled Austin, this is not the Austin he knows. This is not the older brother he knows.

"Hmmmm.......great Bleu de Chanel there, you know your scent, huh? But it still can't hide the stink in ya, dude, I say you are 75% close to the musk that Austin made. But anyway, enough with the yap, it gets too tight over here,"

And just to add to more confusion and bewilderment that happened in the past 24 hours or so, something protruded out from Adam's back and leg, like another skin that grows out from his form. Justin panicked and tried to direct the attention to the oddity that happened right in front of their very eyes yet no one seemed to bat an eye.

"BRO, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"

Austin didn't bother to answer, not like Justin needs to understand it and not like he will be in control of his own body very soon. It looked like straight from gory body horror drama, with Adam moaning as each limbs appeared from his back. It's a rather pasty and bony limb, one that would not be able to support or even match the intensity of Adam's workout. After a couple more minutes, a very much butt-naked and sweaty Eli released itself free from Adam's form and stands right behind him. He flashes his wicked smile right at Justin before then stared at Austin as if looking for approval

"I think I made my decision. I'm ready," Eli said while grabbing the clear pills for the full merge and chugged it in one go

"Well, he's all yours,"

"Wait---wait---wait----WHAT? HOW THE FUCCCCCUCCCCCKKKKKKKKAENGHHHHHHHHHHH-------"

It's a smooth transitional process as Eli trained before for the possession pills. But the mind merge is really another beast of its own because as if supercharged with steroids, Eli managed to push Justin's essence deep into submission during the onslaught before fully fused itself with Justin's core essence, his life and form as Eli finally comes to an end as the merge completed successfully. During its final moment of surrender and erasure, that was also when Justin's found his closure, as Eli's unfiltered memories broke down everything Justin suspected as reality that the person in the room with him has been taken over by people he's never been aware about. It also revealed that this whole thing has been Austin's orchestration, exactly the trap set up for him by this impostor Austin that already schemed for Eli to takeover Justin's body after the wedding fanfare died down and Eli could just go missing without anyone noticing

It was a good battle of perseverance and entitlement, that seemingly lasted for ages. For the outside world, it only happened in less than a minute of Justin's body writhing, arching and convulsing in his seat, but as soon as it stops, a new controller is clearly in charge of his body judging from the devilishly sneaky smirk it shows and the glimmer in his eyes that screams a sexual deviant is about to be on the loose powered by a body that can support its sexual conquest

As the tightrope eventually loosened, Eli let himself free from it and quickly walked to the closest full-length mirror to admire the hard-work he just went through for this whole takeover. There's no more Eli in the reflection, it only showcases Justin's intense glare and his lean yet powerful built Eli could only dream of to achieve by himself. Lost in the sight, he absent-mindedly flexed his biceps as hard as possible and then take a good look at the way the reflection followed everything to the tee.

That caused him to get aroused as he can sense the swelling in his gym shorts. It's no longer the 3 incher getting it hard to a 5 incher, Justin's flaccid cock literally existing at 6 incher soft and only hardened into a 7.5 inches of girthy monstrosity, which now Eli is in full control off. Licking his lips, he sniffed his own pits and savored the taste of sweat and resistance remained there. The reflection captured all of his lustful depravity as Justin's hand slipped into the shorts as he started pumping the massive weapon now under his ownership. Yet, Austin with his signature cough snapped Eli back to reality and Eli suddenly stopped himself trying to jack himself off to his own reflection

"Not in front of your own big bro, dude. And there's no way the real Justin would jack his dick off in front of Austin, so get yourself together,"

"Eheh, I'm sorry, just too aroused with everything,"

Austin glared at Eli/Justin as he's irritated listening to Eli's tone coming out of his younger brother's mouth. Aware of the situation, Eli/Justin focused to access the memory resided within the brain and quickly come up with much more conviction of Justin's usual speaking pattern and tonality

"Sorry bro, just thinking of what you said about worshipper, fuck, all the girls and the gays in my gym, I could have blown in all their mouths and they would all thank me. Why bother with that one chick?"

"Yeah, that's much more like it," Austin replied with a smirk as he then draped his arm around Justin's shoulder while staring at the mirror too, "just remember, I'm the big brother here, so you follow my lead and do as I say, okay?"

"Okay, big bro,"

"Great, go dress up now, time to hit the gym and see are you as strong as you looked,"

The workout focused on core strength for the day, and Eli really utilized all the energy stored in Justin to hit all the reps till failure, with his best friend/older brother by his side.

And unlike the time where he only did cardio and felt like he's drained, being inside of Justin seemed to give him another set of energy sources that wouldn't be depleted by a mere 45-minute workout

When he finished all of the routine, he feels energetic and actually pumped. The soreness of his muscle feels like a medal he will wear proudly everytime the sensation comes, and just like a medal, it's visible and tangible, this one in the forms of his swollen biceps, striated abs and ever-growing pecs. Not to mention the way this delicious aroma emanated from him, that's the smell of succcess and only owned by people that didn't quit when the going gets tough or the tasks seemed impossible to handle only to overcome it by the end of it. It's rich, potent, and really aroused like-minded people that knows the amount of sacrifices you need to put in order to look this great. The weaks? They go even crazier once it hits them, they know they wouldn't even be able to match such intensity so they would instead worship the ground of the people that poured their blood, sweat and tears to achieve greatness. Losers like Eli and Owen definitely would be the one groveling on the floor, begging for just a crumb of attention from people like Austin and Justin. And he's certain that he's ready to embrace this kind of mindset going forward, he's Justin Hill after all, he got the body and the strength to back-up all his big talk about greatness

@vindictivenerdcels you did yours, I have mine. You can check the OG here by @thesuitaskin

As Giselle expertly licked and swallowed his shaft which triggered his devious grin as the hot bombshell model looked so funny with Mike's beer can cock stuffed her mouth full, he decided to check his continously buzzing phone.

The name Rory appeared on his screen, what's so urgent? he pondered to himself. Looking at the blonde sucking on his third leg and the video call request, Mike decided to pick up the call because bros always come before hoes after all

"Yo Mike, can you come to my room? I have absolutely the craziest shit I ever experienced this morning,"

"If it's about another tightest pussy you ever conquered, I'm not going there bro, I am......busy," Mike said with a wink, not really focused on Rory's distressed expression

"No, dude, it's not about that. There's a fucking faggy nerd all naked next to me on my bed this morning," Rory said with a frustrared expression as if holding out his anger

"Wait......what did you say?" Mike said a little bit surprised, his sudden position shift caused his cock to impale Giselle's throat even deeper

"There's this weird nerd that somehow ended up in my room, in my bed, all crouched and hidden inside my blanket this morning! Wait......why do your eyes glitch like that? Bro, is there someone giving you a BJ?"

"Nu uh bro, no one, I'm just busy watching some stuff sent by Georgina, hence the noise," Mike said as he stopped Giselle from moving her head, practically choking her with his veiny, gargantuan 8 inch monstrosity

"Oh okay, you long-distance freak. Anyway, I couldn't be that drunk to the point of picking up a dude, right? It was just 4 tequila," pondered Rory, oblivious to the gargling and choking noise coming out from Mike's background

"Dude, that's just hella FUUUCCKK--ed up. Let me see what I can do to help you, I'm c--CUMMINGG there, okay? Gimme 15," Mike replied, this time he maintained his facial expression despite releasing all of his morning load down Giselle's throat, the poor blondie gargled and choked by the amount of cum yet she cannot break herself free from the choking to the point the cum and her saliva mixed up and simply spluterred out like a sticky fountain that now covered Mike's pubes

"Thanks bro, damn, my head is so fucking dizzy. And fuck, beating the shit out of that nerd really drained me somehow, I'll nap for a while," Rory said as he turned off the call. Mike quickly released Giselle's head from his choking. She let out a sigh of relief as she gasped for breath with her mouth all messed up from the load Mike shot down her throat. If it's any other men, Giselle would be furious to be treated like she's a mere object for pleasure, but Mike is somehow an exception due to his charm and connection that would help any aspiring girls to a better career in this City of Angels. So, like a good blonde bimbo, she licked her lips and thanked Mike, laughing off the incident as something normal as she said

"Can't let a distressed friend feels like the focus is not on them, can't we?"

"You're such a smart lady, keep behaving like this and you'll go far around here, I can assure you,"

"Awww, thanks. Anyway, you need to get out? Can I stay here while you're out?"

"Of course not, I'm not trusting anyone with my apartment. I will clean myself first and by the time I walk out from the shower, you better be gone, understand?"

"Oh......okay,"

Inside his mind, Mike sneered at Giselle, what a basic bitch......thinking that she's all special just because she's holding herself down there, she's not even milking it better than that wimp Simon LOL, he thought to himself. Simon.......is that nerd causing all this? What didn't he reveal to me and Rory about that fucking pill? Mike internal monologue pondered again.

As he walked out from his bed with his slick cock flopping left and right, he strut to the shower to quickly clean himself. If what Rory described turned out to be true, it means that Jeff is out from controlling Rory's body, but how? Will that happen to him too? And why it happened in the first place? Plus, where's Jeff then? His mind is getting a bit more anxious under the shower, he quickly walk out after a quick clean-up to ensure that he's not smelling like sweat and fresh cum. The blondie already left the apartment per his order so he got the place all for himself

"Please don't let this be the final time I'm enjoying this room. Life will be hella sucks without you, bro," he murmured to himself while rubbing his cobblestone abs before putting on the closest piece he can find. It's a branded athleisure clothing that he and Rory developed way before his takeover, and it's one hell of a snug fit

"Fuck man, I will never be ready to leave this shit,"

As he grabbed his phone, a message from a weird number appeared on his phone

"Dude, I'm ejected from Rory! Are you doing okay? I'm heading out to Simon's to interrogate him,"

Is this Jeff? He thought to himself......Hopefully this is the second chat he sent after not getting any reply from Max's original number, it would be hella risky and irresponsible of him to just reveal their whole scheme all along, Mike murmured to himself. Just imagine if he's also ejected from Mike already and Jeff just texted this outlandish chat to the real Mike???? That would be a major catastrophe, or maybe Mike would just dismiss it as another bullshit? Anyway, believing in the logical rationale Jeff possessed, Mike replied

"Yeah, Rory freaked out about you, I'm coming down to his unit now. What are you planning to do with Simon?"

"I'm just gonna make him responsible for hooking us up with this shit. I cannot stand a single minute not inside Rory, dude! I'm addicted to be him and I'm blaming Simon wholeheartedly. I wish he has stock of those pills remaining or can tell us how to get it!"

"Update me then, I'll bring Rory right there if you find any leads," Mike replied as he closed off his phone and walk out from his apartment

For the past 3 months, both Max and Jeff immersed themselves fully to the kind of life the real Mike and Rory would enjoy.

Despite its lavish settings and seemingly differing events, their activity consisted of three general things. Booze, babes and business. In the morning, they will have their 90-120 minutes workout with sets of friends they linked through the fitness influencer industry. Sometimes, they have clients to attend to that they charged thousand of dollars per session as it involved another set of workout in the bedroom that can happen right at that very morning or simply scheduled for. This workout usually happened in LA, but it's not rare for them to fly to Dubai, Bali, Cancun, St. Barths, Turks and Caicos or wherever their heart pleases. Then, afterwards, they filled their schedule with "work" that consisted of supervising their video and photo editor or attending bunch of BS business meetings scheming up classes and programs for impressionable and lost young men or bunch of losers. Usually, it's accompanied with lunch paid by people that invited them for the meetings, those social climbers trying to wow the established LA influencer crowd like him and Rory or they simply paid for it using their own money that they will then reimburse as business expenses to the bunch of companies they fronted for. Before the sun sets, depending on the location, they usually lounged around the pool or the beach in the hotel where their client paid for their accomodation and it's impossible for them to not have at least two babes each by their side. The same girls would then usually joined them for dinner and the night out that followed, or if both of them are drained from their very busy social butterfly schedule, they would then head straight to their room where they would blow their loads inside the girls before repeating the whole cycle the very next day. Now, Mike is not very sure about the continuation of it all if all in a sudden, he can simply be ejected from Mike's body and forced to return to his pathetic, invisible life as Max Belmont the boring graphic designer that will probably lose his entire industry because tech bros keep funding AI graphic generator development.

"Mike, Mike, hey dude, sorry if I rambled too long, I'm just....."

"Oh---no, no, no, sorry bro, I'm just trying to remember what transpired last night and spot the moment if there were any when you interacted with a scrawny gay dude. He must be sticking out oddly, last night theme was literally "Babes & Bros" after all," Mike replied trying to hide the fact that he's been zoning out from the get go thinking of the lives he and "Rory" might lose if Jeff failed to find anything from Simon

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to remember too. I literally have zero recollection of talking to that fag, and even if I talked to him, why the fuck I did that?"

"Okay, chill bro. No need to get all pent up again, maybe I should grab you some beers, you stock up any?"

"Yeah, maybe that will help. Just take out anything to be honest,"

Right as Mike excused himself to the kitchen, he received a short text from Jeff

"Bingo, quickly bring your ass here bro, and bring that meathead Rory too, the real one need to be in control once more,"

So, with a smirk while still hidden by the fridge door, he instinctively shouted

"What about a drive bro? We can use my Lambo, get your mind off from this shit,"

"That sounds perfect, let's fucking go!"

---

Mike told Rory that rather than driving aimlessly, he actually needed to drop something that the girl he slept with earlier this morning left behind in his unit. Rory bought the story with no questions asked because why would Mike fool him at this or intended to harm him in the very first place? They are the closest of friends, he knows there's no way Mike would let anyone or anything to harm him. So, Rory remained oblivious all the way until they reached the front door of the apartment 2139 on the 21st floor. Not even before he managed to knock on the door, Mike all in a sudden put him on a chokehold from behind, taking the air out of his lungs and squeezing his arm to its maximum strength to ensure a total knockout. Too surprised by the sudden attack, the shorter Rory eventually found himself flailing around mid-air as his very own best friend seemingly tried to kill him through strangulation or asphyxiation. Rory's eyes turned even wilder when the door of the apartment slightly opened to reveal the same faggot that he bashed for waking up next to him. But before he can make any meaningful attempt to break free, Rory's vision turned dark as the last thing he witnessed is the gay dweeb crooked smile

---

"Where the fuck is that dweeb hiding it?" Mike said as he thrashed the entire living room and its shelvings, finding nothing worthwhile

"Yeah.....I can't find it still and I've checked all the drawer" Jeff said as he tiptoed around the scattered mess and also the passed out Rory's body

"Fucking stupid nerd! Why can't he just put it where it's visible??? Why makes shit so complicated?" Mike added angrily

There's several pathetic attempt to bust the bathroom door, yet it remain locked throughout the whole ordeal. Mike's just hyper-focused to the task at hand, he only realized that someone is inside the bathroom and can't escape

"Wait, you locked him inside there? HAHAHAH, fuck him!" Mike said as he continued his rampage, flipping over the sofa hoping to find a ledge or some hidden spaces marked by oddities in the floor paneling. While he's busy tracing the entire flooring, Jeff entered the bedroom and head straight to the drawer next to the bed. Inside the first drawer, Jeff finally reunited with the pills that caused all of the experience in the past few months, neatly separated into color-coordinated arrangement of reds, yellows, and blues. He counted 10 pills for each colors, which he then smuggled 2 for each into the pocket of his hoodie before shouting

"YO BRO! I FOUND THE SHIT! It's here in his bedside drawer!

Mike dragged Rory's limp body into the room as he marched inside. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight when Jeff shows him all the pills.

"Can't wait to fuck around with my real mate again," Mike said as he tossed Rory's limp hand to the floor and let Jeff takes care of it

"Fuck, I remembered how Rory reacted to the tightening of his chest after that dweeb drugged him in the gym ages ago, and with what he said about these red and yellow pills, maybe I should just----" Jeff said as he squatted down next to Rory's passed out form and grabbed his face

"Wake up, fucker, wake up,"

Several attempt to wake him up eventually succeed when Rory's eyes fluttered, but then Jeff caused him to chin up before forcefully openimg Rory's mouth to drop all 3 different pills to the back of his throat. Acting differently from normal pills, it instantly dissolved upon contact with the tongue and Rory instantly trembled as the drug takes effect rightaway

"Yo......shit's quicker from last time,"

"Maybe it's the blue one,"

"Well damn if that's the case,"

Within a minute, Rory's body already back to its deflated form and that's when Jeff starts to undress the jacked stud and put him on like an overall. Mike observed Jeff squeezing into the much-bigger body with ease as Jeff expertly slide his legs to give some life to Rory's legs that hardened upon Jeff's body entering.

Then, a rather awkward sighting happened when Jeff full control over Rory's pelvic and cock caused Rory to spurt out cum all over the carpet of the bedroom. If Mike stood a bit more close, he would be in its shooting distance. Laughing it off and noticing the quick progress of his best friend, Mike stared at the container filled with all sort of pills. Taking a step closer to take a good look at it, he noticed a familiar logo that resembled a gaming company he knows that yet somehow emblazoned to this container. Alphaland. Hmmmm......something to ponder later on, he said to himself.

Rather than risking himself to experience the same thing as Jeff, he eventually decided to grab the blue pills out of the others and chugged it in instance. Like a cold breeze sweeping through, Mike instantly shivered as a differing sensation hit him internally. All this time, he always sensed like he simply peered into the real Mike's memory and used it for his benefit, but somehow, the blue pills caused him to feel more aligned, it feels like he belong here and really own the memory. It's not like he borrowed it, no, he owns that fucking cherished moment when he saw the first outline of his abs back when he was 13. The taste of his first alcohol. The first pussy he scored in Ibiza for his highschool graduation trip. The way he jerked himself off when he got that million-dollar funding for his business line he's been dreaming off. All the parties. All the workouts. All the lavish trip, all of them feels like truly his and not just him siphoning off the real Mike's memory. Yes he internalized so much that he's the real Mike all this month, but this is the first time that he feels like he truly belongs. It's like, if he needed to make an interpretation of it, the oversized crown finally fits well because he's now the real Mike through and through, no longer an impostor that steal access and control of the crown while siphoning off memories out of the real one. As he opened his eyes after internalizing the upgrade he experienced, Mike decided that there's no more need for them to keep the pills so he crushed all of it with his bare hands. Rory that just finished his whole takeover sequence stared at Mike with a knowing smirk, understanding the rationale why his best friend is doing that

"So that nerd doesn't have any silly idea,"

As Rory put on his soaked shorts, Mike is already one step ahead and walked out to the pounding bathroom. He moved the broom that jammed the door from the outside and kick it hard to surprise the panicking Simon

"Hey there, fucktard! I see that you are not tired screaming all this goddamn time. Do you still have anything else to scream about?" Mike said with an aggression that is quite unusual for him, "and ohh.....Jeff is not here anymore,"

"It feels fucking good to be back, dweeb. Great job in giving away your friend's once more. I'm starting to think, you actually love it when he's looking this good and decided to puppet the muscle stud that once ignored you to actually give a fuck by bullying you. No need to deny it, that little pecker of yours cannot lie," mocked Rory to the cowering Simon that looked at both men in fear, "just admit it, you purposefully let Jeff knows about the whole fucking pills and admitted that you still have its stash because you want that nerd to be able to control my body once more, right? Guess what, you fucking did it, and more," Rory said it with an intrigue to hint on the mental transformation he managed to unlock with the blue pill

"M---m---more?"

"Y---y---y, stop acting dumb! You know the blue pill, that shit is the apeshit! It makes us the real thing, y'know? You can fucking kill us right at this very moment and our ghost will be looking like the stud we are now! We're in so deep, we're the real ones now and all thanks to the blue pill. Now, what should we do to you to thank your sorry ass, dweeb?"

Both men stared at each other with a wide grin before deciding on to tied him to the sink and piss on poor Simon that failed to put up a fight whatsoever as both Mike and Rory easily stopped any silly attempt from Simon to fight back. Done with humiliating their former best friend, both leave the premise and head out to embrace the life as two bonafide hunk, inside and outside

--------

Epilogue:

Mike said to Rory that he needs to do some out-of-state business for the next few days, so he's all by himself for the weekend. He already finished his workout, working on his videos and editing his Masterclass content, so now he finds himself bored with nothing fun to do. Then, he remembered about the pills. He scoured through the internet once to really delve deeper about it and he found out through the remnant of the online forum he found in the wayback machine that while the red deflated your body, the yellow one actually functioned to suppress one's consciousness, making the drinker a zoned out drone or something. That's why combining the red and the yellow one actually helped for a more long-lasting control because you need to be mentally on-point to keep your hold over the body if you only chugged the red one. The blue one is the one that sealed the whole deal, ensuring total control as the invader fused into the puppet's psyche and well, he doesn't need it anymore since he's not planning to leave this life as Rory anytime soon. So, feeling a bit adventurous, Rory knocked on the door of the apartment next to him. The man opened the door and greeted him quite coldly in a heavy Balkan accent

"What do you want, pretty man?"

---

"Javier Guzman?"

"Yes? And who are you?

"My name's Mike Leatherwood. Well, it's actually Max Bloomfield, and I'm your biggest fan, Xander,"

Javier's eyes went wide after hearing that name as he stared at the smirking Mike. How the fuck this guy knows? His gaming channel was not even that big and he really separated that world to this other world of his. Could he be a follower?

"Alphaland huh.....quite a generic and meathead name but I know what it alluded to. The logo and all. Based on your reaction, I really hit the jackpot with that name. Well anyway, I'm here to propose a business venture, this guy's quite a handy busines operator if I may say, do you mind if I come in? I see that you're making quite a good life out of this whole thing,"

Javier simply smiled and let Mike walks into his house, maybe they will not work out right away from this meeting, but at least he knows that not only there's people out there that actually used his product to its full extent, they also know or at least manage to trace and link his disapperance with the way this meathead gymbro Javier suddenly has enough capital to built a business as big as this one. Game recognizes game, they said

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

"I--- I just---"

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

"O---okay, Austin,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

"Even better. Now Ron!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

"Nick---"

"Yeah?"

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

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

"Y---yes, sir,"

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

"Y--yes sir, on it,"

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

"Pete? Are you there?"

"Who's Pete?"

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

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

"How the heck you made it?"

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

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

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

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

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

-------

When Tate McRae said that "I keep comin' back like a revolving door" in her hit song, I guess that aptly described my relationship with my ex-boyfriend, Kentaro, or Ken for short.

He's quite a toxic, manipulative, trustfund gym junkie that is completely a ref flag through and through, but how can I resist him when he always fashioned himself in an entirely different manner after every single time he fucked up? What I'm about to tell you is absurd but it really is the truth, but aside from being crazy rich due to his parents work, that work done by his parents also enabled him to shapeshift into any human being on Earth as long as he physically touched them. So imagine my frustration (and obviously massive surprise that almost sent me to cardiac arrest) that after my first breakup with him, the person I have a big fat crush on because of his interest to me that came out of nowhere as I noticed him from ages before but not receiving any signal in return until after my breakup turned out to be Kentaro in disguise!

How did I found out about it? Well, he revealed himself by shifting right in front of my eyes after he fucked me. He explained that the people he decided to shift into would fall asleep as soon as he shifted into their form and so all the flirting I received from Grant was actually his. I obviously called him a fucking creep right then and there and started to throw any stuff I could find at him, until he shifted into my own fucking boss back then and styled that man in his posing brief as we knew him to be a bodybuilder and even watched his shows as he invited all the employee to support him. He grabbed me with my boss fucking muscular arm and leaned closer to me with a smirk before ravenously kissed me, using his knowledge over my fantasies that I shared with him about my boss as a weapon to attack my defense, which of course unable to resist my own wildest fantasies that came to life at that time

And that's been the dynamic ever since. Every time after our breakup and even when I already dated steadily with my now-boyfriend Lin, or Linford based on his English nickname, Ken would tease me from time-to-time for a quick fling here and there. My younger sis jock boyfriend......

the fucking plumber that worked in my house......

and even a random jogger I bumped with became a string of his identity theft victim and also my passionate lust and no matter how disgusted or wracked with guilt I was, I always returned with fascination to his different kind of embraces and deep obsession with me

He seemed to keep track of me rather obsessively, or maybe I let him track me deep within my psyche as I desired his bold moves, like shifting into my favorite coffee shop barista and sent me a crude message through HIS PHONE offering a fucking during his shift break as a reward for my loyalty to the indie coffee shop!

Or when he shifted into the fucking priest that officiated the wedding of our mutual friend, his eyes probably noticed how long I kept my eyes shut and lulled to the priest's fatherly baritone that enchanted everyone and when I caught seeing for too goddamn long at the priest taking off his suit jacket to reveal an insanely tight shirt that hugged his splendid figure. Ken used all that knowing full-well how much a man that pious turned out to be corrupted and want to fuck another man really stirred my groin with excitement

He seemed to really understand me in a molecular level, at least when it comes to my lust and sexual desires, and he utilized it in ways not a single boyfriend of mine after him managed to do.

So, after one of my escapades with him just a few months ago, this time he was in the form of my CEO's asshole son, he asked me

"What are we, really? I won't keep doing this with you, Evan. I have a life I want to build too and as much as I enjoyed your company with all your ideas and kink, this needs to be put to a stop if you really don't want to end with me. You always returned to me no matter how far you go, why can't you just stay with me then if I'm that irressistible for you?"

I was stunned........but I have no answer back then so I ran right away and leaving him to dust. I ghosted him by blocking all contacts of his because I was surprised he took all of the flings deeper than it should when I treated it as something shallow.

Nowadays, I really enjoyed Linford's presence and I've not cheated from him ever since. He's quite the gym junkie too in the past few months, I told him to bulk up and be strong and he took the advice really well and even more devoted compared to my working out hours as he has the flexibility of remote work. Things are also more exciting as Linford also shown me his shapeshifting power that makes everything so much more exciting in our bedroom, but I love his original look as it is.