Moo

See, you really don’t wanna mess with the locals, especially not in the gay district of Bangkok. The Land of Smiles can turn into the Land of Muay Thai’d Yo Ass real fucking quick if you push the wrong people. And that’s exactly what happened to Markus…

Markus was a 66 year old grandfather of five from Budapest the kind of old man who should’ve known better. But that night, he stumbled into Madame Suerisa’s bar, got blackout drunk and started acting like he owned the whole damn street. He groped the waitresses, slapped random women’s ass on the street, kicked the local ladyboys who worked there, and harassed a gay couple minding their own business in the corner. The whole place was on the verge of exploding

Madame Suerisa watched it all with cold eyes. She’d already had her staff drag him outside and give him a beating, but….. it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t about to let some farang leave a corpse in her establishment or bring the police sniffing around, uh uh

She had something far more insidious in mind…..

She picked up the phone and called her longtime friend and business partner, Putra. Putra ran a network of the city’s darkest underground establishments, the kind that dealt in things most people never think about... When Madame Suerisa told him exactly what Markus had done, Putra didn’t even hesitate… that same night Putra’s men came for him

They dragged Markus into the shadows and began executing the plan. First, they forced him into a skin tight bodysuit that clung to every part of his new form like a living skin. Then they sealed a stranger’s face over his own: young, handsome, unmistakably Thai. A mysterious figure stepped forward and began the hypnosis, rewriting the old man’s identity layer by layer until the grandfather from Budapest simply ceased to exist…

Now he was Chayo, twenty five, obedient, musky and very…very… hypersexual/horny….

For the entire first week, Chayo couldn’t speak a word of proper Thai. Every time a customer bent him over and fucked him deep in the ass, the only sounds that escaped him were desperate, broken moans and whimpers… even though he understood every filthy command in perfect Thai. The only English he could manage was a shaky, heavily accented “more…!! More…!!” as his eyes rolled back

Madame Suerisa was delighted. Chayo brought in more money and a flood of eager new regulars than any of her other boys ever had. A few months later, he could speak fluent, smooth Thai. And when the customers really got going, he’d scream at the top of his lungs: “HARDER! HARDER! HARDER!! 😖😫💦💦”

Now Madame Suerisa wanted to test her new toy herself….

She had one twisted little plan in mind. She ordered Chayo to remove the handsome face mask. The moment he peeled it off, his real face (Markus) — — flushed deep red, glistening with sweat, eyes glassy and lost in an intense horny haze was revealed. Even without the mask, he looked like he was loving every second of his new existence….

His smooth, tanned chest heaved, lips parted and wet, strings of thick drool already slipping from the corner of his mouth. Markus’s voice came out breathy and broken with lust “(In Thai) Madame… please fuck me…!!! Please!! I want your cock inside me!!”

His eyes rolled back dramatically, and fluttering wildly, his lean, athletic young body trembling with pure, shameless desperation. The air in the room grew thick with the heavy scent of sweat, musk, and Gatsby hairspray. Markus’s (aka Chayo’s) new skin felt fever hot under her hands… slick and quivering… his hole already twitching visibly with anticipation… leaking a shiny trail of lube down his smooth inner thighs….. 🤤

Madame Suerisa felt her cock twitch hard and spring to full, throbbing attention, the thick vein along the underside pulsing visibly. She couldn’t wait any longer. DUHH. She stepped forward, one strong hand shooting out to grab Markus by the throat, fingers digging into the soft, sweat slick flesh as she squeezed just enough to make his breath hitch into a needy whimper. With her other hand she freed her heavy, rock hard cock, the head already glistening with precum….. “NGHMMM~~ 💦💦” Markus whimpers

She slapped it once, twice against his flushed cheek, leaving wet, sticky streaks across his skin before shoving it deep into his mouth without warning….

“GLOCKK — !!”

The obscene sound of choking filled the room as she forced her way past his tongue and straight into his throat. Markus’s eyes watered instantly, tears spilling down his temples, but his hips bucked helplessly, his own cock leaking steadily onto the floor beneath him

Madame Suerisa moaned in her throat, her hips snapping forward harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing as she fucked his throat deeper, feeling his convulsing muscles squeeze and milk her with every brutal push. Markus’s new, Thai hands clutched desperately at her thighs, not pushing away, but pulling her closer, his body surrendering completely in humiliated ecstatic pleasure…..

“GLRKKK—!! GLOOOPP—!! GLRRKK—!! HNCKK!!!!! WUAAACCKKK!!! Haaah… haaah… haaah HNCKK—!!”

The room filled with gagging, slurping, desperate gulps for air mixed with muffled, vibrating moans around her thick shaft as she began to thrust, using his face like a toy, the salty bitter taste of her precum flooding his senses…. till her balls tightened

And with a deep, guttural growl she buried herself to the hilt and erupted, flooding his throat with thick, hot ropes of cum that overflowed from the corners of his stretched lips, dripping down his chin in messy strands……

Even as she came, Markus’s eyes stayed rolled back…. His young Thai body shaking violently in orgasm without even being touched, his own cock pulsing and spurting uselessly onto the dirty floor…. (fffuckkk…🤤) while he swallowed greedily around her pulsing length, whimpering and moaning like the perfect, broken little SLUT he had become….

See you don’t wanna mess with them or this is what you gon get chu….

MM, mind control, bondage, corruption, Stockholm syndrome-ish elements, 18+, NSFW

“Alright, Brody….looking good...and the trap is set.” I tightened the binds around my fellow slave brother’s wrists, smoothed the duct taped on his mouth, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before taking my hiding spot in his closet.

He looked adorable like this—helpless and bound, trussed up like a rag doll.

The image conjured a sense of nostalgia. I’d been in his same position many times, usually serving as bait—like he is right now. But the first time my Master actually subdued me, captured me, bound me. The memory gives me chills. Sure, I was upset at the time. Angry and frightened if I remember correctly. I didn’t realize Master was doing me a kindness.

It took some time to catch up to the truth and accept my identity as a pussyboy, but I caught on eventually. Better late than never!

My slave brother, Brody, has been starting to catch on as well. He was taken a few months ago. Plucked away from his old life in the middle of the night. Per usual, Master didn’t waste any time throwing him into a life of servitude (he’s a firm believer in on-the-job training).

At first, it was upsetting to see how much difficulty Brody was having acclimatizing to his new life as a slave to a better man. He pushed back at everything, and was quick to earn punishments for disrespecting the hierarchy.

But Master is patient, powerful, and proficient at breaking down disrespectful boys. It’s actually quite thrilling to see him work in real-time. Take Brody for example. After rounds and rounds of hypno, sexual stimulation, orgasm denial, and slave training—Brody is no longer the unruly, wild, disruptive brat he was upon arrival. He’s docile and subservient, rather than feisty and rebellious.

Though he’s yet to demonstrate the enthusiastic submission and worshipful obedience that will soon become his second nature, the signs are there.

For instance, he finally answered Master’s question honestly:

“Hi, Brody. Let the record state this the 89th time I’m asking you. Which one of your old friends should I capture and induct into my stable?”

“Scott.” He said. A tear traced his cheek as he said the name. Sweet Brody. He looked tired, and defeated, and guilty. But he also looked pleased when Master responded with: “Good boy.”

I was incredibly proud of Brody. I knew we’d soon be looking back on this memory fondly. So would Scott, eventually.

Which brings us here.

After roughing up Brody a little (as gently as possible…my bro is more delicate than he looks), I bound him tightly and tossed him onto his old bed. Then I kissed his forehead, slipped into the closet, and waited patiently for Scott to arrive home.

This is so fun.

I tried to shush the butterflies in my stomach, thinking about how Scott would react to the scene. He’d be so confused to see his old friend—reported missing months ago—back at home.

His confusion would turn into concern as he realized Brody was bound and gagged. Then as soon as Scott moved to untie him, Brody would stop struggling—no longer needing to feign distress. I’d pounce on Scott, subdue him, tie him up, stuff his mouth with one of Master’s old socks, seal his lips with tape, and assure him everything was going to be okay. And then kiss his forehead, obviously.

Finally, I’d take out the wireless speaker Master provided, and hit “play” on the hypnotic audio track. My favorite part.

Soon the world would go black…and soft…and warm…and quiet…and…

…Somehow, we’d wake up in the familiar safety of Master’s estate. I’d be ecstatic, Brody would be Brody, and Scott would be very confused and very frightened and very, very, horny.

Most importantly, Master would be pleased.

The sound of footsteps shook me from my thoughts. Scott’s home! On cue, Brody started wriggling in his binds, grunting aggressively.

“Hello?” Scott called from the hallway. Even though his voice was shaky with concern, I could tell he sounded like a cool dude. I couldn’t wait to be his friend. We’d eventually bond over our mutual passion for serving alpha men, worshipping cock, etc. But first thing’s first…

“Mrrmpphmmmph” Brody mumbled into his gag, eyes wide, wriggling like a worm.

Good job, brother. Really selling it.

You started the year going back to your hometown after 4 adventurous year in uni, watching your friends moved all over the country pursuing jobs opportunity and dream.

The cushy jobs and the bunch of first-year associate alongside you provide some sort of solace and camaraderie working through the web of corporate America, and you genuinely enjoyed it. But then, you witnessed how your frat bro, Joe, not only got even bigger, but lived a life that you two were talking about at the start of senior year back then.

Parties and festivals that kept on going. Trips to far-flung exotic destination. Workout for hours even during weekdays. Girls. Money rolling in with no ends in sight as if he just tapped into a trust fund set by his parents

And you wondered, how on Earth the middle-class American afford it and how can your very own best friend with pretty much the same background achieved that while here you are working beyond the 40-hours mandatory work week and barely able to afford such a lavish life in Chicago? What did he do? Or.....as you put it, what did you do wrong?

It's winter now, you should be homebound and celebrate Christmas soon with your loved ones. But that decision to use your annual leave to visit Joe during the summer break not only altered your life trajectory, it also ended the life as you know it. You definitely would not come visit him if you were aware that Joe was merely just a skinsuit worn by some old corporate leads in his early 70s that just retired yet refused to call it quit. You also would not be envious to the lifestlye that Joe showcased on IG if you knew the truth behind it all and how Joe was just used as a facade and a bait to other impressionable young men to link up with him only to be turned into a skinsuit. And you definitely would spend this year Christmas still with your family if only you trusted your gut and just say no when Joe said he could paid all your expenses for you to visit him.

Well, it's not like the process is reversible. Joe really took you by surprise when he shoved that pill down your throat and your eyes started to water and your knees buckled.

He really did not give a single fuck as he drowned you with the water "to ensure you chugged them pills" as you screamed through the loss of sensation you experienced throughout your body and only in the very last moment of you fully in control and connected to your physique that you realized what actually happened as the old guy inside Joe slipped out of him and started giving some cryptic call about a body becoming available to be worn to the person in the other side of the line.

Now, despite still having a chance to feel alive once more, I guess you just need to suck up your fate as mere passenger in your own body. Yes you still feel all the senses and yes you are still technically alive. But, if living means experiencing things on your own accord, guess you are no longer alive then because everything you do is controlled by a 68 years old former accounting firm Managing Director that slipped into your skin to experience a more comfortable and less work-ridden 20s. He's very smart and he's elated that navigating 20s once more feels less like a chore and also less of a dumbing down experience when someone as equally as bright as him is accompanying him throughout this journey. Imagine speaking in frat bro slang or getting so worked up with macros and workouts 24/7, must be one heck of a dumbing-down existence

The house next door had been a siren’s song, its parade of breathtaking men—each one a masterpiece of rugged charm or polished allure—stoking a fire in your chest that refused to be ignored. The bearded lumberjack with a stride that shook the earth, the businessman whose tailored suits clung to every sharp angle, the surfer with a grin that promised wild nights—they haunted your thoughts, their fleeting appearances from that house a mystery you could no longer resist. Curiosity had become obsession, and tonight, under a starless sky, you gave in.

You slipped through the shadows, your pulse a steady drum as you crossed the dew-slick grass to the neighbor’s back door. It was unlocked, an invitation to unravel the enigma. Inside, the house was disarmingly ordinary: a tidy kitchen, a threadbare couch, the faint scent of cedar and musk hanging in the air. But at the end of the hallway, a cherry-red wooden door gleamed like a forbidden promise, its glossy surface pulling you closer. The air grew warm, heavy, as if the house itself held its breath. You turned the brass knob, and the door opened with a soft, seductive creak.

The room beyond was a sanctuary of transformation. Shelves lined the walls, each one cradling silicone masks that stared back with eerie vitality—the lumberjack’s weathered intensity, the businessman’s sleek confidence, the surfer’s boyish mischief. Beside them hung muscle suits, their sculpted forms glowing under the chandelier’s amber light, every chiseled pec and rippling ab a testament to power. The air was thick with the scent of silicone and something richer, headier, like amber and primal desire. Your breath caught as the truth sank in: these were the men you’d seen, not flesh but artifice, crafted with a precision that made your skin prickle.

Your eyes fell on a mask—a college jock, his face all sharp cheekbones and cocky swagger, a smirk that dared the world to kneel. The silicone was cool, almost alive under your fingers, its texture so real it sent a shiver down your spine. Next to it hung a light-skinned muscle suit, its broad shoulders and carved abs radiating dominance. You couldn’t resist. You didn’t want to.

The room pulsed with a charged energy as you shed your clothes, the air kissing your skin like a lover’s whisper. You stepped into the muscle suit, the silicone cool and slick as it slid over your legs, hugging your thighs, your hips, your torso. It molded to you like a second skin, the sculpted pecs amplifying your chest, the ridged abs tightening against your core. The suit’s weight was intoxicating, every movement heavy with strength—your shoulders broader, your arms thicker, your entire body a monument to power. And then you felt it: the silicone sheath at the crotch, crafted with meticulous detail, encasing you in a way that made your breath hitch. It hugged you tightly, accentuating every contour, making you feel colossal, godlike, your new form enormous and commanding.

You ran a hand over the sheath, your fingers tracing the exaggerated size, the lifelike texture sending a jolt of raw power through you. It was more than a disguise—it was a crown, a scepter, a symbol of your newfound dominance. You gripped it, marveling at the sheer size, the weight, the way it felt like an extension of your will. Your other hand roamed the suit, worshipping the hard planes of your pecs, the deep grooves of your abs, each touch igniting a fire in your veins. You were no longer just you—you were a titan, a deity sculpted from silicone and desire, every inch of you radiating unyielding confidence.

You lifted the jock’s mask, its smirk mirroring the power coursing through you. The silicone was soft, pliant, almost eager as you pressed it to your face. It sealed against your skin, warm and intimate, the sensation like a lover’s breath. You aligned the eyes, the nose, the mouth, and as it settled, the world sharpened. You blinked through the jock’s eyes, and the mirror across the room revealed a god. His green eyes burned with arrogance, his tousled brown hair fell perfectly, his jawline a blade forged to cut through hesitation. You were him, and he was you.

You stepped closer to the mirror, your movements fluid, commanding. The suit hugged every curve, every muscle, the sheath making you feel like a colossus, untouchable and immense. You flexed, watching the pecs rise, the biceps swell, the abs tighten. Your hand returned to the sheath, gripping it with reverence, worshipping its size, its power. The silicone was warm now, alive with your heat, each touch sending a surge of pleasure through you. You ran your fingers along its length, slow and deliberate, savoring the way it made you feel—invincible, desired, larger than life. Your other hand traced the suit’s contours, from the broad expanse of your chest to the chiseled lines of your thighs, each touch a hymn to your new form.

The room thrummed with energy, the air thick with the scent of power and possibility. You tilted your head, the jock’s smirk widening as you admired your reflection, the light catching the sharp angles of your face, the gleam of your sweat-slicked skin. You let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound deep and commanding, a voice that could bend wills. The other masks—the brooding artist, the stoic firefighter—beckoned from their shelves, each one a new facet of dominance waiting to be claimed. The thought of slipping into another, of feeling this rush again, made your blood roar.

But then, a creak. The cherry-red door shifted, and soft, deliberate footsteps echoed in the hallway. Your heart thundered, but the jock’s smirk held firm, your grip on the sheath tightening as if to anchor your power. You stood taller, the suit and sheath making you feel like a king, ready to face whoever—or whatever—dared to interrupt your worship. Would you slip away, or would you let this godlike power carry you into the unknown?

---

Most of Victor's followers in social media believed that he's this incredibly privileged jock with an enviable life filled with travels, parties and brand engagements across the globe. If there's a depiction of living their best life in their 20s, Victor is one fitting example.

But, if they ever cross-path with Victor in real life where he talked to them, best believe that the person never returned, or at least they never returned as the same person. Yet, no one's been able to pinpoint that all of the changes happened not because of their holiday getaway but because of Victor.

Behind the approachable persona of a carefree jock with curated social media presence lies something from thousand of light years away lurking inside Victor's brain. The presence is already controlling the jock like a mindless puppet for months and yet everyone still treated Victor as it should be. Not even Victor's own dog realized the oddity of his owner. The original Victor never seen it coming as he was deep in his sleep when the takeover happened. But, once the alien managed to seize control of Victor's brain, there was no going back and any sort of resistance possible, the perfect infiltration

The alien used Victor's attractive body and influence to prepare for more vessels for its kind.

All the social media posts intended to lure, all the whispers in the club precisely spoken to lull and all the back-arching, mind-blowing orgasm he released deep inside his target's hole intended to literally blow the human mind and rendered it weak for its kind to easily conquer. Every single thing that Victor pulled off were performative, a guise to mask the malicious intent hidden underneath the abdominal muscle and that charming smile. It's all for show

Now, with a vacation in a cruise that lasted for a one full-month across the Mediterranean, Victor is busy taking down his target one at a time. Tonight, he already eyed this charming Spanish gay newlyweds seemingly open for a three-some with a young gun like Victor. The smoking session on the deck while they shared about their love life proven to work to calm their nerves and make Victor appear to be more human and sympathetic with all the lies and manipulation he crafted as pearls of wisdom. Now, drowsy and still wanting to have a good time with the hot stud they encountered, they invited Victor to their first class room where they will soon realize that it's the biggest mistake of their life, and the last one they will ever make as fully-in-control human

My thumbnails continue to get worse 👍

This is an experimental file, my first loop ever and also another commission from a beautiful, generous soul willing to sponsor this lunacy. This loop builds upon the feedback loop that already exists in your mind, this idea that muscle = s3x = muscle = s3x, and injects a desire to see YOURSELF become more muscular, more powerful right into the middle of that loop. So the longer you go, the more you want to grow…

It's a very chaotic loop with lots of layering and suggestion - its intention is that you listen to it while watching or scrolling muscle p0rn and edg1ng, so it's deliberately trippy and confusing. Just let it waaaash over you, bros. Enjoy it. Tell me how you like it. It won't be for everyone, but I think it'll really hit the ones who are into this shit.

CW: Gendered praise, male JOI, slight suggestion to come back for repeat listens.

----------------------------

Wash sub's brain regularly.

Convincing beach bros to undergo hypnosis is very easy. Offer them some money, make it sound fun, and they’ll let you put them under. “You’re not going to turn me into a chicken, are you?” The man asked half-jokingly. I laughed and replied, “Don’t give me ideas. Now, let’s get this started.”

With some basic inductions I had this man sleeping and ready for instructions. “From now on,” I said, “Anything I tell you will be the absolute truth to you. If it conflicts with any of your past memories, what I tell you will take the place of those memories. Nod if you understand.” The man weakly nods. “Good, now open your eyes.” The man’s eyes flutter open before remembering where he was.

“You’re so happy to see me,” I told him. Immediately he greeted me with a big smile and said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I smiled and pat his arm. I shrug and say, “You’ve always known me for your entire life because I make you so horny.” A groan and a tent bulging from his shorts indicated that my words had had an effect on him.

“Don’t you want to fuck me? It’s what you love doing.” There was some resistance to the comment but it wasn’t even a fight. “Absolutely. Let me just tell my girlfriend where I’m going, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Your girlfriend? No, you’ve only ever loved me. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” The man shakes his head and says, “Man, I really don’t know what got into me. Lead the way.” On the way to my apartment, I reached my hand behind his back, holding him possessively, which made him tense up. “You crave my touch, what’s up?” Immediately he leaned into my touch and shrugged. “Guess I’m just excited,” he answered. “I would be too,” I said. “Especially since you really love me. In fact, you’re obsessed with me.“

Troy wasn’t exactly the sharpest guy when we first met, but back then, at least he could form full sentences. He was my college roommate—a six-foot-four, gym-obsessed wall of muscle who somehow balanced his protein-shake-fueled lifestyle with being a student. Well, tried to, anyway. It didn’t take long before he started asking me for “help.”

“Bro, I need to get bigger,” he had groaned one night, staring at himself in our dorm mirror, flexing his arms. “But, like, I dunno, bro… I feel like I ain’t doing enough, y’know?”

I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my chair, hiding my smirk. Oh, I know. I had been waiting for this moment.

“You need a system, Troy,” I said. “Someone to guide you. Someone… smart.”

His eyes lit up. “Like you, bro?”

I nodded. “Exactly like me.”

And just like that, I had him.

The plan was subtle at first. I started with supplements—my own special mix, designed to boost his energy, accelerate his gains, and, well… gently suppress his higher thinking. The changes crept in slowly, so Troy never noticed. But I did.

He stopped questioning things. If I told him to do something, he’d do it—no hesitation.

“Drink this.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Do one more set.”

“Hell yeah, bro.”

“Skip that lecture. You don’t need it.”

“Yeah, bro, waste of time.”

Each day, he lifted heavier weights while his thoughts got lighter. His sentences got shorter. His vocabulary shrank. But he felt great, and that’s all that mattered to him.

----------------------------------------------

At first, I had to be careful. There were still traces of thought left in that thick skull of his. I learned that the hard way when I got too bold too soon.

One day, while he was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone, I took the opportunity to get a little… hands-on.

“Damn, Troy,” I murmured, moving closer. “You’ve really packed on some size.”

He smirked, flexing his arm. “Hell yeah, bro. Feels tight.”

I reached out, letting my fingers graze over his biceps, testing their firmness. Perfect.

But then—

“Uh, dude?” His expression shifted, uncomfortable. He pulled his arm away. “Kinda weird, man. Like, chill.”

I forced a laugh, raising my hands. “Hey, just admiring the work, dude.”

He gave me a wary look, then shrugged it off, going back to his phone. But I made a mental note. Too soon. There was still something in him that resisted. I’d have to fix that.

---------------------------------------

By the time we hit week three, Troy was skipping every single class. His idea, of course—or so he thought.

“Dude,” I said one morning, watching him struggle to put on a tank top that barely fit his swelling torso. “College isn’t really for guys like you, y’know?”

He frowned, his thick brows scrunching. “Huh?”

“I mean, look at you, Troy. You were born to lift, to grow. You really think wasting time in lectures is gonna help you get swole?”

His lips moved slightly, like he was trying to process what I’d said, but I could see the gears in his head turning slower than before.

“Uh… yeah, bro,” he finally said, nodding. “Yeah! You right! I gotta, like… focus, bro. Just—just LIFT. Get BIG.”

I grinned. “Exactly.”

And just like that, Troy stopped attending College entirely.

-----------------------------------------------------

By week five, he had completely surrendered his decision-making to me without realizing it. He thought he was in control.

“Bro, should I eat this?”

“What do you think, Troy?”

His blank stare lasted a second too long. Then: “Uh… I think… I dunno, bro. You think for me.”

“I do, don’t I?”

He nodded, beaming, completely unaware of how empty his own head had become. I had done it. Troy wasn’t just dumb anymore. He was mine.

------------------------------------------------

6 months has passed since then, and now? Now I could touch him as much as I wanted.

“Hey, Troy,” I murmured, running my fingers along his thick arm. “You cool with this?”

Troy blinked, his dopey grin unwavering. “Huh? Uh… yeah, bro. I don’t mind.”

I squeezed his bicep, watching the way his muscle flexed under my grip. Perfection. “Why’s that?”

He tilted his head, slow to process. “’Cause… uh… I’m just… muscle, bro.”

I smirked. “That’s right. You’re just muscle. Just a big, strong body. No need to think, right?”

Troy’s lips parted slightly. “Yeah, bro. Just… body.”

I ran a hand down his chest, pressing into his pecs, feeling their firm weight. No resistance. Nothing but dumb compliance. My fingers brushed under his arm, grazing the warm, musky skin of his armpit. The scent hit me instantly—strong, masculine, overpowering.

“Man, you really are just a muscle,” I murmured, inhaling deeply. “Crazy, right? You used to think this was weird.”

Troy’s slack expression didn’t change. “Huh? Uh… nah, bro. Ain’t weird.”

I chuckled. “Oh, but you did think it was weird before. Remember?”

His forehead scrunched slightly, trying to think. “Uh… nah, bro. I don’t… remember.”

I grinned, giving his pec a playful squeeze. “Of course you don’t. Because a muscle doesn’t need memories.”

Troy nodded slowly. “Yeah, bro… just muscle.”

“Just a muscle that belongs to me, huh?”

There was a pause. Then, with a slow, stupid nod: “Yeah, bro. Yours.”

I smirked and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “You don’t need this, do you?”

Troy blinked, watching as I pulled it up over his head and tossed it aside. His bare torso gleamed under the light, thick with sweat, pulsing with heat.

“Just a big, dumb toy for me to play with,” I murmured, trailing my hands across his chest, his stomach, his arms. “And you’re fine with that, aren’t you?”

Troy’s lips curled into a mindless smile. “Yeah, bro… fine with it.”

“Good boy.”

I dug my fingers into his flexed bicep, relishing the way he didn’t even flinch as I placed my fingers dip into the crevices of his bicep to his armpits...

PLAYING THE ROLE

The cheap hotel room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and faint mildew, a testament to decades of use and neglect. The walls were clad in faux wood paneling, their dark grain warped and rippled in places from old water damage. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow hue over the cramped space. A battered bed with a sagging mattress, a scratched dresser, and a wobbling chair were the only furnishings.

In front of the smeared mirror above the dresser stood the man who no longer looked like himself. The reflection that stared back was a stranger—an imposing brute of a man with a thick red beard and a hard, weathered face. Tattoos snaked up his forearms and disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black button-down shirt. The body he inhabited was broader, heavier, and rougher than the lean frame he’d once known. Even the way he carried himself had changed; his posture was different, his movements deliberate and laden with a subtle menace.

Agent Michael Rowe—or at least, the man who had been Michael Rowe—let out a slow, measured breath. Months of preparation had led to this moment. The bodysuit was seamless, molded with state-of-the-art technology to transform him into the spitting image of Ciarán O’Keefe, the ruthless right-hand man of the Molloy gang. The real Ciarán was rotting in a federal prison under a different name, his existence scrubbed clean from the records for this operation. And now, Michael was him.

The suit didn’t just alter his appearance. It modified his voice, deepening it to match the gravelly timbre of Ciarán’s thick Irish brogue. It even emitted faint pheromones designed to mimic the man’s natural scent—an earthy, musky aroma that carried hints of whiskey and leather. The technology was perfect. Too perfect.

Michael leaned closer to the mirror, studying the face before him. He practiced the accent again, letting the words roll off his tongue like liquid smoke. “Y’think I’m stupid, lad? That I wouldn’t notice yer hands shakin’ when ya counted the cash?” His lips curled into a sneer as he emphasized the sharp consonants and lilting vowels. It sounded natural, even to his own ears.

But the unease twisted in his gut. Every word felt less like practice and more like surrender. This wasn’t just a disguise; it was an invasion. Every moment he spent in this skin, he felt less tethered to himself. It wasn’t just the voice that was different. The smell of his own body—or rather, Ciarán’s body—was alien. The rough texture of his beard when he rubbed his jaw. The weight of the inked flesh on his arms, the faint pull of the bodysuit when he moved. It all felt… right. Too right.

Michael’s heart thudded as he stepped back from the mirror. His palms were sweating, his pulse quickening. This body exuded danger, power, and raw masculinity. It wasn’t just about fooling the Molloy gang. It was about becoming Ciarán. Living as him, thinking like him, walking into a meeting with arms dealers and convincing them that he belonged. He did belong.

And that terrified him.

He caught his reflection again, the fierce eyes glaring back. A sudden wave of exhilaration coursed through him, hot and electric. He clenched his fists, feeling the strength in his borrowed hands. The man in the mirror wasn’t afraid. He was ruthless, calculating, and primal. Michael felt his breath hitch as the thrill surged lower, tightening in his gut and stirring an ache he hadn’t expected.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice still cloaked in Ciarán’s brogue. His lips twitched into a smirk, the kind of smirk that promised trouble. He took a step closer to the mirror, tilting his head as he studied his reflection. What if he let himself slip into the role, just for a moment? What if he let Ciarán take over entirely?

The thought made his pulse race, his cock stirring against the confines of his jeans. He gritted his teeth, fighting the sensation, but it only grew stronger. It wasn’t just arousal—it was power. The kind of power he’d never felt in his real body. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, exposing the thick mat of hair on his chest. He ran a hand over it, feeling the texture through his calloused fingers. It felt good. Too good.

His phone buzzed on the dresser, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen. A picture of his wife flashed up, her name glowing beneath it. Guilt twisted in his gut, but it was laced with something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Michael picked up the phone, his fingers hovering over the Facetime video icon. The idea hit him before he could stop it. He could answer. Not as Michael, but as Ciarán. He could let her see the man he’d become, the man who made his blood burn with a reckless hunger.

His thumb hovered over the camera button. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding. Would he do it? Probably not. It could blow his cover, putting him and his mission in danger. But the thought of it—the risk, the danger, the raw heat of it—was too tempting to resist.

He swiped to answer.

Her face appeared on the screen, soft and familiar, a tether to the man he used to be. But her expression shifted, confusion knitting her brows as she took in his appearance.

“Michael?” she asked, her voice uncertain. “Is that you? Is that... him?”

He leaned in, letting the camera capture every inch of the rugged, transformed man he had become. The reflection of the nearby television flickered in his eyes, giving him an almost otherworldly quality. The brogue slipped from his lips, his voice low and thick with the persona he’d been practicing.

“Michael?” he repeated with a smirk. “Don’t know the name, darlin’. Y’must be mistaken.”

Her breath caught on the other end of the line. “What—what are you doing? Are you okay? You haven't... lost yourself again. Have you?”

He let his eyes narrow, his smirk deepening as he settled fully into the role. “Lost who? The man you know? Maybe this is who I’ve always been. You just never saw it.”

Her lips parted, her breath shaky as she stared at him. “Michael…” she began, but her voice trailed off, her eyes flickering with something between disbelief and fascination.

He leaned closer, his broad shoulders filling the screen, the tattoos stark against his skin. “Why so quiet?” he teased, his tone dark and dangerous. “Is it because this excites you? Because I excite you?”

She didn’t respond, but the way her lips pressed together, her breath shallow, gave him all the confirmation he needed. The power surged through him again, a raw, electric current that made his skin hum.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he pressed, his brogue curling around the words as he strokes the unfamiliar outline of another man's erection through his pants. “A man who will throw you against the wall and take what he wants. A man who doesn’t ask for permission.” He leaned back slightly, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt as he trained the camera on his crotch. “Look at me, darlin’. Really look. Do you want me to stop?”

Her silence spoke volumes. Her gaze locked on the screen, her cheeks flushed, her breathing shallow. It was all the answer he needed.

“Good,” he growled, his smirk turning predatory. “Because now that you're husband is out of the picture, I want you to spread your legs."

And as she slowly obliged while shaking like a leaf, he could tell that she hung on his every word. Well not his... but Ciarán's.

Leo's eyes widened in surprise, his voice cracking as he spoke, "Victor? What the hell? Everyone's gone home?"

Before Leo could fully comprehend the situation, Victor, or rather the entity within him, began to speak. "Hey buddy, I'm not exactly Victor, but you see, that alien goo you rescued on your way to work? Yeah, that's me. I possessed Victor because, well, I read your mind, and what do you know? You've got quite the crush on him and I needed a body." The explanation from the alien, delivered with Victor's sarcastic charm, left Leo stunned, yet there was an undeniable thrill in the air.

The alien within Victor had read Leo's fantasies, his secret longing for this very scenario, and was now playing it out with an intensity that was almost too real. "Oh, you're in for a surprise, Leo," Victor replied, his voice dripping with a mix of his own personality and the alien's otherworldly charm.

Victor's hands were firm as they grabbed Leo's face, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips were demanding, his tongue forceful as it invaded Leo's mouth, exploring with an alien precision that left Leo breathless. The kiss was a battle of dominance, Victor's tongue wrestling with Leo's, tasting every corner, leaving Leo dizzy with lust. "Wait, are we really doing this?" Leo managed to gasp out between kisses, his shock mingling with arousal. “Don’t worry about it and relax. Pretend that I’m the real Victor,“ said the alien.

As they kissed, Victor's hands roamed over Leo's body, admiring the contours with a touch that was both possessive and appreciative. "Look at you, Leo," Victor murmured between kisses, his hands tracing the lines of Leo's muscles, "You've always kept yourself in fine form. It's quite the sight, isn't it?" The alien within admired Leo's physique, enhancing Victor's natural appreciation but with a twisted, horny edge. Leo, still in disbelief, muttered, "I can’t believe that this is really happening."

Victor's mouth moved from Leo's lips to his jaw, then down to his neck, where he bit down, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark, to claim. Leo's hands clutched at Victor's back, feeling the muscles tense under his touch as Victor continued his assault. The alien's breath was hot against Leo's skin, each exhale a promise of more to come.

With a swift motion, Victor's hand found its way into Leo's pants, gripping his hardness with a possessiveness that made Leo's hips buck involuntarily. Victor's strokes were deliberate, his grip tight, moving with an expertise that could only come from reading Leo's deepest desires. "You like this, don't you? Being dominated by your boss, your old pal," Victor whispered huskily, his voice laced with an arrogant satisfaction and a hint of sarcasm. Leo could only moan in response, his voice lost in the overwhelming sensation, "Fuck, Victor, this is insane."

Victor's other hand worked to undo his own pants, freeing his erection, which he pressed against Leo, letting him feel the full extent of his alien-enhanced desire. The contact made Leo's breath hitch, the heat of Victor's arousal against his own was almost too much. "You're really going through with this?" Leo asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and desire.

Victor then guided Leo's hand to his own hardness, making him feel the weight and heat of it. "Touch me," he commanded with a smirk, and Leo complied, his fingers wrapping around Victor, stroking him with a reverence mixed with desperation. Their hands worked in tandem, Victor's guiding Leo's in a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable. "You have excellent taste in men, Leo, especially with your obsession with this," the alien complimented, referring to his own cock with a cocky grin. Leo, caught in the moment, couldn't help but laugh nervously, "You're reading my mind, aren't you?" “Guilty“ the alien Victor replied with a smirk.

As the alien Victor kissed him, he suddenly paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, Leo," he said, his voice dripping with a seductive playful tone, "Remember that trip 6 years ago after my girlfriend left me? You were quite the friend, weren't you?" The memory, long buried under the layers of their professional relationship, surfaced with a vivid clarity, enhanced by the alien's ability to delve into Leo's mind. Leo's eyes widened, "You remember that? How do you... Oh, right, the alien thing."

Before Leo could respond further, Victor's hand tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as he whispered against his lips, "I know I said to never bring it up again but you gave me one hell of a blowjob to cheer me up, didn't you?" The kiss deepened, Victor's tongue exploring Leo's mouth with the same intensity as that night, but now with an added layer of alien prowess. Victor's other hand roamed down Leo's body, reigniting the sensations from that memory, making Leo's body respond with a familiar eagerness. "Yeah, I did," Leo admitted, his voice low, "But this is so much more than that."

"You've always had a knack for making me feel better, in more ways than one," Victor continued, his voice a mix of dominance and playful sarcasm, as he guided Leo's head lower, a clear indication of what he wanted. Leo, caught in the throes of desire and the rush of the resurfaced memory, complied, his hands working to free Victor from his pants. "I guess some things never change," Leo chuckled, his voice tinged with awe.

As Leo took Victor into his mouth, he started by teasing the tip with his tongue, swirling around it, tasting the alien-enhanced pre-cum that was surprisingly sweet. He then slowly took more of Victor in, his lips sliding down the shaft with a deliberate slowness, feeling every vein, every throb. Victor's fingers tightened in Leo's hair, guiding him with a firm yet caring touch. "That's it, Leo, just like old times," Victor groaned, his voice thick with lust, the sarcasm now replaced by pure, raw desire. Leo bobbed his head, taking Victor deeper with each movement, his tongue pressing against the underside, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with an intensity that made Victor's hips buck. "Fuck, Leo, you're good at this," Victor moaned, his voice a blend of Victor's and the alien's.

As Leo continued, Victor pulled him up, flipping him over onto the sofa with a dominant ease. "Now it's my turn," Victor growled, his voice dripping with anticipation. He positioned himself behind Leo, spreading his cheeks with a firm grip. With a slickness provided by the alien's own lubricating abilities, Victor began to slide in, the head of his cock pressing against Leo, slowly at first, allowing Leo to feel every inch as he entered. Leo gasped, the sensation overwhelming, "Victor, oh fuck..."

Victor didn't stop, pushing deeper with each thrust, his movements becoming more forceful, more demanding. "You wanted me so bad, you brought an alien into our lives," Victor panted, his voice thick with lust and a hint of betrayal as he started to plow into Leo with increasing speed. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Leo. "But here I am, thanking you for it, you twisted bastard," Victor continued, his pace relentless, his cock sliding in and out with a slick, rhythmic motion that had Leo moaning uncontrollably.

Leo's hands gripped the edge of the sofa, his body rocking with each powerful thrust from Victor. "I never thought it'd go this far, Victor. But I'm not complaining," Leo managed to say between gasps, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Victor's hands roamed over Leo's back, sometimes gripping his hips to pull him back harder onto his cock, enhancing the depth and intensity of each penetration. "I'm inside you, Leo, just like you always wanted, but with a twist you never imagined," Victor snarled, his dominance palpable, his thrusts now a mix of punishment and pleasure.

As they neared the climax, Victor's movements became even more frantic, his voice a rough whisper, "I'm gonna fucking cum, Leo, because of you, because of this twisted game we're playing." Leo was right there with him, the edge of release so close, driven by Victor's dominance and the surreal reality of their situation. "Me too, Victor, me too," Leo gasped out.

With a final, powerful thrust, Victor let out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he climaxed, the alien's influence making the experience more intense than anything humanly possible. His release filled Leo, hot and overwhelming, as Leo's own orgasm ripped through him, his body convulsing with the force of it, a culmination of desire, friendship, betrayal, and the bizarre gratitude that had woven through their encounter. "Holy shit, Victor," Leo panted, "That was... something else."

As they lay there, panting and spent, the office returned to its quiet state, but the night would forever be etched in their memories, a twisted, hot chapter in their long friendship, now forever altered by the alien's unexpected intervention. After a moment, Victor, still under the alien's control, helped Leo to his feet. They adjusted their clothes in silence, the air between them thick with the aftermath of their shared experience. With a smirk that was both Victor's and yet not, the alien guided Leo out to the car, the night air cool against their flushed skin.

As they drove to Victor's apartment, the silence was broken by Victor's voice, though it was clear the alien was in control, blending its own essence with Victor's personality. "You know, Leo," Victor started, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying alien amusement, "I've gotta say, that was one hell of a way to end a workday. Who knew you had it in you to spice things up like that?"

Leo chuckled nervously, still processing the surreal events. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly plan on an alien possession to make it happen," he replied, trying to keep the conversation light.

The alien, adopting Victor's sarcastic tone perfectly, laughed. "Oh, come on, Leo, you've always been full of surprises. But this," it paused, letting Victor's voice drop to a lower, more intimate register, "this was something else. I didn't know you had such a kinky side." Leo shook his head, "Kinky? This is beyond kinky, Victor. This is... alien."

Switching back to its own voice but maintaining Victor's mannerisms, the alien responded, "True, but you seemed to enjoy it. And let's be honest, Leo, you've always had a thing for me. Now, thanks to you, I got to live out one of your fantasies in a way neither of us could've imagined." Leo, still in awe, admitted, "Yeah, I guess I did have a crush. But this? This is next level."

Victor's apartment came into view, and as they parked, the alien continued, now fully pretending to be Victor again, "But seriously, man, thanks for the rescue. I mean, who would've thought getting possessed would lead to this?" His voice was filled with genuine gratitude mixed with Victor's typical sarcasm. Leo laughed, "Yeah, who would've thought? But you're welcome, I guess."

They stepped out of the car, and as they walked towards the apartment, Leo found himself asking, "So, what now? You're not planning on staying in Victor permanently, are you?"

The alien chuckled, the sound eerily familiar yet otherworldly. "Nah, buddy, I'm just here for the ride. But while I'm here, let's make the most of it, yeah? Victor's got some catching up to do with his friend, and I've got some... unique experiences to try." Leo nodded, "Let's make the most of it then."

I chuckled at the funny face this random biker made at the moment my alien buddy crawled inside his ear.

I just love the faces they make whenever they're having their brains taken over by Cosmo, my tiny alien bug. They always freeze on the spot with those dumb facial expressions. Usually, with their eyes bulging in shock and their tongues hanging out. Sometimes, their eyes roll back, and some even stare in opposite directions, but they always have their tongues hanging out. It's kinda Cosmo's signature by now.

I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo of this one's face. It might sound weird, but I like to collect photos of the faces they make during the takeover. I have hundreds of photos like this saved on my phone because I like to jerk off to them later.

I heard a squishy sound coming from inside his head, and suddenly, his left eye moved abruptly in an unnatural, opposite direction. I chuckled as I snapped another photo. It was such a drastic contrast from the loud arrogant brat that he was just a few minutes ago...

_____________________

I was walking outside in search of the perfect host for Cosmo, who is my tiny alien bug who needs sperm to survive. The problem is—Or blessing, in my opinion—he is too small to digest the cum by himself; he needs a host body to digest the cum for him. So every month, when he gets hungry, we go hunting for a poor, unfortunate soul to become his next digestive system for the month. And, of course, once he finds the host, I'm more than happy to feed him with my cum.

I was starting to lose any hope of finding a suitable host. Half the day had passed, and I still hadn't found a hot man. Of course, any guy would serve to become a host, but I was a gay dude! Of course, I only wanted to pick the hottest guys. But I'm not that selfish, there was also the fact that fit, healthy guys had the tastiest and strongest cum, and Cosmo was very picky about his food. That was Cosmo's own words, not mine.

I sighed in disappointment. I was usually very good at hunting. Just like last month, I found a rich, muscular black hunk at the gas station. We had so much fun with that host; I was already missing sucking on that huge black cock... maybe I should pay him a visit tonight after finding Cosmo a host. Before leaving his hosts empty, Cosmo would always program what was left of their brains to continue living their lives on autopilot even without free will... of course I also asked him to make them treat me like their Master.

The autopilot thing was all my idea. Before I met Cosmo, he would basically leave his hosts in a vegetative state. The police had no clue why men in the city were being found with parts of their brains missing and their own cum in their mouths.

The search for a host continued without success. Maybe it just was a bad day, I thought.

As I was walking on the sidewalk of a house, I suddenly heard the loud screech of tires and the roar of an engine. A young, handsome biker abruptly stopped his bike just inches from where I stood. A few more inches, and he would have run me over.

It was my fault, I suppose I was too lost in my thoughts to notice the bike approaching, but before I could apologize, he spoke.

"Hey! Watch where you're going dumbass! I don't want a fat human pancake right in front of my house!" He shouted, flipping me his two middle fingers in a cocky manner.

I just stood there in front of him with my mouth agape, completely amazed by this good looking young biker.

His curly brown hair peeked out from under his backward cap, and the white tank top he wore showcased his toned, tattooed arms. He exuded effortless charm and youthful energy, even when being an arrogant prick. Those were always my favorites.

He would be perfect, I thought.

So, in a quick move, I grabbed Cosmo out of my pocket and watched as he flapped his tiny wings and flew towards the biker, finding his way right into the arrogant brat's ear. Instinctively he slapped his ear as soon as he felt the intrusion, making his cap fall to the ground. But it was too late for him, because in seconds, his eyes bulged, and he stuck his tongue out.

A familiar sign that Cosmo had reached for the brain.

_____________________

Now, he is sitting on his bike, frozen and with the dumbest and hottest face expression ever.

I ran my hand over his curly hair and leaned closer to his face. His tongue was so big and inviting, just hanging out there, drooling. I just couldn't hold myself, I had to taste it. So I started to suck on that huge tongue with passion. He didn't respond to my sloppy kiss—of course, with an alien bug consuming parts of his free will, he was incapable of doing anything.

But little by little, I started to feel his tongue reacting to mine until I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing me harder against his mouth, locking our mouths together. I felt his strong tongue dominating mine, making me melt into his muscular tattooed arms while I just let him explore my mouth, making sure he was pushing his tongue as deep into my mouth as he could. He then pulled away and smirked at me. "Master needs privacy for his feeding. Follow me to the garage." He said, with some traces of his arrogant persona still present in his voice.

"Is this your house?" I asked.

"It's my parents' house. They're inside so we're going to have to use the garage to feed my Master."

We walked into the garage, and once Inside, I closed the door, the garage was dark except for the light coming from the garage door's window.

I couldn't see anything, but when I turned around, I saw the biker lying on a car's trunk. He had unbuckled his belt already and was staring at me.

"Wanna make the honors?" He asked as he teasingly slid his hand inside his underwear.

I immediately dropped to my knees between his legs and pulled down his pants. His throbbing cock was bulging inside his boxers, and judging by the bulge, I knew he was well-hung.

Just another point in my favor, as Cosmo had a preference for well-endowed hosts to ensure proper feeding. I was very good at the game of spotting the most well-hung men, not even Cosmo knew how I was always right, call it my secret gay power.

With a single pull, his underwear joined his pants on the floor, and I was greeted with the sight of his 8 Inches hard cock, pulsating with life and leaking at the tip.

He put his finger on the leaking tip and sucked on his finger. He savored the taste for a moment and then made a *not bad* expression, "Master approves my cum," The young biker said. With that, his eyes rolled back, and he started to bend forward, his head becoming closer and closer to his hard dick. I heard some cracking and snapping sounds coming from him as he bent forward to the point he was unnaturally folded in half. His face was now just a few inches away from his cock. He opened his mouth, and his long tongue came out. His lips wrapped around the head and engulfed his shaft.

His eyes were still white as he took inch by inch and started to suck himself off with gusto.

The feeding was always my favorite part. I just continued on my knees, watching from closer this handsome cocky biker suck his own cock like he has done it a hundred times before.

In truth, he was just obeying Cosmo's commands, who surely had done it a hundred times before.

It didn't take long, and his muffled grunts filled the garage, he gulped down his cum like he was drinking water. Then he finally detached his lips from his shaft with a loud 'POP' sound.

A few more cracking and snapping sounds and he was sitting normally. He placed one hand behind his neck and stretched out, letting out a long sexy grunt.

"Fuuuckkk... my neck hurts so fucking bad, but anything to feed my Master," He said between grunts as he exposed his hairy armpit.

I leaned forward and buried my face in his musky pit. He didn't react and just allowed me to worship his sweaty armpits. He tasted and smelled like a real man.

"What's your name boy?" I asked as I took a deep long sniff.

"It's none of your business, you dirty fa-" He suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence, and his body tensed. Then his expression softened, and he continued talking, but now less aggressive. "My name is Blake..." he answered casually, "That's it, enjoy my armpits, you gay whore. They're sweaty and musky from a day of riding my bike with my friends under the sun."

I chuckled, "Your armpits taste wonderful, but there's a little alien inside your brain who enjoyed your cum a lot more than I enjoyed your pits. Cosmo is very picky about his food, you should be proud." I said, without taking my mouth from his armpit.

"Well, what can I say? Every girl who’s had the pleasure of getting a taste has only ever come back for more. My cum is alpha-grade, the kind that leaves anyone craving for more. They know it, I know it, and let’s be honest, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?" He braged, jerking his still hard shaft.

I smirked at that. I loved how Cosmo always kept their cocky personas even after becoming mindless meat puppets. Ok, I might have begged him to keep them this way instead of just turning them into cold robots, I liked them with some of their personalities. I continued licking and sniffing his armpits for almost an hour until he suddenly pushed my head away.

"Ok, that's enough dude! Jesus, you're not the only one hungry here. Get up,"

I did what I was told. As I stood, the tent in my pants was on full display. He stood up and stepped in front of me. His face was so close to mine that I could smell his cum on his mouth.

"Master is not sated yet, he wants more. Unfortunately, I already gave him everything I had in my balls, which wasn't much since I was in my girlfriend's house early today and I wasted my cum on that bitch."

My cock throbbed, knowing what was about to happen.

"Master is telling me that the only reason you helped him turn me into his brainless vessel was so you could receive a blowjob from a hot straight guy like me, is that true?"

I could only nod. He snorted in disgust. "I fucking can't believe I had parts of my brain consumed and my free will destroyed by an alien just because a pathetic gay guy is horny. You're sick, dude."

I was completely lost in the moment as the biker knelt in front of me. His lifeless green eyes were locked onto mine as he pulled down my pants, and when his mouth opened, I fixed my eyes on that massive tongue of his; thick and wet. Finally, his tongue wrapped around my shaft like it had a mind of its own. Holy shit, it felt incredible!

He started working me with that tongue, sliding it up and down my shaft like he was savoring every inch. His lips wrapped around my tip, sucking gently, while his tongue did all kinds of wild things, swirling and caressing me in ways that made my knees weak. I let out a low groan, my fingers found their way into his curly hair.

"Fuck," I muttered, totally overwhelmed by the sensation. I tightened my grip on his hair and pushed his head down further, feeling him take me deeper. His throat clenched around me, warm and wet, driving me crazy. He let out a soft moan, and the vibrations sent shivers through my whole body.

I pulled his head back a little, just to take in the sight of this arrogant biker's face. Then I pushed him back down, harder this time. His tongue kept going, sliding up and down my length, hitting all the right spots. I could feel that tension building inside me, I was getting close.

I grabbed his hair tighter, forcing his face against my crotch, making him take me all the way. He gagged a little but didn't back off—they never do—his hands gripped my thighs like he was begging for it. Watching him give in like that, so completely under the alien's control, pushed me right to the edge.

Finally, I pulled out and aimed straight at his tongue, which was hanging out, already waiting. My cum shot out, covering his tongue and dripping down his chin. He opened his mouth wider, letting me see it all before swallowing every last drop. I knew Cosmo was enjoying it just as much as I was, feeding off everything.

When he swallowed the last of it, he looked up at me with that blank gaze and a satisfied smirk. "No matter how many vessels I make, your cum will always be my favorite, my human friend," Cosmo finally said through Blake's voice.

Since that day, Blake became Cosmo's feeding host for the month and he would often send me a message asking me to meet with him.

_____________________

*One month later*

It was 4:00 AM. I was sleeping with Cosmo's previous host, the muscular black hunk that we found at the gas station last month. We were cuddling together when I was awakened by the sound of a text message. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and saw it was a message from Blake. He sent me a mirror photo with a text.

"Master is hungry again, meet me at the parking lot near my house." Was all the message said.

"I'm on my way." I responded.

I grabbed my car keys and drove to the location. Arriving there, the parking lot was desertic like you would expect to be at 4:00 AM. It was cold, luckily I had put on a hoodie. I didn't have to wait long—Soon I saw Blake walking towards me, shirtless, wearing only his pajama pants. Looking hot as always.

"Sorry for waking you this early. I'm just very hungry. I need to eat some strong healthy cum, not some thin, unnourished cum," Cosmo said in full control of Blake.

"Blake isn't producing enough cum anymore? I assume," I asked as I pulled down my pants, freeing my flaccid cock, it was cold. Blake kneeled between my legs and started to stroke my shaft, right there in the open.

"He can only produce a few drops now. Not enough to keep me sated." He said putting his hands inside his pants.

He pulled out his cock and slapped it, I watched as It jiggled. "This thing is completely useless now."

"Wow, you really ran this host out fast, and Blake was a healthy young man, he should last for at least 40 days. You're becoming too greedy, you need to learn to control your hunger so the hosts can last longer."

Cosmo had to change hosts every month because, eventually, the hosts he was possessing would become infertile and stop producing cum forever. It was a side effect of the takeover and the constant feeding. Cosmo had explained to me before about the scientific factors behind the host's infertility, but I didn't dare to try to understand.

There, they will assess the vitality and overall condition of our meat suit and when the person doing the check up approved us to transfer, they will discharge us from the Clinic and then a coordinate within a text message would appear on our phone. The coordinate could lead us to the alleyway, a locker room in a gym, the bathroom stall of a seaside cafe, under the bleachers of the local highschool field, anywhere, but there will always be a fresh meat suit waiting there for us to take. I found this latest change of mine inside one of the unlocked locker within a gym literally located in the opposite part of the town from my previous living area. He's this stripper in a very popular gay nightclub on Downtown. If he's not busy dressing up and roleplaying offline, he dedicated his morning for calisthenics and some other outdoor games with the fellas before making salacious content of his own sweaty physical exploit for his thirsty, ready-to-pay admirers. Quite a turn around from the more stable, office-worker lifestyle I got used to in that previous body, but hey, I'm always open for a new challenge. So I guess, bye-bye Robert, and hello Mateo

---

A very quick and brief spinoff from the Check Up series, with the roleplay help from the OG author @fullfriendnerdclutch

It all started when I was passing by a group of logistic workers during my lunch break from the office. They were loud, obnoxious, and unfortunately, also ridiculously hot.

Our office received a new shipment of supplies that day, so the logistics team was busy unloading the deliveries into the warehouse.

One of them—a tall, Brazilian, bearded guy in a reflective vest—caught my eye immediately. But then I heard them mocking a young, shy, office guy who had just walked past. Their words hit like knives, and the shy guy’s face turned red as he quickened his pace.

I knew him from work. We never spoke to each other because we were from different departments, but he seemed like a nice guy.

"Look at that white collar faggot, even his walk is gay" The bearded logistic worker mocked while loading a heavy box into the cart.

"I think he was looking at your ass dude!" His coworker laughed.

"I will teach him to keep his eyes to himself next time!"

Something in me snapped. I wasn’t just going to let that slide. So, I followed the shy guy and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual but flirty. “I think you’re cute. Can I get your number?”

He blinked at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just asked him to marry me. “Me?” he asked, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Yes, you,” I said, smiling. He hesitated, but after a second, he pulled out his phone and we shared numbers. He looked so surprised like no one had ever hit on him before, and honestly, that just made me angrier at those jerks.

Number secured, I turned on my heels and went back to the group of homophobic workers. They were still laughing, still making my blood boil. I focused on the Brazilian guy—he was the worst of the bunch. Lucky for me, he broke off from the group and headed into the bathroom. Perfect.

I followed him in, keeping quiet as he used the urinals. Once the coast was clear, I made my move. From my pocket, I pulled out a syringe filled with my special bodysuit serum. As he turned to wash his hands, I jabbed it right into his neck. He gasped, and his body started to convulse as the serum took effect. Within seconds, he was deflating on the floor, his muscles, skin, and bones disintegrating away until all that was left was an empty husk—that handsome and tall blue collar worker turned into nothing more than a hollow bodysuit.

I dragged the limp bodysuit into the stall and took a moment to admire it. I lifted his head by the hair. His head was stretched down by the weight of his beard, making him slack-jawed, and his eyes were now just empty holes.

"Not so smug now, are you? I will show you who is a faggot," I mocked him.

I stepped into the suit, feeling his skin stretch and seal around me like a suit. Within seconds, I was him. His voice, his scent, his muscles—they were all mine.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick mirror selfie, and sent it to the shy guy's number with a message: *“I’m sorry for being such a prick to you earlier. I only act like that in front of my friends because I’m a closeted gay guy. Can't let them know I'm just a cock hungry whore. Please come and meet me in the bathroom. I will let you fuck my ass as an apology.”*

Then, I waited. As I waited sitting in the toilet, I played with my new thick, hard, brown cock. I would stroke it, and sometimes slap it, watching it bounce. I wondered about how many times he used it to fuck women, probably a lot... I then grabbed his ID badge that was on his neck.

Name: Thiago Henrique da Silva / Date of Birth: March 15, 1998 / Age: 26 / License Class: Class A (Allows him to operate heavy machinery)

I chuckled and then went back to play with Thiago's thick cock. After half an hour, I was starting to wonder if the guy would really show up when I heard the bathroom door creak open. I peeked through the stall door and saw him—nervous but intrigued. I opened the door and called him in.

He hesitated for a second, but the bulge in his pants said everything I needed to know. He slowly stepped in and locked the door. I could tell he was still not sure if the logistic worker was serious or if he was just about to prank him. I needed to show him that there was nothing for him to worry about.

So I kneeled in front of him and pulled down his pants. His hard throbbing cock sprang free and I wrapped the shaft with the worker's big calloused hand. I slapped his cock against Thiago's handsome face and winked at him in a flirty way. His face was priceless, he was shocked that a hot manly stud like Thiago was acting like a slut. I soon wrapped my new thick lips around his shaft and gave him a blowjob that would make him remember it for the rest of his life.

I suddenly felt his hands around my head and he started to facefuck me roughly, so rough that the mask started to slip off. Thiago's face became misplaced over my real face. It was a sight that would make the gay office worker run away and have nightmares forever.

Luckily, he had his eyes closed at the time, so I quickly fixed the bodysuit's mask, placing it where it should be.

After blowing him for some time, I stood up and pulled down my uniform pants, offering him Thiago's tight ass to fuck. It wasn't my first time being fucked, but the man I was wearing was still a virgin, so the office guy had to take some time to loosen the bodysuit's asshole. Once he was sure it was loose enough, he fucked Thiago like he was his personal bitch.

The boy might not be the best looking, but he sure knew how to fuck.

And me? I moaned, grunted, and played the part of the closeted homophobic blue-collar worker who couldn’t get enough of cock. When it was over and he finished inside me, he straightened his clothes, kissed me, and whispered, “That was amazing. I forgive you,” Then, he left, looking happier than ever.

As for the bodysuit, I didn’t need it anymore. I pulled it off and threw it into the toilet. I then grabbed a new syringe, injected the bodysuit with it, and watched as what was left of Thiago dissolved into black goo. I flushed the goo down the toilet and threw his uniform in the trash bin, but kept his ID badge for some reason...