Friendly Faces

My bugs have done it.

I can’t believe it actually worked. I mean, I hoped it would when I snuck those five tiny bugs out of the meteor sample at the lab. They looked so weak. But now? They’re inside the bodies of the five hot studs playing football at the court near my house.

The five of them. Standing shirtless. Still. Eyes glazed. Muscles glistening with sweat.

I’ve been watching them play football from behind the fence earlier. They were loud, sweaty, and full of themselves, playing shirtless like the studs they knew they were. They were having a good time. But now it's my time to have a good time.

The tallest one in black shorts and a thigh tattoo is my neighbor's hot son. We never really talked, but I know his name is Matias. He’s towering, confident, and his legs are built from years of playing football. Matias and his hot friends were known troublemakers around the neighborhood. And I also believe they were part of a gang.

I freed the alien bugs right there on the court, let them scurry out of the container and crawl toward each jock. Then I backed off and just watched. It started slow. One of the guys falls to the ground, grabbing his head. Another groans and collapses to his knees. One by one, they fall, convulsing and shaking violently. The bugs are already inside their heads, turning their brains into nothing but dead matter, with the only purpose of controlling their bodies.

Suddenly, all five of them stood back up. Silent. Controlled. Their eyes were now lifeless. Then, they follow me to my house.

Now here they are, standing in front of me.

I step closer. Matias is taller than the rest, pure muscle and arrogance—except all of that is gone now.

I walk right up to him and press my face into his sweaty armpits, dragging my tongue slowly. The salt and musk coat my taste buds, and I moan into his armpits as I lick higher, cleaning every inch of his hard pecs with long, hungry strokes. His chest twitches slightly under my tongue when I latch on to one of his nipples, but he doesn’t move.

Then I kiss him passionately. My lips crash into his, and though the alien doesn’t respond, I don’t care. I shove my tongue into his mouth, exploring every inch of the warm, unresponsive wet space. The alien inside him lets me do whatever I want.

Panting, I pull back, my hands trembling as I hook my fingers into the waistband of his black shorts and tug them down. His cock flops out, thick and heavy, coated in sweat from the game. I drop to my knees and just stare for a second. His cock and balls are perfect. Covered in the scent of a long game. I lean in, burying my nose into his sweaty balls, letting the smell of him fill my lungs. This alone is enough to make him hard. So I start sucking his cock. Slow at first, letting my lips savor the shape, the salt, the sweat. I lick under his balls, drag my tongue along the base of his shaft, and take him deeper. My nose presses against his groin. I moan around him, worshiping every inch. My spit mixes with his sweat as I bob up and down, completely lost in it.

I glance up.

Matias is looking down at me with innocent, confused eyes. Like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing. Just like the other four.

Then I notice the movement under their shorts. All four of Matias’s hot friends are sporting growing hard-ons, their cocks twitching as I suck their friend. The bugs are connected. Somehow, they’re all feeling the pleasure I’m giving Matias's alien.

The four young men gather around me as I suck Matias, standing in a tight circle. They look down at me with those same blank, glazed-over eyes—totally obedient.

One by one, they reach for their shorts, tugging them down slowly. Thick, throbbing cocks spring free, also glistening with sweat from the soccer match. The aliens inside them want to feel what Matias's alien is feeling as well.

They don't speak. They don't need to. Their twitching erections say everything. The connection between them is undeniable—the pleasure shared. They want it. And I want to give it to them.

So I move to the next hot stud—a cute stud with dyed hair—and take his huge cock into my mouth, savoring the tang of sweat and musk that clings to his thick shaft. I moan around him as I drag my tongue under his balls, inhaling deeply as I worship him with my mouth. He doesn't flinch. He just watches, eyes dazed, cock pulsing.

Then I move to the third, then the fourth. Two are cut, three are uncut. But they’re all huge. I bury my face in their crotches, lick their balls, swallow their thick lengths, making obscene noises as I service each one.

When I finally finish with the last one, my face is sticky with sweat and spit, and my throat aches in the best way.

I then sit on the couch, legs spread, hand wrapped around my painfully hard cock, stroking it slowly. The five hot, naked young men kneel in a line on the floor in front of me. Their muscular bodies are sweatiest than before as each one copies my movements exactly—stroking their cocks in perfect unison, their eyes locked on mine. Observing.

"Good boys," I whisper, moaning. "This is called masturbation, it feels good, doesn't it?"

The aliens didn't respond, but I know they're enjoying it because just like that—they all start cumming at the same time. Grunts escape their lips as they shoot thick ropes of cum across my living room floor, bodies jerking slightly as they unload everything. It’s so synchronized, so surreal, so fucking hot.

As soon as they’re done, they drop onto all fours, crawling around, licking the floor clean. They lap up each other’s cum, their tongues darting out, moaning softly. No hesitation. Just pure alien instinct.

The sight of it pushes me over the edge.

I groan loudly as I cum, my load splashing onto the floor. The five of them instantly notice the new addition. They crawl toward me on all fours and begin licking my cum off the floor. One handsome young man with a neck tattoo starts licking my cock for anything left. I just can't help but grab his head and force him to take everything into his tight throat. The others watch with attention, as if they're fascinated by the act. Some even start to chuckle.

So when the neck tatted stud pulls out, the one with a chest and arm tattoo takes his place and swallows every inch. I just sit relaxed as the aliens make each young man take me down their throats as if that's a fun new game between them.

Next, they follow me to my room. Their hard, throbbing cocks bounce with every step, their blank faces showing no emotion, no resistance. Just quiet, obedience, and curiosity. Once inside, I decide to start the next lesson. They’re all watching me, silently waiting. So I pick Matias first.

"Alright my boys, the next activity is called 'fucking'. And it's a lot more fun than masturbation."

I guide Matias to the bed, and he climbs on without a word. I position him on his back, his sculpted body spread across my sheets, legs lifting up slowly as I direct them. His muscular thighs are raised, ass exposed, and his cock is still hard, resting against his abs. He stares at me with those cute alien eyes.

Time to teach them about how to really have a good time. My shaft is all lubed from their throat juices, so I line myself up and slide my dick into his tight, virgin ass. He doesn't flinch. The alien inside him just lets me in, his hole clenching around me as I start thrusting roughly.

The other four alien-controlled studs watch from the edge of the bed with curious, silent focus. They don’t speak, but they understand. The bugs inside them learn by watching.

I point at two of them—the fit stud with dyed blond hair and the tall one with a neck tattoo. They immediately climb onto the bed on either side of Matias, lying back, legs lifted and spread for the remaining two. The other two studs move without hesitation, getting between their legs, cocks already rock hard and leaking. They position themselves, watching me thrust in and out of Matias, and start mimicking my movements.

Soon, the room is full of heavy breathing, skin slapping against skin, and the smell of sweat. Our hips moved together like a choreographed routine, and I was the choreographer. I was the only one moaning for a while, but that slowly started to change because they started to mimic my moans. Every time I moan in pleasure, they all mimic the same moan in unison. It's all weirdly arousing. I'm in heaven. Watching them learn, watching them mimic, feeling them all fuck together in perfect sync...

I take my time, switching positions, taking turns. I fuck each one of them. Their bodies are perfect and completely mine to enjoy.

Hours later, I collapse exhausted in the middle of the bed, panting, as the five naked, young, brainless friends fuck each other around me.

Two friends, Keith and Dale, lived together after finishing college. Both of them had gained jobs working in Silicon Valley after graduating from the same university, so they decided to move in together. Little did they know that their close friendship and maintained health caught the attention of two bodysnatchers…

Keith, using the walls and door frames for support, staggered towards Dale’s room. “B-Bro, something’s wrong…” he said, almost throwing up from the sensation of… something sliding inside of his through his mouth. He couldn’t see anything, but he could certainly feel some kind of slippery, rubbery thing slither into his mouth and down his throat. Once inside, a cold and numbing sensation spread throughout his body.

However, as he wandered into Dale’s room for help, all Keith saw was his roommate—shirtless and covered in sweat—convulsing on his bed. “D-Dale…?” For a brief moment, Keith forgot his own perils and staggered towards Dale before succumbing to his own odd sensation. He collapsed to his knees and fell prone onto the floor, convulsing as he lost consciousness.

Sometime later, both men groaned and slowly came to as though waking up from a deep and relaxing sleep. Dale even made sure to stretch his stiff joints and flex his impressive body while Keith ran his hands down his clothed yet still tight body. They locked eyes and smirked at each other before setting up several cameras and using Dale’s laptop to capture all the footage.

“Another successful possession!”A ghost named Mike exclaimed using Keith’s body as he filmed the two of them enjoying their new bodies. “What is up, my brossessors, Mike and Ike back at it with another pair of dumb studs!”

Ike, who was enjoying Dale’s musky body, rolled his handsome host’s eyes and said, “Cut, cut! We’re not calling them that,” he said, waving his hands in exasperation.

Mike’s grin fell into a crestfallen frown. “Aww, why not?” he said, pouting in a body clearly not used to it by how awkward his expression was. “I think it’s a good name for our avid watchers in the community. Some of them are even wearing banners with it on the forums.”

Ike groaned and rubbed his beautiful body’s temples. He really should be exploring and enjoying all this sack of meat has to offer, but instead here he was, reliving—redead-ing?—another argument that Mike kept bringing up. “I still can’t believe you’re running those forums. It’s like, what, twelve people actually talking in there?”

Although seemingly impossible, Mike’s pout deepened. His host’s cheeks reddened as he answered through gritted teeth, “‘Bout a hundred, actually.” It was merely a fraction of their worldwide fanbase, but it was a sizable collection nonetheless. Then Mike sighed and hung his head. “It was higher, but once I finished banning all the bots I realized there were that many registered users. Some accounts are pretty…”

His voice trailed off and an awkward silence filled the gap. Neither of them wanted to continue the thought, because that would acknowledging that they were dead—that they did not belong here among the living. Neither were sure what was actually tethering them to the living world like this, but acknowledging they were dead did nothing but unnerve and invite troubling thoughts back—ones that the couple had spent much of the first years as ghosts trying to escape from. The rest of the time following was spent trying to make their old dreams as performers come true. They had found community, an audience, and a new passion creating content both for themselves and for other folks not quite moving on to the afterlife just like them.

Then, as if to wave away those bad thoughts, Ike grinned and leaned back into his initial position. “Fine fine, I’ll give. Brossessors it is, then. It’s not that bad of a name.”

Mike instantly perked up and began fiddling with his phone again. “All right, take two!” The two got back into position, excited and raring to go. “‘Sup brossession nation! Mike—“

“And Ike!” he chimed in with a flex and a pec bounce.

“—back with another video! Check out these hunks we took over!” Mike said with the largest and most decadent smile he’s had in years.

The show went on, and the two did their usual bit. Mike lied down on the chest of Ike’s host. The cameras were all set up and filming. “Another day, another body, huh?” he whispered to Ike. Their fingers, although not the own, intertwined as though it was the very first time. Both squeezed, as if trying to affirm to the other that they weren’t going anywhere—not anytime soon.

“Another day, another life,” said Ike. With his free hand, he gently tilted Mike’s stolen face and kissed him. “And more will come. I promise you that.”

Mike chuckled. His smile fit his new host. “Don’t make promises if you don’t know you can keep.” Yet somehow, amidst his laughter Mike felt like crying.

Ike scoffed and with a half-ironic smirk proclaimed, “I dunno much, but what I do know is that we’ll always be together.” Slowly, gently, and delicately, he pulled off Mike’s shirt and shorts. “If you’re in Heaven and I’m in Hell, I’ll crawl back up just for you,” he said, giving Mike a quick peck on the lips as the boxers came off. “And if you’re in Hell and I’m Heaven, I’ll jump off and land right on your beautiful dick. I can promise you that much.” He caressed Mike’s cheek.

“Ah…! Ah, uwahhh…” Mike blushed as he moaned. Not just from the touch but also from slowly sliding himself down on Ike’s stolen dick. Keith was particularly tight, and Mike couldn’t help but think, Stupid straight virgin, as he rode Ike just like he did the day they started going out. “F-Fuck, fuck. Urgh. Haaah…” Still, he kept thrusting his hips and meeting Ike’s thrusts as best he could in this straight body. He nearly whited out when Ike suddenly cupped his host’s pecs and fondled him. “Urgh, you’re a goddamn sadist…!” Mike uttered, biting down on his lower lip as Ike’s touches and caresses drove him insane. He couldn’t help himself. The stimulation was far too much for him in this new, youthful, virile body. Each touch was exhilarating, as though he was jerking off and being fucked for the very first time! “Yes, yes, cum in me, Ike. Breed this ass, breed me!” Mike cried out.

Ike clenched his teeth and gripped Mike’s borrowed thighs as he thrust deep inside of the tight, burning-hot hole. “Nrrgh, f-fuck!” he hissed as he blew his load all over Keith’s guts.

An hour later, once they had bid goodbye to their audience and put the equipment away, the couple cuddled together under the sheets. “You’re such a stud. I can still feel your cum inside of this straight guy’s guts,” said Mike as he nuzzled Ike’s chest.

Ike chuckled and gently ruffled Mike’s hair. “I meant what I said, y’know. We’ll always be together. I promise.”

“I know…” muttered Mike, eyes half-lidded already. Fucking always made him exhausted, and tonight was no different. It was strange. No matter how many bodies he hopped inside of, that fact about him always remained the same. Maybe it was hard-wired into his soul or whatever. Maybe that was why Ike was so determined to keep saying the same ol’ promise no matter what face he wore. Still, the world around them would continue to spin and change, yet they would remain the same: anchors for each other, even after death. “See you tomorrow, Ike,” he said. Neither ever said “goodnight” anymore. It sounded far too close to goodbye. Instead, they said,

You know what the best thing about waking up in the body of a juiced-up alpha stud is?

It's not waking up to the sound of the bed groaning under your new, unfamiliar weight, your heavy feet thudding as they hit the ground for the first time.

It's not seeing a stranger in the mirror with a jaw-dropping physique that could only be built from years of pumping iron, god-tier genetics, and a cocktail of hormones that would make even Arnie’s jaw drop.

I knew I had to be aware of scams while I was visiting South-East Asia. But when a fellow Aussie approached me, I trusted him immediately. You just feel a special bond when you meet someone from back home while traveling in a foreign country.

He told me he had seen me on Instagram, and that he had a great photo op for me. Being recognised was all in a day's work for famous bodybuilders like myself. He explained that he had been staying in this city for a few weeks, and he had found an orphanage that needed book donations. I had heard of a scam that sounded familiar to this, but I trusted my fellow countryman. Plus I could do with a few shots for the gram that painted me as a giant with a heart of gold, rather than just another influencer taking advantage of the cheap booze and tropical weather.

The bass hits your chest wrong. Too deep, too resonant, vibrating through ribs that feel like they're made of bird bones instead of the steel girders you used to pack around. The nightclub entrance yawns wide and neon-lit ahead of you, and you can see them—your mates, your crew—standing in a loose cluster near the bouncer, laughing about something, beers in hand.

Jake's there. Big dumb beautiful Jake with his sandy hair and his shoulders that could block a doorway. He's wearing that white linen shirt you always gave him shit about, unbuttoned to show the kind of chest that used to make girls at comps do double-takes. And next to him—holy shit, that's you.

Your body. Your 125 kilos of prime beefcake, stuffed into those pink gym shorts that always drove the thirst comments wild. Reed—because that's what you have to call the thing wearing your skin now, Reed—is already moving through your friend group like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does. He's got your face, your voice, your Instagram-verified checkmark, and apparently zero qualms about using all three.

You try to shout. What comes out is a burst of rapid-fire syllables in a language you don't recognize, high and panicked and utterly ignorable. One of the bouncers glances at you, dismisses you immediately. You're just another local kid, probably trying to bum a cigarette.

You push forward anyway, ducking under the velvet rope with a agility that surprises you—this body is fast, light on its feet in a way yours never was, all twitch-muscle and no bulk. You weave through the crowd, keeping your eyes locked on that massive familiar frame across the room.