Ghosts & Goo

Added a few subtle improvements 😍

AI GENERATED STORY.

Damian McAllister didn’t just walk through the towering glass doors of the penthouse office — he commanded them open.

Six-foot-three, salt-and-pepper stubble lining his sculpted jaw, body poured into a charcoal three-piece suit that didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was absolutely stacked. His shirt clung to his chest like it was desperate to stay on, buttons groaning over the rise of his sculpted pecs. Broad shoulders rolled with power. Thick legs swelled with every step. And that ass—Jesus—that round, bulging ass filled out his tailored slacks like a slab of prime meat.

He was everything Stretch dreamed of in a "skin suit."

And Stretch, the spectral freak floating unseen above the city, was drooling.

“Holy hell, this guy’s a whole DILF buffet,” Stretch cackled, his translucent tongue flicking the air. “I mean look at that bubble butt—built like a boss, but I bet that thing jiggles when he runs.”

Damian stepped into his private office, letting out a sigh. “God, it’s been meetings all day. Need to take a leak.”

He loosened his tie, heading toward the attached executive bathroom.

“OH YESSS,” Stretch practically squealed, spiraling down through the ceiling. “He’s alone. He’s sexy. And he’s got no idea he's about to get GHOSTED.”

With an unhinged giggle, Stretch rocketed forward.

Damian had just turned the lock when a blast of cold air tickled his spine. He frowned. “What the—?”

Then came the voice.

“Open wiiiiide, Daddy Damian~!”

Damian barely turned before Stretch plunged into his mouth, a gurgling, cackling stream of ectoplasmic slime ramming down his throat.

“HHHHHUNNNNNGGGGGKKK!!” Damian staggered back, eyes bulging, throat flexing as Stretch forced himself inside like a ghost-shaped firehose.

Damian’s muscles spasmed, his hands clawing at his neck. His tie tightened. His eyes crossed.

Stretch coiled down into his chest like a parasite, wrapping around his core. Damian’s suit strained as his chest heaved outward, ribs cracking, abs flexing violently.

“MMNNNFFFFF—HHAAAHHH—GHHHH!!”

Veins bulged in Damian’s neck. His face flushed red. His legs buckled—

POP.

His pupils dilated.

Stillness.

Then… the eyes blinked. Once. Twice.

A smirk crept across his face.

And Damian—now Stretch—looked at himself in the mirror.

“Oh… oh baby.” His voice was Damian’s deep baritone, but his words? 100% Stretch.

He reached up and dragged a strong hand down his stubbled face, then ran both hands down his chest, over those meaty pecs pressing against the strained shirt.

“Damn, Dami’s got that silver fox meat suit magic,” he purred. “This ain’t no businessman. This is a full-blown muscle DADDY.”

He flexed his arms — the seams of the dress shirt sleeves popped.

“FUCK yes,” Stretch moaned, lips curling. “I feel like I could deadlift a car and still fuck someone’s brains out after.”

He turned, examining Damian’s massive ass in the mirror. “Sweet crispy Christ on a kettlebell—this bubble butt is legendary.”

He grabbed a cheek in each hand and squeezed, shaking them.

“GahDAMN, Dami! You been hiding all this cake in a boardroom?!”

Stretch bent over slightly, sticking it out like a filthy cam boy, smirking at the reflection as he bounced it.

Then his eyes wandered downward.

A massive bulge tented the front of his slacks. It throbbed visibly.

Stretch blinked. “Huh… wait a sec…”

He undid the belt and dropped the trousers.

THWACK.

His cock slapped up against Damian’s furry abs, already dripping precum like a leaky faucet.

“OH HOHOHO, what’s this?!” Stretch gasped. “Somebody’s got a hyperspermic horsecock!”

He gripped it with one thick hand.

The second his palm closed around it, the body spasmed.

“OH FFFFFUCK—”

Damian’s knees knocked, his eyes crossed, and ropes of pure white cum erupted from the cock without a single stroke. It blasted the mirror, the counter, the ceiling.

Stretch moaned like a demon in heat.

“OH HELL YESSS, THIS BODY IS A FREAK!!”

He leaned against the mirror, panting, cock still twitching, still hard.

“Shiiiit, this guy busts like a fire hydrant and he ain’t even touched himself yet…”

Stretch reached back down and gave the shaft a teasing pump.

Another jet sprayed out across the mirror. His mouth hung open, tongue out.

His face was red. Eyes glassy. Drool string hanging off his chin.

“Guhhhhhh… I’m a dumb fuckin’ business stud… just wanna pump and flex and GOON TILL I MELT…”

Stretch fell to his knees, stripped off the dress shirt, and stroked hard now, two-handed.

He bounced his pecs. Moaned like a slut.

“C’mon, daddy… make the face… show me that gooner DILF drool look…”

He opened his mouth and rolled his eyes back, stroking to the rhythm of his flexes.

The mirror reflected a once-powerful, composed CEO… now fully reduced to a jacked-up, goon-hungry freak with cum on his abs and tongue hanging out.

“Unghhh—this is the best fuckin’ suit I’ve ever worn,” Stretch slurred. “So fulla cum… so desperate to empty… AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAI—”

POP.

Another load exploded, splattering the floor.

Stretch didn’t even stop.

He just laughed, a loopy, high-pitched giggle.

“I’m gonna drain these balls until there’s nothing left but goon brain, baby! WOO!!”

He stumbled to his feet, leaned over the counter, and smirked at his own ruined reflection.

“Hi, I’m Damian McAllister, CEO of McAllister Holdings,” he mocked in a perfect deep voice, still jerking. “I close deals, sign contracts, and cum like a broken milk hose!”

Then he bit his lip and stared deep into the mirror.

“Stretchy boy’s home now, baby… and I ain’t ever leavin’ this DILF suit.”

He winked.

Flexed again.

And grinned wide. PART 2 Stretch Presents: The Cum Quarterly

The boardroom smelled like wood polish, fresh coffee, and money. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city skyline, but Stretch wasn’t interested in the view.

He was sitting at the head of the long table, legs spread wide, Damian’s thick thighs stretching the fabric of a brand-new navy suit. The suit clung tight over his pecs and wide shoulders, freshly tailored that morning because the last one didn’t survive yesterday’s activities. His shirt collar was stiff and pressed, his silver hair perfectly styled, and not a soul in the room had a clue that the real Damian McAllister wasn’t behind those smoldering grey eyes.

They were looking at Stretch.

And Stretch was leaking.

Under the table, the hyperspermic monster cock pulsing between his thighs was already dribbling thick beads of precum, soaking his briefs. He hadn’t touched it — yet — but his body was on a hair-trigger. That constant pressure. That bloated, veiny ache. It was heaven. Or hell. Or both.

He gripped the edge of the table as the head of HR passed out the quarterly packets.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” Stretch said in Damian’s deep, confident voice — a voice that could close six-figure deals and make interns wet in the same breath. “Let’s begin.”

He clicked the presentation remote and stood.

The projector lit up.

And the moment he stood — the moment his massive cock shifted — his entire body twitched.

“Ffhhhhhuck,” Stretch whispered under his breath, hiding the tremble with a fake cough.

Twelve executives sat watching. None of them suspected that their beloved, collected boss was trying not to bust a hyperspermic load into his slacks while discussing Q2 dividends.

“Right. So… dividends,” he said, clicking to the first slide. His voice was even. Measured. But behind the calm mask, Stretch’s internal monologue was spiraling.

“Bro, this is INSANE. Your nuts are backed up like a busted fire hydrant, and you’re talking about REVENUE?! This is torture. This is goon edging LEVEL 100.”

Stretch's hand slipped under the table, casually brushing his thigh. He groaned just a little through his teeth.

A blonde exec turned. “Are you alright, Mr. McAllister?”

Stretch smiled, perfect and practiced. “Yes, just—little muscle cramp. Been hitting the gym harder lately.”

That wasn’t a lie.

The only thing Damian’s body had been hitting was his own cock.

Stretch continued. “As you can see, Q2 outperformed projections. Revenue’s up thirteen percent…”

His other hand very discreetly slipped between his legs.

Just a tap.

Just a graze.

His cock throbbed.

Another fat drop of precum hit the inside of his slacks and bled through.

He looked around. No one noticed.

“One little stroke, Stretchy boy,” he whispered to himself. “Just one stroke while you say something boring about EBITDA…”

So he did.

One slow stroke.

His thighs flexed.

His abs tensed beneath the shirt.

He made a subtle goon face. Bit his lip. His eyes fluttered just slightly.

“…and of course, projected growth for Q3 remains steady…”

Another stroke.

He exhaled.

That big DILF chest rose and fell like a pump machine, shirt pulling taut across his pecs.

“You’re gonna lose it,” Stretch moaned in his head. “Gonna flood the fuckin’ boardroom, bro…”

He clicked to the next slide.

Under the table, his cock twitched again.

His whole body jerked — just a little.

He disguised it as a shift in weight.

“Sorry. Pulled something in my back,” he lied smoothly. “Let’s keep going.”

But his hand didn’t stop.

No. He was stroking now. Slow. Controlled. But constant.

And it was building.

The pressure.

The heat.

The cum.

That endless, hyperspermic load.

He was filling up.

Sack swelling like a fuckin’ water balloon.

He could feel it throbbing through his legs.

And then…

A small moan slipped out.

Not loud.

Not obvious.

But… real.

Stretch blinked.

Half the room looked up.

Damian’s face — perfect and mature and confident — smiled wide.

“Apologies. Allergies,” he chuckled, wiping a single bead of sweat off his forehead. “Let’s proceed to international holdings…”

Another stroke. And another.

Stretch was right at the edge.

And then…

POP.

His balls clenched.

His toes curled in his loafers.

And Stretch came.

Hard.

Under the table.

Into his silk briefs.

Into his pants.

Into everything.

Thick, hot, massive ropes of white cream flooded his lap. It soaked through the front of the slacks, a wet patch the size of a dinner plate spreading across his crotch.

But Stretch didn’t flinch.

He smiled.

He nodded.

He spoke.

“Moving on to the next slide—”

SQUELCH.

His cock throbbed again, shooting a second burst, soaking his thigh.

The seat was wet.

It was dripping.

One of the interns sniffed the air. “Um… does anyone smell…”

“Fresh printer ink?” Stretch said smoothly, clicking the next slide. “It’s the new toner. Very potent.”

He clenched his keg-thick thighs, pushing the mess tighter against his skin, grinding the still-hard cock into the cum-soaked pants.

He was still going.

Still leaking.

Still talking.

“…and our Singapore branch has exceeded expectations…”

He was completely calm.

Except for the twitching eye.

The flared nostrils.

The subtle grind of his hips into the chair.

Beneath the surface, Stretch was unraveling.

He loved it.

The mask of power. The business armor. All hiding the fact that he was cumming like a fucking bull under the boardroom table.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered inside. “A suit-wearing, number-talking, goon-dripping beast, baby!”

By the end of the meeting, his pants were ruined. His ass was sticking to the leather chair. His cock was still hard.

He stood slowly, lifting the briefcase in front of him to cover the damage.

“Thank you all,” he said, voice still smooth. “Let’s touch base again next week.”

Everyone clapped.

No one suspected a thing.

As the room emptied, Stretch leaned on the table, eyes glassy, twitching with aftershocks.

“…bro…”

He looked at the mess under the table.

“…I think I broke this body.”

Then he grinned wide.

And licked a string of cum off his palm. PART 3 - Intern Fun

The sun dipped low beyond the skyline, casting a golden glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Damian McAllister’s executive suite. The air was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city far below.

Behind the massive mahogany desk sat Damian—or rather, Stretch, curled luxuriously inside the older man’s impossibly built, hyperspermic body.

He leaned back in the leather chair, thick thighs spread wide. His crisp white dress shirt clung to his chest, still damp from earlier goon indulgences, pecs outlined perfectly beneath. His black slacks were stretched tight over the outline of a fat, semi-hard cock that hadn’t softened once since taking over this alpha DILF meat puppet.

Stretch adjusted the collar, grinning at his reflection in the window—his reflection flexing right back, tongue teasing the edge of Damian’s lips.

“Time for some fun,” he growled, reaching for the phone. He hit a button.

“Kyle. My office. Now.”

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Kyle stepped in, face flushed with nerves. Early 20s, soft jawline, floppy blonde hair, and that clean scent of a guy too fresh for what was about to happen.

Stretch didn’t smile.

He gestured coldly to the chair in front of the desk. “Sit.”

Kyle did so quickly, eyes wide.

Stretch folded Damian’s thick arms, let the silence hang for a moment, then spoke.

“We need to talk about your future here.” His voice was smooth, laced with something darker.

Kyle swallowed. “Is—did I do something wrong?”

Stretch sighed, letting Damian’s tongue click condescendingly.

“You’re smart, kid. Eager. But we’ve had complaints. About performance.”

Kyle’s mouth opened slightly, panic rising.

**“I—I didn’t know—”

“Relax,”** Stretch interrupted, standing slowly, moving around the desk like a shark circling prey. “I’m giving you a chance. A special chance.”

He stopped behind Kyle’s chair, placed both strong hands on the intern’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“You wanna stay here, don’t you?”

Kyle nodded. “Yes, sir. More than anything.”

Stretch chuckled. “Then show me. Show me how badly you wanna keep this job.”

Kyle looked up, confused—then flinched as Stretch unbuckled Damian’s belt with a snap, unzipped his slacks, and freed the thick, veiny cock that slapped out like a beast unchained, already drooling.

“Prove it,” Stretch growled. “On your knees.”

Kyle froze.

**“What—”

“Now.”**

The command landed like a hammer.

Kyle shakily rose, knees hitting the plush carpet as he stared at the massive cock—thick, heavy, leaking. The musk hit him like a wave. Primal. Unfiltered.

Stretch growled through a grin.

“Wrap those soft lips around it, intern. Show Daddy you wanna stay.”

Kyle hesitated, then leaned forward, lips parting. He wrapped them around the tip and started sucking.

Stretch threw his head back, groaning.

“Fuuuuck yes... There ya go... suck that big CEO cock... That’s it, baby boy...”

He grabbed the back of Kyle’s head and pushed, forcing more in.

“Deeper. You’re gonna learn to throat this thing if you want a future here.”

Kyle choked slightly but kept going, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Stretch moaned, thrusting slowly.

“You’re a natural little sucktoy, aren’t ya? You ever used that pretty mouth on your professors too? Bet you sucked your way through college, huh?”

Kyle whimpered around the cock, cheeks hollowing as he worked it.

Stretch looked down, watching Damian’s thick shaft disappear into Kyle’s mouth. The sight made his balls clench.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ explode, kid... my balls have been full all fuckin’ day...”

He pulled out with a wet pop, a string of spit and precum stretching from tip to lip. Kyle panted, drooling, eyes glazed.

Stretch leaned in close, voice low and rough.

“Get up. Bend over the desk.”

Kyle obeyed instantly, bending over the cold wood surface. Stretch stepped behind him, yanked his pants down, revealing a firm, pale ass just begging to be filled.

“Mmm, look at that hole. Tight little promotion hole,” Stretch teased.

He lined up, rubbing the fat, slick cock between Kyle’s cheeks, smearing precum.

Then—he pushed in.

“UNNNNNHHG—sir—fuck—”

Stretch groaned, slamming forward slowly, Damian’s thick cock parting the intern’s hole inch by inch.

“Yessss... take it, you eager little office bitch... take every hyperspermic inch of Daddy’s cock...”

Kyle moaned, gripping the desk.

Stretch grunted, each thrust harder than the last, his full balls slapping against Kyle’s skin.

“You want that job?”

**“Y-yes sir—ah—please—”

“Then take this breeding, baby boy.”**

Stretch leaned over Kyle’s back, pinning him, his breath hot and filthy in the intern’s ear.

“Gonna fill you up... dump a fuckin’ career-load in you... so much cum, you’ll be dripping ambition for weeks…”

The sound of Damian’s hips slamming into Kyle echoed off the glass windows.

Stretch’s face twisted in gooner ecstasy, Damian’s eyes fluttering as drool slid from his lip.

“UNNNNNNNGH—FUCK—YEAH—TAKE IT—HERE IT COMES—”

And with one last thrust—

BLOW. OUT.

Stretch bred him.

Hot, endless jets of cum blasted inside Kyle, thick and pumping, swelling his hole. Kyle cried out, body trembling as the DILF’s cock kept twitching and dumping.

Stretch groaned like a beast, biting his lip, grinding deep until the last thick spurt oozed out.

He pulled out slowly. A river of jizz spilled from Kyle’s hole onto the floor.

Stretch sat back in the leather chair, chest rising, Damian’s cock still twitching.

He lit a cigar, exhaled.

“You’re hired,” he said with a smirk.

PART 4: UNDER THE DESK

The late afternoon sun gleamed off the glass towers surrounding the McAllister building, but inside Damian’s office, the lights were low, the mood humid, and the tension obscene.

Stretch lounged in Damian’s leather throne behind the desk, his suit jacket draped over the back, sleeves rolled up to his thick forearms, a single button popped open at the top of his shirt, teasing the swell of that sculpted chest. The boardroom-style Zoom call had already started—multiple tiles lit up with faces from across the country. Executives, partners, VPs. All staring at their screens.

And none of them knew that just below the camera’s view, under the desk, their CEO’s young male intern was on his knees, lips wrapped around the thick, hyperspermic cock of the man they all answered to.

Stretch gave the faintest smirk as he adjusted in his seat, Damian’s cock twitching in Kyle’s warm, wet mouth.

“Gentlemen,” Stretch said smoothly, voice deep and commanding through Damian’s lips. “Thanks for making time for today’s strategic review. I trust you’ve all seen the updated financials?”

As heads nodded and someone began speaking, Stretch muted his mic and leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk while gazing at his reflection in the black part of the screen.

Below, Kyle gagged softly, one hand wrapped tight around Damian’s shaft, the other clinging to his thick thigh for support. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy, lips slick and stretched wide. Damian’s cock barely fit. And it never stopped leaking.

Stretch groaned low and silent, eyes flicking down briefly.

“That’s it, baby boy… don’t stop,” he growled in a whisper, barely moving his lips as he looked directly into the camera. “Show me how much you wanna stay on staff.”

Kyle slurped needily, his tongue swirling around the tip before plunging back down. His nose buried in the trimmed salt-and-pepper pubes, breathing in the scent of alpha power and raw musk.

Stretch adjusted his tie with one hand, completely calm up top while his lower half was twitching, pumping precum into Kyle’s throat.

Someone on the call asked a question.

Stretch unmuted.

“We’ll be shifting some priorities in Q3,” he said smoothly, face stone-serious. “Focus will remain on consolidation, but with increased attention to high-yield assets. Speaking of which—”

He grunted softly as Kyle deepthroated again.

“—I believe our growth in that sector is… strong. Very strong.”

He muted again just in time to moan under his breath, one hand dropping below the desk to stroke Kyle’s hair.

“Mmmfuckkkk... you’re such a good office toy... such a hungry little mouthpiece for Daddy’s cock, huh?”

Kyle nodded, moaning around the shaft, tears now pricking at the corners of his eyes. His throat flexed with every pulse from that fat, hyperspermic dick.

Stretch looked down briefly and whispered, “Gimme those eyes, baby... look up at your boss while you suck his fuckin’ load out…”

Kyle obeyed—his eyes locking with Damian’s above as Stretch clenched his jaw, his whole thick, alpha body flexing behind the desk.

Back on Zoom, a junior VP was rambling about quarterly returns. Stretch didn’t hear a word. His balls were boiling.

“F-fuck,” he whispered, voice hoarse, muting just in time again. He gripped the desk hard. “You ready for it, intern? Huh? Gonna swallow Daddy’s corporate load?”

Kyle whined and nodded, his hands now stroking the shaft while his mouth sucked harder, faster.

Stretch flexed. His thighs trembled. Sweat beaded at Damian’s temples.

“Take it... take this fuckin’ promotion shot, baby—UHHHHNNNNNNGHH—”

His abs clenched, cock spasming—and then he unloaded.

Stretch bit his lip and hit the mute button as a torrent of cum blasted down Kyle’s throat. Ropes. Pulsing shots. The kind of load only a ghost-powered, hyperspermic DILF suit could produce. Kyle gagged and swallowed, throat working desperately to keep up.

Stretch's mouth parted in a silent moan, eyes fluttering half-closed, Damian’s jaw twitching as he rode out the climax. Cum overflowed, spilling from Kyle’s lips and dripping onto the floor beneath the desk.

He finally exhaled, slick with sweat, cock still twitching in Kyle’s mouth.

He clicked unmute casually, adjusting his collar.

“Apologies,” Stretch said smoothly, voice returning to calm. “We had a brief... disruption. But I think we’re aligned.”

The screen nodded back at him in agreement.

Down below, Kyle rested his cheek on Damian’s thigh, panting, drooling, totally used.

Stretch reached down and stroked his hair.

“Good boy,” he whispered. “That’s how you keep your job.” PART 5: OVERTIME FUCK WITH A SPECIAL GUEST

The penthouse was soaked in sex.

Glass windows steamed from heat. Damian’s leather couch squeaked under the relentless rhythm of flesh slapping flesh. In the dim light, the hulking alpha DILF’s muscular frame hovered over the pale, trembling intern bent beneath him.

Damian’s thick cock—hyperspermic, veiny, still leaking from earlier loads—pounded into Kyle’s spent hole, each thrust shooting another creamy squelch of leftover cum out of his boy-pussy.

Stretch, deep inside Damian’s sweaty, dripping body, was lost in it—sweat rolling down pecs, goon-drunk grin splitting his face. His voice slurred into a growl as he flexed Damian’s abs in the mirror and kept thrusting.

“UNNNH yessss... fuckin’ full send, baby… this hole’s mine, office toy... I’ll never stop dumpin’ in it—n-never…”

But then—something changed.

The air shifted. A cold gust blew through the penthouse. Stretch’s eyes flicked up, instincts prickling.

From the kitchen, a low, nasal cackle echoed.

“Heeheehee… lookie what I found…”

Stretch growled, breath ragged. “Stinky?”

From behind the island floated a snot-green cloud, glowing faintly. Bulbous. Grinning. Globs of ectoplasm trailed behind it like drool.

“Mmmhmmm!” Stinky cackled. “And this little twink? Already stuffed full of Stretch’s load? Heeheehee! Don’t mind if I slide in for dessert!”

Before Stretch could react, the green cloud lunged.

“MMMPH—!!” Kyle’s head jerked up mid-thrust, eyes wide as Stinky crammed himself through his open mouth, pouring in like sludge. The body spasmed under Stretch, muscles twitching, toes curling. Kyle’s back arched violently as Stinky pushed deeper, his laugh gargling out mid-possess.

“NNGHhhH—uuuhhh—HAHAAAA—YEAHHH BABYYYY!!”

The possession snapped into place.

Kyle collapsed against the couch cushion, then slowly lifted his head—eyes glowing with mischief. A wide, cock-hungry grin split across his now possessed face, drool glistening on his chin.

“Oooohhh DAMN, this is tight!” Stinky moaned, his voice now pouring out of Kyle’s innocent mouth, warped and nasal. “Hahaha look at me! I’m fuckin’ hot! Lil goon toy’s got a nice setta lips, bouncy butt, AND—ohhh shit—I’m still LEAKIN’ STRETCH JUICE!”

He reached back with one hand, spreading his new asscheeks and grinding back on Stretch’s cock, still inside.

“HAHA! I’m ridin’ ya now, big boy! You put the load in—now I’M the one clenchin’ round it! Oooohhhh it’s squishin’ in here! This body’s a fuckin’ cum sponge!”

Stretch could barely keep it together, panting, leaking again.

“You slimy bastard,” he muttered, eyes glazed. “That hole’s mine—you’re stealin’ my toy!”

Stinky twisted Kyle’s pretty face into a dumb expression, tongue out, eyes crossed, making slutty goon moans as he bounced on Damian’s fat cock.

**“Uhhnnff yesss—fuck me, Daddy DILF—pound my twink guts! Make me goon! Stretch made this hole nice and loose, mmmMMM!”

“You’re a fuckin’ menace,”** Stretch groaned. Then grinned.

“Let’s swap.”

Stinky’s eyes lit up.

“OHHHHHHH YESSS. DO IT.”

With a raw grunt, Stretch pulled out, his cock slapping wetly free from Kyle’s hole, strands of cum connecting them. He leaned in close, grabbed Kyle’s possessed face, and kissed him—tongues mixing as both ghosts prepared the switch.

And then—with a synchronized groan—they launched.

Stretch’s ectoplasm pulled out of Damian’s throat in a flash, while Stinky burst up out of Kyle’s mouth in a green slime explosion. Mid-air, they slammed into each other’s old bodies.

Stretch sucked down into Kyle’s mouth. He jerked, flailed, spasmed as Stretch flooded his brain, muscles, spine. The slim frame writhed, eyes rolling back—then blinked open glowing blue.

“UNNNNNFFFFF—FUCK.” Stretch moaned, now inside the young, lean body of Kyle. “This bod... is... INSANE.”

He looked down, breathing hard, watching his new chest rise and fall. His hands roamed across his flat abs, twitching thighs, dripping cock.

“Tight. Slick. Stretched OUT. And this fuckin’ hole’s still drippin’ with my old load—HAHAHAHHH!” He spun to the mirror and posed—lips parted, tongue out, flexing this new little body, then drooling over it.

“Dumb fuckin’ goonface… slutty lil moans… my voice is SO cute, HA! Heeeyyy Daddy, y-you gonna f-fuck my boypussy?” he mocked in Kyle’s tone, laughing wildly. “I’m a cumdump with hyperspermia now, oh SHIT—am I gonna cum every time I sneeze?? YESSSSSS!!”

Across the room, Stinky settled into Damian’s DILF suit with a loud, sloppy SLORP. His shoulders twitched, pecs flexing involuntarily.

“AWWWWWW YEAHHHHH!” Stinky’s deep new voice bellowed, eyes wide. **“LOOKIT ME!! I’M A FUCKIN’ ALPHA HUNK!!”

He bounced Damian’s pecs, spanked his own ass, and grabbed his hyperspermic cock. “OHHH this thing’s a BEAST! Already leakin’! You sure filled this toy up, Stretchy boy!”

Stretch licked Kyle’s lips, dropped to all fours, and looked back with a wink.

“Well? You just gonna flex and drip—or you gonna fuck this tight body fulla your slime?”

Stinky didn’t need to be asked twice.

He marched over, lifted Stretch (in Kyle’s tight form) up by the hips, and SLAMMED Damian’s thick cock back into the well-used hole. Stretch screamed in pleasure, fingers digging into the cushions as cum splashed from the impact.

“YEAHHHHHHH—BREED MEEE, BRO!!”

Their voices twisted, echoing, bouncing off the walls.

Green slime dripped. Sweat poured. Gooner babble filled the room.

Two ghosts. Two stolen bodies. One endless loop of breeding, swapping, gooning, and pure supernatural filth.

AI GENERATED STORY

(sorry for the inactivity T_T) Here a bit of a longer one :)

Tyson groaned softly as he sank deeper into the cushions of his worn leather couch, a tall glass of iced tea sweating on the table beside him, untouched. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon—sunlight filtering through the blinds, crickets chirping outside, and the low hum of his ceiling fan brushing across his broad, sweat-slick chest.

Shirtless, in only a pair of loose athletic shorts and black rubber flip-flops, Tyson looked every bit the thick slab of manhood he was. Beefy but muscular, with a wide chest that carried just the right amount of padding, a soft curve to his lower belly, and legs like tree trunks stretched out lazily across the living room rug.

His cock twitched beneath the fabric. Again.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, glancing down at the bulge that just wouldn’t quit. “Again?”

The curse of hyperspermia. He’d cum three times today already. Still swollen. Still aching. Still leaking little beads into his shorts like a faucet that never shut off.

He scratched at his furry pec absently, eyes fluttering half-closed. He didn’t see the shadow that slid across the hardwood floor. Didn’t feel the air grow warmer. Didn’t hear the low, wet chuckle echo behind his ears.

“Mmm... yeah... now that’s a man built for indulgence...”

The voice didn’t come from the room. It came from inside him. Or was it behind him? It was fat and full of honey, molasses-thick with hunger.

Tyson blinked. “What the f—?”

He doubled over as heat slammed into his back like a tidal wave. A sticky, heavy force hit him, sliding across his skin like syrup, pressing down, melting in. His mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as the unseen intruder poured into him—through his back, his chest, his open mouth, his ass—like a full-body enema of ectoplasmic gluttony.

“Yeeeaaahh, big guy... Let me in that beef... Let Fatso ride those muscles from the inside...”

Tyson’s eyes rolled back as his belly inflated slightly—just a little bloat at first, then more, jiggling as if something inside him was slapping the walls from the inside. His already thick pecs puffed up like balloons being filled, veins crawling along his biceps, neck thickening with every pulse of the ghost’s entry.

“Nggh—FUCK—w-what the—?!” Tyson croaked, but it was too late. His limbs spasmed, his back arched, and his cock throbbed with violent, aching pulses. A thick wet patch bloomed across the front of his shorts.

“Ooooh, ho ho ho, ohhh fuck YES,” came a new voice—his voice, but not. Deeper, wetter. Fatso’s voice inside his throat. “I got you, big man. You’re MINE now.”

Tyson’s face twisted into a dumb, lopsided grin, jaw slack, tongue hanging out slightly. He stood up unsteadily, swaying as the possession finalized. His hands—now Fatso’s—roamed over his bloated pecs, squeezing them, thumbing the nipples.

“Mmmnn, they’re so big already… but I’m gonna make ’em heavier. Softer. Just a lil’ bit more daddy fat to jiggle while I stroke this fat fukken cock…”

He yanked the waistband of the shorts down. Tyson’s cock flopped out—a thick, veiny, hyperspermic monster of meat, drooling pre nonstop. It smacked against his belly with a wet slap, already twitching, as if recognizing a new master inside.

“Look at this thing… shit, how were you NOT just jerking all day long?”

Fatso waddled Tyson’s possessed body over to the floor-length mirror, slapping a hand against his newly rounded, proud gut.

“Unfhh, yeah… there he is. Big Tysie. Daddy Cum Tank.” He shook his hips a little, making the fat pad above the cock jiggle, eyes wide, drooling onto his own chest. “We’re gonna flood this fuckin’ house.”

He dropped to his knees with a grunt, flip-flops squeaking as he splayed his thick legs out wide. The cock bobbed in front of his face—his cock now—and Fatso leaned in and moaned, sniffing like a starving dog.

“Smells like cum, sweat, and testosterone—UNHH that’s my new perfume…”

He licked from the base of the shaft to the tip, shuddering as more pre splurted out and rolled down the shaft.

“More… MORE, ya big cum beast.”

Fatso’s hands grabbed the underside of his belly and slapped it, making it jiggle. He tilted his head back and roared in pleasure.

“OHHHHHH FFFFUCK—so fuckin’ THICK—so MUCH MAN—”

He flopped onto his back, cock leaking against his chest, rubbing it with both hands. His toes curled in his flip-flops, one slipping off as he bent forward and moaned loudly at the sight of his meaty feet.

“FUCK I got manfeet! OHHH they STINK! I’m gonna GUNK these sluts up with sweat—ughghghhhh—”

He dragged his tongue along the sole of one foot and came instantly—first load. Tyson’s cock spasmed and unloaded a massive hyperspermic shot across his abs, chest, and chin. Fatso squealed, writhing in the flood of creamy filth.

“HHNNGHGH—YEAH—OH YEAH—FIRST ONE—more to GO, BABY!”

He didn’t stop stroking. Didn’t stop drooling. The possessed beefcake twisted on the carpet, smearing cum across his chest and belly, playing with his slightly soft manboobs like they were chew toys.

“Gotta pump this fat fucking dick again… gotta fill my guts from the OUTSIDE now…”

His tongue lolled, eyes crossed, face stuck in the dumbest goon grin imaginable.

Another orgasm hit. Then another. Tyson’s body was on fire—cum geysering out in long, thick streams, puddling around him. His belly sloshed with ghost-stuff and hyperspermia, a perfect tank of pure masculine filth.

Fatso rubbed his sweaty foot up against his cock and lost his mind again.

“HhhnnfffUUUCK—WORSHIP—WORSHIP THE BODY—FAT—FULL—PERFECTTTT—”

He let out a belching, choking moan and collapsed back into the puddle of his own load, one hand lazily fondling his fattened pec while the other toyed with his nuts, still swollen with cum.

“Mmmmghh… can’t stop… can’t ever stop now…”

His eyes fluttered, tongue hanging out, a string of spit connecting it to his pec. The stench in the room was overwhelming: sweat, ghost, musk, seed. Tyson’s couch had become a sacrificial altar to the new God of Gluttonous Pleasure.

Fatso giggled.

“This body’s mine. This cock’s mine. This life is mine now. All I gotta do is keep leaking. Keep gooning. Keep feasting on every drop…”

He reached for the flip-flop that had fallen off. Held it to his face.

And moaned.

PART 2

The sun was low and golden as it poured across Tyson’s lawn, catching every drop of cum-slicked sweat clinging to his broad chest. Flip-flops slapping lazily against the concrete path, Fatso waddled Tyson’s thick, shirtless frame toward the picket fence that divided his yard from the neighbor’s. His bloated pecs bounced slightly with each step, his cock still half-hard and leaking down his thigh, leaving faint trails on his loose gym shorts.

“Unhhh… fuckin’ bursting still,” Fatso groaned inside Tyson’s throat, groping his belly with both hands. “And this big dumb meat shell’s STILL hungry…”

He spotted him then—Eli, the twink from next door. Barely twenty-one, lean and pretty, smooth arms, and short gym shorts clinging to his bubble butt. Eli was watering the garden, shirtless, earbuds in, oblivious.

Fatso grinned.

“Mmm, YEAH. That’s the one. Little cum pocket, ready to get filled.”

He strutted up to the fence, dragging a hand across Tyson’s glistening chest, slapping his soft pec, giving it a little bounce.

“Yo, kid.”

Eli looked up, blinking in surprise at the towering hunk now standing inches from the fence. “Oh—hey, Tyson.” He flushed slightly. His eyes lingered on the beefy chest… and the very obvious cock print stretching the wet spot on Tyson’s shorts.

“You, uh… good?”

“Mmm, better now,” Fatso chuckled. “Need a favor though. Got a lil’ plumbing issue inside. Wanna come give me a hand?”

Eli looked unsure for half a second—then nodded.

“Sure. Just lemme put this away.”

Fatso turned and waddled back toward the house, letting his big glutes flex and bounce beneath the fabric. He knew Eli was watching.

“Hooked the fucker. Just wait, pretty boy. I’m gonna pump you so full…”

—

Inside the living room, the scent hit Eli immediately.

“Whoa…” He wrinkled his nose. “Smells kinda…”

Tyson shut the door behind him with a heavy thud and locked it.

“Like sweat, cum, and man funk?” Fatso’s voice dripped from his throat, fat with amusement. “Yeah, I been busy.”

Eli turned—and froze.

Tyson stood there, legs spread, fully erect, the monster cock pointing straight at him, already glistening with fresh pre.

“W-what the hell—?”

“Shhh… no need for words, baby boy.”

Tyson’s beefy frame surged forward, grabbing the twink by the waist and lifting him like a toy. Eli gasped as he was tossed onto the cum-stained couch, legs flying up, cheeks spreading.

“You don’t get it yet, do you?” Fatso chuckled, stripping his shorts off fully and slapping his bloated cock across Eli’s abs. “You ain’t here to help with plumbing. You’re here to get filled.”

The younger man whimpered, dazed by the scent, the heat, the intensity of the presence pressing against him.

Fatso leaned down, dragging his tongue up Eli’s neck, drooling across his smooth skin.

“You ever been bred by a tank, baby? Cuz this body's a cum silo. And I’m gonna empty it straight into your guts.”

He hoisted Eli’s legs over his shoulders and lined his cock up to the twink’s tight, virgin hole.

“No lube…?”

“This dick leaks lube, sweetheart. pre-cum and hyperspermia—trust me, it slides in nice.”

With a grunt, he pushed forward—and Eli screamed, a mix of pain and pure overstimulation as Fatso shoved every fat inch inside in one go.

“UNNNHHHHH YEAH—FUCKIN’ TIGHTTTT—”

He didn’t wait. The moment he was buried, Fatso started thrusting like a beast, belly slapping against the twink’s thighs, pecs jiggling, flip-flops squeaking as he railed Eli on the couch.

“Hnnngghh FUCK—you feel that? That’s daddy dick, baby! Bred through and through—FUCK—feel it in your stomach yet?!”

Eli’s eyes rolled back. The massive girth had pushed so deep, his own untouched cock was leaking onto his abs.

Fatso grabbed his own belly, letting it bounce while he pistoned in and out.

“GodDAMN this body’s thick—sweaty—PERFECT. Just made to knock pretty boys up and leak on 'em all day long.”

He leaned down, pinning Eli in a breeding press, cock pounding harder.

“Say it,” Fatso growled into the boy’s ear, “Say you want it.”

“I—hnng—I want it—f-fill me—oh god—Tyson—”

“It ain’t Tyson anymore, sweetheart. It’s Daddy Tank.”

He bit Eli’s shoulder and unloaded.

The first shot was so massive, Eli cried out, twitching as his belly swelled slightly with the pressure.

“THAT’S IT—TAKE IT—TAKE ALL MY FUCKIN’ GHOST CUM—”

More pulses. More floods. Fatso’s cock throbbed inside him as the couch soaked through. Eli convulsed beneath him, overflowing, body twitching like a used toy.

Fatso moaned, drooling onto the boy’s chest, smearing it in with his palm.

“You’re just the first, kid… this tank’s got more loads than days in the week…”

He pulled out, watching with glee as thick seed poured from Eli’s ruined hole. Tyson’s cock, still rock-hard, twitched and slapped against his belly again.

“Don’t go anywhere, twink. We’re not even on load number two.”

PART 3

The couch squelched as Tyson pulled back, dragging his thick, hyperspermic cock out of Eli’s twitching, overstretched hole with a fat, wet pop. Ghost-goo and cum flooded out instantly, dripping onto the rug in long, slow ropes. Eli was shaking, sweaty, his slim belly softly puffed from the first internal flood.

“Still twitchin’, baby boy,” Fatso cooed, running a beefy hand over the twink’s thigh. “Told ya, Tank Daddy ain’t finished.”

Tyson’s cock twitched—still hard. Still leaking. Fatso groaned, grabbing it and slapping it against his own sweat-glistened gut.

“I’ve never stayed this hard for this long,” he chuckled, eyes rolling slightly as his own hand slathered more cum across his stomach. “GOD, this body’s like a fucking geyser. And I love it.”

He stood, flip-flops smacking, cum dripping off the tip of his cock, and reached down to scoop Eli up with both arms. The boy moaned, too dazed to protest, his head falling against Tyson’s massive chest.

“Gonna take you upstairs, lil man,” Fatso growled low, possessive. “Wanna feel that bed shake while I ruin you all over again.”

He carried Eli up the stairs, each step heavy and loud—thick thighs flexing, cock swaying between them like a weapon. By the time he got to the bedroom, Fatso was already leaking again, a wet trail on the hardwood behind them.

He kicked the door open, dropped Eli onto the king-size bed with a flop, and stood there for a moment in the doorway.

Tyson’s silhouette was obscene—shirtless, thick, bloated, dripping. He rolled his shoulders, let his belly hang out proudly, and rubbed both sweaty feet together, grinning.

“Welcome to the breeding suite, baby.”

Eli whimpered as Fatso climbed onto the bed, planting a sloppy, cum-coated kiss right on his mouth. Their tongues met—Tyson’s thick and eager, stuffed with ghost heat and salty leftover seed—and Fatso moaned into the twink’s throat like a man starved for more.

“You smell that?” Fatso groaned between kisses, grinding his cock against Eli’s belly. “That’s round one… and two’s gonna drown you.”

He licked down the boy’s chest, then bent both of Eli’s knees to his shoulders.

“Gonna fold you up like a towel,” Fatso muttered, lining up again. “Plug you in and drain this tank.”

With one sloppy thrust, Tyson’s thick cock punched back in. Eli cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he was instantly stretched wide again, the still-warm load from earlier sloshing inside him as Fatso plowed deeper.

“OHHHHH FUCK YEAH—STILL SO FULL—you’re just built for this, huh, cum pocket?”

The bed creaked violently with every thrust. Tyson’s pecs bounced above Eli, dripping sweat onto his face as Fatso huffed and moaned like a pig in heat.

“Feel that—ngghhh—this dick’s still cummin’ even while I’m fuckin’. Leakin’ inside you the whole fuckin’ time.”

He looked down—Eli’s belly was rising again, slowly pushing outward with every wet slap of their bodies.

“Look at you,” Fatso chuckled, stroking the curve of the twink’s cum-packed stomach. “Turning you into a real load dumpling, huh?”

Eli could barely moan anymore. His tongue was out, eyes crossed, twitching under the weight of the thick slab of man breeding him senseless.

“I want it,” Eli whimpered, barely conscious. “I want it all—please—fill me again—make me yours—”

“You’re MINE, baby,” Fatso growled, leaning down to press his stubbled jaw against Eli’s cheek. “Every hole. Every inch. You’re my lil cum canister now.”

The tempo changed—faster, sloppier, more desperate. Fatso couldn’t hold back. His belly jiggled with each thrust, balls clapping, cock leaking even more pre inside the already-flooded boy.

“Gettin’ close—gonna pump another fucking GALLON into you, baby—FUCK—FFFFFUCKKK—”

He grabbed both of Eli’s ankles, slammed forward once, twice—

“NNGGHHHHH—YEAHHHHHH—TAKE IT—TAKE EVERY DROP—”

And he exploded.

This load was even bigger than the first. Tyson’s cock throbbed wildly, pumping in long, unstoppable pulses as Eli’s body stiffened and his belly swelled again, visibly bigger. Cum splattered out around the shaft, soaking the sheets beneath them.

Fatso didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, groaning deeply in his chest as if he could feel every drop pumping from his stolen, perfect, gooner body.

“Fffffffuuuckk…” he slurred, eyes half-lidded, sweat dripping from his nose to Eli’s lips. “Still leaking. STILL LEAKINGGG...”

The sheets were soaked. Eli was wrecked. Tyson’s body was still throbbing, cock slowly softening but never fully losing size.

Fatso flopped onto his back, dragging Eli with him so the twink collapsed on his bloated chest. His flip-flopped feet rubbed together lazily.

“Two down,” he muttered, idly squeezing his own nipple. “...Twelve to go.”

PART 4

The room reeked of cum, sweat, and something otherworldly—a heady mix of man funk and ghost filth. Tyson sprawled across the soaked mattress, chest rising and falling, thick limbs twitching. He was still rock hard, cock twitching lazily against his belly, hyperspermia keeping him permanently primed.

Eli lay on top of him, limp, bloated, fucked raw. His slim, once-tight body was now visibly stretched, belly softly domed from the flood inside him, hole leaking a slow, thick ooze. His head lolled to the side, eyes glazed.

But inside him…

Fatso stirred.

“Hhhhnnnnnghghgh… ohhhhhh YEAH…”

He’d slipped out of Tyson’s beefy body mid-climax—oozing from the ghost-gorged cock like a reverse orgasm—and slithered straight into the twitching twink.

And now?

He was in.

Fatso blinked through Eli’s fluttering lashes, then stretched his new, slim arms out, wiggling his pale fingers.

“OHHH—fuckin’ LIGHT!” he cackled, voice now high and smooth, but warped by his gleeful growl. “I’m in this tiny lil cum pocket?!?”

He sat up, Eli’s tight little chest heaving, and looked down.

His belly bulged—soft and round, full of Tyson’s earlier flood. It sloshed when he moved. Fatso moaned.

“OHHHhh this is SICK—I can feel it all still in me—warm—fuckin’ sloshing in my guts…”

He palmed his little belly and jiggled it, giggling like a slutty demon girl.

“This body’s so TIGHT… fuckin’ twink hips, stretchy lil hole, and a fuckin’ gut full of me… oh I’m gonna break this bitch in even more...”

His toes curled. Eli’s pretty feet flexed, still sticky from Tyson’s earlier plowing. One flip-flop had fallen off. Fatso slid the other off slowly with his heel and moaned at the sound.

“Even the flip-flop squelch is fuckin’ HOT in this little body…”

Tyson grunted beneath him. Still dazed. Still leaking. Still hard.

Fatso turned.

Grinned.

“Oh baby,” he purred, rubbing his swollen twink belly, “I ain't done with you.”

He climbed onto Tyson’s lap—grinding his slim ass down against the thick, hyperspermic cock still standing at attention.

“Now I get to ride Daddy Tank…”

He reached back, spread Eli’s cheeks, and lined up Tyson’s cock—still slippery, still glistening with ghost lube. The moment the head touched his twitching, gaped hole—

“HNNNNNGGHHHHHH—YESSSS!”

Fatso slammed down.

Tyson’s cock disappeared back inside the twink’s wrecked hole, stretching it wide all over again. The pressure made Fatso gasp and clutch his belly—it jiggled and rose even more, every thrust churning the load inside him.

“UNFFFUCK—YEAH—FEED ME THAT DICK—FEED ME THAT BLOAT!”

He bounced up and down, grinding his ass into Tyson’s lap, moaning loudly with each smack of their bodies. His cock—small and sensitive in this twink form—leaked like a faucet, soaking Tyson’s belly with clear precum.

“I feel like a human balloon, daddy—just pumpin’ more in me—oh fuckkk—YES—MORE—MORE—”

Tyson groaned beneath him, his big hands grabbing Eli’s—Fatso’s—hips and slamming him down harder.

Fatso let it happen. He drooled, eyes rolling back, tongue out.

“FUCK—YEAH—BREED ME FROM THE OUTSIDE—I’M THE CONTAINER NOW—UUUGGHHNNNN!”

He slammed himself down one more time and came instantly, ropes of twink cum shooting across Tyson’s chest—right before Tyson let out a deep growl and erupted again inside him.

Another massive flood.

Fatso screamed, grabbing his own belly with both hands as it visibly puffed out, pulsing with the new load Tyson dumped straight into his already flooded guts.

“I’M STUFFED—I’M SO FUCKIN’ STUFFED—HHHNNNNNGHHHHH!”

He collapsed forward, belly jiggling, cock still twitching between them.

They both panted.

Fatso drooled onto Tyson’s pec, still giggling like a madman.

“This twink body’s my new toy, daddy… and you’re gonna keep fillin’ it until I can’t fuckin’ walk…”

He reached back, gave his own filled belly a loving slap.

It has been a while since Fatso the big blue ghost has enjoyed himself with a delicious hunky fleshie to inhabit, and he has been itching to get back out there and have the time of his afterlife.

Usually, Fatso possesses a fleshie alongside his two brothers, Stinky and Stretch, however, this time Fatso went on his own outing so he could have some more privacy in whatever activities he had planned.

Fatso decided to fly out to the busy street of Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, a place that is packed with fleshies all eager to see the sights of the city of angels and stars.

Fatso flies over the herds of fleshies invisible to not cause a scene, the big guy is looking for a certain kind of fleshie, a fleshie who is beefy, hunky, and would make any man stare.”Let’s see what I get today. This time I do NOT want the fat guy!” Fatso intends to take over the sexiest fleshie he can find so that he can become the talk of the town.

Fatso keeps on his search when he sees something that almost makes him reveal himself out of excitement, Fatso sees his next victim. The man is tall, dark, and handsome with bulging muscles and a face that can get anything he wants.

Fatso’s eyes pop out of his head as he ogles the fleshie up and down.”Ooh! Look what we have here… the man of my dreams! Hubba Hubba!” The man walks across the street wearing all gray and black with a leather jacket as he seems to be in a rush. The fleshie jumps into a cab as Fatso decides to join in on the ride.

Fatso sits next to his soon-to-be body in the backseat of the car as his fleshie gets comfortable and opens up his phone. Fatso thinks to himself, “Now why were you in a rush, you sexy slab of meat…”

Fatso peaks at the man’s phone as he opens up an app that is quite familiar with Fatso, the yellow app known as Grindr. Fatso scoffs, “Hahaha now THIS is what I am talking about! Fleshie you are PERFECT! I cannot wait to get my hands on you big guy!” Fatso is getting hornier and hornier as he thinks about squeezing inside this hunk of a man.

Fatso wants to see what his fleshie has in mind as he sees the fleshie messaging someone. The messages read; “Hey r u on ur way Brandon?” “Yup just got in the cab, can't wait till you see you” “Can't wait I'm waiting in bed”.

Fatso sees these messages, “Ohh I see fleshie… ‘Brandon’ is on his way to a hookup, well I hope there is room for a THIRD! Bahahaha” Fatso laughs to himself as the car shakes slightly from his large vibrating form.

Brandon gets to his destination as Fatso trails him, Brandon enters the apartment complex and gets rings to get inside. As Brandon walks in he seems to have to use the restroom so he runs over to the bathroom to relieve himself before he makes his way to his hookup’s room. “It's time to get this show on the road fleshie! Haha!” Fatso knows it's time to take over his fleshie as he prepares to take possession of Brandon. 

Brandon gets into the bathroom and quickly takes a piss as he lets out a sigh and zips up, before he leaves the bathroom he makes sure he looks in the mirror. Brandon is checking himself out when he hears some noises coming from a closed stall. “What was that?” Brandon questions as he turns his head to a stall he knows was left open when he first walked in. The stall looks like it's shaking and rumbling causing Brandon to want to take a closer look. “Is someone there?” Brandon walks up to the stall and opens the door to see no one. “What the heck is going on?” All Brandon sees is an empty stall as he notices the toilet is vibrating, Brandon steps forward until he is standing above the toilet looking down into the bowl.

“Hey fleshie… turn around…”

Brandon whips his head up and quickly turns around with a confused look on his face as he sees a large pudgy ghost with piercing orange eyes looking directly at him almost completely blocking the stall door.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! What are you?!” Brandon shrieks

Fatso laughs and grins, “The name’s Fatso, and you caught my eye you sexy fleshie!” Brandon tries to run out of the stall but Fatso bounces Brandon back like a giant balloon which causes Brandon to stumble onto the toilet behind him.

“Oh Fleshie, why leave so soon, it's only the beginning of our fun escapade together, or should I say… MY fun escapade INSIDE you!” Fatso starts to move closer to Brandon.

Brandon looks up at Fatso while he scoots back as much as he can, “What do you want from me?! This can't be happening!” Brandon looks terrified as Fatso gets up close and personal with him, rubbing his ghostly belly against his knees as the chubby ghost gets eye-level with his prey. Fatso looks Brandon in the eyes, “Hehe Possession is 9/10s the law and you are ALL MINE!” Fatso charges back as Brandon goes wide-eyed. “NOW OPEN UP FOR FATSO!” Fatso flings forward towards Brandon as Fatso slams into Brandon’s crotch looking for his way in.

Brandon tries to get up but the immense force of Fatso keeps Brandon stuck on the toilet seat. Fatso phases through Brandon’s jeans and finds Brandon’s flaccid rod, “Ooooh! Why hello there big guy! Hehe, don't mind if I do!” Fatso begins to press against Brandon’s rod as his head slurps in. Brandon moans and chills from the sudden cold and rubbery feeling of Fatso entering into him. Brandon immediately freaks out and pulls down his pants to see Fatso slurping inside him, “AHHH GET OUT!” Fatso continues to laugh as he slowly sinks into Brandon’s rod which causes Brandon to go hard and feels Fatso enter into his stomach. 

Brandon watches in horror as Fatso’s bulbous stomach slams into him, Brandon begins to push against against Fatso with his hands, “Get off of me!” Fatso starts to come back out of Brandon as Fatso groans slowly, “Awww come on Fleshie, let me in, I promise I will take great care of you!”

Fatso pops out of Brandon’s crotch as Fatso has a scolding look on his face, “You think are can keep me out fleshie, I’ll show you what it means to be taken over!” Brandon quickly gets up and makes a run out of the bathroom as Fatso flies forward and bodyslams into Brandon’s back causing Brandon to hit his head against the door and fall backward on his back. Brandon is in a daze as he opens his eyes and sees Fatso above him.

Fatso grins, “Thanks for making this easier for me fleshie, now open wide 'cause I’M COMING THROUGH!!!” Fatso dives down into Brandon’s mouth and he slams all his ghostly weight onto Brandon as his head and arms immediately go down into Brandon’s throat, “Now this is what I am TALKING ABOUT! Hahaha!”

Brandon cannot speak a word as he feels Fatso wiggle down his throat and feels Fatso begin to once again fill up his stomach. Fatso continues to flow into Brandon as his belly wiggles and squeezes slowly getting more and more of his ectoplasm down into his victim’s muscular body.

“GET READY FOR FATSO! BAHAHAHA!” Fatso laughs as Brandon groans in discomfort as he feels more and more of Fatso squeeze and rub against his insides. Fatso continues to squeeze and wiggle for a while until what is left is Fatso’s tail, “There we GO!” Fatso’s tail slurps into Brandon’s mouth and wiggles down his through with a popping sound.

Brandon’s eyes go wide as he immediately gets up off the floor now feeling extremely heavy and full since he is now carrying all of Fatso inside him. Brandon groans, “Ughhh I feel weird, please get out…” Fatso giggles in response, “Sorry fleshie but I am already getting VERY comfortable in my new home! You won’t mind if I stay for a while right?”

Brandon wobbles as he stands up and feels Fatso wiggling and moving in his body, he suddenly hears Fatso moan as he feels a lurch in his stomach and his body begins to move on its own. “Time for Fatso to take the reigns fleshie!” Fatso blurts out as Brandon’s body flails around the bathroom while both Fatso and Brandon groan and moan.

Brandon flings to his left and hits his stomach against the sink, “HEYYY there's precious cargo in here!” Brandon continues to shake uncontrollably as he feels Fatso move and expand in his body, almost like he is being put on like a suit. Brandon feels Fatso’s head squeeze into his own as he sighs, “Please don’t do this…” Fatso exclaims, “Don’t worry fleshie, Fatso is going to take GREAT care of you! Now let me take the driver’s seat for a while.” Fatso moans and lurches over as Brandon is gone and fatso is in control now.

Fatso walks up to the mirror in his new body examining himself and his sexy muscles and chiseled face, “Wow… never been in a fleshie this sexy before! This is going to be an amazing night!” Fatso gets a notification from the phone in his pocket and it reads, “Hey man what is taking so long, I'm ready to be fucked!” Fatso gets excited, “Ooh this is going to be fun!” Fatso walks out of the bathroom ready for his escapades.

"You ready to possess him babe?"

"Oh more than ready baby. Give me a a minute or two to squeeze in and then I'll be all ready for ya!"

I floated out to a different area of the gym and waited for my ghostly boyfriend to take over his new boy toy. We'd been wanting a change and what better place to take over hot new bodies than the gym?

We'd seen this hot hunk lifting weights and knew we had to have him. He was shirtless, muscular, charming, sweaty, and such a himbo. My boyfriend was going to look so good in his skin - I couldn't wait. Heh, maybe I should look for my fleshie now and surprise him.

...

"Alright boy. It's been a few years since I've worn a skin this young, but you'll do nicely. I hope you don't mind an old horn dog inhabiting your body."

I dissipated into a blue fog behind the hunk and slowly began to swirl around him. He was too busy flexing and admiring his body to notice me slowly creeping into every orifice of his body. I started by gently phasing up into his nose and mouth as he took deep sweaty breaths.

"Yeah that's right pretty boy. You like me invading you don't you? I'll put your mind at ease. Let this old man have another shot at life - I promise you won't remember a thing."

I then started to make my way around his athletic shorts and crept into the front of his trousers. I swirled around his neatly trimmed bush and then began to make my way into his dick and around to his ass.

"Oh boy, can't wait till this is all mine. You starting to feel me now boy? I'm invading your body and you have no idea."

All of a sudden the hunk started to feel himself slipping. That was my cue to do some damage control. Before he could even react and scream or alert anyone that anything was wrong, I quickly slid the rest of my ethereal form up into his body and quickly tookover.

"OH YEAH BABY! Whoo! That's the stuff." I groaned in a new, unfamiliar voice. I looked down and then up into the mirror still with my guns flexing and full sweaty body on display.

"Oh man. Would you look at me! Yeah, that's me now." I said excitedly as I began to sniff my armpits and kiss my biceps. "Damn this feels nice. And I'm packing too."

I mean, with a body like this, I can do pretty much anything I wanted. Besides, it wasn't my reputation on the line. This guy was full of himself anyway. I should just roll with it.

I reached down and gripped the hard outline of my new cock and groaned out. It was by this point that I noticed I had a bit of an audience.

"Hey man, you okay?" Another sexy gym-goer asked from a nearby machine, noticing me acting afool of myself.

"Oh, uh, yeah man - bro. That's what you kids say nowadays right? I feel like a new man!" I answered quickly.

"Oh I know the feeling." He responded coyly. "I know it well."

The hairy gym-goer proceeded to grab his dick through his gym shorts and lift up his arms at his machine, putting his full pits out on display.

"Babe?" I grinned excitedly, enjoying the man he now possessed.

"Bro, I don't know what you are talking about. I'm straight, man." He lied as a large smile appeared on his stolen face.

"Oh yeah, me too - bro. Wanna talk about this 'new man feeling' somewhere a little more private?" I flirted back in my new stolen voice, enjoying the sound coming out of my throat.

"Yeah bro. Let's do it." He said as I grabbed his arm and helped him up.

"Mmm, I like these two. I have a feeling we aren't going to leave for a while." I said, smelling the musky scent of my partner's new body.

David sat on the concrete wall, waiitng for the buyer to arrive. He put up a post recently to sell his Kawasaki Ninja and get a brand new one. The price was high, but he loved his motorcycle and wanted to get the most of it.

The time of arrival of this secret buyer has already passed, but he was nowhere to be seen. David checked the message with coordinates and was sure that he was at the right place.

David was already sweating in his racing leathers.

He got up and checked the other side just to make sure, that he wasn't crazy.

"All right, you had enough time. I am leaving." he sent back, but the other person didn't open the message.

As soon as David looked away from his phone, he noticed a wet mark on the concrete as if something made it's way towards him. As if a giant snail crawled there. But there was nothing in sight.

David jumped of the ledge and headed to his motorcycle. But his leg was itching. He stopped and wanted to scratch it, but it was way too low. He took off his boot and was immediately shocked. A tiny green goo tail disappeared under the leather, crawling up his leg. "What the..."

David quickly unzipped himself and tried to take the leather suit off, but the goo already made his wait into his ass. He tried pushing at it to make it go away, but it didn't help.

He felt the last parts of the goo disappear in him. The goo stretched and massaged his prostate. He collapsed on the grown and screamed. It wass a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"No! Please! Somebody!!! Help!!!"

David felt weaker by the second. There was no stopping this, no one nearby to help him. David took his last weak breath and closed his eyes.

"Finally!!! I thought you would never let go." David's voice said while getting up from the ground. His indefference was now replaced with an awe and admiration for himself. He checked out his new leather suit and flexed, just to see how tight everything was.

His hand grabbed his bulge over the leather. "I just hope you're a grower, David. I hoped for a full package." his hand let go and made its way under the leather. "Oh fuck yeah. I was hoping you'd be really sweaty. Jackpot."

He walked over to the motorcycle and looked back at himself in the mirror. "I am you. I am DAVID. I hope you can see me David. I am about to destroy your life. So sit tight and enjoy the ride."He started the engine and headed out.

James:"It really worked? Are you really this guy right now? Or did my friend just pay you money to prank me?"

David's body:"Would a random guy just come up to you and showed off himself to you? Let you touch his dick?"

James:"Ok, yeah you're right. How did you even get his body? Can I do that too?"

"No. I'll keep that to myself. Now. How about you get on your knees. You seem parched. Let me fill your mouth."

David screamed, but the fucker that stole his body probably didn't hear him. All David could do was just watch as his previously straight body now participated in gay sex. His dick being burried in this guy's mouth. The fucker even kept him in the leather still.

Before the guy could cum all over the other guy's face, he took David's dick and came over the leather. After a moment of hyperventilating from the exhaustion, the other guy asked. "You're not gonna go clean that? It might make a stain."

David's body:"No,I'll keep it there."

Little did the know that the cum, slowly drying out on the surface, contained the remnants of David's soul.

I was almost afraid to go to sleep after fucking Jake last night. He went off back home with a sore ass. No wonder when Mr. Mills’s dick is so huge, he’s extremely hung! I am now, hehe.

I hate PE. I hate it so freaking much that I’d rather have history with Mr. Douglas every day than to run in front of Mr. Mills every day. He hates me, ever since I came out as gay at school I received mostly good feedback from others. Even my bullies were kinda nice about it. Thank God I live in the twenty first century. But one person didn’t really take It well.

I browsed through his instagram a few times. And while I looked for the perfect photo of him flexing his biceps, showing his abs or anything that would help me for my jerk off session, I found out that he was quite hardcore republican. How a person like this could get into education is beyond me.

As always I finished jerking off while looking at his regular bathroom gym photo. Man, what I would give to fuck him. Why do jerks always have the perfect body?

My phone buzzed. I snapped back into reality. Jack, my friend who is also gay, but not out yet, texted me.

“Hey, are we gonna ditch school tomorrow? I can’t hear any more of that Mills bullshit while we climb the rope”

“We’re gonna be rope climbing? Ah fuck me. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“My thoughts exactly. So? Are we skipping school?”

“I can’t man. I gotta keep up my attendance after missing so many days thanks to Mr. Mills”

Next day, 2:29 PM

I stood next to the rope, waiting for Jake to finish his turn. Mr. Mills stood below him, screaming. Jake couldn’t get to the top. Mr. Mills told him to get down and screamed at him some more. What an asshole. It was my turn. The bell rang. “Fuck yeah. No more rope climbing for me.” My classmates, me included, turned to head to the lockers.

Mr. Mills: ”González? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Me: ”Sir, the class is over and it’s Friday.”

Mr. Mills: ”The class is over when I say it is over. Get on the fucking rope and stop talking back at me. The rest of you can leave.”

I got close to the rope. I grabbed it and squeezed the rope between my feet. I started pulling myself up and immediately felt the pain of lifting myself. I knew I was weak, I didn’t really need some wannabe teacher slash gym freak to remind me and scream at me what a lazy piece of shit I am. I tried to ignore him. I gave myself a goal to just finish it and leave, but Mr. Mills stood directly below me to comment on my fat ass slowing me down.

I was almost at the top, a wave of happiness swept over me. “Shit, I’m gonna make it!”

And right then I slipped. And instead of locking my feet, I just let go off the rope.

THUD

“I survived. Fuck. I fell from the freaking rope. My head was hurting so hard. My head? But I thought that I fell on my back? Ahhh the pain.”

I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry from the fall. I tried blinking several times and my vision was slowly getting better. I lifted my arm to grab on my head, but as I did it didn’t feel right. I looked at my arm. It was bigger. As in full of muscles.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, but instead of my young squeaky almost too feminine voice a low baritone came out of my throat.

“How the fuck…?!” I looked to my left. There was my body getting up from the ground

Me: ”Mr. Mills?”

Mr. Mills: ”Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Is that you González?”

Me: ”I… Yes. How… How did this happen?” Mr. Mills: ”Does it look like this happens to me a lot?”

Me: ”But… it’s scientifically impossible”

Mr. Mills: ”I bet this was caused by those covid vaccines to make you immigrant fags take over our lives.”

Me: ”Yeah… right. Cause everyone wants to be a stupid republican”

Mr. Mills: ”Shut your mouth or…” he was interrupted by the janitor telling us to leave so he can lock the school. Mr. Mills gave me his car keys and I gave him instructions how to find my locker. We decided to meet each other in his car and to figure out what to do after that.”

After many unsuccessful attempts I found his Chevrolet and entered the passenger’s seat. Few moments later, I realized that I’m gonna be the one driving so I switched seats and got behind the wheel for the first time in my life. His car was amazing, it smelt great and was clean. How should I even drive this thing? I don’t drive a car. I’ll get us into trouble.

I stopped overthinking about the car. “I am in my teachers body. The one who bullied me almost every day. I am an adult male.” I looked into the rearview mirror. “Fuck, I am in one of the hottest man’s body around. And I am wasting it just worrying here. I flexed and squeezed my new biceps. Fuuuck. It’s so huge. I checked if no one else was around and lifted up my shirt.

“Oh my gooood” I slammed my head into the seat. “This is so hot!”

My new abs and pecs now uncovered were the most perfect ones I have ever seen. The ones I jerk off to every night before sleep. And now it’s here. All for me.

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Mills in my body approaching the car. And behind him ran Jake. They entered the car.

I tried to improvise: „Why is your friend here?”

Jake: „Holy shit. So it is true. Mr. Mills would never react so calm. Is that really you in there, Daniel?”

I turned at Mr. Mills who now had a very irritated face. “I didn’t say anything, he figured it out.”

Jake: „I didn’t believe it at first, but Daniel never swears like this. And your vocabulary isn’t exactly rich so I knew really quickly where I heard the phrases before. Damn, I’m good. So? What are we gonna do? We should test it out somehow. Shit, Daniel you should get drunk tonight!”

Mr. Mills: „No! There won’t be no drinking, touching or anything with my body. This is definitely temporary and we will be back by tomorrow morning.”

Me: „If you think so…”

I drove Jake and my body home. Mr. Mills had to give me a speed course of driving, but his muscle memory helped me out way more than I thought. We set up some ground rules. No drinking, no drugs, no permanent changes to our bodies, no photos and no sex. He left the car while saying something about a fag in his body, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I speeded to get to his house asap.

I didn’t really explore the house as much when I arrived. I went straight to where I thought was the bedroom and immediately started taking off my clothes. His black speedo was PACKING and getting tighter every minute, but I really wanted to make this first exploration as perfect as possible. I lifted up the shirt, touching my new hairless and fatless stomach. I flexed and sets of abs appeared. I touched every last one of them. My hand continued up to my new large pecs.

“God damn, Mr. Mills. These are some perfect man titties.” I squeezed them. They looked so tight in all the photos, but when I wasn’t flexing them, they were quite soft. Must be amazing to lay on these. I played with them some more before taking off my shirt and releasing my new hairy pits. I took a long whiff off them. “I smell like a proper MAN now!” I licked it as well, enjoying the salty taste of Mr. Mills’s pits. I looked at myself in the mirror. My new dick was hard as a rock and waited for me to take care of it.

I headed to the shower and turned on a hot water. “Your body is probably not used to a hot water, am I right, Mr. Mills? I bet you are one of those cold water freaks who bathe in the icy waters.” I hated his voice before, but right now as I was controlling it, I began to like it so much.

The water poured all over my large body, from the perfect face, over my massive pecs, hairless abs and right to my beautiful dick. “Nice dick, Mr. Mills!” I said and chuckled over the fact that I just said that.

I suddenly got a mischievous idea. I came out of the shower and texted Jake.

Jake: „I can’t believe I’m doing this. I am just squeezing Mr. Mills’s pecs and touching his abs. Can you believe it, Daniel?”

Me: „It’s wild, right? But I got an idea. Wanna make it more interesting?”

Jake: „Interesting how?”

Me: „Stop touching me you lazy fag” I said in an authoritative voice and Jake moved his hands away from me quickly.

Jake: „Why did you do that? I got scared.”

Me: „I bet you are scared, you little fag. I know you just came over so that you could jerk off you little dick and watch me enjoy myself.”

Jake: „Daniel?”

Me: „Daniel won’t save you right now. You will do as I say. Ok?”

Jake finally caught up to my roleplay scenario and started acting as well. And by the look of his face I knew that he was really into it.

Jake: „Yes, Mr. Mills. I will do whatever you say.”

I sat down on the couch watching. “I want you to admire my body and say how hot I am and how horny it makes you.”

Jake got his hands on MY body and got a bit nervous: „You have sexy abs, Mr. Mills.”

Me: „You think that’s enough? That they are just sexy?”

Jake: „I think they’re the hottest abs I have ever seen”

Me: „How about my biceps. You like them?”

Jake: „They are SO big. I want you to squeeze my head in them. I want to lick your armpit hair. I want to kiss you.”

Me: „That’s a good boy. How about you show me how good you are, you fag?”

I moved his hands over to my new hard crotch.

Jake smiled and licked his lips

I fucking love being in this body.

And I bet Jake’s ass is gonna love this body even more.

Fuck, it actually worked.

I lay back on the warm, jagged rocks, the shallow turquoise water lapping gently around my hips and thighs, cool against my flushed skin. The black Speedo briefs—his briefs—clung tight and wet, the thin nylon stretched smooth over my new cock and balls, outlining every inch like it was painted on. I was half-submerged, legs spread lazily, one arm tucked behind my head, the other resting on my flat, toned stomach. Sunglasses shaded my eyes as I tilted my face to the sun, but really I was just drinking it all in—this body. This perfect, 21-year-old twink model body I’d just stolen.

I’d been watching him for months—scrolling his Instagram late at night in my saggy 45-year-old skin, jerking my mediocre dick to his shoots. Those endless photos: smooth, hairless chest, narrow waist flaring to a perky little ass, long lean legs that went on forever, and that pretty-boy face with sharp cheekbones and full lips. He was always in tiny briefs or less, posing like he knew exactly how many older guys like me were throbbing over him. I’d found the old possession ritual online—some dark forum bullshit—and after weeks of prep, I’d done it during his solo beach shoot. One moment I was in my flabby dad bod back home; the next, I blinked into his eyes, feeling the sun on his flawless skin, the water teasing his sensitive nipples into hard peaks.

My hand—his slender, manicured hand—drifted lower, fingers tracing the deep V-lines disappearing into the low waistband. The skin was so fucking smooth, no hair, no fat, just tight muscle under golden tan. I flexed my abs subtly, watching the six-pack pop and ripple under the water’s surface, so defined and shallow compared to the gut I used to have. My cock twitched hard in the briefs, thickening fast, the head pushing visibly against the wet fabric, a thick ridge forming as pre-cum leaked and darkened the nylon.

“God, yes,” I moaned softly in his higher, smoother voice, lips parting as I slid my hand fully over the bulge. It was smaller than mine used to be—perfect twink dick, maybe six inches hard—but so sensitive, every stroke through the clinging Speedo sending sparks up my spine. I squeezed, feeling the shaft pulse and grow, balls tight and smooth underneath. No one around—this secluded cove was private for the shoot. I could take my time exploring what I’d taken.

I arched my back slightly, water splashing as I ground my palm harder, the briefs riding up into my crack, teasing my virgin-tight hole. This body was built to be looked at, to be desired—and now it was mine to feel from the inside, mine to make cum whenever I wanted. I was already close, breaths coming faster, pretty face flushing under the sunglasses. Fuck being 45. I was a horny twink model now… and I was just getting started.

I dragged myself away from that secluded cove before I blew right there on the rocks—cock throbbing in the soaked black Speedo, pre-cum mixing with seawater, every wave teasing my ass like fingers. The photographer had wrapped the shoot anyway, none the wiser that the pretty twink posing for him wasn’t the original anymore. I threw on a loose tank and shorts for the ride back to the hotel, but the whole drive I was squirming, the fabric rubbing my sensitive nipples raw, my new dick half-hard and leaking the entire time.

Now, fresh out of the shower, steam still fogging the mirror, I stood in the hotel bathroom with just a white towel knotted low around my narrow hips. The knot was loose—barely holding—riding right on the V-lines that pointed straight to my smooth groin. Water droplets clung to my golden skin, tracing down the shallow cuts of my pecs, over stiff pink nipples, dipping into the ridges of my abs before soaking into the towel. My hair—his glossy black hair—was slicked back wet, strands falling over my forehead, making this pretty face look even more fuckable, lips parted in that sulky pout as I snapped the mirror selfie.

Fuck, look at this body. I flexed subtly for the camera, chest popping, abs crunching tight, the thin silver necklace with its little pendant resting in the hollow of my throat, cool against hot skin. My free hand tugged the towel lower, just enough to tease the start of my trimmed pubes, the base of my cock already thickening under the terry cloth, pushing it out obscenely. No hair anywhere else—just endless smooth, tight muscle, skin so soft and sensitive that even the air from the AC made me shiver and my balls tighten.

I set the phone down on the counter, both hands free now, and let one slide up my torso, fingers circling a nipple, pinching hard until I gasped in this high, breathy voice. The other hand yanked the towel open completely—it dropped to my ankles with a wet thud—freeing my twink cock to bob up hard and leaking, six inches of smooth, veiny perfection, head flushed pink and slick. Balls hairless and drawn up tight, ass perky and firm as I turned sideways to the mirror, watching myself stroke slow from base to tip, thumb smearing pre-cum over the sensitive crown.

“Forty-five years in that fat, hairy sack of shit,” I whispered to my reflection, hips bucking into my fist, “and now this… tight, pretty little model boy, built for older cocks to drool over.” Every stroke felt electric—this body was so responsive, prostate tingling already just from gripping myself, hole clenching like it was begging to be filled. I leaned closer to the mirror, fogging it with hot breaths, necklace swinging as I pumped faster, abs flexing hard, free hand roaming down to cup my smooth balls, tugging gently.

I was dripping pre-cum in strings now, pooling on the tile floor, the slap of my hand echoing in the bathroom. So close again—closer than on the beach—but this time, in private, I wasn’t holding back. Not when I had this stolen twink body all to myself, ready to cum like the horny little slut it was made to be.

I didn’t cum in the bathroom—edged right to the brink, fist slick with pre-cum, hole twitching, pretty face flushed in the fogged mirror—but I stopped myself. Pulled my hand away, cock bobbing angry and leaking, because I wanted the first load in this body to happen somewhere softer, somewhere I could really spread out and worship it properly.

I stumbled into the bedroom, towel long gone, naked and dripping until I found these loose gray tailored pants in his suitcase—soft wool blend, low-rise, the kind that hang just right on narrow twink hips. I slid them on with nothing underneath, the lining cool and silky against my bare cock and balls, shaft nestling down one leg, head already pushing a wet spot through the fabric. The waistband sat low, exposing the full V-line and the start of my smooth groin, pants barely clinging as I flopped onto the king bed.

Sheets were crisp white hotel cotton, cool against my hot skin as I sprawled back, propping pillows behind me. I grabbed the MacBook from the nightstand—his MacBook, password still the same—and opened the private folder I’d already found: hundreds of unreleased shots, nudes, videos from shoots. My cock surged harder, thickening down the pant leg as I scrolled through pics of this exact body oiled up, ass spread, hole pink and tight on display for the camera.

I shoved the laptop onto my lap, the edge pressing right against my shaft through the thin fabric, and let one hand drift down. The pants were so loose I could slide my hand inside easily—no zipper needed—just palmed my smooth balls first, rolling them slow, then wrapped fingers around the throbbing length. Slow strokes at first, base to tip, pre-cum soaking through the gray wool in a dark streak, making the material cling and slide even better.

“Fuck, look at you,” I whispered in his breathy voice, eyes flicking between the screen—him bent over, cheeks spread—and my own torso in the dim light. Necklace glinted against my collarbones, nipples hard and begging, abs flexing every time I thrust up into my fist. The pants slipped lower as I pumped faster, one hip fully exposed now, the waistband caught under my balls, cock fully out and slick in my hand, head swollen and shiny.

I was leaking like a faucet, strings of pre-cum dripping onto my lower abs, pooling in the ridges. Every stroke felt amplified in this young, sensitive body—prostate pulsing without even being touched, hole clenching rhythmically like it needed filling. The laptop screen lit my pretty face as I bit my lip, scrolling to a video of him jerking on camera, moaning like a little slut.

I matched the rhythm, hips bucking, free hand pinching a nipple hard, then dragging nails down my abs. So close again—balls tightening, cock throbbing purple in my grip. This time I wasn’t stopping. I was gonna coat this perfect twink stomach with the first stolen load, mark the inside of these expensive pants, and keep going all night. Because this body? It was built for endless edging… and now it was all mine to drain dry.

I blew so hard on that hotel bed—hips bucking off the mattress, cock pulsing in my slick fist, thick ropes of cum shooting up my smooth abs, splattering my chest, even hitting the necklace and dripping down the pendant into the valley between my pecs. This young body came like a fountain, more than I ever did in my old life, every spurt making my hole clench and my pretty toes curl into the sheets. I milked it dry, groaning in that breathy voice, then lay there panting, fingering the mess into my skin, rubbing it over my nipples and abs like lotion, marking this stolen twink flesh from the inside out.

But one load wasn’t enough. Not in this body. I edged twice more—slow, teasing strokes while scrolling through his private videos, watching him moan on camera like a desperate little slut—until the sun dipped low and my phone buzzed with texts from his model friends: “Party tonight, VIP rooftop, get your cute ass here.”

I showered quick, the hot water making my sensitive skin tingle all over again, cock half-hard just from soaping my smooth ass and balls. Then I raided his wardrobe—found this sleek black sleeveless vest, silky fabric that clung to my narrow torso like a glove, deep open front showing off my collarbones and the silver necklace resting against flawless skin. Pinned a red fabric rose right over my left pec, the pin brushing my nipple every time I moved, keeping it stiff and aching. Tight black pants below—low-rise, hugging my perky ass and thighs, the outline of my twink cock visible if anyone looked close enough. Wristband from the invite: “FREE BLOW”—cheeky as fuck, snapping around my slender wrist.

The rooftop club was pulsing red lights, thumping bass, bodies grinding in the haze. I sipped champagne, the bubbles cool on my tongue, glass cold against my fingers as I posed just like he would—hip cocked, pretty face sulky under the glow, hair slicked back. Eyes were on me instantly—older guys mostly, the kind who’d thirsted over his Insta just like I used to, now staring at this tight young body in the flesh. The vest rubbed my nipples raw with every breath, the rose teasing the left one relentlessly, sending jolts straight to my cock. It thickened fast down my thigh, pre-cum already leaking, soaking into the liner of the pants, making the fabric cling even tighter.

I leaned against the bar, feeling the heat of bodies behind me, one brushing close—some cowboy-hatted daddy in fur, his eyes dragging down my exposed sides where the vest gaped. My free hand drifted casual-low, adjusting the bulge discreetly, fingers grazing the head through the thin fabric, thumb circling once, twice. Fuck, the risk made it worse—hole twitching, balls tight and smooth, cock straining for more attention in this crowded, horny den.

“Little model boy’s out to play,” I murmured to myself over the music, lips curling as I took another sip, letting champagne spill just a drop down my chin, tracing cold down my neck into the vest. I was throbbing, edged all day in this perfect body, and now surrounded by men who wanted it. One wrong move—or right one—and I’d be dragging someone to a dark corner to feel what this stolen twink mouth and ass could really do.

The club got too hot—literally throbbing, my twink cock straining down my thigh, pre-cum soaking a dark line through the tight black pants every time some daddy's hand brushed my exposed sides or the red rose pinned over my stiff nipple. I slipped out around 2 AM, champagne buzzing in this lightweight body, head spinning from all the stares and subtle gropes. This pretty face and tight frame drew them like flies—older guys buying drinks, whispering how they'd ruin a little model boy like me. Fuck, it made me leak even more.

Stumbled out into the neon night, air cool on my flushed skin, the open vest doing nothing to hide how hard my pink nipples were, necklace swinging cold between my pecs. Needed snacks—something to soak up the alcohol before I edged myself stupid back at the hotel. Ended up at this 24-hour Emart, bright lights harsh after the red club glow.

That's when these two girls spotted me—fans, giggling and tipsy, phones already out. "Oppa, you're even prettier in person!" one squealed, the one in red with the strappy dress pressing tight against my left side. The other, curly hair and dark top, latched onto my right. Before I could blink, they both leaned in, soft lips pressing wet kisses to my cheeks—warm, lingering, one tongue flicking just a tease against my jaw.

Fuck. This young skin was so sensitive—electric jolts straight to my cock from their mouths on my face. I stood there frozen in the best way, pretty lips parted in that sulky pout, eyes half-lidded as their bodies molded to mine. The black shirt—silky, unbuttoned almost to my navel—gaped open wider from the squeeze, exposing the full smooth chest, necklace dangling, abs flexing under the store lights. My pants sat low, that YSL belt glinting, the buckle cool against my lower abs where my cock was surging hard again, head pushing thick against the fabric, a fresh wet spot blooming.

Their hands weren't innocent—one "accidentally" grazing my hip, fingers brushing the waistband; the other pressing her tits against my arm, nipple hard through her top teasing my bare skin. I could smell their perfume, feel their breath hot on my neck as the kisses turned into nips, playful but hungry. My hole clenched hard, balls tightening smooth and hairless under the pants, pre-cum leaking steady now, slicking my thigh.

"Photo?" they begged, but really they just wanted more time pressed against this stolen body. I let them, one hand drifting casual-low behind them, adjusting my bulge discreetly—fingers squeezing the shaft once through the thin wool, thumb circling the soaked head. Forty-five years old inside, but feeling every thirsty touch like a virgin twink—cock throbbing for release, nipples aching, pretty face flushing under their lips.

I was gonna blow the second I got privacy. Maybe even let them follow me out if they pushed it. This body was made for attention... and now it was mine to feed every filthy urge.

Months blurred by in this perfect young body—shoots in Milan, parties in Seoul, endless nights of edging and blowing loads while staring at this pretty reflection, feeling skin so tight and smooth it never got old. The original twink's soul was long gone, trapped somewhere dark, while I lived his life better than he ever could: tighter abs from daily workouts, ass even perkier from all the attention it got, cock leaking at the slightest tease because this 21-year-old hormone factory never calmed down.

Now, cruising through the city in his new Tesla—blacked-out, glass roof showing the night sky—I was dressed for a high-end fashion event afterparty. Tailored gray wool overcoat open over a crisp white dress shirt, black silk tie loose around my neck, the Prada triangle pin glinting on the vest that hugged my narrow torso like a second skin. Brown leather gloves—sheepskin soft inside, tight outside—encased my slender hands, fingers flexing around the thick cigar I puffed slow, smoke curling thick and sweet from my full lips.

Fuck, the gloves made everything dirtier. I’d slipped them on in the garage, feeling the leather creak over my knuckles, cool at first then warming to my skin, making my hands look even more elegant and fuckable. One gloved hand on the wheel, the other bringing the cigar to my mouth—lips wrapping the tip, sucking slow, tongue flicking just like I’d do on something thicker. Smoke filled the cabin, hazy and intoxicating, mixing with the new-car leather scent as I exhaled long and lazy, watching it swirl over the glass roof.

My cock—still that perfect six-inch twink shaft—was rock-hard down my thigh, trapped in tight black suit pants that outlined every vein when I shifted. The belt buckle pressed cold against my lower abs, but the real tease was the gloves. I trailed my free hand down, leather sliding smooth over the shirt, thumb circling a nipple through the fabric until it poked stiff and aching. Then lower, palming the bulge heavy, squeezing until pre-cum soaked through layers, darkening the wool.

“Still can’t believe this is me,” I murmured in that smooth, youthful voice, glancing at the rearview—curly hair tousled perfect, pretty face half-lidded and flushed from the nicotine buzz and endless horniness. Months in, and every sensation was still electric: the tie silk brushing my collarbones, coat lining teasing bare skin underneath, gloves gripping my shaft through the pants now—slow, deliberate strokes, leather warming and creaking with each pump.

I was gonna pull over soon, shove the seat back, unzip with gloved fingers, and jerk this stolen cock until cum shot over the Prada pin and vest, marking the expensive suit while smoke haze filled the car. This body craved it constantly—pretty, tight, sensitive—and after months owning it, I wasn’t ever holding back.

More months deep now—fashion weeks conquered, magazine covers stacked, this pretty twink face plastered everywhere while the real owner rotted forgotten in whatever void I'd shoved him into. I'd upgraded the wardrobe too: designer hauls, custom fits that hugged this tight young body like they were painted on, turning heads and throbbing cocks wherever I went. The sensitivity never faded—every fabric against smooth skin, every glance from thirsty fans or photographers, kept my twink dick half-hard constantly, leaking like it was addicted to being desired.

Tonight's fit was pure filth waiting to happen. I stood in front of the ornate full-length mirror in the penthouse suite—gold filigree frame catching the low light—as I adjusted the final pieces. Cropped black leather jacket, buttery soft and heavy, zipped just low enough to frame the deep V of my open black shirt, necklace dangling cool between defined pecs, brushing stiff nipples with every breath. Light-wash baggy jeans hanging low on my narrow hips, belt loose so the waistband teased the smooth trail below my navel. Black leather gloves again—my new obsession—tight and shiny, creaking softly as I flexed my fingers. Sunglasses perched on my nose even indoors, giving that untouchable model edge, curly hair tousled perfect.

I slung the black leather bag over my shoulder, posing slow—hip cocked, one gloved hand trailing down my chest, thumb circling a nipple through the thin shirt until it poked hard and visible. Fuck, the leather smell mixed with my skin was intoxicating, gloves warming fast, making my hands feel powerful and dirty. My free hand drifted lower, palming the growing bulge in those loose jeans—cock thickening fast, head pushing against the denim seam down my thigh, pre-cum already soaking into my briefs (if I was even wearing any tonight).

“Still perfect,” I purred to the mirror in that smooth voice, lips curling as I squeezed harder, gloved fingers outlining every veiny inch through the fabric. The jacket creaked with my movements, shirt gaping wider to expose more golden skin and shallow abs flexing under my touch. I turned sideways, watching my perky ass fill the baggy jeans, glove sliding back to grip a cheek, digging in—hole clenching instantly, virgin-tight and twitching for attention I'd been teasing all day.

The moment the possession locked in, it hit me like the hardest orgasm I’d ever chased—my old consciousness slamming into Rubberscotty’s body with a wet, electric surge that made his cock twitch violently inside the tight leather race suit. I gasped inside the helmet, the tinted visor fogging instantly with my hot breath, and for a split second the world tilted as his memories flooded me: the smell of fresh Dainese leather, the burn of track days, the endless hours edging in full gear for his followers. All of it was mine now.

I flexed my new gloved fingers, feeling the thick leather creak, the knuckles stiff and armored. The suit hugged every inch of me like a second skin—chest plates pressing against pecs I’d only ever jerked off to on my phone screen, the codpiece cupping a heavy, half-hard bulge that was already leaking pre into the liner. I could feel the sweat trapped inside from his ride earlier, slick and warm, making the leather slide deliciously against my skin whenever I shifted.

I was in an elevator—his elevator—mirror walls reflecting the anonymous geared figure I’d become. Black and yellow AGV Pista helmet sealed over my head, visor down, no face visible, just the Italian flag sticker and the faint reflection of my hungry eyes behind the dark tint. The Dainese suit was scuffed in all the right places, worn-in and lived-in, the black logo stretched tight across my chest. Knee pucks still dusty from the last session, gloves gripping the phone like they were made for it.

I raised the phone with his gloved hand—my gloved hand—and snapped the mirror selfie, thumb brushing the screen through the thick leather. The click of the shutter sent another jolt straight to my dick. I was Rubberscotty now. Every follower who’d ever begged for more gear pics, every comment calling him “god in leather,” every DM sliding into his inbox asking to worship the suit—they were all talking to me.

My free hand dropped to the bulge, pressing the palm of the glove firmly against the swollen ridge trapped in the suit. The pressure was perfect—firm, unyielding, the leather creaking as I ground into it. A low moan echoed inside the helmet, muffled and private. I could feel the heat building, the slickness spreading, the suit starting to cling even tighter as my cock throbbed for release.

The elevator doors slid open to an empty hallway, and I stepped out with that same gloved hand still pressed against my bulge, not giving a single fuck who might see. The building was quiet—his building—and I knew from the stolen memories that the underground garage was just a short walk away. But the need was already clawing at me, hot and urgent, the suit’s tight grip on my cock turning every step into delicious torture. I couldn’t wait until I got home.

I took the stairs down, boots thudding heavily, the leather creaking with each movement. By the time I pushed through the side exit into the little park behind the building, my dick was fully hard, straining against the codpiece, pre-cum soaking the inside of the suit in a slick, warm patch. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, but the place was deserted—just me, the red bench, and the thick summer air.

I dropped onto the bench hard, legs spread wide like I owned the fucking world. The AGV Pista stayed sealed on my head, visor down, blue-tinted and mirrored—nobody could see my face, nobody would ever know it wasn’t really him. Just a geared-up biker taking a break. Anonymous. Untouchable.

Both gloved hands went straight to my thighs, palms sliding up the slick leather, feeling the heat radiating off the suit. I groaned inside the helmet, the sound echoing in the tight space. The gloves were thick, textured—perfect friction. I dragged them inward until my thumbs met at the bulge, pressing hard, outlining the thick ridge of my cock through the layers.

“Fuuuck,” I hissed to myself, grinding up into my own hands. The suit didn’t give much, but that was the point—every stroke was muffled, restrained, forcing the pleasure to build slow and filthy. I unzipped the jacket just enough to slip one hand inside, fingers finding the thin base layer clinging to sweat-slick skin, then lower, cupping the heavy swell of my balls through the liner. The other hand stayed outside, rubbing firmly along the shaft, the leather creaking rhythmically.

I could feel the wet spot spreading, pre leaking freely now, making the inside of the suit glide even smoother. My hips rocked forward involuntarily, fucking into the grip of my own gloved palm. Faster. Harder. The bench creaked under me, boots planted wide, knee sliders digging into the wood. Anyone walking by would just see a geared rider adjusting himself—nothing unusual for Rubberscotty’s followers, they’d probably cream their pants at the sight.

But inside the helmet, I was losing it. Breath fogging the visor, heart pounding against the chest protector, cock throbbing so hard it hurt. I squeezed tighter, thumb circling the head through the suit, imagining every thirsty comment I’d ever left on his posts now aimed at me. I was him. I was the fantasy.

The orgasm hit like a crash—sudden, brutal, perfect. Cum pulsed hot and thick into the liner, flooding the crotch of the suit, soaking everything in a sticky mess that cooled slowly against my skin. I kept stroking through it, milking every last drop, hips jerking, low moans muffled by the helmet.

When it finally faded, I just sat there, legs still spread, gloves resting on my thighs again, the suit now clinging even tighter with the fresh load trapped inside. I could smell it faintly—sweat, leather, cum. My new signature scent.

I lifted the phone with a shaking hand, snapped another pic for the story—geared god on his throne, spent and satisfied—and grinned behind the visor.

I finally dragged myself off that bench, the cooling cum in the suit making every step a slick, filthy reminder of what I'd just done. The walk to the garage was short—his bike was waiting, a sleek black monster that roared to life under my grip like it recognized its new master. I rode home hard, helmet sealed, visor down, the vibration of the engine buzzing straight through the soaked crotch of the suit and keeping me half-hard the whole way.

By the time I killed the engine in his private garage and climbed the stairs to the apartment, my balls were aching for round two. The place was exactly like his Insta stories—minimalist, gear everywhere, the faint smell of leather and rubber hanging in the air like perfume. But there was a package on the table, fresh delivery sticker still on it. His memories told me everything: he'd ordered these weeks ago, custom red Alpinestars Supertech R boots, the brightest, sluttiest colorway. Limited edition. He'd been teasing his followers about them for days.

I ripped the box open like a kid on Christmas, tissue paper crinkling as I pulled one boot free. Fuck, it was beautiful—glossy red leather, white logos popping, the inner bootie tight and ventilated, the sole aggressive and ready to grip pegs. I could already feel how they'd hug my calves, lock my ankles, make every shift on the bike feel like the gear was fucking my legs.

I didn't even bother taking off the Dainese suit yet. Still helmeted, still anonymous, I dropped into the chair right there, legs spread wide on the wooden floor. The black suit was crusty now, cum drying sticky against my skin, but that only made me harder. I held the new boot up, thumb tracing the Alpinestars star, then pressed the cool leather against my bulge. The contrast—black suit, red boot—sent a fresh surge of blood to my cock.

One gloved hand unzipped the suit just enough to fish my dick out, still slick with the last load. I wrapped the boot's shaft around it like a sleeve, the stiff new leather creaking as I stroked slow and deliberate. The smell hit me—fresh out of the box, that virgin leather scent mixing with the musky funk trapped in my suit. I groaned loud inside the helmet, hips thrusting up into the boot, pre leaking over the red surface and making it shine.

The other boot stayed in the box, waiting, but I couldn't stop. I fucked into the first one harder, imagining posting pics in full gear with these on—black suit, red boots screaming against it, followers losing their minds begging for more. My free hand yanked the suit open wider, exposing sweat-slick abs, pinching a nipple through the base layer until it hurt so good.

It didn't take long. The second orgasm ripped through me, cum shooting in thick ropes over the boot's instep, dripping down the white lettering, marking it as mine. I milked myself dry, rubbing the head against the soiled leather, smearing it in until the boot glistened wet and used.

Panting, spent, I finally slid my foot into it—still in the sock for now, but the fit was perfect, tight, possessive. The other one would get the same treatment soon.

Tomorrow I'd wear them on the bike. Tonight? I had all the time in the world to break them in properly.

The red boots were still warm and sticky when I finally peeled off the black Dainese suit, the dried cum cracking along the liner as I stripped it away. The apartment smelled like a gear whore’s paradise—leather, sweat, fresh rubber from the boots—and I wasn’t done. Not even close. His memories guided me straight to the closet, a fucking treasure trove of suits, helmets, gloves, and deeper in the back… the rubber stash.

I pulled out the full Alpinestars red one-piece—bright, aggressive, the kind of color that screams on the track and makes followers drool in DMs. GP Pro or some custom variant, perforated in all the right places, tight as sin. But what really made my cock jump was the black rubber hood tucked in the same shelf, thick shiny latex with only a mouth opening, no eyes, no identity. Full anonymity. Perfect for the real Rubberscotty content—the posts he teased but rarely showed.

I slid into the red suit slowly, savoring every inch. The leather was softer than the Dainese, broken in from hard rides, hugging my thighs and ass like it was painted on. Zipped it up to the neck, the Alpinestars stars stretching across my chest. Gloves next—red and black, grippy palms. Then the new red Supertech boots, still glistening from my load earlier, sliding over my feet with that perfect tight squeeze, the inner bootie gripping my ankles like a mouth.

Finally, the hood. I stretched the latex wide, rolled it down over my head, the rubber snapping into place with a wet smack. Instant darkness except for the faint glow through the mouth hole, the world muffled, my breath echoing hot and humid inside. No face. No eyes. Just a blank, shiny rubber drone in screaming red leather.

I stumbled to the full-length mirror in the hallway, phone already in my gloved hand. The reflection was pure filth—a faceless geared figure, red suit gleaming under the lights, black rubber head reflecting everything like a void. My cock was rock hard again, trapped in the tight codpiece, pre already soaking through.

One gloved hand pressed the phone to the mirror for the selfie, the other dropped straight to the bulge, rubbing hard through the leather. The hood amplified everything—every breath a rasp, every creak of the suit loud in my ears, the latex clinging to my skull, sweat building instantly. I ground into my palm, hips thrusting, imagining posting this faceless shot with a caption like “Who wants to worship the rubber slave?”

The friction was brutal, the suit not giving an inch, forcing the pleasure to build slow and torturous. I unzipped just enough to pull my dick free, hot and slick, and started stroking with the gloved hand—thick leather gripping tight, the other hand holding the phone steady as I recorded a short video, just the sound of my muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of gear.

I didn’t last long. The anonymity, the tightness, the smell of rubber and leather overwhelming me—cum shot hard against the mirror, splattering the glass in thick ropes, dripping down over the reflection of my blank rubber face. I kept pumping, milking it, smearing the head against the cooling mess until I was shaking.

Panting inside the hood, I snapped the pic anyway—faceless, geared, spent. Posted it to stories with no caption. Let the followers go insane guessing.

The rubber hood came off eventually, peeled away with a wet suck, leaving my face flushed and slick with sweat. But the hunger didn't stop—it only grew. His memories pulled me deeper into the closet, past the leather suits to the heavy rubber gear he'd kept for special nights. The full black latex catsuit, custom-made, thick and shiny, with attached gloves and feet, rear zip for access, and that glorious front crotch zip that teased in every photo he'd ever posted.

I stripped the red Alpinestars off slow, letting the leather pool at my feet, cock already throbbing again from the friction. The latex was colder, heavier—talced inside for that perfect slide. I stepped in, pulling it up inch by inch, the rubber snapping tight over my calves, thighs, ass, sealing me in like a second skin. The attached gloves flexed as I zipped the back with the pull cord, then the neck, every movement creaking and shining under the apartment lights.

I dropped into the chair by the window, legs spread wide, the rubber warming instantly to my body heat. The bulge was obscene—thick outline of my hard cock trapped behind the zipper, balls heavy and outlined perfectly. I grabbed the phone with one rubbered hand, the material squeaking as I angled the mirror selfie, hiding just enough of my face like he always did—teasing the followers, making them beg for more.

But I wasn't teasing anymore. The free hand went straight to the crotch zip, pulling it down slow, the teeth parting with a loud rasp. My cock sprang free, slick with pre, veins pulsing, head already dripping. The rubber framed it perfectly, tight ring around the base like a built-in cockring. I wrapped the gloved hand around it—latex on skin, slippery and unrelenting—and started stroking hard, no warm-up, no mercy.

"Fuuuck yes," I growled, voice echoing in the empty apartment. The suit creaked with every pump, rubber sliding against rubber, the shine catching the light as my hips bucked up into my fist. Sweat built fast inside the latex, making everything hotter, tighter, the encasement turning my whole body into one throbbing erogenous zone. I pinched a nipple through the rubber with the other hand, twisting hard, imagining every follower jerking to this exact view—Rubberscotty finally giving them the full show.

Faster. Harder. The chair groaned under me, rubber squeaking loud, pre leaking down my shaft and over the gloved fingers. I edged once—stopped right at the brink, balls drawing up tight, cock twitching angrily—then dove back in, stroking brutal and relentless. The climax built like a storm, every muscle in this stolen body tensing under the latex prison.

It exploded—cum shooting in long, thick ropes, splattering the shiny chest of the suit, dripping down over the abs, pooling in the creases. I kept pumping, milking it, wave after wave, moaning loud and filthy until I was drained, shaking, spent. The rubber held everything in—sweat, cum, heat—sealing me in my own mess.

I snapped the pic anyway, cock still out, zipper open, load glistening on black latex. Posted it without a word.

This was it. The peak. The body was mine forever now—every suit, every load, every filthy fantasy. Rubberscotty's life, upgraded. And I was never leaving.

Tonight, I finally did it.

I waited until I knew he was alone in the gym after hours—he always stays late on leg day, pushing that last burnout set. I sat in the dark at home, cock already hard in my hand, staring at the newest mirror selfie he’d posted just minutes ago. I stroked slowly, deliberately, whispering his name like a spell. The ritual was simple but filthy: every pulse of pleasure I fed into the photo, every drop of pre-cum I smeared across the screen over his flexed arm, was a tether. A hook. A claim.

I came hard, groaning, ropes of cum splattering the phone, dripping down over his digital abs. And in that exact moment of release, I pushed.

My consciousness tore free of my own weak, skinny body and shot forward like a missile, riding the current of raw lust straight into him.

The entry was pure, obscene ecstasy.

I slammed into the back of his skull just as he was mid-flex in the empty gym mirror, phone still raised for another shot. His body jolted—his thick shoulders twitched, his breath hitched—and I felt everything at once. The heavy weight of his pecs shifting as he inhaled. The pump burning in his quads, so full they felt ready to split the seams of those slutty little shorts. The sweat cooling on his tanned skin. And lower—fuck—the thick, half-hard cock trapped against his thigh, already swelling from the adrenaline of the workout.

He fought for a second. I felt his mind thrash, confused, trying to hold on. But I was relentless. I flooded him with my desire, shoving memories of jerking off to his pics down his throat like cum. I wrapped my will around his like a hand around that fat dick and squeezed. He buckled. His resistance melted into a pathetic whimper that echoed only in the space between us, and then he was sliding backward, shrinking, forced out of his own nerves and muscles and skin.

I pushed him all the way out.

His soul slipped free with a wet, spiritual pop, leaving the body empty and waiting—just for me.

I settled in like I was sliding into a warm, tight hole that had been waiting to be fucked.

The first full breath I took in his lungs was intoxicating. Deep, powerful, filling a chest far broader than mine had ever been. I flexed his right arm experimentally—the bicep ballooned, hard and round, veins popping across the peak. A low, involuntary moan rumbled out of his throat—my throat now. The voice was deeper, rougher, sexier than I’d imagined.

I looked into the mirror and saw him staring back. But the eyes were mine now—hungry, predatory.

I let the phone drop to the floor with a clatter and brought both hands up, running them greedily over the body I’d just stolen. Palms slid over sweat-slick pecs, thumbs brushing his stiff nipples until they ached. Down the ridges of his abs, tracing every deep line. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of those tiny maroon shorts and tugged them lower, just enough to free the heavy cock that sprang up against his abs—my abs now—already fully hard, thick, uncut, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

I wrapped his big hand around it and groaned again, louder this time. The grip felt perfect—calloused from years of gripping bars, strong enough to squeeze just right. I gave one slow stroke, foreskin gliding over the swollen head, and the pleasure hit like a drug. Ten times stronger than anything my old body had ever felt. His balls—my balls—hung heavy, full, drawn up tight from the sudden rush of arousal.

I leaned closer to the mirror, watching his handsome face twist with raw lust as I started pumping faster. Sweat dripped down his neck, over the chain, between his pecs. I licked his lips, tasting salt. I flexed his free arm again, admiring the pump, the size, the power that was finally mine.

“Fuck yes,” I growled in his deep voice. “This body is mine now.”

I’m just getting started. I haven’t even made him cum in the gym mirror yet. I haven’t stripped these shorts off all the way, haven’t bent over the bench and spread these thick cheeks, haven’t felt what it’s like to edge this stolen cock for hours…

I couldn’t stay in the gym forever—even though part of me wanted to drop those shorts, bend over the weight bench, and fuck this new body raw right there under the fluorescent lights, mirrors on every side watching me claim what was mine. But the risk of getting caught only made my stolen cock throb harder. I edged myself mercilessly for twenty minutes, slow strokes turning into frantic pumps, smearing pre-cum over the swollen head until my balls ached, then forcing myself to stop. Every time I got close, I flexed—pec bounce, ab crunch, quad pop—just to feel the power surge, to remind myself this wasn’t a dream. This body was mine now.

I finally tucked the leaking dick back into those tight maroon shorts (it made an obscene bulge, the outline unmistakable) and grabbed his gym bag. Walking out felt unreal—those massive legs carrying me with easy, heavy strides, the pump making every muscle feel swollen and alive. The chain bounced against my new pecs. Sweat cooled on my skin. I drove his car home on pure instinct, one hand on the wheel, the other palming my bulge at every red light, squeezing just enough to keep the edge.

The second I stepped inside his apartment, I stripped.

The cropped tank came off first—peeled it over my head and let it drop, watching in the hallway mirror as the full torso came into view. Fuck, those pecs were even bigger up close, heavy slabs striated with veins, nipples dark and stiff from the cool air. I bounced them deliberately, left then right, groaning at how they moved under my control. Then the shorts—hooked my thumbs in and shoved them down, kicking them aside. The cock sprang free again, fully hard now, curving up thick and proud against my abs. Balls heavy, drawn tight. I gave it one long stroke, just to feel the weight in this big hand, then forced myself to stop again.

I needed to savor this.

I crashed onto the couch, sprawled back exactly like in the photo you just sent—head tilted, eyes half-lidded, that post-workout glow still shining on my skin. Curly hair a mess from the cap I’d tossed aside. Beard thick and dark. The little gold hoop earring catching the light. Chest heaving slow and deep, every breath making those massive pecs rise and fall like they were built for worship.

I ran both hands over them now, slow and greedy. Palms sliding through the light dusting of hair, thumbs circling the nipples until they ached. I pinched hard—gasped in his deep voice, cock jumping against my abs, leaving a wet streak of pre-cum. One hand stayed on a pec, kneading the thick muscle, feeling it flex and harden under my fingers. The other trailed lower, tracing every ridge of the eight-pack, dipping into the deep V that pointed straight to the prize.

I spread my thighs wide, feet planted on the floor, letting the heavy cock bob free in the air. Took it in a loose grip and just held it—feeling the pulse, the heat, the sheer size that my old body could never match. Slow strokes started again, foreskin gliding smooth and wet. Every pump made my pecs twitch, my abs tighten. I watched myself in the phone camera propped up on the coffee table, recording every second of this private takeover.

“This is my chest now,” I growled low, voice rumbling through the broad cavity. “These tits are mine to play with. This cock is mine to edge until I decide to blow.”

I’m not done yet. I haven’t flipped over on this couch, ass up, and spread these thick cheeks wide to see what this body feels like from behind. Haven’t tasted my own cum shooting across these pecs. Haven’t even started thinking about what I’ll do tomorrow—wearing his sluttiest clothes, hitting the gym again, maybe finding someone to use this body on…

I couldn't take it anymore on the couch—the edge was too sharp, balls throbbing like they were about to burst, pre-cum dripping in thick strings down the shaft every time I flexed. I needed more. Needed to see everything this body had to offer, slick and shining under better light.

I hauled myself up, heavy cock swinging between my thighs as I walked naked through the apartment, feeling the weight of it slap against my legs with every step. The bathroom door was already cracked open—steam still lingering from his earlier shower, mirror fogged at the edges. Perfect.

I grabbed the bottle of body oil from the shelf (he kept it right there, the slut—probably for exactly this kind of worship). Poured a thick stream into my palm and started rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles over these massive pecs. The oil made them gleam, highlighting every striation, every vein snaking across the slabs. I worked it lower, over the abs, into the deep grooves, watching them pop and shine like they were carved from bronze. Thighs next—quads so thick my hands barely spanned them, hamstrings flexing as I shifted weight. Calves diamond-hard. Every muscle responded instantly to my touch, like the body was eager to be used, claimed deeper.

Then I turned to the mirror, phone in one hand, and let the oil drip lower.

The cock was half-hard from all the teasing, hanging heavy and thick, foreskin pulled back just enough to show the fat head glistening. I poured oil straight onto it—watched it run down the shaft in shiny rivulets, pooling around the base in that thick bush of dark hair. Wrapped my big, oiled hand around it and gave a slow, twisting stroke from root to tip. The sensation was filthy—slick, hot, the foreskin gliding effortlessly now, head swelling fatter with every pass.

I groaned deep in his throat, eyes half-closed just like in the shot, beard framing that smug, horny face that's mine now. The oil made everything shine obscene under the bathroom light—pecs heaving, abs clenched, cock growing fully rigid in my grip, curving up thick and veined against the oiled abs. Balls hanging low and heavy, slick and swinging as I pumped faster.

"Fuck, look at this body," I muttered, voice rough and low, echoing off the tiles. "Oiled up like a whore. This fat dick is all mine to stroke whenever I want."

I edged harder now—hand flying up and down the oiled shaft, thumb smearing across the head on every upstroke, collecting more pre-cum to mix with the oil. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, wet and loud. I flexed one arm behind the phone, bicep peaking huge and round, veins bulging under the oil. The other hand never stopped—squeezing the base, milking upward, making the cock twitch and leak.

I'm not cumming yet. Not until I've turned around, spread these oiled cheeks in the mirror, seen how tight and perfect this ass looks shining. Not until I've tasted the oil mixed with pre-cum off my fingers. Not until I've decided if I'm posting this nude on his accounts, letting everyone see what I've stolen...

The oil was everywhere—slick down my pecs, abs, thighs, coating that thick cock in a shiny sheath that made every stroke feel like fucking a tight, wet hole. I turned around in front of the mirror, bent forward, spread these massive cheeks wide with both hands. The sight was obscene: glutes round and hard, oiled up and flexing, that tight pink hole winking under the light, untouched but begging to be claimed now that I'm in control. I slapped one cheek hard—watched it ripple, groaned deep as the sting shot straight to my balls. Fingered the rim just once, teasing, promising myself I'd wreck this ass later with toys, fingers, whatever I want.

But the pressure was building lower—balls so full they ached, bladder twitching from the workout hydration and all the edging. I couldn't hold it anymore. Cock still rock-hard and leaking, I stumbled to the toilet, dropped down heavy on the seat exactly like in the pic—legs spread wide, thighs bulging, chain dangling between these oiled pecs. Slipped on his reflective sunglasses from the counter (the cocky bastard kept them in here for exactly these kinds of selfies), hiding my predatory eyes behind the mirrored lenses as I aimed the phone for one last shot.

The first stream hit the bowl loud and strong—hot piss gushing out of my stolen cock in a thick arc, relief flooding through this powerful body. But fuck, the sensation was too good. The release, the vulnerability of sitting there exposed, legs splayed, heavy balls resting on the seat, cock throbbing as the stream pulsed. A drop of pre-cum mixed with the piss, dripping from the fat head. I couldn't resist.

I wrapped one oiled hand around the shaft mid-stream, started stroking slow while still pissing—filthy, forbidden, the warmth splashing over my fingers as I pumped. The sunglasses reflected everything: my smug face twisted in pleasure, beard dark against tanned skin, pecs heaving with every breath. The chain swung as I jerked faster, piss tapering off into pure pre-cum now, slicking the glide.

"Fuck yes," I growled, voice echoing off the bathroom walls. "Pissing and stroking in your body... my body. Gonna cum so hard everyone hears it."

Hand flew now—twisting at the head, squeezing the base, milking every inch of this thick, veined cock. Balls drew up tight, abs clenched into steel ridges. I bounced the pecs one last time, pinched a nipple hard, and lost it.

The orgasm hit like a freight train—whole body flexing, quads popping, glutes clenching on the seat as rope after thick rope shot out. Cum splattered my oiled abs, chest, even hit the chain and dripped down between the pecs. I milked it relentlessly, groaning loud and deep, sunglasses hiding the roll of my eyes as wave after wave emptied these heavy balls I'd been edging for hours.

Finally spent, cock twitching in my grip, cum pooling in the ridges of my abs, piss and oil and seed all mixed in the filthiest mess. I leaned back, breathing hard, admiring the wreckage in the mirror.

This body is mine forever now. Possessed, claimed, used exactly how I want.

Bro, I was aiming for the other guy.

Yeah, the long leggy hunk on the treadmill. The one with the pretty face, abs, and bubble butt. The perfect twunk bottom.

I found this shady website talking about astral projection and stuff. There were a ton of warnings about how "one should be careful their astral self ne'er intersect another's", and "the astral plane is neither other nor akin to the physical, and instead lies betwixt it" and whatever.

Basically, don't astral project into someone else, otherwise you'll end up taking over their body.

I practiced a few times, sat myself cross legged on my floor one evening, and astral projected into the gym... right into the middle of it. Where this dumbass muscle bull was standing and admiring his mug in the mirror.

So now I'm stuck in this sweaty, hairy, bloated pile of man meat... and his muscle memory runs deep. Makes sense with how much muscle he's got. I find myself in the gym twice a day like clockwork, body practically aching with how much it needs to burn some excess energy lifting serious iron.

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

A Familiar Revenge

— Come on, bitch. Lick these feet good, they're as dirty as you like them. Oh, and don't forget to do the dishes afterward. Hurry up, you have a lot of work to do.

I don't know how my bully possessed my father's body! I don't know why this guy is obsessed with me; it almost seems like his only purpose in life is to make mine impossible! It's been almost a month now. It all happened after I got fed up with all his harassment and the university did nothing to stop it. I ended up punching him and "humiliating" him in front of everyone (or at least that's what he yelled as his friends frantically pulled him away from me). He told me I would regret it and that I would be sorry for it until the last day of my life. I didn't think he meant this!

When I returned home that day, the atmosphere felt strange, somewhat heavy... At first, there was complete silence, until a low gasp broke the silence from the top of the stairs. I slowly approached each door, trying to find the source of the sound. Just as I reached my father's bedroom doorway, I heard a gasp. When I peeked in, gently sliding the door open, my jaw almost dropped to the floor when I realized what was happening.

There was my father, sitting in his expensive leather armchair. He was still wearing his suit, tight-fitting, highlighting his muscles, especially his pectorals. His shiny black shirt clung to his torso, one button undone, and his hand slowly caressed him. His large thighs were spread out on the seat as his other hand slid between his legs. His lower lip was hidden between his teeth as a chuckle echoed through his deep voice.

His gaze met mine. He simply raised an eyebrow with a mocking smile before flexing his arms. 

— I told you you'd regret it, nerd.

Since then, he's been occupying my father's body like his puppet, bragging about his muscles, his expensive suits, shit. He's even been squandering money on things like a PSP5, a gaming chair, and more expensive (and revealing) outfits.

— Ha! I'd be a fool not to use every means at my disposal to improve my stay in your father's body, nerd – he said with a grin, licking his lips as he adjusted the suspenders that looked like they were about to fly off at any moment, tightening and cinching them around his shoulders and chest – And you'd better get used to it.

Now I was in charge of all the housework while he just sat around scratching his balls, smelling his fingers, or playing video games (or all at once). It was unpleasant to see my father behave like this, like a hormonal college student trapped in a middle-aged man's body, but he seemed to love it. He had everything he'd ever dreamed of: power, attractiveness, money, and of course, he could make my life miserable from the comfort of his home.

— And you should have seen your father's assistant! That guy has the tightest mouth you can imagine – he said, laughing, cupping his hands in front of his hips, pretending to have something in front of him to move back and forth – It felt fucking amazing!

The worst part? He also forced me to listen to his stories, using my dad's identity however he saw fit. He even made me wear a skirt and a "maid" outfit to do the housework! I thought the presence of other people in the house would limit him, or at least make him realize he couldn't go on like this, that he'd leave and only come back to bother me on campus. Big mistake.

— Come on, idiot! – my older brother yelled, lifting his foot and wiggling his toes – You've got a lot to clean up, dog! You still have to take care of the three of us!

— Yeah, moron! I can't go practice with my armpits and feet smelling like this! Get your fucking tongue out! – My younger brother chimed in while I just watched the scene, on my knees, defeated.

It turns out he had managed to split his soul and now possess my brothers too, my whole family controlled and pulled by the strings of the guy who hated me with such fervor and obsession.

— You better get used to this – the one on the left grabbed my chin, digging his fingers into my skin – Because this is going to be the rest of your life.

Shit... I was screwed.

—-

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don’t forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I’m always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story… Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

“How the hell aren’t you cold? It’s freezing!” Stanley asked after watching his father walk out into the back garden wearing nothing but a hat and speedos. The snow crunched under the older man’s feet as more continued to fall from the sky.

Brian smiled underneath that thick facial fur. “Bahh it ain’t that bad.” He trudged over towards Stanley, his bulge shaking slightly with each step. “When you’ve got a real man’s body like me, you barely notice the cold.” He claimed before flexing one of his meaty biceps. “You’ll understand one day when you’re able to grow a pelt of hair like your old man.” Brian teased as he stopped inches away from Stanley before proudly puffing out his burly chest.

“Come on… dad. Can you please just go back inside and put some clothes on.” Stanley sighed

“What’s up? You should be proud to have a dad who’s so strong and virile.” Brian said with a leer in his eye before running a hand over his chest hair and down his stomach. “And huge in every way you can imagine.” He added as his hand found its way to his bulge where it squeezed the outline of his growing dick.

Stanley’s face turned bright red as he tried to avert his eyes. “Jesus Christ Alan. You can’t keep…” His eyes fluttered across the thick hairy torso in front of him. “You need to stop doing this! It’s too fucked up.”

“I don’t know what you mean? I’m just trying to be the most loving father I can be…” The butch older man’s innocent smile gained a devilish hue. “And I’ve got no idea who this Alan person is. I’m just your dear old daddy Brian.”

Stanley wished he’d just believed his boyfriend Alan when he first told him about that stupid necklace. Alan had gotten into some trouble with the authorities. It was a long story but basically Alan was a wanted man being hunted by the cops. He’d been hiding out in Stanley’s basement for a few days but the cops must’ve caught wind of Stanley’s relationship to Alan as they eventually came knocking. Thankfully they didn’t have a warrant but there was no doubt they’d be back with one. They had to find somewhere for Alan to hide where the cops wouldn’t be able to find him. Stanley was freaking the fuck out before Alan revealed his plan. He was gonna use his necklace.

Alan’s necklace was a magical heirloom passed down to him. He’d inherited it after his own father tragically lost his life in a terrible accident. The necklace had a unique power that allowed its owner to transfer their soul and consciousness into a new body at the cost of their previous body being lost forever. It was a drastic measure but they didn’t have a lot of choice. Alan took off the necklace and told Stanley to find a man with a suitable body and to make him wear the necklace. The magic would take care of the rest.

Stanley didn’t want to do it. He didn’t believe the magic was real for a start and even if it was he didn’t just want to help Alan steal away the life of an innocent person. Despite this Alan begged him to do it but Stanley stood firm. So in the end, Alan was left with no choice. There was only one other person in the house besides Stanley and that was his father Brian who had no idea Alan was hiding out in the basement.

Stanley had just gone out shopping when Alan made his move. Brian was sitting at the kitchen table with his morning coffee as Alan crept out of the basement and snuck up behind him. Before Brian even knew what was happening, the necklace had been tossed over his head where it hung just over his pecs

It was quick. Brian didn’t even have a chance to get up from his chair before the necklace begs to shine with a bright magical light. Behind him, Alan’s soul was ripped from his body before it was slammed into Brian’s burly back where it surged into his older, thicker body. It only took seconds for Alan’s soul and consciousness to take control, forcing Brian out of the driver's seat. Meanwhile Alan’s old body faded away to dust like it never existed, leaving only Brian. The ritual concluded when Alan moaned long and deep with Brian’s husky voice as he ejaculated into Brian’s khaki shorts, shooting out the soul and essence of the original Brian along with his creamy dad load.

Stanley was furious when he returned home to find out what’d happened. His boyfriend had stolen his dad’s body! It was insane! He almost couldn’t look at him at first as Alan had way too much fun exploring Brian’s huge mature body. Squeezing and groping every inch of his new form no matter how many times Stanley told him to stop. Alan tried to apologise but it was hard for him to hide just how much he was enjoying his new and powerful dad bod.

Needless to say the cops didn’t find anything when they came back with a warrant. Just a father and his son. Once they left however, Stanley was desperate for a way to reverse what’s happened but Alan told him it was impossible. His old body was gone for good and if he used the necklace again then Brian’s body would disappear too. Neither of them wanted that. Stanley was adamant they could find another way. Look for another magical item that could fix this. But Alan didn’t seem bothered. If anything he loved this new body. Why the hell would he want to go back to being a scrawny 24 year old when he can be a big hairy bear of a man instead!

It’d been weeks since then and Alan had convinced Stanley to start calling him ‘dad’ even when they were alone so that they don’t slip up while they’re out and about. Stanley had begrudgingly agreed but it only made things weirder between them. He loved his boyfriend. He did. But now that the man he loved was inside his fathers body… well it was beyond just weird to be honest. Especially since Alan had made it pretty clear that he still wanted them to be a couple despite the circumstances.

Stanley told himself he didn’t want it. He didn’t think he was lying at first. But with every day that passed, Alan made an effort to tease him more and more. Walking around the house in less and less clothing. Always flexing and flirting. Showing off that beefy older body at every opportunity. He’d even leave the door to the bathroom wide open while taking a shower on the chance that Stanley might walk past and catch a glimpse of his father’s enormous furry body as it glistened under the water. And it worked. Stanley had caught sight of his father’s huge dad butt and girthy cock more than once already. He’d deny it but both times he’d found himself getting a semi shortly after.

Today was no exception on the front of teasing. Those tight Speedos hugging Alan’s bulge and ass had Stanley fighting for his life. He’d tried so hard to resist but every day he got closer to cracking.

“You know son, I’ve had this cramp in my lower back for a few days. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping out your old man with a good ol massage.” He wrapped an arm around Stanley’s shoulder, causing the scent from his armpits to subtly waft towards Stanley’s nostrils. He led Stanley back inside the house and out of the cold.

“Ughhh… I dunno if-” Stanley was cut off before he could finish.

“Come on Stan. I’m not asking much.” Alan patted Stanley on the back before making his way over to the couch. He crawled onto it slowly before lying face down. “Just a little massage.” His hands moved down towards the back of his speedos before slowly tugging them down to reveal his bubbly dad ass in all its hairy glory. Served up on a silver platter and ready to be ravished. “And while you're at it, maybe you could give my cheeks a massage too.”

Stanley stared in wordless as his mouth ran dry at the sight. He should’ve refused. He should’ve walked away. But instead his body moved on its own. The next thing he knew, Stanley was shoving his face between his dads fat furry ass cheeks. He lost all sense of reason and now all he wanted to do was fuck his own dad.

Fuck, my head is spinning. I rub ineffectually at my eyes. Those stupid assholes driving lifted trucks with 5,000 megawatt headlights... I damn near thought I'd been get run over.

I can't remember where I needed to go. Come think of it, I can't remember anything after that pair of headlights entered my vision. Maybe I need to go get checked out, see if I've got a concussion.

I can kinda see a silhouette of someone or something up in front, so I blink blearily until my vision clears. It's a big blond dude who looks like he lives at the gym. Fuck, he's got a massive bulge. I know something's wrong with me by the way I'm more concerned with my spinning head than with giving him a once over and appreciating a hottie.

"Hey," I say, but he doesn't budge. My voice does sound real rusty though so maybe he didn't hear. I clear my throat. "Hey," I say again. "Sorry to bother you, but I think I might've got hit by a car..."

I trail off, since he hasn't even bothered to look up from his phone. Douchebag. Usually I'd go away and find someone else, but I feel like shit, my head's still spinning, and if I ralph all over his shoes then that'll definitely get him to pay attention to me instead of his phone.

"Hey!" I start, again, louder, and then I cough. The force of it sends me stumbling forward and teetering towards the man. "Fuck-"

All of a sudden it feels like the inside of my body is twisting violently in on itself, and there's this loud noise in my head that sounds like yelling except I can't understand anything. My vantage point feels completely different too, and my hands feel bloated and clumsy, suddenly struggling to wrap around a small metal thing.

I manage to slip whatever's in my hands into a pocket before bracing myself against the metal rail I'm suddenly leaning against. I can't concentrate over all this goddamn yelling.

"Shut up," I grit out, except it sounds wrong. It's super low, almost bovine, with this weirdly thick accent I can't place. The horrible yelling gets louder. I bang against the side of my head, and roar, "SHUT UP!"

I have no fucking clue what I did, but suddenly the world rights itself, my insides stop convulsing, and my head finally falls blissfully silent.

"Fuck," I groan, still sounding weirdly deep and distorted. And that's when I open my eyes and am immediately confronted by the two enormous muscle tits that I now have on my chest. "Kuces dēls!"

Son of a bitch.

I use my meaty new hands to paw at the flimsy red shorts that do nothing to hide the massive cock dangling between my legs, until I finally fish out what I belatedly realise is a phone.

It takes my brain a moment to understand what I'm looking at and make sense of the squiggles on the screen. It's in English, but I can't read it as easily as I'm used to - almost like I'm translating the words from a different language.

Oh, fuck me. "Pīzdābols."

I manage to get the phone unlocked with Face ID, and I scroll through the dude's apps till I find his insta.

Well. Maybe it isn't his insta anymore.

Through the feed I find his name is Edgars, and like I suspected, this mountain of a meathead that I'm now inhabiting isn't a native English speaker. He's Latvian.

Fuck. That asshole with the lifted truck really did run me over after all.

I start walking through the parking lot - for what reason, I have no idea - but my feet are drawn to a dinky looking Prius that turns out to be this dude's car. I sit my huge ass down in the cramped driver's seat, peel out, and find myself pulling in next to a gym a couple blocks away.

Dude's a personal trainer. Guess I wasn't wrong about him living at the gym.

You best believe the moment I stepped foot into that locker room, I was peeling myself out these ridiculously tight clothes so fast I nearly split a seam.

"Bye-bye, asshole," I mocked in this tattooed sexy stud's deep voice, gripping his thick shaft as I pissed the homophobic prick's essence right into the urinal. Nothing gets me harder than peeing some bigoted jerk out of his own body like that.

My boyfriend and I were having a blast at the concert when our favorite song kicked in. We leaned in for a quick kiss, and that's when this drunk asshole behind us snarled "faggots," making his dumbass friends crack up laughing. My boyfriend looked hurt, but I was straight-up pissed. No way was this tool gonna ruin our special night.

I waited until the perfect moment hit—the homophobe finally separated from his group and stumbled drunk into the bathroom. I told my boyfriend I had to piss and followed the guy in.

The bathroom was packed, so I had to play it smart. I slipped into a stall, left my current host slumped on the toilet, and went ghost. Floating free, I fixated on the prick at the urinal and slid right up his tight ass. He jerked hard, body going rigid mid-stream, but nobody noticed.

Once I was fully in, I wasted no time turning his soul into pure piss and started unloading it. Watching that hateful bastard swirl down the drain got my new cock rock hard. When the flow finally stopped, I was packing a solid eight inches. I gave the shaft a couple of shakes to get the last drops, then zipped up.

Back out at the concert, I strolled past his group of buddies. They yelled his name, trying to wave me over, but I just ignored them and kept walking. I spotted my boyfriend in the crowd, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned, I pulled him into a tight hug and planted a deep kiss on him.

He froze for a second, eyes wide, but he wasn't dumb, he knew well about my powers, so he melted into my arms, and we started full-on French kissing right there. Behind us, I could hear his friends freaking out.

"Dude, what the fuck? How many drinks did he have?"

"Bro, that's messed up. Let's bounce."

We broke the kiss, and I shot my boyfriend a smug grin.

"Babe, you really shouldn't have," he said, but he was already running his hands over my new pecs, smirking.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw my new dick," I teased, grabbing my new bulge and shaking it.

My boyfriend and I had just gotten off the plane when it happened.

As we waited at baggage claim, a man caught my eye: the guy who’d been sitting in front of us the entire flight. I nudged my boyfriend, and from then on we couldn’t stop watching him. Every time he stood up to stretch, shifted in his seat, or headed to the bathroom, we took the opportunity to steal another look.

When the crowd thinned, I saw my chance.

I approached him and gently steered him away from the bustle of the terminal, out of sight of the cameras.

“So,” he said, glancing around, “you mentioned something about a baggage mix-up?”

“Well,” I replied, smiling, “I just wanted to say… now.”

In an instant, a cloud shot its way into his mouth. I don't think he even realized what was happening.

"Aaaaa... yeah! That's feels great- woah."

I couldn’t help smiling.

"Woah, his voice is so deep..." he said with an obvious uncharacteristic enthusiasm in his voice.

"And I don't know if you can tell, but I think he's- or I'm built!",

He flexed his biceps.

"Hope you have fun in there," I said.

"No, wait- I mean-"

He cleared his throat and relaxed his shoulders. His posture and gaze changed, as if getting into character.

“If there’s been a mix-up with your luggage,” he said in a low, husky baritone, “maybe I can help you track it down. After all… wouldn’t you like to see what I’ve been carrying?”

I snickered.

"Let's see what you've been packing the whole flight, sir."

"My pleasure..."